"freshen" poems
There are clouds of sound and noise
That utter thoughts in a muffled voice,
Gestures of hands simply won’t cast out
Cloudy skies in days of doubt.
Like strangers lost in a crowd
Whose cries are buried by the loud,
The loud din of helpless wanderers
Whose presence disrupts and disturbs.
All strangers left on their own,
Islands floating out in the fog;
Orphans with cruel fates to bemoan;
Fates that are swept under the rug.
And who's looking with interest, who reaches down with an arm,
Never so eager to help, neither too late nor too soon?
Who would make this world perhaps a little more warm
And freshen the skies of our cloudy afternoon?
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 2:18 AM UTC
sssshhhh, did you hear?
it's an amazing day today!
so rise, freshen up!
open your window, light a cigarette,
brew yourself a cup of coffee (or tea, if you prefer that)
freshen up!
because whatever's in line for you today,
the world is out there, welcoming you with open arms!
so raise your glass,
let's toast to a new day ahead!
and when the night comes,
the stars and the moon are going to look down at you smiling,
congratulating you for doing great today!
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 9:15 AM UTC
Taos Pueblo fashion designer Patricia Michaels returns to New York City for “Style Fashion Week NYC”on September 10th to present her latest 30 piece collection at aspecial RSVP eventat Hammerstein Ballroom, 311 West 34th St, Midtown Manhattan.
Michaels was a finalist on season 11 of the Lifetime reality TV show, “Project Runway”, and “Project Runway All-Stars”, gaining thousands of admirers as the media world followed her success along with an excited and proud Indian country.
Michaels will present her trademark PM Waterlily line and her latest collection for Spring/Summer 2017. Known for her use of Native-themed fabrics, hand painted or hand dyed, cut and fabricated at her Taos, New Mexico studio, Michaels says she is inspired by nature walks at Taos Pueblo among the trees, wildflowers and water plants, and “seeds” are important symbols of her designs and concepts.
The following description is from the website, speaking of the “Modern Native” who inspires and wears her designs. “Patricia Michaels...will have a few pieces for colder climates as her woman travels to regions where during the summer the climates tend to be cold. She is a world traveler so one may made need that special look to freshen her palette.”
Those living in or near the New York area that are interested in attending can visit toEventbrite to RSVP for the September 10 event. Seating is limited.
We wish Patricia Michaels and PM Waterlily success in New York City and beyond.
According to their site, Style Fashion Week, producer of globally recognized fashion events, provides top designers a world class platform to showcase their collections. Each year Style Fashion Week presents the season's must see shows, unforgettable performances and exclusive installations. Our expansive Style Marketplace immerses guests in fashion as well as art and design. Guests directly engage with brands throughout the week.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
He knows not how the toner trails,
I know how my conduits drain themselves.
Forming a queue while spitting blood
They’re an anemic residue.
He knows not how to freshen my palate,
With warmth, I see no remedy
My so-fatigued heart,
I was a monochrome in plastic wares.
I wasn’t a prototype, but a derivative.
Seclusion I abhor, indeed my life too
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
Mnemonic...
Over my mug of steaming coffee,
...i see cookies and a fruit...sliced,
to freshen my breath after my coffee break....
one glance...
one unexpected glance, took me back... to
when i decided to do something for myself,
to be happy.....and to be somebody....but,
finally....i fought the desire, to be defiant...
those awakenings, and newfound feelings,
still haunt my evenings...the hurting, somewhat
changed me, and my beliefs.......i realized that,
at some point in one's life, a chance moment
unfolds on a landing...clear to the eyes...on a mission,
to change attitudes...to erase wrong impressions,
triggered by unpleasant experiences....i have also
discovered....at the right time, somebody comes,
......like an angel with hidden wings...to soften
our hardened minds....to melt our frozen hearts,
ease our tensed opinions...offer us a healing balm.
sometimes, a place, or a face, becomes a kind of paper
that can't be crumpled, or destroyed...so hard to forget.
anyone...anything, that strikes the heart hard,
easily comes back, with the slightest reminder,
catches you..........unprepared....
this fruit on the table, in silence, it just sits there,
...unaware of its being mnemonic...doesn't matter,
if it's fresh, rotten, or candied...a plum, apple or pear
....................would prompt me, to remember,
over my mug of steaming coffee...
Sally
Copyright July 27, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 10:40 PM UTC
Yes, Atthis, you may be sure
Even in Sardis
Anactoria will think often of us
of the life we shared here, when you seemed
the Goddess incarnate
to her and your singing pleased her best
Now among Lydian women she in her
turn stands first as the red-
fingered moon rising at sunset takes
precedence over stars around her;
her light spreads equally
on the salt sea and fields thick with bloom
Delicious dew pours down to freshen
roses, delicate thyme
and blossoming sweet clover; she wanders
aimlessly, thinking of gentle
Atthis, her heart hanging
heavy with longing in her little breast
She shouts aloud, Come! we know it;
thousand-eared night repeats that cry
across the sea shining between us
2.6k
Your body jerks as you heave yourself out of bed.
The clock reads 5am.
Your phone vibrates,
It’s here.
The countdown is over.
A few long hours,
And caffeinated up,
You arrive,
The sun dances on your skin.
Unpack, freshen up,
Then hit the streets.
You wander aimlessly,
And endlessly.
Eating, sleeping, drinking and waking,
Whenever your body clock requires.
The schedule has been stripped,
Your busy days gone.
You set the rules,
You make the decisions.
Want to people watch with a glass of wine,
Why not?
Want to wander and look at the buildings,
Why not?
Want to sleep in,
Why not?
It’s your trip,
Your story,
Your travels.
The only person you have to depend on is you.
Feb 15, 2021
Feb 15, 2021 at 4:26 PM UTC
Poets go blind from writing by moonlight,
But my artist smites the moon with her luminance,
I write by her subtle, cyan, rays
And would gladly go blind for, with her, my eyes find their fill quickly,
She is the unexpected wind bouncing off the water’s surface,
And my chest is the sail,
Lifted, pushed, expanded and fulfilled to its most righteous purpose,
If the world is a stage than she is the red velvet curtain,
Commanding a sway so slight and savory
That other rags rent and burn,
No matter how mesmerizing the performance is,
A sudden hush or vibrant ovation is demanded in her wake,
A sultry swirl of goddess and girl,
Too precious to be stored with other jewels,
Elegance with every hinting glance, every rowdy inhale,
And every placement of those sinister legs,
That rams would think twice to scale,
The bend in her back is the stroke of my oils,
The pout of her lips is scarlet meat to the lions,
And the feel of her hips sum up my surreptitious desires,
Like good jazz things seem to pull back
Before the cathartic crescendos,
But to put it bluntly dear, the next time you’re here,
It may pay to freshen up with a Mentos.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
Everything was fine.
The friendship was steady
Our organs were just in line
Mistake from my brain was ready.
A night, a saudade night.
I was vulnerable so was my thought
At last thinking a sleep would just feel right.
Well, I got closer to the trap my brain brought.
An hour later, I found myself in in a room.
A familiar one, my chaps were there too.
I looked up I felt doomed.
Talked to my brain, yeah this is cool.
Well, we were all together,
happy and bloomed.
A friendly limerence, that's all we had for each other.
The chimera felt me like a perfume.
Suddenly, I decided to leave.
Wanted to freshen up my attire.
But was staring at myself with pure grieve.
Heard a sudden din, was a person I admire.
He stood there, just stared.
Tried interrogating him. once and twice.
But the movements were none, just eyes with care.
Now it was not just him, I too stood there just as ice.
Then his fingers caught my upper arm,
pulled me close to him.
His lips with thirst touch mine with charm.
Mine joined them too and weak were my limbs.
Merrily opened my eyes.
A weird curve ran across my face.
He stepped back, satisfyingly sighs.
Looked at me, smiled, gone were his trace.
Sudden shriek woke me up.
Perverse was what I felt.
But my brain had already ******* everything up.
Amity was surrounded by this wierd belt.
I reached, where my organs retreated.
Walked, each step filled with guilt.
The door of awkwardness met me and greeted.
stretched out my hand to open it with brain filled with jilt.
Sudden jolt, I felt.
