"flashy" poems
Dont treat me like potato
I aint no ****** tomato
Imma do what i want and smoke tobacco
Dont think of me as your flashy babe ***
Im sick of all this crap yow,
Youve been neglecting the **** outta me bro
But im through playing your games tho
So kiss me hard and just let me go
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
After the rain, I see the daisies,
In their clean, white dresses,
Fresh and perfect.
Washed and bright,
Their faces lifted to the skies,
And open to the sun.
Is it their youth that makes them so fearless,
Despite their diminutive size?
A naivety of spirit or
Lack of worldly knowledge?
Or do their fleeting, precarious lives
Lead them to so embrace the now?
No, their beauty springs from a truth far older,
For they are neither flashy nor flamboyant.
A daisy knows no subterfuge,
Has no jealousies, no conceit.
Its wisdom lies deeper,
And it bends with the wind.
To value the time that we have,
To see beauty in the smallest places,
And to love without fear,
Is a talent easily lost,
And the line between happy and sad is drawn
With a thin pencil and a light touch.
In miniature perfection,
A daisy lives fully,
Its face in the sunlight.
It lives, and that is enough.
Vicki Watson © 2014
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 5:40 AM UTC
We are, THE Ohio State Buckeyes
*Those Oregon ducks look flashy
With pretty feathers made for flight
But The Ohio State Buckeyes
We will clip their wings tonight
Our Buckeye team beat Bama
They were ranked at number one
Now we get to go Duck hunting
With Cardale and his shotgun
The Ducks they did look good
Lets give credit where credit's due
They beat undefeated Florida State
So they deserve to be there too
With Ezekiel Elliott making runs
And Urban Meyer making calls
A quarterback known as twelve guage
The Buckeyes will win it all
So now we get to go duck hunting
And as a team we hunt as one
We are the Buckeye Nation
And Duck Season has begun*
**We Are
THE Ohio State Buckeyes**
Game score
FINAL
OHIO STATE 42 Oregon 20
The Ohio State Buckeyes are College Footballs First Playoff National Champions
Poem by:
Carl Joseph Roberts
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 5:30 AM UTC
All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through:
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.
Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin:
I talk of love --a scholar's parrot may talk Greek--
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.
Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack.
I see the chasm. And everything you are was making
My heart into a bridge by which I might get back
From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking.
For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains
You give me are more precious than all other gains.
6.8k
I’m a kite
Attached to a string
Moments of freedom
Reveling in the feeling of the wind
Until a tug
And a pull
Keeps you in place
Reminds me
I’m not truly free
Someone won’t you set me free?
Someone won’t you help me?
Loosen the string
Loosen your hold
So I can fly free
Away from here
Away from the string holding me here
Let me be an untethered kite
I could fly free
Explore the world
Bring joy
With my flashy colors
My vibrant patterns
Instead I am under the control
Of those who keep me
Who decide when I have a few minutes
Riding on the freedom of the wind
I wish I had arms
To reach down
With a pair
Of gleaming scissors
To cut my tether
I wish I had a voice
To tell them what I want
What I think
Because they won’t listen
Won’t pay attention
To my relentless fight
To my constant struggle
Against the confines of my rope
Won’t someone set me free?
Can’t somebody help me?
To become an untethered kite?
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 1:07 AM UTC
craigslist posts on women
Things women hate about other women (MICHIGAN)
I'm a man and I got no problems with beautiful women and love looking at and spending time with them. Listed some of the problems women have with other women and why some of them get to be targets of world's biggest haters.
1. Beauty - If the women think you are prettier than them, the more threatened they feel. They feel like ogre and hags around the woman and become haters.
2. Intelligence - It's okay to be smart but not if people are reaching for dictionaries or have to google to translate your last sentence. The bigger the words, the smaller your audience feels.
3. Hard Work Ethic - no woman wants to know another woman is working harder and reaping rewards from it. Women want that hard working woman gone.
4. Confidence - Women can't stand women who are confident.
5. Dress better - women hate other women who dress better than them. Women who dress flashy are called ****** by ****** ones who hate them.
6. Strong Personality - women have serious issues with women who are strong and speak minds.
7. Competitive - women are competitive by nature and when they feel they can't compete they hate.
8. Affluent - women being richer than another woman is not what other women want. You see women have to have more money than other women or the richer one get called all kinds of name.
Women feel threatened and intimidated by other women faster than by men who they flirt with and plot to get as sugar dads. Biggest problem of women are women who hate other women
Response to post
competition in women
Ever have a female friend who flirted with you knowing you had feelings for another woman? Been there with a few ladies who wanted nothing to do with me when I alone. Moment the office sweetheart started saying hi and took interest, I got popular with some of my co-workers who started saying hi and flirting. That's the competitive thing happening in women's brains. Where the hell were all the women when nobody wanted me?
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 5:28 PM UTC
Exquisite Unique
Become what you seek
What is complete?
How deep is your deep?
Experience each moment
You've earned it own it
Fractal Vibrations one component
Love comes from the soul
Penetrate fills hatreds holes
Twisting time with rhythmic rhyme
Reading signs put in these lines
Witness all the mental smoke
Instigator stab and poke
Give it all till I'm broke
Passion hitting in one big stroke
Time to come alive
Elevate each other we'll thrive
More than survive
Unknown we can dive
Vibrate till I turn to dust
Never taste the center eat my crust
In rhymes I trust..so full I bust
Flow so fluid I'll never rust
Now I can be flashy..tell a tale
Not a one hundred percent sometimes I fail
Pierce my heart with a rusty nail
Darkness takes over but love prevails
Imagination stretch..memorize every turn
Set fire to your mind feel the burn
Knowledge from pain is how we learn
Balance will reward you with what you earn
Wisdom doesn't flow from all that speak
Truths are hidden which is why we seek
We all must climb to reach your peak
Creates who we are..Exquisite...Unique!!
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 5:48 PM UTC
"hell yeah?" the burglar asked the pusher.
(the burglar: wirily, ambitious. plain appearance, dressed in black.
the pusher: wealthy, strong and well-conditioned. sumptuous leather jacket.)
"hell yeah", the pusher answered. "now i got what i like and you got what you need."
both grinned. after a day of extensive work, they relaxed in a hellish pub. it was visited by diplomatic creatures whose faces were recognizable like shadows.
this pub was called babylon 8.
the burglar and the pusher touched glasses to celebrate their deal. they drank.
"nothing to be written down",
the pusher added. burglar nodded. voices of the diplomatic creatures surrounding them; satanic sighs; bold laughter; their sentences sounded like orders that are dictated by judges.
snakes and rats. gravelpitbulls and red cats. creatures with excellent memory. guys who swallow their plans after they had learned them by heart.
a while later, a lady entered the pub: adorable like a man's fantasy; imitable like a woman's strategy. her hair color was your desire; her skin color the color of your dreams.
her name was fantasy girl.
suddenly, the lights went out; suddenly, a lightblue sun illuminated the room. no one noticed. everyone so busy hiding something that nothing was hid.
the creatures of babylon 8 therefore didn't perceive the light.
fantasy girl ordered a drink. she told the bartender: "i need freedom. that's what i want from you, the people of babylon 8."
the bartender a giant with a face full of shining scars; his right ear missing; flashy shirt; an ancient first name; speaker of all world languages combined: the omerta.
fantasy girl took a sip from a silver brew which had been served to her by the bartender. she took out a single match and there was no box; a long cigarette between her unknown lips.
bartender looked at fantasy girl. without saying a word, he turned his stubble cheek into her direction. fantasy girl lighted the match.
lightblue fire. inhaling. smoke. iceblue cloud.
the burglar and the pusher had been looking at fantasy girl all the time.
fantasy girl held a white fountain pen and took a black sheet out of a green handbag. she began to write.
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 10:12 AM UTC
Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe
Though I never shagged you at all
You ****** the rhythm to ******* yourself
While those around you ate crow
They schlepped out of the cleavage
And they ********** into your crumpet
They ******* you on the rowing machine
And they copulated you **** your three *****
And it seems to me you tasted your *****
Like a cigarette lighter in the diarrhoea
Never knowing who to stick it out to
When the ooze congeal from the top drawer
And I would have liked to have had carnal knowledge of you
But I was just a twit
Your cigarette lighter exploded spew out long before
Your whiff never blewout
Stiffness was sticky
The gristliest fat part you ever nibbled
Hollywood cobbled together a wizzofrog
And ******** was the corkage you greased
Even when you conked out
Oh the lubricator still molested you
All the skeletons had to jabber
Was that Marilyn was ***** flashy the starkers
Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe
from the virginal wombat in the twenty—second ghetto
Who smells you as meat as above par than scatological
Olé! than frank our Marilyn Monroe
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 4:17 PM UTC
I am the hurt you can't ignore,
dilemmas you wish not to explore
I am that feeling you cant shake,
the flashy white smile you know is fake.
I'm the tale of a broken heart - sailing through a shattered mind
I am the endless search - for the things you can not find
I am all of the times - you wish you could rewind.
I am the light that shines - only to leave you blind.
