"foolery" poems
A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes,
I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes!
Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming,
I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming!
For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost,
Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host!
Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity,
A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity!
Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance,
Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity,
Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity!
Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively;
I finagle in my filigree!
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
When the life you live is a lie,
could you ever look up to the sky
and apologize?
But you can't and you know why.
You speak as if you are better than all.
But how could you possibly stand tall
when you are only trying to maul
many people so they will fall?
I did not like meeting you in my light,
for you're making it as dark as night.
But maybe you believe it to be your right,
to act rudely and cruelly and fight.
Have you ever considered being nice?
I heard that it was good advice.
But hey, maybe you like your vice
and i'm watching it grow out of control like lice.
I don't like watching others endure your cruelty
for they do not deserve your foolery,
or was it your lunacy?
either way, stay away from my community.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
.
** | | |
| | |
| | |
| •arches |
| up top bef- |
| ore tapering |
| down to |
| the |
| ooo
| ooo bottom•a sym- ooooo ooo o
| oooo bol that holds my en- oooo ooo
| oooo tirety for ransom•a hos- oooooo
| ooo tage situation that made ooo
ooo me so willing•truss me
ooo up, bound... i am not
oo fighting•call this in-
oo sensibility... name
ooo this foolery•i am
... but a branch
dangling off
| a tree• |
| call thus |
| me an i am |
| idiot... la- the doll, |
| bel me a from oth- |
| nitwit•for ers, set far |
| i only apart• |
| have my i am the |
| strings... marione-
i am but tte who's
a limp after
pup- your
pet• heart•**
.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
The Moon would like to let everyone know that it is done
It is sick and tired of chasing after Earth
No matter how beautiful it seems
It always ends the race two steps behind
But dear moon doesn't have the whole story
You see the Earth is also chasing after love
But it does not pine over our dear Moon
It hungers for the Sun
The last 4.5 billion years spent
In the sun's soothing lullaby
Its oozing radiation, and humming warmth
Butterflies flutter at its core
But ill-fated as all love story's are
There is no love left to return
You see,
The Earth's surface is a little too bumpy for the shining sunrise
Don't blame the sun it did not call upon this bewitching manner
The sun is not believed to be apart of this foolery
It is not in enchanted by the all powerful
It does not fall in love
Nor does it spin for another
It stays in motion for no one
It is a humming ball of fire
Burning everything in its path
You tell me a good love story
I shall call you a fool
You label me pretty
I shall label me Sun
For just like it
I am my own sunrise
I can, shall, and will Ignite
Ignite my prince charming
Ignite all such fairy tales
I am not you're pretty princess
Puckered lips and giggled laughter
I am the queen who shall show no mercy
I will show you true meaning
Of fire
Of fear
Burned bodies turned to ash
Ignite my darling
Ignite
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 12:14 AM UTC
By Sharday
"Old Fools"
Old crudes.. appearing as Fools gold. The Irony. When you offer joy and laughter.. and all the best to offer in kindly spoken joyful chatter.
When you only offered a sprinkle of smiles and sunshine's. A regular day by short easy breezes to fellow online unknowns you never ever met in the flesh and briefly known online.
shared with them smiles and sunshine of encouraging crispy apple finds. To wish they smile with glee and inwardly are filled with bitter unrest.. Unknown to most of us. We only see the clown painted hidden face. A true face of sunken holes filthy craters in mold. The corrupt soul waiting to unlease it's misery soon as the old fool see, your joyful positivity isn't gonna stay for the foolery.
How you can't be captured, in the web of rotten hell where the Old fool dwells. Just wash your hands wipe your virtual feet from where you ventured and never again there enter.
A fool full of liquor and utterly bitter all of its own. To whom you never did any wrong. Yet the fool will claim you have. Is a stalker web crawler, harassing fool.. Report the stalkers harassing's obsessing's words of hate. The fools mouth of polluted lies disguised as crafted blind leading the blind sorrows.
A brief encounter online in 14 days causes a fool to write so much **** poor chatter.
Obsessive, stalker, old fool, not your muse, move on fool.
Psalms 18:2 "A fool takes no pleasure in understanding, but only in expressing his opinion." psalms 18:2
Proverbs 29:2 If a wise man has an argument with a fool, the fool only rages and laughs, and there is no quiet.
Sounds like a abusive deranged so madly insane. Type foolish, type thang. Can't find a away to stop using you in written metaphors. Like his pictures of he wish he had ******
Keep virtual 911 on hit report speed dial,
this fool seems a virtual danger stranger chillld.
H.E.R_Poetry...#Over.It..
Aug 28, 2021
Aug 28, 2021 at 12:23 PM UTC
Here
Is a timely
Noun to consider
From the Merriam-Webster page.
"Trumpery."
Note (at bottom) the list of near-antonyms;
what is the opposite of trumpery?
[Popularity: Bottom 40% of words]
trumpery
noun trum·pery \ˈtrəm-p(ə-)rē\
Definition of trumpery
1
a : worthless nonsense b : trivial or useless articles : junk <a wagon loaded with household trumpery — Washington Irving>
2
archaic : ****** finery
Origin of trumpery
Middle English (Scots) trompery deceit, from Middle French, from tromper to deceive
First Known Use: 15th century
Examples of trumpery
<claims for weight-loss products that are based much more on Madison-Avenue trumpery than on bariatric science>
Related to trumpery
Synonyms
applesauce [slang], balderdash, baloney (also boloney), beans, bilge, blah (also blah-blah), blarney, blather, blatherskite, blither, bosh, bull [slang], bunk, bunkum (or ******** claptrap, codswallop [British], crapola [slang], crock, drivel, drool, fiddle, fiddle-faddle, fiddlesticks, flannel [British], flapdoodle, folderol (also falderal), folly, foolishness, fudge, garbage, guff, hogwash, hokeypokey, hokum, hoodoo, hooey, horsefeathers [slang], humbug, humbuggery, jazz, malarkey (also malarky), moonshine, muck, nerts [slang], nuts, piffle, poppycock, punk, rot, ******* senselessness, silliness, slush, stupidity, taradiddle (or tarradiddle), tommyrot, tosh, trash, nonsense, twaddle
Related Words
absurdity, asininity, fatuity, foolery, idiocy, imbecility, inaneness, inanity, insanity, kookiness, lunacy; absurdness, craziness, madness, senselessness, witlessness; hoity-toity, monkey business, monkeyshine(s), shenanigan(s), tomfoolery; gas, hot air, rigmarole (also rigamarole); double-talk, greek, hocus-pocus
Near Antonyms
levelheadedness, rationality, reasonability, reasonableness, sensibleness; common sense, horse sense, sense; discernment, judgment (or judgement), wisdom
By: Robinson Bolkum
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
My response to you has always been focused.
This has gladly not been over looked by you.
I have become thoughtlessly biddable and amenable for you, especially in the morning light.
I am consenting, compelled yet not obliged ..........
You have discovered I am nothing but a girl from a circus.
I never tried to hide it. You weren't looking before.
Although I am a fan of amusements, fetes and even frolics, I do refrain from favoring all tricks.
My indulgence in foolery is a sport I plan to employ for a while yet.
Do I care for you to join me and see if I can defy your desire for extracurricular activities, as well as being your carer?
Is this a task a clown would pretend was a harmless challenge.
Perhaps not, perhaps so.
My roots are raw and loyal to the art of play.
I need you to know this and hold it.
A Spanish fly will not be able to satisfy my ears alone?
Sincerity can be a sharp business sometimes.
Obedience to attachment brings around a credulous familiarity thus a dependency
It could easily keep me awake to stare at many moons
It hasn't.
You have seen me stumble and look at you gingerly more than once now
You are not even delicate but you can be shrewd even when you struggle with expectation.
There is a soberness about your beauty I find pleasingly magnetic.
When you leave me alone without your mighty graze
I without question appreciate and yearn for your persuasions and rough tenderness.
Your actions maybe more savory in the afternoons
compared with your visits to my buoyant dreams but you do kindly hold open doors.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 2:21 PM UTC
You are...
The epitome of insanity
The goddess of hypocrisy
The rebel of gracility
And the idolater of vanity
The paramount of mistress
The fixative of my embodiment
I am a failed triad of disappointment lacking your physical, emotional and ****** completeness
I'm fueled by love of my adversary's scrimmage
And broken by my lechery
Thus making me facil to your incogent persuasion.
And infatuated by your complimentary image
Though you are the demoralizer of souls
The extension of my patience
By the obscureness of your oomph
Why in the foolery are you the axis of my goals
You're an abhorrent char to my mind
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 6:44 AM UTC
*I don't like him
He is a nuisance
I don't like him
I'd fond his death
I don't like him
I'd share nothing with him
I don't like him
I would like to gouge his eyes out
Until they pop.
Until blood-tears scream down
His ******* face
I form mucous to
Spit in his ******* snake face
I want to see bits of his skull torn out
I do not like him
I want to squeeze through my hands in the decapitated
Head and grab out his ******* brain,
Bits of his skull
I would like that.
Gone he'd be
I would like that
I would like to hurt him
I don't like him
I want to see all his ******* blood
Pour majestically out of every
******* opening, every hole
I see of his, I want his greedy black heart
Suffocated with cyanide
I want his poisoned soul *******
Burned until I smell
His burning, searing flesh
That screams with help
I would to do all of this and laugh and laugh
I wish he would realize how much he has gained
Then,
I will excrete on his ugly ******* red car.
I dream morbid, I dream morbid lovely thoughts to leave his
Lifeless whore-self in the ugly ******* red car
For him to rot he shall as a male-slag
A **** of degenerate foolery
Unjust as unwise, he froths degradation
A form of devolution,
As treacherous cliffs weakened
from sun and water
Treachery engrossed with black thoughts
As he falls he will bring all,
who he can find to fall with him
Drenched with whoreness
A ******* thought enriches degenerate
I would dream to castrate him
Destroy his club, **** the ******* worm
Turn unto ****
**Turn unto ****
Turn unto platter of wet sponges
Turn him into a casket of bleeding organs
I do,
I do not like him,
No I do not.
Filthy Male-Whore, ****
His corpse shall forever mold with self-hatred
Disgusting waste of gluttonous entity.
Biological waste universal waste
I do not like him
Blood chunks pool over out of his skull
I do not like him, All his filth-blood
Dried out, I do not like him
Tongue pulled out, neck snapped
Brain matter scooped out, the ******* worm
Thief, Cheat, Male-Whore. I do not like him
But I do not hate him.*
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
lips upon swell of breast,
caresses like a dance in
bated breath; a cry of
hunger unclothed to
nakedness; mouth travels
south, seeking to quench
libidinous drought; tongue
glides, nibbling kisses;
silently I sigh, each taste
he gets thicker as I become
wickedly *****
scents of honeysuckle
permeates the air as
tongue teases hardened
strobe; I glow within his
nature and he whispers in
elated breaths; I arch against
masculinity in sultry
poses, smiling in blushed
tints, fore, he knows me
and tells of his wants
to satiate my needs like
a rose opens its petals to
a bee's need; to suckle its
sepal of sweet nectar's
honey, sipped in little nips
inebriating his wanton
longing, he breaches
my honeycomb in gentle
easements...flushed
he whispers against nape
of neck as hands control
movement of hip, tongue
glides against silken thigh;
in foolery baiting to entrap
me within his desirous
taunts of beggary...I sigh
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
So many politicians here in
My well-beloved-and-endowed country
Ought about to be donning
A dunce's cap for their foolery.
That we are still as a well-blessed nation
And especially in this 21st century
Here--when many with determination
Have been leaping forward in prosperity
Of their country's soul, body and mind,
Advancing in different walks of life;
While we're yet groping, straining to find
Like a drunk the orifice of his wife--
Is shameful. Amenities are a far cry;
The well-being of the populace be yet
Poor; maternal mortality rate is high,
Besides other diseases that cause death.
Politicians vain many a title flattering
Love, as well as to be singing their praises
For doing and achieving less than nothing,
When plenty souls daily poverty dire face.
To other well-marshalled countries do travel
They and see how things there be better run.
I, like many, wherefore do often marvel,
Why they can't situation around goodly turn.
The monies in Nigeria that are being looted
Be beyond sufficient to fix the decaying
And nonexistent infrastructures. Well rooted
Is corruption, the chief cause of our pains harrowing.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 2:46 AM UTC
Your words
foolery;
a mockery of my heart.
My trust
destroyed.
And my head now a fog,
from the rose colored glasses
that you placed on my face
back then,
glued to my sight
of you.
I know no truth
and I beg,
beg to know why.
Why did you even bother
my foolish misguided heart.
You should
and will
be ashamed.
You're better than that.
A soulmate is rare
and you,
you are blind
to red devilish pain
that will engulf your heart.
You are now
a stranger,
one whom I couldn't wish I never met.
For you destroyed me
with your apathy,
indecision,
lack of thought.
I cry I hurt,
I scream your name.
And you,
nothing but a silent ear;
You're better than that.
When you are broken
and on the ground,
crying
hurting,
screaming for the truth;
I will meet you there.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
Spiritual cleaning requires some personal flinging
That broom dances above my head
clearing out old cob webs!
OWHH OWHH OWHH
If your a born technician you put your hands to the sky
I do and I brush the **** that clouds my eyes!
As above is so below so sweep around me high and low
I do broom kung foolery
A spiritual cleansing and very true to me
CHA
and 2 songs later
That 7 step outer star spinning round
Dizzy..happy..a hurricane a of beautiful chaos here spins
The first to FILE WINS
...sweep the room clean
I mean my life..I want it clean
I am about to sweep you out
better stand firm on your feet
Cause right now I will chop you up like a piece of meat
and not ******* chicken in a can
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
They danced on the steps
Of the first methodist church,
Not caring who watched or
How their young feet hurt.
When the clouds rolled over
The sun and the wind ceased
To be breathing. They
Stopped their tom foolery and
Accepted that life sometimes is still.
They walked to the water.
There they saw the ships bounding
Across eclipsed waves like horses
Through golden tinted field.
The two feared for the sailor's,
Yet the sailor's knew not
They were thinking of them at all.
After the water, leaving the sailor's
On their waves, they wandered to
The fishermen's docks, where
Crooked poles and wavering hulls
Stood ***** and set pointed to the sun.
These were the men of patience
And respect, feeling death and life
Around them in dualistic harmony.
Because they held no lure or pole,
They watched the masters work, as
Masters usually do. The sun trickled
Through thin white cloud as the
Wind pushed the two's hair over brow.
The masters were discontent
In their catch and their day. Their frowns
Showed failure and they wished
That the cold winter weather would go away.
Even masters can fail.
The two thinking of two different things,
Then conversed on where they should
Go to next. One said the tower, where she
Had never been before, and the other said
The park, where he had been many times.
Their differences were their love and
Their love was what kept them true.
A master pulled up hard on his bamboo rod.
"A catch," the man screamed in his tongue,
"I've got a catch here! Won't you see! Won't you see!"
The two shot over to where the master
Stood, their eyes peeled to the end of his line.
As the man reeled and reeled and reeled, he
Soon did reveal a battered tin can and a weathered old boot.
The master plopped the two on the wooden dock,
Cursing to the God of his choice.
The two picked up the boot, the can, cheered and said,
"Thank you", running up the concrete strand.
As they reached their bus stop, they realized
What they'd done and started to laugh at all
Of their fun. The two giggled and cackled,
Screamed and roared, until the two could no longer
Take anymore. After a minute or two, the sky
Straightened out, turning full blue, so the birds
In the sky who soared and cooed, showed they
Had no rules they were forced to uphold.
The two agreed on home. When their
Bus appeared, they felt the same, seeing that
Living together was a much better game.
Tomorrow would be new start, just like
Today was another part of a puzzle never
To be finished, only taken to heart.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
Wake Up Johnny
I want to discuss so much!
We can forget about where we left off
Even though I was touched ****
Oh don't worry this is clean..HAR HAR
You know what I mean
Wake up ..what ever country your in
I can't remember my mind is full, I grin!
Wake up Johnny I need to talk!
I want your company
To hear your unexpected remarks
Your foolery is fun..where ever you are
Bring the SUN..wake him up
I have tales well spun!!!!
Wake up Johnny
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC
You lose it slowly, piece by piece. Whatever bit of purity you thought you had left and that last bit of hope for an effortless race. It doesn’t depart from you in some grand gesture. No, no. It is slowly whittled away by the hands of fine craftsmen. Men who saw the potential you held. Some blows are harder to take than others; time is not always patient with what must go. And you are eager to become something new, while remaining roughly defined. But each chip removed is one you will never get back. You may find yourself longing for a small piece of yourself to return, but you will realize that each tear shed is the first and last of that sliver of self you will see.
Each vision of what you would best become is different, so you must not let too many hands work at once. If you are lucky, your own hands will be freed and image left for you to define. But this may take some foolery, as you must first gain their trust. You will find it difficult to willingly let go of some parts, but it helps to envision their reform into something you want more. Sometimes you are wrong, with no one to blame but yourself. And even if freedom is yours, you may find it is easier to let others carve away, but doing this will make you a foreigner to yourself. The harder you are to form into their desires, the less interest they will have to do so. Only then might you truly be forced to decide for yourself. Only then might they be surprised with what they didn’t know they could find beautiful.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 12:44 AM UTC
i never wanted to be one of those girls who ******* about their ex
and i guess i'm still not
because we were never even in a relationship
you asked
i said no
because you were weird
and kinda creepy
and obnoxious
and you hated me
for a really
long
time
afterward...
but
you have always
made sure
whenever you
you got into a relationship
to text me
and let me know
that SOMEONE wanted you
and every time
i tell you
i don't give
a ****
at that moment, it's true.
but when you burst through my newsfeed on facebook
like someone exploded a firecracker in my face
rather indecorously
and i scroll through all your pictures
with that girl you claim to love so much
in all sorts of cute, make-me-puke positions
i feel really
alone
and like i'm the one
who was unwanted.
i don't really know if i regret my decision...
you seemed to get
un-weird
as time went on
and admittedly,
hotter...
i guess i am not jealous
in the sense that i want you
but in the sense that i want what you have...
Tim,
i somehow feel jipped by you
cheated
used
left for dead
even though
i am the one
who rejected you
for something better
i am the one
who is still
alone...
karma is
the worst of *******
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
just a gold grenade passing through the hands
of famous names,
and airport emergencies,
and world war II tom foolery.
when a friend exchanges hate for love,
life makes since.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 3:24 PM UTC
A heavy set eye, the keen smell of ****** spiced sent.
Perhaps the foolery of the stolen soul,
or a mixed and Contorted sense of the perverted weeping *****
My senses heavy, blood thick as gold
I **** back on this sweet and sugary Tobacco roll
To my own disdain I have become bleak Pathetic and filled with shame
Crying like the ooh so sought weeping widows of war mongering hero's
Scared and abused from the husbands raging alcoholic abuse.
Its a shame really, how the war kills the most beautiful of two.
Raging and ripping the flesh of such a supple and beautiful chest.
Gods and devils do not exist, For the evil of man is surely what exists
Not these narcissistic delusional realities of entities that blindly wish us bliss or a deadly kiss,...
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
The form the moon took against a single, silver cloud;
Dog-eared and dumb as a wasteland.
A fretted combination of changing elements
Ships by majestically
Calling time to its slendered oval side
Inundating us from a height
Shepherding tom-foolery with its light
I, oh only I,
Oh lonely lunar Mee,
Looking at the sky to see
The shape of blacksmith's vision
In the night;
The caress of silver on the forehead
From the moon's fledgling smithereens.
I cast a glimpse and
Sense a stray sheet of
Creation above, like a baking tray;
Puffing, shifting, darkening.
Elements in an oven.
Congregation of thought with
Madness on the left and
Silly sickness in the middle
Conjured up-
Sense on the right!
Cajoled-
*** on the brain
Coated in-
Hard leather bush-tights
Plato polite on every oval ***** side
Evilness lurking where goodness hides;
Be a good fellow
- dont be shy
Unleash the cry
- bellow,
HOWL
Say hello-ow-ololo-ow in
- tremolo
Like you're no longer scared
- or yellow
..of instant indelibility
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 1:26 AM UTC
Dashing, charming,
full of foolery,
She unwinds with legs of poison
sitting still on top the table,
seeping deep into my mind.
The image stains the flesh
and how I wish I could undress
the bottle of her sickly cyanide.
But taste testing pills and potions
made to drowse and **** the roses
are not nearly as sweet as implied.
So I admire from afar
oohing and awing at the bar
staring at the glass
and not taking a bite.
May 30, 2024
May 30, 2024 at 7:04 PM UTC
Heard some poetry it was such foolery.
Read some poetry.
Such deceptions I see, stumbled on some poetry such poor delivery.
I cant believe how the writer does deceive, like a magician with words to weave.
How one holds some tricks up their sleeve.
The writer spuns delusions, crazy intriguing lines meant to blow minds.
Nothing but foolery.
Found some poetry! Seemed kinda fun to me, but sit back and watch and see.
The writers quite clumsy. Read some poetry.
Such creative illusions of such wicked delusions.
Because the person is just writing confusions.
Things in their mind
about experiences over time.
when Its best to know both sides of those poetic stories.
Or its just untruths or hurts to what that poet grieves.
Just what that poet sees no where near the truth.
Just telling slippery lines like rotten tooth's.
On their mistakes and there pains and sorrows.
That's nothing of the truth, how they discarded beautiful tomorrows.
Discarding friendships,
That where meant to be only friendships.
Now they are writing darkened daggers.
Such old timely closed minded wanna be swaggers.
Writers cruelty worded daggers.
Some Poets write for Healing, some write for pain, some write for financial gain.
Telling stories, good, bad, sad, foolishness after having gone mad, just ta complain.
No truths in the splattered stains of poetic slains. Its the closed minded, failing in love without you kind. writing to teach the blind, and forgetting leaving wise lessons behind.
Beware of the blind leading the blind poets the assumes, the know its. With hidden motives.
Up their sleeves, writing poetic lined deliveries. Read some poetry not by skilled/knowledged hands I see.
Oh found some poetry. Quite deceptive to me. maybe wounded souls they be.
by selina sharday_H.E.R#POETRY
Aug 23, 2021
Aug 23, 2021 at 11:53 AM UTC
Years had come,and passed by
Like staggering waves
Rolling on troubled oceans
Yet,through all these years
You never bothered to look for
Or even called to ask
If am living or gone
When you know,
Now and then,will my ears ache
Just to hear your soft soothing words
For every word you have uttered then
Had enlighten and brighten my days
I become totally a foolery of your glamours
And you managed to mesmerized me by your magic
Then you spellbounded me by your stout love
No wonder,every thought of you
Excites my senses
But
Realizing how cruel
Love had grown these days
i sit in utter amazement
And watch red candles burn
As their wax falls and bades farewells to theirselves
Then i remembered the first day you said to me"I love you"
I've searched thoroughly
Through all books
Of distinguished literatures
Sciences and even religion
And leafed through card of motley sizes
Just to convey my deep-seated feelings for you
But
It saddens
Me so much
When I hear you spews
So much hate for me now
When you seat In the midst of your friends
Yet
All I had done
Was to love you wholly
And I still do now
I've become brittle
Like a rusting alloy
When thoughts of you
Drift through the lanes of my mind
At dawn,when I lie alone on these
Wilderness I call "bed"
Though
I know not much
All I know is am left
With the remains of your emotions
And I'm oblivious of their sojurn
It's
So hard to see red candles
Burn throughout the night with no end
When the flames whirls
In the midst of darkness and part off
For
What is it to be in love?
When all what
It brings is nothing but grief
And swaddle your very last breath
At the tunnels of it exit
Swollen sense
Yet full of nothing
When I stride in the darkness
Alone
With timed-bomb candles in search of what seems to be golden
Midnight Candle
©Linda Amony & Historian E.Lexano
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
what's know as systematisation in philosophy, or philosophical prose as such, is an endeavour to hide maxims... that only surface more like concepts than applicable truths to the everyday keen eye eager to anticipate them as laden with believability... philosophical prose hides maxims, it weaves them tightly like a spider creating a cocoon of a trapped fly in the web that philosophical prose is... it doesn't create a style of aphoristic waterfalls that leave the eyes darting: a moment here, a moment there... the spider required 8 dimensions (8 eyes) to adapt a structure adequate for the haphazard flight of flies, twirling in mini-tornadoes - the spider-web is hardly a chance by-product, but only 8 eyes could have crafted its weaving... and as said prior, the aphoristic style of writing philosophy is worthwhile, i can't deny that, but it's so eye-distracting... it can only be achieved by a life filled where much life takes place, so in the case of la rochefoucauld in the court of louis xiii, his queen anne of austria, and the infamous cardinal richelieu... this outburst of maxims / observations / aphorisms is only effectively produced in such circumstances... other works of philosophy are born in recluse, maxims hidden in thickly bulging tightly-knit prose... they're effectively not as tremendous, piquant... it's the entirety of the composition that loves to hide them, and create yet more prose on the zenith they are produced for... they can hardly be spotted as easily as the sole extraction of maxims... but maxims akin to la rochefoucauld can be easily extracted, esp. if one is placed in situations were the crème de la crème mingle, one can easily defraud situations according to: vanity, self-love, friendship bargains, the passions, fortune, chance, jealousy, envy, virtue, moderation, wisdom, foolery, morality, immorality, a woman's coquetry v. her flirtations... all these things, all these proper summations of the surroundings could never allow philosophical prose for the sole purpose of hiding maxims... such environments are screaming maxims out, layered over by a distant asylum of anguish, adorned with jewels and refinements of fabric... but with skull sockets filled with two coal nuggets.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 1:27 PM UTC
I know you think your fooling me
That I believe your stories and tales
But I am wise to what is real
And your tales are the size of a whale
I know kung fool
You are not fooling me~
I know you could play me
But the truth is I am wise and may be playing you~
As I know kung foolery
I will keep playing with you
But remember one thing
I am the Kung FOOL Queen
And I am very on top of this scene
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 9:12 AM UTC