A face, made me nervy
It was him, eyes with care and a smile with stealth.
Greeted him usually, but feelings were lively.
But I sure can't deny,
That I never wished it to be true.
Talk about it? I can't even try.
But want that feel of caress, just like a leaf groped by dew
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC
Bodies are strewn, one by one, round the room.
All that remains of the casualties here.
All of the victims, perverts and vixens,
Which fell to their instincts, desires and beer.
Recently music had filled air with rhythm,
Masking the retching and ******* the same,
Though rising with sun was the silence, begun
As horizons were setting to flame.
Wading through bodies to go make a drink,
A 6am ***** to freshen the mind.
You scramble and struggle, ignoring the couple
You caught in the kitchen, enjoying a grind.
A smile and a wave, with such sweetness, they gave
And, kindly, they offered some cider.
Approaching the man, you take a warm can
Whilst hoping its not been inside her.
Back to the sofa, a girl has rolled over,
Aeons from sober, you try nudge below her,
Quickly, then slower, with hopes no one knows her,
The types to come over assuming you'll ***** her.
But everything's fine, the coast is all clear.
You soon commandeer, till she falls among beer.
***** turns to smears, but too ****** to hear
Or try interfere, the room sleeps, cohered.
The wait is now on. The coke in your nose
Beginning to burn as you drool on your clothes.
You smoke and you smoke while you cough and you choke,
But it seems with each minute, the time passing slows.
You wack out a notepad, scribble some words,
Draw a few ***** with wings like a bird,
But mostly you sit. Sitting in quiet.
The last one alive in the midst of the riot.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 6:15 PM UTC
every moment
is continually shedding itself;
sloughing off the skin of time,
dying, into the past,
to freshen in exposure,
this moment.
to live, really
to breathe, by
impermanence.
constantly transforming,
the body is never solid,
here, there, as atomic flashes,
electrons popping in and out
of existence,
an appearance made,
to depart, in a flicker.
all turns off, like this,
always, eventually,
momentarily.
threshed and stripping
bare chaos
voraciously burns,
returning through extinguish
on smokey black horizons.
sinking, into
tendrils weaving,
knitting by fray,
tapestries engendered
by enveloping decease.
you feel this
don’t you?
unconscious
as much of it may be.
it is the nearest of near,
and dearly intimate,
passions corrosive kiss,
oscillating, opening,
to retract, in flow,
pushing in
to pull away,
thanatos is eros
together, apart again,
together-apart,
here-going.
the heart is aware,
supremely aware of this happening,
even when the mind is fooled
by apparent stability,
and the soul surrenders to
it's inevitability,
even hungering for
divine destruction,
as basic an urge
as the creative impulse.
to be composed
is to be subject to decompose,
fertilizing compositions
in cosmic chasms.
our lungs darkly shining
with every fall of the chest
mirroring,
each breath
one breath closer
to the final breath,
each exhale
a letting go
of what can’t be held
forever,
the expelled
foreshadows annihilation,
on the fading road, towards
this mortal coils entropic end;
a preparation.
to live, surely, is to meet loss
over and over,
to love, fully, is to grieve
again and again,
there is a deep
melancholic knowing
that exists in all living things,
water drops
tears like rain,
leaves fall
like sighs,
everyone,
and everything
dies.
our melancholy
might be sacred
could we truly embrace,
and feel, this reality:
death is the ever present condition.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
But, darling, no one is understanding this.
My abilities are flowers and you're picking off all the petals
before I even have time to grow more.
My brain is a garden that I can only water when I'm alone,
so please understand that I will wilt and dry out when exposed
to too much social interaction for too long of a time.
I need time to recuperate, to grow, to freshen up.
Because a flower is no fun when it's wilted, and all the petals are gone.
(d.d.b)
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
The new day, the new start
Wake up bro, move fast
Open the window
Feel the breeze, with coffee along
And tune up, the morning song
Freshen up, the mind long
welcome this brand new morn
-----------------------: :-----------------------
Karunakar Saroj
(7:00 AM, 15 Aug 2014)
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
Grey dawns the morning cold; dew
gathers on the mould. while robins sing
in freshen voices, and water runs in the
swift-water way, in the mornings lovely
cold.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 4:52 PM UTC
I've been up for hours, not really my choice.
I sold myself short, thirty percent off to the devil, I constantly hear his voice.
This isn't my life.
I should've settled for two kids and a wife.
But I got complacent.
Everything in those moments felt good so why not.
Now I sit.
In the dark.
Alone.
Depression deep down, I can feel it to the bone.
With nothing to call my own.
I really wanna go home.
Other side of the country just trying to build my own;
Throan.
I've made too many mistakes.
However, they all made me;
Somehow.
Blurred vision when I think of destiny.
Or maybe it's the fifth of Hennessy.
Why can't I just jump and know for a fact I got the remedy.
More life.
Longevity.
More juice.
I'm seeing two sides of me, but switching up or pick and choose.
I'm staring at a tree trying not to eat forbidden fruit,
While I'm sinking in the ground, could I be meeting my roots.
Maybe I should freshen up and clean my Georgia, Henry county unfilled shoes, just to get,
More life.
But I'm Only Human.
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 3:18 AM UTC
In the meadow in front of the manor house.
The long grass invited them.
Suggested they step in.
Hand in hand they strolled.
As kissing in the grass they rolled.
Never did as they were told.
The Lord of big house he came.
Caught them playing naughty games.
He stood watching as they played.
The foot man and me the parlour maid.
Master whispered in her ear.
'Tut tut come here.
I want you for myself my dear'.
The foot man got his marching orders.
The lord of the manor he smiled and said,
' Get here sweet, ***** we're going to bed'.
Sweet ***** smiled with a twinkling eye, for she would so much sooner die.
But as a servant has to do.
She had to do as she is told.
She stood there with her index finger, placed discreetly between her teeth.
Looking so seductive.
With eyebrows high, head tilted subtly to one side.
Although, him she found repulsive.
She got him hot.
Loved him not.
She said she needed to freshen up.
Dashed off to find the loo.
That's what she said.
What she had to do.
Instead she found a telephone.
Rang his honest wife.
Told his wife of infidelity.
She paid for telling with her life!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC
She winked in her cute little bandana,
was standing strategically by the keg,
dressed non-discreetly in
a very **** skimpy-bikini.
The curls that wrapped
around her drop-dead beautiful face
accentuated her high striking cheekbones.
Her lips moved in slow motion,
the tip every now and then
licking the edges of her pretty mouth.
We made small talk about
the weather and current songs.
She kept telling me how handsome I was,
her striking-eyes seemed believable,
but I remained guarded,
I had heard those lines before.
The stars began to emerge as the sun sunk
lower and she wondered if I wanted to walk
with her, down to the edge of the ocean.
The beer had me feeling more relaxed
and I took her up on her offer.
Down we walked, slowly to the water's edge,
she taking my hand,
telling me how strong my grip was.
It seemed like we walked forever,
but before too long, we were out of earshot of the band, the party was just a blip on the horizon.
We looked to face one another,
it felt surreal, she made me feel stellar,
like we were having fun.
The moment was ripe, I dipped her hair away
from her full lips, placing mine on top of hers,
our tongues met, my heart melted.
There was a stirring below, a hardness
found by her searching hands.
As if on cue, she descended,
unzipped my jeans rather quickly,
took me fully into her mouth.
She seemed expert, it was glorious,
my eyes rolled back in my head,
I squirted into her closed mouth,
wrapped around her prize.
She stood up, kissed me on my quivering lips,
told me I was exquisite,
the best she ever had,
& I believed her.
We walked back slowly,
my arm around her slender shoulder,
talked about the future.
When we arrived back at the bonfire,
things had heated up, the music was cranked,
people were dancing like they had drank too much.
She told she wanted to freshen up, asked me if I wanted a beer, I answered her affirmatively and
off she went, back into the raucous crowd,
in the direction of the keg.
She never came back, I never saw her again,
I never even got her name or number.
I felt used, a bit heartbroken.
I think she just wanted to **** me,
then let me go free for personal reasons.
It seemed rather one-sided,
I was hoping we confide in each other.
Strange how that happens both ways sometimes.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
An ash tree stands
at the place of creation
it is called Yggdrasil
A high tree
well-proportioned
the source of the dew
mother of winds
Green it is
standing over
the well of fate
Its roots draw
from the waters
that freshen that well
In old English there is a word
Treowth
it means both
tree
and truth
This tree is truth
its latticework of leaves
and branches
more intricate
than the Milky Way
It is a lung inverted
inhaling heaven's mists
exhaling the wind
It is our guardian tree
planted by a mighty race
that came before
A sentinel of hope
a goad to good works
and the last remaining sign
of a dawning
when the human mind
was first formed.
Rest now in its shade.
The final journey will soon begin.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC
Water
Quench your thirst
Freshen you up
Dirt, sweat, unpleasant smells
Need water to get rid of them all
Friendly water
Reliable more than friends
Cant live without...
Not even a drop..
In a split second...
Unbelievably angry water
Swallowing everything up
Today i lost a place called home
My neighbour's children are gone
Thousands of people suffer a total lost
Possessions no longer
What a bleak future
The whole country mourns
Praying ...persuading angry water to forgive
So we could atleast gather
what we...
Still left behind...
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
In the alley
Behind a night club
We make out
Kissing until our mouths hurt
You whisper some sweet
Then you tell me that
You told your yakuza family
About the marriage.
You take me to a
Low rent, dark and ***** dive
Where no ones goes to
We make love there
Passionately
Yet playfully
I just go to freshen up
That’s when I heard the popping sound.
When I return
The bartender called the police
And you are laying there
We had a last chance to kiss
Then you died peacefully in my arms
I take off you fine chain
Something to remember you by
And left.
I couldn’t bare to see anymore
And I leave you behind
Although you’re my beloved
I ran.
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 7:07 PM UTC
Yesterday I wrote a poem about Ike
You see; Ike made me go
Weak in the knees
Even though
His scent made me sneeze
But that's just minor things
Coz you see
His heart was hotter than warm
He had a sense of humour
Greater than Trevor Noah's
Ha ha
He had a fetish for feet
He said he'll buy me a ring
For my toe
Its a pity though
That me & Ike were a fling
That only lasted something like 10 minutes
Coz he was waiting for his order
At a Mike's kitchen counter
As his wife took a departure
To the rest room near the storeroom
To freshen up n put some powder
And returned to find me laughing my lungs out
As Ike changed his posture
And acted like he was the most innocent man on earth
S.P Radebe
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
Tis the season once again
For me to cast my vote
This year I'm going Bananas
Instead of Artichoke
When it comes to Apples & Oranges
They're pretty much the same
As I close the curtain on the booth
And just start punching names
Asparagus is tops on my list
Much more than Brussels Sprouts
What Veggie will lead the charge
We'll have to wait to find that out
So let's freshen up the voting block
And somewhere in between
As we vote raw our favorite vegetable
The rest of them we'll steam
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 7:06 AM UTC
Spec-tac-ular
There may be times when you contemplate & debate...
&feel; as insignificant as a grain of sand in the middle of the desert
but
*Know that to me, you have always been the speck of dust out of the million other that stood out and glisnted gold in the swirling sunlight
While the others merely hovered amidst the air as if they where lost.*
When people expect and expect...and expect of you
Until you feel like a piece of blue-tac that has been used over and over and over again
Until your sweet stickiness is lost
*Know that I would still love you even if to the world you seemed useless.And I would remind you that even tho sometimes I'm not always there to freshen up your day I shall never stop trying to be there 4 you even if I lose my mintyness too...
because a tic never abadndons a tac*
Because you are the girl who I will never be able to truly serve justice by describing you by words.
You are the one who I tried to describe by using the word
Spectacluar...
& even after I broke it down...
Even then...
Just like a beautiful forever unknown
There's always an end part that I can never fully know..about you
But I guess that's what makes you a beautiful mystery.
The fact you're like a precious golden 'speck'
And a 'tac' that never stops breaking off pieces of yourself to help others even if it means you have less
But...
'Ular' you are something 'ular' too...
I don't know what or what the 'ular' of you is...
But I'm sure whatever 'it' is...it adds up to make you...
Spectacularly...you
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC