"finessed" poems
i am not her
the woman who had countlessly betrayed your trust,
the woman who constantly made you feel like what you did and who you were was never enough,
the woman who would only hit you up for not true love but a convenient lust.
i am not her
the woman who so willingly took advantage,
the woman who without the slightest hesitation, took you for granted.
i am not her
the woman who took everything as a joke; to upset you was to be seen as funny,
the woman who only seen you as a dollar sign and finessed you of your money.
i am not her
the woman who spilled bitter lies from her lips like coffee to a wooden table,
the woman who convinced you that you could never achieve anything, as if you were unable.
i am not her
the woman who was filled with nothing but anger and spite,
the woman who seeked joy from causing you pain,
the woman who was given gift after gift and yet still found a reason to complain.
i am not her
the woman who mission was to use and abuse,
the woman who wronged you then turned around and you were the one being accused.
i am not her.
- d.berry
Dec 22, 2020
Dec 22, 2020 at 2:25 AM UTC
Men are mad dogs,
women, finessed felines
we'd no sooner claw
your eyes out
than admit you're right,
we'll undoubtedly,
without hesitation - -
use our feminine wiles,
to get our own way,
and you bloodhounds
best get used to it
or no ***** for you
tonight, or any given day
We've got the upper paw...MEow
And, if you're a bird dog
well, that's a whole other story,
no telling what could happen
=^;^=
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
Saved myself with realm coin
Went for the long con with put options
Eschewed sold short term gain
Let them railroad me with true colors
Finessed my coalition willingly
Painted a big picture expressed scope
With mass appeal diverse production means
Bred loyalty from salt of earth devotees
Ends justified by all’s fair politics
Power brokers stole my ideas for venal exploits
Then claimed execution on midgets’ shoulders
Made low hanging fruit that much more demanding
High bar gymnastics twisted words blanched of meaning
Model workers did lords’ bidding beyond expectations
Barely rewarded with subsistence’s mounting debt to society
Paid on inmates’ backs embroiled in endless energy wars
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
Birds are flying!
So many birds flying!
So finessed,
Fluid, and breezy
Look at that flight!
So cool...
Frogs are hopping!
Yes they're hopping!
Such Jump!
Look at me do it!
Wow!
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 12:56 AM UTC
Im a Sapiosexual
Im attracted to The intelligence of the individual.
So......
Lets get undressed
Let show each other Our Subconscious Nakedness.
Your Dialect had me finessed
While your psyche I delicately caressed
I don't want a few inches of deep stroke ***********
Id rather have you treat me with some mental stimulation
I gave you a Chance
And you made my soul dance
With just one glance
We have entered a spiritual romance.
You have Massged my intellect and now my heart wants to follow.
You have quenched my thirst with the sweetest words I will ever swallow
Every time we Converse
You touch the center of my universe
Even though our relationship is strictly Platonic
I find Your heart, mind, and soul so ******
We have so much Chemistry
Cant you tell by our Energy
Our Eyes speak thier own lingo
They are Beautiful Words silently spoken that only you and I have learned to know.
Crash! Bang! Boom! As we collide like a car causing multiple wrecks
This is what is sounds like when we have *** and not the kind you had with your ex.
But its everytime we go back and fourth with our emojis, hearts, kisses, and I love you Texts.
Your mind has the greastest allure
Its as fathomless as the ocean floor
Its a beautiful sight to expore
You leave me gasping for air and begging you to let me taste just a little more
I never Felt like this before
I had a cancerous disease and you became My cure.
my souls feels like its deeply connected to yours.
As we take a look into deepest depths of our poetic souls
we try desparately to maintain self control.
Now that I let you come inside and you we're as Joshua's Israelite army you made my walls come tumbling down.
You made me your Queen and I Shined your precious crown.
When Im in your prescence My feet don't even hit the ground.
Its like was lost in the woods alone and then you search high and low until now that I have been found.