I am the anger that they feed
I am the task you cant succeed
I am the garden full of weeds
I am the open wound that bleeds
I'm the tale of a broken heart - sailing through a shattered mind
I am the endless search - for the things you can not find
I am all of the times - you wish you could rewind.
I am the light that shines - only to leave you blind.
I am the lies that you thought were true.
I am the ties that are binding you.
I am the aroma of decay
I am the trash that you throw away.
I am the unwanted.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 9:00 AM UTC
boxes full of them
neon
black
patterns
and more
what is better than cheap sunglasses
$1, $2, $3 what more
than buying a pare of cheap sunglasses
flashy
cool
never out of style
go get some cheap sunglasses
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
Raise a glass,
Let’s make a toast.
To the years of our lives,
We’ll remember the most.
These times should be flashy,
Filled with drama and chance.
There’s nothing like summer,
For some risky romance.
We are young and inspired.
We are beautiful and strong.
It’s in these golden years,
That we can do no wrong.
So we’ll run from the cops,
And swim naked in pools.
Drink till we drop,
And smoke to feel cool.
The world is our pearl,
That’s how it will seem.
This is the time of our lives,
For you and for me.
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
*je pense bien à toi
(i think well of you)
Have not chatted in awhile,
me rutted in NYC,
a city of constant tear down
and sometimes flashy urban human
renewal...
While you,
you getting on with life,
growing up, growing down,
buying clothes for a new school season,
or growing children,
or boxing up now grandchildren memories of memories...
falling in love, writing poetry all about it...
You,
in Nepal, Malaysia, India,
Seattle, Portland, and the Florida's panhandle,
the US Midwest sainted hinterlands,
the South, that makes one love water,
water that has travelled from the faraway,
island continent of professorial Australia,
Did I forget the Philippines?
worse sin committed,
is that in
your poetry
I have not toe dipped,
quite the long erstwhile,
after loving it with
obsession devotion...
so just a Saturday afternoon
note penned just to you
and you alone...
je pense bien à toi
(i think well of you)
So by way of apology,
craft a poem for you exclusive,
more than each word, letter,
every syllable, tongue tasted
for conjuctivity,
breadth and thus discovered
notes of red soil, raspberry, lemon,
even a hint of sweet masquerading as a
salty kindness in our veins,
our unique vintage of connectivity
Your hand to my lips raised,
grasped twice, by mine both,
slow lifting with stature, affection and respect,
kiss it and whisper just enough for
we two to hear...
je pense bien à toi
(i think well of you)
even this seems weakly insufficient,
but care taken nowadays,
a new economy of words,
write less, think more, and
give up the truly deserved words only
as a mark of my fondness and respect
these come on no schedule,
often months in the making,
so forgive-me-not my unsweetened silences,
accept them with easy knowing that
je pense bien à toi
(i think well of you)
the summer man wintered in discontent,
his journey now disrupted by forces exogenous,
stealing his vision, jailing him in between
walls of indecision, knocking down
his own twin towers,
but carelessly not making provision
to tell you well and often enough
je pense bien à toi
(i think well of you)*
Sept. 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
Groovy brown skinned brothas
hip hop to the smooth jazzy
beats across the starlight scene,
exhilarating eyes light up
the uptown extravagance,
as they bust a move in the
drumbeating room, rotating
and vibrating, grinding and
bending, breathing in the
singing saxophones and
trombones.
Flashy lights shine bright
and vivid in crystal clears,
as young sweet caramel
girls sway to the high
hypnotizing sounds,
spinning hips lost in the
night, gliding on waves,
shaking in the serene
breeze like swinging trees,
soaring endlessly
across the rings of Saturn.
Heavy adrenaline rises
inside the upbeat and
sassy melanin sistas,
stomping stilettos,
show-stopping arms
and thighs harmonizing
to the midnight rhymes,
while hard bassline sounds
sifts inside various dimensions
of extreme delight.
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
crimson Poison Apples drop off Burning
Bridges into Murky Waters
red with rust swirling swirling
she cries as her father's fists curling
beat Seeds of Suspicion into
her Reckless heart
bleeding bruises art art
runs and hides but stands alone
pleading begging moan moan
her shoes are jimmy choo
she whispers secrets to herself
"I Just Wanted to be Me"
but the King of Hearts is Out for
Blood
scarlet laughter piercing darkness
growling stomach fight fight
tears flow and flood the night
and she is Shrinking away
Coming Out to the show
blinding bright in the glow glow
spotlit on a blackened stage
forced to perform Circus Acts
remembering when she was-was what?-nothing
Prom Queen twirling twirling
"Look" -hearts in a sea of ****** silk-
but the only one looking is
The Collector
hoarding up stories of rosy misery
Mean Colors dancing in cruel red eyes
sneer and cry and lie lie
their Psychic Powers forcing isolation into her veins
like a Blood Borne killer
she is just fading away until the Song in Her
Heart is just a hum of amazing grace
life thought gone forever
lives
on
as
the
tears
of
friends
remake
her
memories
she is buried in a glass casket under
grey skies The Red Dress she wears
without a care care
flashy crimson
sunset
ruby
apple
scarlet
blood
pain
love
life
soul
RED
vibrant in dead fields
life thought gone forever
lives
on
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
Cyber! Neon green, pinks,
Hair like vivid spotlights
At nightclubs, darting, sharp,
Strong-willed and persistent,
Piercing through the pale skin
Laid thinly over fog.
Shock-shock! If anarchy
Is popular, what does
It mean to rebel? Rave
Lights beam through the system
Like tracer rounds! The punks
Spin like halogen bulbs.
Steel! Plenty of plastic.
Enough to rebuild the
Eccentric walls of their
Flashy nightclubs. Above,
Sophisticated chains
Spin and drag over meat;
Pointless. A simple sort
Of mechanisation.
The music, the plastic,
The hair dye; all of it
Spits to the contrary,
Such anarchists are they.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
Of flashy pictures and subtle texts found
A guy’s feet when I look around,
Of heavy lids of trashcans crude
Images of Paoli in the ****
Of blood being ****** through the veins
And bedsheets filled with coffee stains.
Of walls and posts and weeks gone by,
Without a single scream or cry,
Of not a bath or a shower
Helpless without any such power,
Of Faustus and Valdes to spare
Othello seemed to have no care,
Tomorrow never dies for me…
For it's tomorrow I will never see.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
in football it's Dallas
with it's lone silver star
in baseball it's Atlanta
Ted's Super Station reaches far
basketball is a toss up
between east and west coast
the Lakers have flashy Magic
Irish Celtics of Bird they boast
hockey is another story
the Canadians have it there
but Gretzky's defection to LA
is an answer to a King's prayer
Lion King:
I Just Can't Wait to Be King
jbm
NYC
9/15/88
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
I have one wrist shackled to my watch strap
dragging me to obey the sweeping hands of another
like a traffic cop ordering hours of peaks to start and stop
relentlessly spilling time from a once brimming cup
splish splash out into oceans of flashy imaginings
I need the delicate precision of a jeweller's screwdriver kit
to make sense of the shared purpose of the springs
pushing the wheels to wear green amber red carats
tiny diamonds that aren't meant to sparkle
but sit immovable within sealed circles waiting
in partnership
inexorably waiting
patiently forever for the sun to release its shackle
the chain dripping a ting a ting
from the earth into a new star
winding up the decayed orbiting
to trap the same diamonds on a second
hand swept somewhere afar
and with a roll ex-galaxies expired
their guest president bracelet
their gasped jewelled weight
in loving eyes of liquid gold
not ordering us two
to be a slave to anything
now time shone
free could not be sold
apart ever again
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
I told the professor I loved beat literature and all the hippy consequences. He said they were such a small part of the population (along with Native Americans too apparently, he noted a different time. Because of what, you ******* I thought).
A pompous misguided thing, which either understandably or surprisingly, been teaching there since the 1960s. Five minutes of a winded attempt at putting anglophile humor into the lecture and you know the choice is "understandably" rather than "surprisingly." Been professing for the establishment, closed to other ways of thinking trickery.
A real square through and through. As if all change should come from appeasing the tyrannical bleachy supposed majority. Those in poverty, darker skins, gays, drug users, and all around flashy dressers ought to don suits for their one night Ed Sullivan performance. Get the folks on Bass Run Lane to be okay with seeing you in a glass cage in their living room scene. For just a couple decades. Then maybe they'll be used to seeing you in a grocery store. You'll always be laughable though, as they designed it to be so.
The hippies were a very small majority says the anointed professor.
"So were the suffragettes" snaps back a fiery thing sitting next to me. I should have talked to her more.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
Political correctness has reached a brand new low
It has now reached good and evil
And has changed things down below
The devil is still the devil,
That much has not changed
But, the food is all organic
And the meat is all free range
I didn't know the changes 'till
I made a plea last week
To sell my soul for increased wealth
And other things I seek
I expected a commotion
When the devil came from hell
But, there was nothing quite so flashy
When someone...rang my bell
I answered thinking nothing much
I looked outside to check
I am wary of the Mormons
and Jehovahs on my deck
I looked outside and there I saw
A man dressed all in grey
A poll taker, election geek
Let's see what he may say
"Good day, kind sir, I come to you"
"You wanted to be rich"
I thought he isn't from no bank of mine
He said "Sir, just call me Mitch"
"Mitch", I said, "I don't know how"
"you'd know I want to sell my soul"
He told me that was why he's here
To get a deal done was his goal
I said, "why use the door bell"
"Why not the cloud of smoke"
He said "with budget cuts'
"Pyrotechnics made us broke"
"The PC folks got wind of us"
"of our tricks and double speak"
"Now, you sign away your soul to us"
"but, you can get out within the week"
"We can't go by the same old name"
"Hell is not allowed"
"We're H...E...double hockey sticks"
"Try saying that aloud"
"It doesn't have the forcefulness"
"That the other word once had"
"we can call it heck, if we're in a pinch"
"You can see, it's got quite sad"
"The contracts are all readable"
"You don't have to sign in blood"
"With *** and STD's"
"It may as well be mud"
"A soul still has some meaning"
"But, as you yourself can see"
"The devil stays at home now"
"And sends his minions out...like me"
"I have a small brochure for you"
"You have choices, please pick six"
"It's more a club, a health resort"
"In H...E...double sticks"
"I can't get out, I'm stuck for good"
"I signed my deal before"
"The PC people got us good"
"And now...we use the door"
"Please look over the contract"
"Take your time, and read it close"
"You'll find it is a real good read"
"With language, non verbose"
"If you should have some questions"
"change your mind, or want to tour"
"Just call me on my cell phone
"I'm at star66 extension 4"
"I'm sure you'll still come down to us"
"It's not so bad, you'll see"
"Just call me when you're ready"
"You've got time, now we're PC"
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Be afraid of the bohém, they may write you a silly little poém to make you love 'em.
Or even worse, in reverse, with their verse, coerce your mind and soul to converse.
And even if their ascent is traverse and the obstacles adverse, routes to them are diverse.
They refine their craft to give you a raft, don't be daft, they rehearse for the terse,
tiptoeing over the perverse, not wanting to averse. They wanna choke the horses of your hearse.
They have no need to beg and plead. Just a wish to slap your *** your steed.
They just wanna make fear disperse for it they accurse, knowing well it's a curse.
No need to look for your purse. Your courage will theirs reimburse
and your smile their swollen fingers nurse.
See, the reaper wants the tails of coins thus places them on eyes faced reverse.
The bohém kick groins and leave traces but from coins take a print of the obverse.
Why? Cause they want not heads, but what's in them. They want your head to stay ahead.
Cause when a head is spiked by tails and filled with flashy tales, it is as good as dead.
They want to help you stay afloat - forget about the raft, think bigger, think of a boat.
Like evergreen crickets they ask you to disburse your fears and reverse your tears.
They ask not for a penny, just a thought or two, not many.
Like the ***** eyed and slightly sane miss Moneypenny.
Some call it a gift, many a curse. A curse the bohém can inverse
cause they submerse spirit in a lyrical sea and lower the stars for you to see.
Remember and beware, if you reward them with something as simple a stare,
you could be blinded by a hearty glare. Now you've been reminded, all's fair and square.
So why not just stay there? It's just your spirit they may ensnare like a hare,
only to mend it's wounded knee so that it can again hop away and be free.
Art is the heart of the bohém and their heart is their art.
So if you ever want to, thank them not with money but with a snack,
sprinkle a piece of your heart with honey. They'll bite it and give you two back.
Eat one too and make like a dove to flee to the place you really want to be.
Ride the waves like Nikolai's bumblebee and fulfill your uncharted destiny.
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 4:44 PM UTC
Yes, I see you.
You like to make your presence known.
It’s in the flashy, the gaudy and the uncomfortably fake humbleness that you project.
The wealth and championed successes you stuff into your smile and plaster across your face.
Yes, I see you,
You exude materialism with each closing swagger .
Insatiable appetite for your own procurement.--Your “driven”
You’ve everything one might acquire.
Yes, I see you,
I’ve known you in many.
As you walk by you politely nod and look away.
And inside my stomach swells until a small smile cracks across my face.
The irony.
You measure your wealth in commodities
and assume I’m envious of your riches!!
Yes, I see you and am moved…
You know nothing of wealth.
Dec 19, 2009
Dec 19, 2009 at 9:30 AM UTC
i hide away during the days
watching the other birds in flight
i don't know their tunes, they say
those songbirds are the social type
i guess the day was made for them
just like the night was made for me
i'll just wait here until the dusk
all alone, in my tree
i don't fit in with their flashy ways
my feathers just aren't as bright
they sing so pretty in sunlight rays
as i await my turn to cry at night
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC