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October Nov 2013
Cause we all need a
little humor in our lives:

Cheetos and coffee
can't let these assignments stop me
cause it's a hard knock life
being a student tryin' to get it right
protestin' those late nights
and drownin' in the red bull,
give me wings
& prepare my *** for finer things
A-McIntyre May 2018
We never had enough when we were young.
We never needed much, but the exact amount was unknown.
We never got enough; toys food or clothes.
We didn't need that much, so "barely" was the most.

We never got enough of your time.
We didn't understand, the eldest not yet nine.
We didn't get enough, affection or warmth.
We never took for granted, but your time spent was short.

We didn't want more than enough, somehow understanding all you had.
We never asked for much: to play or share or cuddle.
We never got that, you liked to stay in your bubble.
We didn't ask for this, to be born, or brought into your life.

We didn't choose the love, or the lack thereof.
We didn't need the money, you hid away from us.
We had enough for us four, your greed was just because.
We had enough, We had enough, We had enough.

We had enough time, to learn proper affection.
We had enough vocabulary for simple conversation.
We had enough feelings, to know you didn't care.
We were not selfish, so why didn't you share?

Was it that we weren't enough, you needed a new man?
Was it that we weren't calm enough, it got out of hand?
Was it that you didn't have enough, of the finer things in life?
Was it that you didn't think enough, before becoming an underage wife?

Now we live out our lives, believing we aren't enough.
Now we live out our lives, always trying to be more, never being enough.
Now we live out our lives, working hard at enough.
Now we live out our lives, still not understanding the problem wasn't us.
the song of my existance.
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2016
A sonnet is a dandy thing all dressed  
In pomp and form and run-on lines and things—  
Enough to make the weary take up wings.
Though this is but my third, I must confess,  
Lifetimes ago I wrote with zing and zest  
And sonnets then were little songs to sing  
To fluttering ******* and nightingales— or slings  
Against misfortune, kings, and other pests.

No poet’s court has ever sat assize
Sans sonnets quick and cleverly contrived.  
Fair queen or country maid, though each its prize—
The sonnet’s virtue rests in parted thighs.
Finer roe has never graced a sturgeon
Nor caveat much mattered to a ******.
.
Caveat is a warning or caution. Assize is a court or can be a judgement. Used here as "sat in judgement." Sans is an English word stolen from the French about 700 years ago. Means "without."
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Flavia Nov 2012
Why do you do this?
Your Army of Nothings
Who lay in the sun
and are all but sweet
who swelter and sweat
in that fresh cut grass
mowed by a man
you can't hope to know.
And you,
you there, with the grin
Who's side are you on anyway?
What made you the prince
of the Army of Nothings;
The leader, the first in command.
You spout and you spit
that ******* and bare
your teeth at me like you're the bomb
dot com
You're such a disgrace.
parading around
with your head up your ***
"So what's new?"
Oh, shut up,
You can't even fill out your pants.
Why should I care for you,
why should I feel?
How will I ever come home?
Where welcoming words
and magical treasure,
and stories that never come true
but are good.
Where futures of light once reigned so supreme
I swore they would never run dry.
I thought you'd missed out,
you know, then and there,
of the life that we talked of in dreams.
No flowers and chocolates,
no diamond rings,
just love.
Made of stuff so much deeper
and denser
and finer
and lovely, and warm, and alive...
But it's over, and done.
and I can't have it back.
So I go on avoiding
the Army of Nothings
as they come marching in
marching in
one two, at the ready
I feel deep in my bones
that breaking and tearing
Help me, archangel!
Save me! You promised!
You said you would always be there
in that carved-out big apple
our home, once upon
when we laughed and were happy and good.
But goodness runs out.
You made that as clear
as a crystal that needs to be smashed.
And I did that, remember?
I left it all broken and you were so proud
So proud I had chosen
the right over wrong.
yet you overlook
all the splinters of glass
all there
all here
all lurking in me.
I don't want to cry
or beg or to fight
But I loved you in ways
that she found unacceptable?