Its our frequency kissing passionately
I think its Spiritual Intimacy.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC
*At one moment in time
she was poetry in motion,
'til she pirouetted herself
unto dusty shelves
midst old clouded rhymes
& recollected love notes
yet, there were echoes
glistening 'tween strands
of web's interlacing design,
meshing her finessed
past within gossamer's
complex entanglements
amid labyrinths of
ancient symphonies
she dances, still ~
silently in her head
flirting with destiny
albeit, not as grand*
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC
that hemlock i cracked in two days
was one of your best
deceptions.
the tumblers finessed the probe. your mode of disconnect
was exquisite pathos. and lesions.
we drank from dead wells to alleviate the tedium of sober springs.
we rigged the landscape
to provide clockwork wolves to whet their fangs to the marrow
of our Diaspora devoid of Momentum.
that devious fracture in your mind has surrendered to my advances.
i glean your glamour-tross.
cellos are coursing through my veins
as your ***** grinds my prime mate into scrap
and daguerreotype
Pompeii.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 6:06 AM UTC
It is only a fool whom can be finessed.
So fools, when you come.. please come correct.
This is Me! Or did you forget?
In secret you envy me.
Because you can't spell Truth without a T.
Trying to get more from me,
**** around and end up with less.
If you want to gamble,
I'll raise your bet.
I called your bluff long before I seen you sweat.
Love to see me at my worst?
Then Hate will fill your eyes when I'm at my best.
Do yourself a favor..
Stay in your lane,
And watch your step.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 1:09 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
When daydreams turn to nightmares,
Your mind bleeds a little bit less,
Painful memories,
At least it use to be,
Broken spinal cords,
And plastic ropes have made your enemies,
Make Alice say you have more madness than I do,
And the Hatter Couldn't Believe,
I Could Paint the canvas just the way you want it,
have It Any Which Way,
won't Judge Or choose for you,
Now you depend on desperation to save the day,
But Only god Can judge on A Sunday,
So I Assume Its A Now or Never,
True Soldiers pick roses for their fallen,
Not knowing what they fell into,
what their objective was,
what they were entitled to,
well,
Doubts are not as bad suspicions,
But theres bad blood,
always see to it that you put in a mention,
If Its final of the finessed you want,
you'll get it.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
my statistical anomaly of a woman
dynamic and distinguishable
from the previous prospects that ever swarmed
and finessed their presence into mine
give me the gift of comfort and ease
so that I can finally trust again
the warmth, the fulfilling anxiety
that you're probably awake and consumed by the thought of me
invaluable I am,
except for when you pinch my cheeks and lecture me on how I need to work on loving myself
as much as you love me
as much as the wind loves the leaves
I'm so naturally drawn
to a woman so naturally defined
I fawn
from dusk til dawn
craving such organic eloquence,
in she who can give off certain grace and elegance
I seek it in her
who deflects the misogyny of a self proclaimed player
she who resonates soft moans and whispers cause when time doesn't exist, I'll still
kiss her
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
The coming of Biden and Harris reminds me of one of the most beautiful and evocative songs ever sung, the first line of which goes something like this: "If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair." It was written and composed by John Phillips and sung by Scott McKenzie. Implicit not only in its writing and composing, but also in its singing, this song emotes the most powerful message that can ever be delivered to and absorbed by humankind: LOVE.
I would have been in Haight-Ashbury in June, July, and August of 1967, but I was a patient at the famous Menninger Foundation at that time, the best help of its kind in the world, and expensive (my father was a rich). But it was my mother who finessed my way into Menninger’s, not my father. He wanted me to become an attorney on Wall Street and make millions (now billions). That is, after all, why he had gladly paid a fortune to send me to the best schools in the world: Phillips Andover Academy (prep school) and Columbia College, Columbia University. I attended law school after college, but began to have problems sleeping that only grew worse during my first semester. The less sleep I got, the more difficult it was to study. Finally, I couldn’t sleep at all. I dropped out of law school right before first-semester finals, an act for which my father never forgave me.
But my sleepless nights continued even after I dropped out, which ******* up my mind and my life terribly. I had no idea why this was happening to me. If my mother had not surreptitiously intervened and got me into Menninger’s, I no doubt would not be writing this to you. Psychotherapy not only saved my life, but also allowed me, for the first time in my life, to realize I had feelings--my own feelings--my hopes, my dreams, my wishes, my needs. And after months, something magical happened when I unconsciously married my intellect with my new-found feelings: out of me popped a poem, and I have remained a poet to this very day.
What does what I’ve just shared with you have to do with Biden and Harris? The answer is that both brought, and now bring, great promise, great hope. Out of total darkness comes the bright light of a new beginning--a caring, a compassion, the lack thereof almost brought me to my death, and our nation, democratically speaking, to the same. Now there are, metaphorically speaking, flowers in our hair once more.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 4:38 PM UTC
Phrasing, you say
Is imperative—
Parse, perfect, punctuate.
Language, you say
Should be philharmonic—
Finessed, finished.
Speaking, you say
Should be lucid—
Listen.
Silence, you say
is a run-on sentence
and should never be
left in the air because it's
not comfortable when
you can hear the clang
of the heating vents and
the click of you there
third row playing with
pens and the tick of the
clock as nearer grows
a time when the gates
of this false laboratory
will whoosh open to a
windy world and the
hush in your head and of
cinderblock, whitewashed
will be no more.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
You and I were always meant to be,
Me to meet you and indeed you me,
To fall in love with you,
That has always been my lot,
To lose those parts of me
I valued most,
My pride
My arrogance
My certainty
We were meant always to sail together and
Share a great distance,
Many memories,
To see a vast tract of water
Pass under the bridge,
To share our everything
Our selves
Our hearts,
Our souls,
And now I am lesser - for my pride,
That arrogant cancer that thought it ruled?
That vast chunk of me
Has burned away,
Reduced to ashes and even those
Carried away by the wind,
Leaving just an absence,
A charred hollow remnant
Now silent,
And I would fill that void with you,
Cram it with love for every part of you,
Pack it so tight with service of you
That not the slightest part of any other
Would or could ever intrude,
Neither thought nor action
Betray thee
Or me
Or us,
But though on your suggestion
I wrote a death sentence against that other,
Though I finessed the edges
To ensure the bolt struck a fatal blow,
Did this without demur,
Because I know what future
I desire and that with you,
Dinner with him still beckons thee,
And not informed beyond a doubt it not a date,
I had no doubt,
I acted straight to reassure you,
Contributed to make a deadly form,
And you do not see the unspoken part
Of your omission,
The unverbalised desire to
Keep your options open,
And not to make it plain before
That it is not a date.
And I cannot now raise this again,
Despite my reasonable stance,
For you will throw the trust card
In my face,
Pour angry vitriol upon my head,
And I would drive you where he would have you,
And that is not his sofa,
Nor your van.
Sep 5, 2023
Sep 5, 2023 at 6:59 PM UTC
All year, you waited on Black Friday
Just to Feed your Indulgence.
After, comes broke Saturday,
Which is partly spent in silence.
Next is Prayerful Sunday
Off to church for solace.
Next comes Monday, a workday.
Wearing things you don't need.
Home stuck with material things
You've been finessed by greed
Yet your task is what today brings.
At home, you hear the bell as it rings,
And look at the watch on your hand.
A man strikes on the guitar strings
Then a song raised by another friend.
At least all your friends are here
Time to party and enjoy yourself
Bring me some wine over here
Time to celebrate my materialistic life!
©IB-Poetry
24/11/2018
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 2:19 AM UTC
I left my heart in your care
With only a stare you ensnared
"Trust me" you dared
My deepest fears I shared
Nothing can compare
To the hurt I must bear
You finessed me with flair
I became aware
Of your secret love affair
You gave no thought to my welfare
Why is honesty so rare?
Now I am left in despair
Trapped in this nightmare
I hope to repair
Our relationship threadbare
Of this beware:
If you find love elsewhere
you will find me nowhere
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC