"felix" poems
i.
Happy birthday, diaphanous balm,
Mayest this span of time greeteth
Thee; with Good health, and loving
Psalm's.
ii.
Maligayang Kaarawan, archaic
Gem, mayest thine smile brush-
Stroke the aisles, of carbuncles
Of never-ending friend's.
iii.
Bon anniversaire, mon amour,
Mayest thine Satin-silk moonlit
Eye's, be a guide to the deaf and
Blind, mayest the heaven inside
Thee, be the richness of the poor.
iv.
Harúmena genéthlia, Earl, like
The lost and hidden pearl's,
Mayest the luster of thine
Memories, be kept safely
Locked, under thumb and key,
To openeth later, in sanctity.
v.
Penblwydd Hapus, Filipino
physician whom hath saved
Mine life, soul-mate, Queen,
Wife, mine bearer of this heart,
Mine carrier of all that's right.
The beam of nebula delights,
The diamond in mine might,
Mine-Queen, O' Jane
Mine Wife!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
Sometimes they think they are it
the man of the house, demanding when sat, a real big hit
relishing the chain of command over those who wait on hand and foot
for they start off small, expecting so much more,
as they have written the book
But let’s not forget who is the real master here
they are just a cub, cute yet endearing,
but you’d rather be down the pub supping a beer
scratching the sofa with eyes so large they are easily forgiven
killing flies and onto mice, it is how they are driven
As the kitten is a creature yet to grow into its fold
playing like a baby does until its days of old
they’ll fight and cry like kids, you’ll hear them on the street
they won’t give up, soft yet tough,
never knowing when they’re beat
A dog is fun and obeys command, yet these things rarely do
you’ll call all night, their name out loud, but never return on que
yet eat you out of house and home,
Felix down to the last lick of the butter tub
as they are animal of selfish wit,
a beast when grown but will always be my,
Little Lion Cub
JJB
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
so
here we Are:
Arnold......Shortman,
Shorty......Meeks,
Mr......Meeseeks,
Ezekiel......Whitmore.
Morphine,,,,,,Morpheus,
Neo......Geo,
OG......Sour,
Sour......Diesel.
DeeDee's......Brother,
Cousin......Vinny,
Vinny's......Lover,
Brothers......Grimm.
Grim......adVentures,
Billy......Madison,
Hansel,,,,,,Gretel,
Chelsea......Grin.
Grimace,,,,,,Misery,
Mister......eBonic,
Bonny,,,,,,Clyde,
Kyle,,,,,,Kenny.
Kenny......Powers,
Powder Puff Girls,
"Girls Girls Girls",
Girls Gone Wild.
Wilee......Coyote,
Coyote......Ugly,
Ugly......Betty,
Betty......Crocker.
Doctor......Parnassus,
Doctor......Krieger,
Doctor......Horrible,
Doctor......Evil.
Evil......Knievel,
Felix......the Cat,
Captain Jack Sparrow:
"Captain......my Captain".
Tinman,,,,,,Scarecrow,
"Rowrow Rowyer Boat",
Bo......Burnham,
Earnest,,,,,,Vern.
Verdict,,,,,,Votive,
deVotion,,,,,,Vengeance,
aVenging......Evey,
V,,,,,,Vendetta.
Denace......the Menace,
Crystal......Globes,
Snow,,,,,,Aesthetics:
Skeletal......Shedding.
Head,,,,,,Tail,
Sally,,,,,,Jack,
Jack......Rabbits,
Magic......Hatters.
Shattered......Glass,
Glasgow......Smile,
Guile,,,,,,Vega,
Akuma,,,,,,Ryu.
You,,,,,,Me,
Beneath......the Bleacher:
Jeepers,,,,,,Creepers,
Reapers......of Seeds.
Seeds......of Chucky,
Chuckie......Finster,
Principal......Muriel,
Yuri......Gagarin.
© Copyrighted Jesse James Adams
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
This is the story of Felix Riley
An Irishman from County Cork
Conceived during the great famine
And delivered by the stalk
He was one of ten; 6 brothers, 3 sisters
All of whom he cherished
Both of his parents passed away
From starvation and cholera they perished.
His father was a peasant farmer
From the port town of Kinsale
Working every single day
To bring home bread and ale
He died in the summer of 47
A year that many did
His wife Breanna heartbroken
But from the kids she hid
Not long after, she died too
Taking with her 3 little chislers
Poor Felix Riley was left solitary
When split from his brothers and sisters
He learned to fend for himself
And then met his lovely wife Bria
He never saw his kin to that day
And probably wont again, he'd fear
Like his father he worked and worked
To bring home food for their little one
And one day hoped he could earn enough
To buy a table to eat it on
He worked every hour he physically could
Almost every one god sent
But every week when he got his envelope
The money was already spent
Never disheartened he loved his wife
And his little daughter too
He remained optimistic in any weather
And through tough times powered through
Alas his determination was futile
In the face of the aftermath of the blight
He died at a tender age of 26
After putting up a hearty fight
His story is one of over a million
Who's stories are somewhat hidden
From the books and lessons given in schools
Their telling is almost forbidden.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
Microsoft "WURD"
slang font.
i know your type.
you like Arial.
you dig Arial Black cause there's no Arial White.
she wears a size 0.
invisible to the eye.
she's from Georgia.
print her out on white paper.
she'll be prettier than Courier New Times New Roman.
her Impact on Felix Titling will be extravagant.
she'll put him under a spell with her Book Antiqua.
you'll give up on her and take a train through the Terminal towards Tahoma in the "Golden State"
you'll come across Verdana who is a size 12.
bold as you are, you'll ask why she tries to underline her beauty by showing off her colon(:) .
and you ask her why women are always cranky before they get their period (.) ?
[arial, arial black, georgia, courier new, times new roman, impact, felix tilting, book antiqua, terminal, tahoma, verdana=different fonts]
May 28, 2010
May 28, 2010 at 1:14 PM UTC
May the furnace burn us
So that we might rise from crash's ashes
Like the Phoenix as Felix
Pounds out a bravado sonata
Something brash and passionate
Like abstract fashion it
Causes conundrums among tongues
Flapping, rolling, lapping, growing
Synaptic tactics mapping spastic
Canals through the fungal jungles
Of minds melting from psilosybin I been
Growing dendrites as my pen writes
Reaching Zen heights while the men fight.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
he was always told not to be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf;
the big bad wolf and his big bad claws and his big bad fangs and the wicked way his eyes would gleam r e d in the dark.
*do not be afraid,
liebling*, his mother would say,
brushing his hair from his forehead before kissing him goodnight.
he would curl under the covers,
curl in,
curl in,
curl –
oh, no.
do not be afraid of the big bad wolf, he tells himself,
staring at his mother’s coffin as it is lowered slowly into the ground.
(it was not an open casket. could not be an open casket. her lip was split and swelling and the bruise over her eye was too dark to cover and his father’s knuckles are still red and raw to the touch.)
do not be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf,
but when his father lays a meaty hand on his shoulder and squeezes,
he shivers.
“i am not afraid of the big bad wolf,” he says into the mirror,
staring at his own split and swelling lip.
he meets felix and loves felix and does not bring felix home with him –
until the day that he does.
“he’s not the big bad wolf anymore,” felix says when he tells him what he’s done.
his clothes are rank with smoke and burning flesh,
and he remembers his mother, and the closed casket at her funeral.
“i know,” he says, straightening his tie.
(this casket is closed, too.)
there is no such thing as the big bad wolf,
not now, not today, not when the time for fairy tales has long since passed.
now, his hands itch for a gun,
now, his fingers itch to pull the trigger,
now, he is restless and he is ****** and he is a criminal.
(who’s the big bad wolf now?)
“my father was a monster. and so are you. and so am i.”
his funeral will be a closed casket, too. he smiles.
kala weeps.
he sticks the gun in his back pocket and thinks of his mother.
*do not be afraid,
liebling.*
i am not, he wants to tell her. i am not. not anymore.
(but still he sleeps with the gun beneath his pillow still he dreams of retribution from hands dripping with blood still he wakes and forgets that he is safe still he breathes and is afraid, deep down, is afraid of the wolf he has become.)
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
from the sizzling southwestern sun
we stepped into the beer stenched shadows
of the Blue Agave Lounge
left lizards in the street but there were plenty inside
lurking in dark corners, their bodies draped like the dead
faces in pools of beer on ancient formica
we were killin' time
and brain cells
and any lingering ambitions
that lurked in our dark corners
on the wall behind the bar
was a "Felix Garcia" original
some desert artist
who doubtless killed some of his own time
in the blue shadows
of the Agave
the painting, unblemished by the dying around it
was of a schooner
white masts full in blue skies
rolling on purple waves
headed to some blind horizon
far from the Blue Agave
drunken eyes digested this
and perchance wondered
if it reached some blissful port
or took men to a deeper doom
if we could only ask Felix
but he is not to be found
and he may not know
for in the Blue Agave
hidden from the light of day
dreams are drenched in darkness
and tomorrow is a land the lizards fight to forget
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 10:45 PM UTC
From Youtube to fame,
The first to play a new game.
Doesn't mind being put to shame,
None of his videos are ever the same.
On a hunt for his Senpai,
On games with Ken, Jack and Cry.
He's just a fabulous kinda guy.
This man called Felix,
I hope you know.
His great name "Pewdiepie",
is one worshipped, if you are a Bro.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
Legs astretched like venomous broomsticks
Fangs drooped lazily like a calm nosferatu,
Those eyes gold as sun on styx, treasures
that spun flame between his every blink--
Sandpaper tongue dragged over black hair
Nibbling his own wrist momentarily, then
Locking sleepy eyes on you, ascending fleece--
Retractable moonbeams flex teasing attack
then kneads, falling like a lullaby back into
uncapturable dreams; purring in the spirit of poe.
Jan 30, 2022
Jan 30, 2022 at 3:55 PM UTC
Bon anniversaire, brother Eddie,
Continue in fondness;
To those in hurt
And blood
Shedding.
Felix natalis, compeer in Christ,
Showeth his mercy, love,
Sacrifice.
eyd mawlid saeid, man of God,
Like the Messiah hadst died
For thee; dieth for other's,
Spread the gospel as seed.
Charoúmena genéthlia, Edward
The star, a light amongst the darkness,
The soul to those lost to death's kiss;
Teacheth who the man was who hadst
Come in the flesh, to hath his hand's
Nailed, and head crowned with thorn's;
Mocked and scorned, his heart
Didst mourn, giving up his
Holy ghost, for thou and me.
Penblwydd hapus, disciple
For Yeshua, mayest another
Year of thy birth bringeth
beatitude not curse, as
Yahweh is thine church,
As the spirit is thine weapon.
Against Satan's doubting's
And question's, against the
Lonesomeness and heaviness,
Against the sin's and burden,
Against those who know thee
Not, whom hath not loved thee,
But thee they forgot, remembereth
Dearest saint, one day thou shalt
Hath a Robe pearlescent colored
White as snow, knowing heaven
Is thine place and home. Happy
Birthday O' happy blessed birthday:
To thee man of Yeshua ha'mashiach.
Man of the creator, creation and rock,
Wherein thine foundation is built
Upon stone and not sand...
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Edward star birthday dedication
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
"Grieve while you can"
"Why."
Don't speak in silhouettes
"Why him and not me?"
Vermouth signature in september
"I don't understand what that means."
Moon asleep while on fire
"That still doesn't make any sense."
Sometimes the beautiful things don't have to
"And what beautiful thing did he do to you?"
Kissed the silver right out of me
"How..."
**a little like all at once
all over the world**
*"Tell me how I ****** up"*
"How could you?"
You mean how could my poetry
"How could you ******* hurt me this way?"
Art is a twisted, underestimated thing
"And love?"
Like a child's coin toss
"You can't compare love to that."
Love is a two faced child that feeds people to the war
"What war?"
Our own
"Dismantle me because you're chasing something you can't have"
"What's heads stand for?"
Carpe diem, Carpe noctem
"And tails?"
Soli deo gloria
"I'm so confused..."
And now you understand
"Understand what, your confusing definition of love?"
Felix culpa
Ask god how this could happen
"I watched you distance yourself from me."
Distance gives birth to gardens
"You've created a ******* forest at this point"
Housing the tree of knowledge
"What are you saying?"
Snake in god's flower crown
"..."
Sin of fruit and temptation
"So this is about Adam and Eve?"
Not quite
"Then what?"
Eden grew between us
"Hate him so it makes it easier"
"He'll be the one that defiles you."
The shattering of soft water
"But you are the moon."
Precisely
"Then who are you shattering?"
The snake
"What snake?"
I will not eat fruit that is ripe of jealousy
"I wanted you."
And I wanted more.
...
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 6:48 PM UTC
It had hurt
When I had to
Watch you leave
From the window.
But isn't that
Why they call it
Window pain?
I could thank
Eminem for the line
But that's too formal.
And the fact is
I didn't see you at all.
It happened over Kik,
And I just so happened
To be starring out my window
While I felt
The pain
Of you yanking
My heart out of my chest,
In its most fragile form,
And dropping it
To the concrete
Allowing it to shatter.
I thought you cared,
But I thought wrong.
Again.
I won't look for a new
Fix It Felix Jr
To fix
What Ralph
Wrecked this time, again.
I won't blast
Jhene Aiko chanting
"I don't need you
I don't need you
I don't need you
I don't need you,
But I want you."
Because it will only
Increase my hurt emotions.
I won't remove our pictures
From my facebook, instagram, Twitter or gallery.
I won't change my status to "single"
Because tomorrow,
When we make 9 months,
We'll be happy...Again.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC
Road Runner is my all-time favorite- I like the song by Junior Walker too.
He, Road Runner, that is , reminds me of mentally ******** friends of mine who always strut around in a huff.
"It"'s a scream.
Bugs Bunny and Mel Blanc (Mel, one of Jack Benny's sidekicks) voice for him - Bugs was frothy with my kind of sarcasm.
Mickey Mouse I thought of as a kind of a put-on for guys that look like that a little who were always cutting up.
I used to get that song Hey Mickie by Toni Basil read piped in loud in my mind, it seemed when it played on the jukebox at that sports bar I used to hang out at.
Yosemite Sam is like some of the severely mentally ill guys on my geriatric psych ward who are really abrupt, loud, and whose bark is bigger than their bite.
McGruff - I wrote a piece about him - he's not of course from a cartoon - but from my yesteryear, who was under the weather, hence the crime wave.
Just like Smokey the Bear, he was a lovable character.
I like King of the Hill and Family Guy at night for yukks.
On Sat morn back in the day I guess when I had enough time I used to get a bit of a kick out of Fat Albert cartoons and the Jackson Five stuff on lonely, for me, Saturday morning to perk me up for the rest of the day.
Back in the old days, they reminded me of figures I knew like them in real life.
Sylvester the Cat, Felix the Cat, Hekyll and Jekyll, Daffty Duck, and Might Mouse tickled my little boy sense of humor.
In comic Books, I was impressed with the sense of humor of Little LuLu.
In the newspaper, Hagar the Barbarian and Beetle Bailey tickled my funny bone a little.
That's all, Folks.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 9:09 AM UTC
Felix Calvalari and the Rascals singing Groovy.
As I ride along.
What a lovely uplifting mood song?
Of two people enjoying the mood.
And the Beach Boys singing Don't Worry Baby.
Stating everything is going to be alright.
How can you not love a lady like this?
Who gives off great confidence.
I truly believe, I could never love another.
After loving her.
David Ruffin's blended truth behind the lyrics of this Temptations song.
If I lost her in any way.
I would try something new to reconnect.
The Miracles truly spoke the truth about the things love will make you do.
I guess I'm in a sixties type mood.
When words solely spoke straightly to you.
I understand the woman's that seek respect.
Otis Redding wrote the song addressing it.
Altho' Aretha seems to get the credit.
What can I say about the two Dions?
With Dion Mucci singing about Donna the Primma Donna.
The type you probably couldn't get to ride a honda.
And then Dione Warwicke singing about singing about praying.
Oh, yes I'm in a sixties mood.
When words solely spoke to your heart.
When the Beatles stated don't let me down.
Them words was a message needed to be heard.
And papa never had a brand new bag.
I'm still trying to figure out those James Brown words.
Well, I relax for a few minutes.
Until I get ready to play another song.
Cause for the moment.
I'm just enjoying these sixties songs.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 9:37 AM UTC
i wake
it is 8
i am seven
the sun floods in through the window
(late!) 2 pop-tarts and some juice and out the door in 9 minutes flat.-
r u n n i n g
recon the neighborhood. "Hey, Scott". We team up. A few of the"little" kids are out as well.
Check at Ricky's. Some sort of punishment, but a little whining and he is free as well.
More kids come out.
DIRT CLOD WARS!
seek cover
They go behind a dumpster. us, in a ditch.
we lob (never throw! ) the chunks of red clay which hit the asphalt with a puff
of puce vapor.
Some kid hits my little brother with a thrown clod,
with a rock in it.
He cries.
Honor demands a fight.
taunting , shoving,
I hit the kid in the nose and it bleeds. Crying he runs home.
(and I feel a glory Alexander would envy.)
"FELIX, COME HOME FOR LUNCH"
(5 minutes to devour a bologna sandwich and a glass of chocolate milk)
then ****** into round two. this time hide-and-seek and she . .
(the new girl ; corn-silk hair and eyes that . . ??
so i'm "it"
but even the "little" kids are getting Home
( i am way out left
because i know . . .)
- suddenly -
she makes a deerlike dash for home, but i am ready,
and like a javelin
appear between her and Home.
"you're out"
as my hand grasps her shoulder.
e v e r y m o l e c u l e o f m y f l e s h
!ignites!
and i feel as a god)
The game is over. Scott, Ricky and I spend an hour tricking the"little" kids into sitting in piles of dog ****
Suppertime and we are called home.
years have come and gone,
still i remember those summers.
with Scott and Ricky.
and the heady . . .
. . .dizzying
breathless . . .
. . . bliss
of
p
l
a
y. . .!
Sometimes . . . from time to time
I also remember the girl -
(and I still feel a tingle in my right hand.)
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 5:56 AM UTC
Fantastic fantasy flounders floundering in the fleece.
Fleeing fervent frustration faces, phasing in for free.
Final frolic frothy, frim and folly forth.
Felix feline fragranced friends and fluffy Faradays.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 6:32 PM UTC
Wade you are so handsome
A love that's strong and true
Penny is my baby
She comes to me when I'm feeling blue
Logan is my little bear
Chipping, soft to touch
Sally is so close to me
I love her oh so much
Felix is the trouble
He is the one that knocks
To tell the truth I love all my cats
Even if they do steal my socks
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC
even — which burned this hearth
can not break free itself — from
a gin of its own tongue — since
an ember starts from the word "fire"
an opportunity are also promises
will test its own sincerity — on
stirring-fate in a hot cauldron
which vaporized a lot of anxious
"should I believe
on the potion i made — if
that shatter in this frame
is my own fear?"
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 2:59 PM UTC
We are going
To die and
That makes us
The lucky ones
In the teeth
Of these
Stupefying
Odds, it is
You and I
In our
Ordinariness
That are here
The needle won't
Reach the record
And that's ok
We reach for
What to say
As the silence
Grows too strong
Yet nothing ever
Remains within
Forever is
Far too long
Apr 15, 2024
Apr 15, 2024 at 10:34 AM UTC
I woke up to a knotted feeling in my chest. I call it the feeling of smelling rain in the air. To my left, a man sleeps curled under the blanket, and beyond him, morning opens its eyes behind the curtains. The heaviness in my chest is an accumulation of many years. Like Sam and Dean’s memory flashes of Hell, it visits me as a reminder of monsoon bursts, evening walks, prolonged… death throes, and rain. It always passes soon enough. They were never much for lingering. And so I, feeling bottled up and inadequate, open my laptop to cry.
So long as the ghosts of the years survive the sea of change, so long shall the will to live return, again and again. For to be able to hold such pain and joy within a single, humble being is a miracle as spectacular as the sun shattering awake against the mountains. And it is the desire, nay, the hunger, to tear one’s self asunder in search of the holy impact that shall drive man to dream. To feel. To hope.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
Who makes roses cry rainbow
The iris of my eye.
You make me see ghosts,
And want to meet them.
See demons, and want to fight them.
See gods, and what to be them.
You let me be.
Set me free.
Took me to the kingdom by the sea
And just drifted away with me.
I melted with every word you said.
Fire met water with a bump on the head
And a spark of electricity.
You taught me relativity
On a stroll down sea horse valley.
You’ve been through life and death with me.
When the world ends,
It will be in Zen.
You and me sitting happily
Just relaxing counting Z’s.
As beauty explodes before our eyes
Stigma finally set aside
Truth revealed to the naked brain
Everyone else will go insane.
Now with nothing left amiss
You and I floating in bliss
Nothing left to do but kiss.
Cleansing all the doors of perception
More powerful then resurrection
The world we will create
They won’t be able to mutilate.
And we will sit upon a green star,
Watching our world from afar.
Sipping on the Milky Way,
And dreaming days away .
Earth can have heaven and the universe next door
We have all of time to explore!
Not afraid of a black hole
Absorbing my soul
When I’m on your arm
You’ll protect me from any harm.
We’ll pick up Felix from mars,
Go meow at the Dog Star
Until it retires to the west.
(Which we both know is the best)
We’ll camp on the sun for a century
Let the galaxy revolve around you and me.
As we slip into unconsciousness
To dream and reminisce.
Of when you started me acting quite contrarily
And talking so esoterically.
Of when infinity first began.
I love you MandleMan.
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 5:44 PM UTC
Poetry is a mirror of our soul but also a window to the outside world---that which is external and tangible--neither is complete without the other
but it's only the inner side of us that understands the deeper meaning of life and all things. It's strange but true---the intangible is mysterious, profound and has power and resources latent within us--most of which we aren't even aware---until kindled and brought to light by the muse of poetry. Then a clear light dawns upon us and we begin to see and understand things better. The 'physical we' is, in my view, of lesser significance than the 'abstract we' or should I say the 'essential we'?---that which can be seen, handled or articulated is only the periphery of truth and things but not the core--we are larger than what we think but we don't grasp this as we are lost in the banality and humdrum of daily life--we are walking shadows rather than light and fall short of our real potential. Talking of language and music, Felix Mendelssohn wrote (my paraphrase):
words mean less to me than music and it's music that speaks clearer to me.
All said, man is a mystery as life is but they intersect--at every point.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
Something satisfying, yet so humiliating.
Throwing the perfect left hook, guided with bad intentions.
Feeling like De La Hoya at his best.
No gold medal will be honored for such animosity.
Flesh meeting plaster, drywall cascades.
Cavity made around my insignificant strike.
Such primal tendency, such an angry motive of strength.
A fifty dollar satisfaction that cannot be beat.
Simply smashing something man made, yet ashamed.
In common with a ******* when it's over, not the great Golden Boy.
With the purity of destruction in my fist, the drywall was my moment.
Innate my primal rage grows, to control it is impossible.
That moment, I felt like I was dancing circles around Felix Trinidad.
Robbed as De La Hoya was, so too was my ego.
But as the Golden Boy, I cannot let this loss define me.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 5:09 AM UTC