So silly, so stupid,
so big that it keeps you away

Not that I care very much
For your army of nothings
or things that remind me
of memories gone with the wind


**But I do.
Sharon Talbot Sep 2017
Saying “Women of the Night”
Might be alright
As a description for some girls,
They stream eastward
Along the bank,
Checking for marauders and adjusting curls.

Yet courtesans are different;
They came as swiftly as they went,
Called on by important men.
From house and hotel they are borne,
In carriages, and in finery worn,
For those who have a yen.

Yet others still elude one name,
Of condemnation or fame.
They do not wander at men’s whims.
They deliver terms to him or him.
And live in dwellings finer still,
Until the payer has had his fill.

But with the latter does he ever
Tire of the source of pleasure?

For some the need outlasts his want,
And he becomes the supplicant!
Then woman’s wit becomes the master,
While her body wields a whip.
The sinner’s desire speeds still faster,
As she the body’s scale does tip.
This was an attempt to fuse Galsworthy's view of Victorian "women of the night" versus the updated version of Irene Adler as a ******* in the BBC's "Sherlock".
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Honest,

that meaningless word left dangling before children,

a damoclean sword held fast in a gordian knot tied with scarlet thread,

finer than the spider's that once tied men's souls to an angry American God,

birthed in Transylvania,

over the woods, and through the dale, no lie

There is a tale of lies told in Nobel houses, never reachin' ground,

Down here, we situations manifested to, vain, again, stem the tide,

We flounder, fish out of water, why are we sent if

wait



he hears, he listens, haps he knows, and

how such as we came

to be here,

Welcome and see, dare ye ask me in? Might I ply you with lies

and you, believe 'em?

I could make a mindless robot out of your parts, but

that would take forever and

that's not how

Wisdom's child would tend to be, for first,

You must believe a lie and I, amusing as can be,

can't tell lies.

Discernment, fine points, per-spicacity per se, the only way.

Good luck (Luc, said luck in many tongues, is said Lose- as in Luc-ifer.

It means light, as in light, regular old granted light.)

Lightifier, good, take some, good light, for the travail, in the night.



You see, not so long ago, for me, five years before I'as born,

my momma moved to town.



What was that like, I axed my old uncle, while back,

movin' t'town, in 1943?

Well, he says,

We had electricity.



USA, 1943, some folks still was poor, and all the good men

was gone to war.

Cities, it was different,

if the movies got it right, Bowry Boys, n'em.



In the desert we did, okeh, in town, though,



we had electricity.



He was ten back then. He'd been huntin' rabbit's,

to buy Christmas presents from Sears and Roebucks,



since he was five.

C'mon, I say. No lie, he say,

BLM or some gover'ment

whatsajigger, was payin' 2 cents a pair fer jack rabbit ears.



'Said he bought Christmas presents for his mom and dad,

and my mom, with his first rabbit money, at five.



Shootin' with a single-shot 22, 12 cents a box,

Jack Rabbits, 2 cents a head.



Three Christmas presents, plus postage, $2.56.

Do the math, I think, and go -



Five years old, at ten, he moves to town, 1943,

we had electricity. That's all.
An older man than me gave a thought to ponder. Thought I'd try to share the bounty. This is read, by me at http://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton
Poetoftheway Oct 2018
how do you know (when a broken human can be fixed)


https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2644586/how-do-you-know-when-a-human-is-too-broken/

supermarket checkout line, so lazy broken down dressed,
I’m probably arrestible for disturbing the peace,
my haired piled, and held together by a broken clip,
makeup at home in
a drawer labeled ‘why bother’
my t shirt, don’t please look too closely,
yesterday’s coffee spillage outline
only mostly gone,
and the skinny jeans that felt inappropriate
ten pounds ago,
now looking semi-completely ridiculous

is this a tv show?
wallet, a twenty and a single,
who knew a pound of ground blue mountain
cost the better part of the the twenty
in that case no need for a gallon of milk
and *** a box of chocolate frosted donuts
silently slid far far away,
evidence of a guilty plea of irresponsibility resignation

short $2.42 (cut up the credit cards)
and no convenient pit to fall into
when the teenager cashier snickers,
when a sam elliot voice says here ya are,
stammering a no, a thank you, and thinking getaway direction

truck safely, made it,
knock on the window
sam elliot soundalike is a lookalike as well
standing outside with my wallet in hand,
two heads taller than my ex-petite figurine

more stammering ******* could I look any stupider

but inside a piece of brown shopping bag torn
with ten whole digits
I’ve never seen prior to this disaster
saying call when you want to return my $2.42

turns out he got, no, he is glue and paste,
an eraser man for fine lines and sad times,
and a lasso to keep me held together,
a pocket red handkerchief hanging half out
of his back pocket, never without, calls it his tear catcher

pulled out that too tight blues-blouse
from back of my closet
that still complements my complexion,
wear it ever time that day rolls around

just dumb luck ain’t much of an answer
so I’ll rephrase, dumb luck is in the everything
cause his number was 917-242-2424
and he is a gambler in matters of the heart

bust his ***** when he says he’s a lucky man,
reply he ain’t got no luck at all
compared to me on that daft day

and every daft day thereafter
I glue his lips shut to mine, no escaping,
and paste a new $2.42
into his wallet
when he is sleeping mine,
no erasing our lines,
just redrawing them deeper and finer,
just making sure my
dumb luck is working overtime
Jme Love Jul 2018
My babies baby you would have been
had you been strong enough to survive within.
a baby girl would be my guess
with a little pink bow and a
beautiful yellow dress.
all the finer things you would have
been given.but different plans
await you up in heaven.
the reasons are not for us to
know.some die young.some grow old.
its your story that only you can tell.
more beautiful than any fairytale.and when the the day  comes for us to meet.i can only hope you have saved me a seat.
a missed chance at a second chance
the dead bird Apr 2016
critical thinking
as you call it;

that which
I seem to lack.
need to
improve
upon.
and I agree in ways.

you said,
it is observing
the situation,
the pieces,
I have at hand,
and deducing
the best possible way
in my knowledge
to make them
fit together.

sounds
quite simple -
common sense.

simple,
if my mind
ran as smoothly as your own.
a trait of yours
I admire greatly.
a trait of others
I am envious of.

but critical thinking
is different when
my mode of
thinking
is not the same

I do not see
my surroundings;
my life,
my reality,
as cogs and gears
that progress
this existence.

I admire
the way you,
and others
pick up on the
little
small
hidden artifacts
that allow yourself
to discover
the best
possible way
to proceed.

if I were to say,
you noticed
the overlooked
and finer details,
I would say
I notice-
no-
I experience awareness
of it's entirety.
how it feels
to me
and how I feel
about it.

if our
individual
thought processes
were placed
in an ever changing river,
whose currents
vary
and are unpredictable?
yours
would be
picking up the driftwood
the sticks,
and objects in grasp.

and as the current carries it,
it would be constructing
a raft
to stay afloat:
safe
and
in the most
comfortable way,
so it could eventually
construct
something suitable
and sturdy
to rest upon,
and relax with content,
while enjoying
the splashes
and warm sunlight
from a safe spot.

instead of
deducing the situation
as yours did,
my thought process
would drift along
the same river,
letting the current
take it under -
if that is where
it felt like going.
finding logs
and debris
to hang on to
when the current
became too much
and it needed a break.

yours may be
high and dry,
but mine has felt
the pebbles
along the bottom
of this river -
the depth and pressure
almost frightening,
but the experience
in itself
always beautiful.
mine floats upon it's back,
like an otter,
enjoying the sunlight
as yours does,
experiencing
this journey through
the rivers path.

and maybe,
if the current gets rough,
if mine is struggling,
it will find the hand
of yours
lifting it up
to keep it safe
until the rocky waters
have passed.

I experience
as I feel,
which may not
be the best approach
all of the time.

but with this,
I am able to
feel
what I believe
is the best choice,
based
on my experience
of the whole.

you make me
feel
and want to
try
new ways of thinking,
new ways
that may help.
you are always pushing
pushing me
to do more
to be more;

which is just one
of the many reasons
why I love you.
umm idk I kinda started writing and then went with it!
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
It’s a coloured and shaded broad daylight.
Bring me my hourglass, my paintbrush.
Keeping a timepiece, how soon my brush
strokes become finer it is not the task.
Try once more, strike a fine chord in time,
ever ticking but doesn't make a sound!  

Let’s read the small prints, the shadow lines
on the pitch of the slit sun shines!
A dark spot in the light, some dotted lines
on a blank paper, however witty you might
describe it, count on the tweeting birds
short and cute, singing in the open air.

Light and dark the two tallies, ins and outs.
The times come and go, flowing fine.
For now, let’s take a look inside.
Tint and shade nor tone them now.
Zoom in and out, just watch them as they are.

This cool sleek shade on the sunny slate
is it a shadow, or some quivering curly hairs
or are these reflections of flocking clouds,
diligent sea eyeing deep down on the ground?
Read the small prints, shadows in the daylight,
before the show is wrapped up.
And down the evening pool, the sun
parts away with the black swan.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2016
passerby words plain hidden
in a wall sconce of a
fly-bye compliment,
sent to the thankee intended,
creating an instantaneous,
Slam! Bam! Thank You Man!

yeah come , face slap me,
with open palm instant recognition,
there's a poem lurking therein, within,
that uncommonly good common observation,
like hearing a drill bit roar,
demanding with insistent persistent demandation,
"come out, come our, wherever you are"

the good lord makes 'em in
all kinds of shapes and flavors
then makes sense, most eminent,
to favor the good kind,
who go on marching in our number,,.

no claim here to good,
certainly not, sainthood,
that would be quite the hoot,
so settle, man, do settle
in and for the right kinda,
nothing could be finer,
than to be
in the company
of
my kin and kindred,
the kindest,
y'all

God bless all...
April 17, 2016
7:23am

"I like it when the good lord makes the right kinda people..." SPT
a poem title found in a message,
which seems the source of my best
inspiration
your words
your uncommonly kind words
Monika Layke Sep 7
Hot stars in the sky
Scintillate at higher rates
Data’s finer points
in complete melodies
the frequencies i hear
can not be contained by anything
love is drifting through the hills
and you are home to its trills
she dreams of light, the fire bright
and full of crystal skulls and eyeballs
dozens of monuments are built
just to mark the moments
when we could have said i'm sorry
merge with the mountains
find the source of fountains
shine the diamond compass
if that's what you are really here for

broken dams are our business
feed the swans their luminescent lunch-boxes
duck for cover, its a wonder that we are all together here
that's clearly redundant
the tendency to dream
is the most important human faculty
its a tragedy that the lack of nuclear power
showers the atomic world in rainbows
as forlorn teenagers in the ice-age of America
govern our equipment from their parent's basements
and carouse with comfort upon chairs, cushions and couches

a million times the victory
a million miles of rope to weave
a million are the paths to god
and a million more are the souls
who've learned to cope with tragedy

i come cherishing and bearing gifts
figures of speech are my playthings
i am furniture remodeled daily
and intuitively placed around your home
the finer things in life are free
so see me there upon your television set
i am electromagnetic static
within the black and white of advertisements
i am figures of forgotten speech
so record the unwatched programs
in your mind’s virtual memory
the hard drive of work and play
creates hundreds of new retirees each day
hundreds of haunted expatriates
knuckle-headed people
that couldn't tread lightly
even if they wanted to
so will you please untie me
and remove these binds and chains
it's time to free the lover from the psyche
for that is all she wrote

i am a silent p
i am a violet apogee
i am a cosmic minority
i am a message in your tea leaves

but if you stand too long in my shoes
you’ll likely drown in solitude
Larzipan Sep 2014
My lips can no longer hold back.
The muted tones cannot bring out the infinity that hides
discretely
points
to an exit sign.
Certainty waves goodbye. My only function now is to collapse it.
To put the past behind.

The barred doors allow the bottleneck to tighten for a few hours,
but memory has a way of sounding the alarm in the morning
when the early birds rise,
armed with ancient lessons
that remind me they're the ones who are eating well.

I want to come up from the dirt and drink from the well.
My low-life self can no longer heed the worm's advice:
"Sleep all day and you won't get eaten."

Out.

Out with your tepid voice and halfway disposition.
Out with your elevated mind, your profound commitment to the mediocre task
of enlightening the little people.

The empire you fabricate may stay stitched for a while.
But the clothes of emperors always burst at the seams.
A workaholic, addicted to the common
you're winning your converts with tired dreams, vicarious imaginings of those finer roads, well tread by shoes that are not your own.
You don't believe in the masses. Fine. But get the *******
your throne.

Reciting badly drawn poems at four in the morning
(it could have been worse e.g. I could have wrote "mourning")
looking to insight myself,
not into a passionate frenzy
like Bacchae drunk on the moonlight.
No -- I want piercing red. That's what I want to be.
Want to show the heavens how I use the precious wine.
Sip it.
Out the undulations go.
Sweating out the great myth that time forgets when it flows.

My pagan-witch ego has put me on the hunt for blood tonight,
and the full moon is giving rise to ****** undulations,
washing up teeny-book explanations
of loves once lost.
But I'm far from my being,
and from the infinite ocean.
And the only sound I can hear right now is my one hand clapping at the curtain call,
retiring my broom,
bowing goodbye.
Traveler Oct 9
Touch me now
If you dare
But please remember
Life an't fair
We were never meant to be
But hungry hearts need to feed
On the menu
  ***** deeds
Behind his back
I'll make you scream

And here beneath the bottom line
Your taste is finer then fine wine
The dew that drips from your peddles
Intoxicates like rolling meadows
Into the low lands I take my plunge
You are a passing lunar
Burning like the sun
I am the night
Until you come
.......
Traveler Tim
Tommy Randell Sep 2017
My day just got made
With a parcel from China
And as Aqua Shoes go
They couldn't be finer

But there's one thing
That's really unclear
The amazing low cost
Of getting them here

That's 10,000 Km
As the Crow flies
But I've no idea
How many road miles

From Factory to hand
From Machine to Stock
All according to plan
Right to my letterbox

Just so I can swim
On a Volcanic beach
In the Canary Islands
On holiday next week

We should worry maybe
About some of this
But the Aquas are cool
AND they fit!
An ironic poem ( I hope you see ) about on-line shopping amongst other issues. The poem's true - I just liked them and bought them without even thinking where thay might be coming from. And Yes, they were posted direct from Fujian Sheng for 4 GBP ( 5.30 USD ) and arrived within 5days ... which made we wonder a little ...
Kat Pan Jun 2017
I’m a victim as you stream my life
Like a short film and I can’t remember my own name
You drape my skin over rusty bones that fail when the clock chimes
Yet you collect every strand of my hair
Torn and grown
Cut and combed
and repaint the shapes I used to be into finer lines
Why do you whisper silly words to me?
Yet I hang myself on them and engrave the fate you sealed for me
Why do you twist me at every angle?relishing in my deterioration
Soaking and rinsing your own wounds in the pools of my bitter mistakes and sweet memories
But these scars I wrap with your worn stems, vanish beneath my exterior
I am stainless
Sometimes,
when I am to tattered to walk, you carry me on your shoulder
But I remember when you grabbed my ankles and cracked my wrists
You cast me like a stone
And polish me like a trophy
*Conceal me in your clock work
Talking to time
i swear i heard this title from somewhereeee
Andres Martinez Jul 2018
Let's talk about the things we normally wouldnt
And let's act upon those thoughts that we probably shouldn't
If I had it my way..well actually I couldn't
I'd rather not
I'm afraid things might not work
And  the thought of possibly ruining another good thing
I guess it might be worth it
But are the signs there or do I just misinterpret
maybe a silver toungued devil but never a serpent
feel free to run around the grass
it's been well kept
Remember that feeling because when you get back to your side it might feel dead
just want to show you the finer things nothing big
nothing fancy
no designer mink
just a simple talk
A laugh
Not even a drink
Drunk words speak sober thoughts
might spill things well that I rather not.
Amanda Noel Jul 20
A cartoonist's beginning, with pencil in hand,
The comics and stories set out in newsstands.
A director's performance becomes the end,
When power is too much to understand.
Few good recollections are mentioned
of a man with a heavy hand.

But, back to a finer time in his career,
When his vision seemed clearer.
The vessel was a bit easier to steer.

Animating Mouse cartoons and Silly Symphonies,
Motivated by arrogance and crafty planning.
He was elevated by his tendency,
nothing less than quality,
As well as his intensity.

He was a theatrical man,
From what I can understand,
Enthusiastically grand,
On desks and tables he'd stand.

Passion in his eyes,
To bring ideas alive,
With overwhelming strides,
For perfection in lines.

Acting out characters with a musical composer.
Painting their unique frame in tune,
With the beat,
a keep up
attitude
in overexposure,
Exuberant in all motions, he was a dream holder.

Assisting
in Flowers and Trees,
Before this masterpiece,
Attended the Art Students League,
While working for a lumber company.

A man in love with trees.
"Don't turn my Sylvia into a toothpick!"
One character screams.
A love story of vanity.

Even the Big Bad Wolf
Hid behind trees.

Those Three Little Pigs,
That Technicolor spritz,
Colors as vibrant,
As a minds image,
animation fluid.

Things were no longer black or white
a wandering cat, colored in sight.
Streams of hues floating, by
a splitting prism dividing light.
A cow who recognized,
The necessity of saving butterflies

But, he let his ego stand in the way.
Obstructing his view, the things he'd say,
Minimalizing, to decay of pay.
He thought he was the top of the world those days.

I'm sure it would have been different,
If he wasn't dependent
On something so relentless
Molding him pretentious.

Perhaps he would have had a better handle on plans,
A mind sharpened,
A feather like grip on the pencil in hand,
Letting thoughts in his mind decorate beaches with Sand.

And Trees.
Cartoon Animation Biography;
Burton F. Gillett
Harry Kelly Jun 2018
I think we stayed at every good hotel in the West.
Big suites
Hot tubs
Room service
We were really living the good life.
Nothing like a little drug money to help you indulge in
the finer things.
"Easy come Easy go"
Only people who have never sold drugs can say that.
Easy.......Yeah, Right.
Dealing with whackos
Getting robbed at gunpoint
Driving across the country with enough weight to get you
                                            Life in Prison.
Stressful.  Very stressful.
So we'd stay in Fancy Resorts.
Knowing one day it would all end
May as well enjoy it while you can
Because eventually you get caught
And if you make it out alive, all you have are the memories.
Like that time we were staying at the Royal Palms
Next to the former President's family.
Getting up from the pool, smoking crystal behind the cactus
While the former first lady swam laps.
She still looked pretty good in a bathing suit.
Old gal.
SC Kelley Aug 2018
You are indescribably beautiful.
More than your breathtaking smile.
Or the way you looked at me with those gorgeous brown eyes.
You are beautiful in this supernatural way that makes me yearn for an explanation.

It is such a beauty that makes me feel complete.
A tremendous burst of euphoria and bliss just by the thought of you.
Your bewitching emanation that makes my soul electrify.
As if we were split in a ****** world to search for one another.

Your immense beauty that is far beyond the physical.
It makes me suffer in the most amazing way.
Forces me to watch every careful step,
To not shatter the perfection of a thousand lifetimes.

A beauty that makes the world seem brand new and brilliant.
You make the flowers bloom fuller,
The grass greener,
And the birds sing finer.

You are the deity my heart has struggled to search for,
The divinity my soul has craved,
And the magnificence I have only dreamt of.
Your presence makes this life hold a more significant meaning.

You are the loveliest being,
I have ever had the pleasure of sharing an existence with.
You cause this intoxication in my very soul,
And make my heart skip every beat in the most tremendous way.

You have brought new meaning to my life.
Things that were once a blur now makes sense.
You have given love "at first sight" a true meaning.

~S.C. Kelley
For My love
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