"ful" poems
Fiat lux and
Then I stand and see how it looks out on
Gnothi seauton psychologies of a naughty automaton he is
Out speeding on the autobahn while she is
Now sleeping on futons in peace it's
Not pieces that need to be re-ordered yet
Since he's reckless but wrecks less when he's courting it's
A sport, you see a ticket's his master trophy in-
Deed endorsing his Porsche-speed matrimony down master row and she's
Driven to this racer who makes her en-
Force things, they later make her take her lead like lead's erasing then vanishing
Banished from whatever it is they're drinking and it's cleaned
Running from the pitcher as if it's her fantasy
Love who's the catcher who has her and
Now you see
It's not lack-lusting but luck-lasting because lastly
Down the street
Is where I swear we're running faster from crashing, finally
Into this dreamcatcher's hazard
Our dreamcatcher's hazard
Oh have you heard
It's absurd that the whip cracked
Yeah the Porsche was hacked baby transformed back in two and back into a nat-
Ural rural state where the horse power level was more morally sta-
Ble biblically faith-
Ful foolishly a-
Ble but yeah we take over whatever we face-off and baby we're faster so we'll have to chase after our
Dreamcatcher's hazard and
That dreamcatcher's hazard's a
A madness that is learned
And it's absurd
So say the mattress is glowing it's holy
Matrimony, so don't look lonely it's only
Master Roshi, to say to chase your dreams
It's you and me be-
Cause for you my blood is flowing
For you my blood is glowing
For you this blood is flowing
And too the flood is blowing
It's true our love is growing
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
.
•they'd
come at night•
these footsteps are
never light• always
heavy and running ar-
ound•...they are annoy-
ingly creepy..., these aw-
ful sounds•every night,
after eleven without
fail•into rooms,
us they would
tail• making a
din overhead
•when all
should
be quiet inste-
ad•like barefooted
children i would ***
ume...•wandering and
exploring into every ro-
om•...could they come
wilfully•from the cou-
ple who live above
me•i very much
doubt so•bec-
ause this much
i know...•that
the neigh-
bour up-
stairs, they're
old•frail and meek;
never bold•they'd re-
tire early•after late, ne-
ver a party•now... there
the feet go again•drivi-
ng me almost insane•
on my ceiling now,
they're pacing•
they know i kn-
ow and they are
playing•these
invisible
feet•ne-
ver would we
meet•one thing for
sure•this is not a friv-
olous tour•determined
to tell•that they exist
as well•nothing i'm
certain but it is clear
•i think they really
like it here...•
•i don't think
they're leavi-
ng•they're
bent on
staying...•
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 8:48 AM UTC
Nigeria, a Dying country,
Her kinsmen will gather in war to share her sweat
More troubles for the unborn and her growing heirs,
The unfolding dread non-soldiers at heart like me.
Nigeria, she spring forth from the dark soil
Her past never stop to echoe, her Iroko turned void
Blessed with milk, honey and seeds with hearts fixed to the creator,
The sword bearer of coal war-ful gladiators.
A vineyard in the days of her reckoning
A different story after her great hair home coming.
Tale of a true black race
And the down laying of her good moral ways.
Just like how a river side tree dries,
So does her firewood also cries.
Her genuine red caps are nowhere to be found
Her wind, her seed will have to make do with the feeble dust in character around.
Shaking is her government seat on the rock
Still steady is her opposition in their secret walls.
They keep killing her vision in disguise of trying to unlock
While they battle to pluck away all her roses.
The voiceless murmur and watch,
Her pocket papers fly and run
While a once great country keep dying on.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
(the phonograph’s voice like a keen spider skipping
quickly over patriotic swill.
The,negress,in the,rocker by the,curb,tipping
and tipping,the flocks of pigeons. And the skil-
ful loneliness,and the rather fat
man in bluishsuspenders half-reading the
Evening Something
in the normal window. and a cat.
A cat waiting for god knows makes me
wonder if i’m alive(eye pries,
not open. Tail stirs.) And the. fire-escapes—
the night. makes me wonder if,if i am
the face of a baby smeared with beautiful jam
or
my invincible Nearness rapes
laughter from your preferable,eyes
6k
The other night
I spent all of my tears & paid all my prayers,
I had hoped it would end it all.
My pillows
cashed in the huge streaming check
from every drop my eyes spilled.
My blanket held me down
while both thought took turns
throwing hard punches & kicks
at every square-inch on my body.
Then
my bones crunched
with every attempt
to fully drain the hope-
-ful air in my lungs.
I could only lay there.
Twitching out breathless cries,
rubbing blood out of my eyes
& taking it all in for the whole night.
The following day
I brought these thugs to work
but no one else seemed to notice.
My doctor tried to numb me with pills,
& I must admit
although they did work at giving it all the cold shoulder,
it didn't take long
before I struggled to use my shoulder
With their knives & spears steaked into my skin.
Every night now, I sleep to their stories
& their bullying,
eyes-wide,
cut-throat,
focused on breathing all night.
I thought I could fake my way through it all
but now
these noices have started making sense
& I
don't know why I'm breathing anymore.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 3:42 AM UTC
Pink blink
Red fread
Purple neple
Green mean
Blue ful
Yellow trellow
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
I miss you
but I bind my wrists when I think of you
Was I a fool . . .
Your name now on the list
A thought that's only wist-
ful
hurtful
as I bite my tongue and turn away
shake out your image from my head
before I bludgeon my chest
remembering my quiet idiocy
And your dimpled smile
My last words
You never answered
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
It's hard to fall in love again
Because after all that I've been through
I very strongly believe that the only ones who can ever truly love you back
Are your parents and your dog
It's hard to fall in love again
Because I was born and brought up in a culture which said that all that matters is the outside
And the inside can just go **** off
It's hard to fall in love again
Because it is shown that being fair is the only way you can be lovely
That all matrimonials ever wanted was a slim and b'ful lady
If this was an MCQ, I'll be the none of these
It's hard to fall in love again
Because I'm scared all men just want the body with curves and face like an angel
That the only things that should be big are your **** and your ***
Because who gives a **** about a big heart
It's hard to fall in love again
Because the words that he said in the past still haunt me, telling me that I'm not good enough
Pretty enough, **** enough, anything enough to be loved
It's hard to fall in love again
Because eventhough I read quotes on how beauty comes from within, it's proved wrong with every single encounter
Which leads to be believe that all that movies and books ever taught us about romance is absolute ********
That the only reason Jack ever loved Rose was because, well, she was ******* hot
It's hard to fall in love again
Because people don't see that you're born with the skin but it takes effort to build the soul
Because the skin will form wrinkles and sag with time
But the soul and the mind won't
It's hard to fall in love again
Because I don't want to add more to my list of insecurities and brokenness which scar me forever
Because I don't want to dive down and down and down into my worn out self esteem
It's so ******* hard to fall in love again
So I laugh it off and joke around
But everytime I see you
I really, really want to fall in love again
But I'm scared that you'll do the same and break whatever is left of me
That you'll turn me inside out and rub my imperfections till they burn
That you'll laugh with your friends and say
Where did that ***** even gather the guts from to come up to me and say, "Hey man, I like you"
Like that's the worst thing anyone could ever say to you?
They say
Love is a drug
But I think I'm in rehab
They say
Don't be cynical about love because in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
It is as perennial as the grass
But I think I'm better off in a barren land
A place that can accept me for who I am
So the next time you ask,
"Are you dating someone?"
And I reply with a snort and say, "Huh, look at me. No one would want to be with me."
And you say, "No, looks don't matter and the personality-"
I'll punch you in the ******* face
Because to hell with all your crap
You won't want to be me even for a single day
You won't want to be the ugly girl standing in the corner of the hallway
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 7:03 AM UTC
Kindness is not nice.
‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive
‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive
‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change
she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain
but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface
ready to be blown away or pressed
under a muddy boot of disinterest
‘Nice’ is a damp whisper
a mouse cowering in the corner
hoping you will blink and miss her
lest she attract your notice
lest she presume too much
and cause a whisker of offence
Kindness is not like that –
Kindness pushes in, quick and nimble
a hero with no mask, unasked
unexpected, dodging the turmoil
leaving nothing unsaid and little undone
in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption
Kindness defies convention
Kindness carefully aims her weapons of choice
and advances relentless and regardless
of any and all obstacles in her way
Kindness perseveres all the love-long day
Kindness doesn’t delay
Kindness is gleeful for the chance of invasion
ready to disarm with expert compassion
with her regiments of patience
armed to the teeth with gracious
placing tanks of good faith on all fronts
Kindness confronts
Courage is her currency, boldness her language,
trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored
happily wearing all-weather clothing
for any and all unexpected storms
Kindness transforms
Kindness weakens all defenses
and challenges all camouflaged pretenses
Kindness pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds
and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields
she - blooms
Kindness is not 'nice'
Kindness isn’t in this for the likes
Kindness bites
She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight
Kindness never bails from the fight
never fails, never takes flight
Kindness is nothing casual,
nothing incidental
This Kindness is elemental
She is Avengers-Assemble,
End-Game-level
monumental
Kindness is not 'nice'.
Kindness is loving awe-ful.
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
Kindness is not nice.
Nice is soft and inoffensive.
Nice is easy and effects no change, it's cotton wool - not stuffed tight, but just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or trodden into a muddy disinterest. Nice is a damp whisper, a mouse cowering in the corner, taking up as little space as possible, lest it be noticed, lest it presume too much and cause a whisker of offence.
Kindness isn't like that -
Kindness pushes in, claws out, quick and heavy, uninvited, unexpected, taking pleasure in disturbance, in leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in its pursuit of creating a disruption of difference. Kindness counts everyone a target, anybody a likely candidate for a three act matinee and evening performance of loud Kindness. Surprise is its currency, smiles its language, common humankindness its passport to lands yet to be explored, to vast red territories with drumbeats of gratefulness for the opportunity to march in with regiments of compassion and to leave a signature devastation of brutal Kindness.
Kindness is not 'nice'.
Kindness is loving awe-ful.
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 3:37 AM UTC
Restless hungry, found a tiny scrap of a brownie in the back of the refrigerator, wrapped in plastic about the size of a large 35 cent quarter.
Gobbled up and gone.
Eye had purchased it a week ago, maybe more.
Actually it was more like eye was held up at gunpoint by a sad young face for a large and green single dollar Bill.
In return, was bequeathed said brownie eye dropper-ful.
The apartment I live in a big city, many apartments were recession empty for a long time. But in the last few years, the empty apartments in the building were almost all sold to foreigners.
Now the bldg is an amulet melted of the lucky overseas fortunate, those overseers overseas seizers, who come to reside in the most fabulous site in these United States...and buy a piece of the dream away from the be-headers, secret police or governments that decide you are now an enemy of the state, as of this morning. No judgement.
anyway, this doe eyed child of estimated six or eight years of age accosts me in our large lobby, proffers me the brownie scrap for a Bill.
me a sucker of a salesman myself, and an eye affician-doe, well those doefuls, those eyes, no one could resist!
so eye asked her name,
but all she could say in
Anglais was...
"Brownie One Dollar?"
laughing out loud for no apparent cause,
the hanging about lobbyists looked at me staring...
Why was eye laughing?
laughing cause eye realized
this elfin child had become
fitfully but fully Americanized.
and I loved her eyes in mine, and when I see her periodically, I say:
"Hey! Brownie One Dollar, How are ya!"
and everyone snicker smiles at the old man with the even stupider grin upon his eyes.
That would be eye.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:02 PM UTC
With each new holiday,
we are told to purchase,
fake plastic memories
for a fake plastic purpose.
Fake Plastic trees
for Christmas to usher.
Fake Plastic hearts
for Valentine's lovers.
Fake Plastic wreaths
for a New Year’s front door.
Fake Plastic pumpkins
for Halloween decor.
For Easter we have
fake plastic eggs
and fake plastic grass
fake plastic time, for us to pass.
Now we have plastic oceans
and plastic rain.
plastic forests
and plastic terrains.
Plastic is what the fish and whales feast on.
Plastic is what we base our economy on.
Plastic plates with plastic silverware,
Plastic here, plastic everywhere.
A fake plastic earth will be forming soon.
With a fake plastic sun and fake plastic moon
Oct 20, 2020
Oct 20, 2020 at 1:19 PM UTC
A dying man does nothing easy,“Lock and load. Let's do it”,said G.W. Green
Right before Jack Pursley sent 3-5 grams of sodium thiopental coursing through his veins
in Texas. Sticking with the states motto it was probably 5. As lethal drugs flowed into his arms, he used an obscenity to describe life, gasped once and made no further movement.
Imagine his brief confidence in the face of this adversity, before the heart’s blood
Settled in the ventricles.
Some have called such confidence a monstrosity titled, “Hubris”--
Alexander of Macedonia thought it necessary, to cross the turbulent river against fear
-ful odds. For destiny demanded imitation of his exemplar Achilles
Quickly eroded was this by the pleas of Parmenio, who reasons it would be,“failure at the outset.”
Imagine Alexander reciting the words of G.W. Green, instead of heeding to this squelching caution
How quickly we’d throw this decisions bones in the pile, with ******
In Stalingrad & Nixon in Vietnam
All to be shoved in to, a mass grave of faulted zealots.
Covered with soil, bitter compost not to be forgotten
Rosemary sprouts next to a burning
bush in Iraq.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:36 AM UTC
The colors, they won't
Bright, bea t ful c l rs
Flash ng, exp nd ng, piercing
Red, green, blue
An ndless
CACOPHONY
Of meaningless
noise
The noise, it won't STOP.
Viol nt, grating w vef rms
Sq e king, screech ng, piercing
SINE, COSINE, TANGENT
Like play ng a ch lkboard on a t rntable
Like playing a KNIFE on a BREATHING RIBCAGE
n ndl ss
p m
Of m n ngl ss
Delete Her
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 4:33 PM UTC
I imagine your mind, imagining mine,
as we imagine yours.
© Matthew Harlovic
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
Charge forth into Dis-topi
Ah, City of Kanye-esque antics and Oxford commas looking for lovers
Bliss-ful dive and conquer in Shakespearean soliloquies thus
Learned to romance on the breast of Juliet and *** ******** despite plaque
Toe the line, Lady Macbeth, let your murderous rhythm sing harmonic
Matthew 18 rendition on the dias of Gatsby, 1920
Thousand and fifteen we still age inappropriate
Lee, Spike jump rage against God Hates **** yet black lives live without crack
******* Kublai Khan to the sanctified Amazons.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC
Twinkling like a never-ending day star,
You shower me with sparkles everywhere.
I am drenched by them like a naked flower,
dressed by raindrops.
Your sparkles are way too light-ful to handle,
That I go into a state of trance.
I look out for you for help,
Because you are the only one who could undress me,
by your slender-smooth fingers.
I refuse to be undressed.
I love this state you have left me to be.
I love to be devoured by you, my Angel...
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 6:58 AM UTC
•
**oo
..oo..
.....oooo.....
♥ ........ooooooo........ ♥
oh .......oooo.o.oooo....... my
love ......ooooo.O.ooooo...... king
soulmate .......oooo.o.oooo....... husband
life is wonder- ........ooooooo........ ful with you
saccharine are your. .....ooo..... lips.bewitching are
your eyes. oh your face ..oo.. are a heavenly .visage
in the amidst of my excru- oo ciation I have crowned you
with my love you are my chosen king that I have.enthroned
in my kingdom, my love shines all throughout like a gleami
-ng crown in a king's head, your silk cape falls down with glo-
ry, your glimmering presence fill the vicinity with peace and
exuberance, your smile an ornament in my heavenly realm, oh
how blissful I am to have you and yes you're my king and I am
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
..your queen and we will be together with God in everlasting..**
with love <3
© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC
Samaj ke bandisho se azad
Bin pankho se urna chahti hu
Pankh tute hai to kya
Khawo se aashaman sajana chahti hu
Hoshlo ki urran hu main
kisi ki muskan hu main
bharat ki anokhi shan hu main
band pare khawbo ki arman hu main
manti hu zindgi ke safar me
Me mil jate hai kuch humsafar
naa hote hue apne
Phir ban jate band aankho ke sapne
Haa main uarna chahti hu
Oos ke bund ki tarah dhara ko susobhit karna chahti hu
khilkhilana chahti hu
Hasna chahti hu
Apne pankho ko failye dhara ko napna chahti hu
apni khusboo se sbko mekhkana chahti hu
apne gunjan se nabh ko gunjit karna chahti hu
kali se ful ki tarah khilna chahti hu
kya thi galti meri
kis bat ki milli mujhe ye saja
ye Samaj ki bandishe
Pairo m jakri ye janjiro se niklna hahti hu
kuch kehna chahti hai
Khud ko khud se milana chahti hu
kyuki jaise main dikhti hu waise hu nai
Mere hai kuch azad sapne
Pinjre m band panchi nahi hu
aazad bharat ki ek shakti ka rup hu
Ek larki hu mai
Haan ek larki
jo khud apna itishah bnana chati hai
Auro se alag khud ki duniya basana chahti hai
kUch karna chati hai
Apne liye
apno ke liye
Iss jahan ke liye.
Feb 15, 2021
Feb 15, 2021 at 7:48 AM UTC
I'm the anarchist judging all those hypocrites
You're the hypocrite judging all those anarchists
There is a thin line between guys like you and I
We share a...Similar scene, though
Filled with...Sin-ful Misfits.
Clean cut suits, or ripped jeans
Baby, it doesn't matter to me...
No time to flatter, its time for the crime
Of justifiable homicide.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
There's a fae
Who lives in a fern.
Her wings so little,
Her feet so kittle.
She was a tease,
But certainly not the least.
She flits through the grass,
With a skimpy dress of brass.
She hides in the shrub,
And offers a defiant shrug.
Her whistles beckons to the birds,
Even the goblins dare leave their beds.
Her step on petals are of light springs,
Even with hair tied in ribbon strings.
Mischievous little thing she was
Other wary faes ought to pause.
So carefree she treads,
Even mama could not knot her in a thread.
Most often, mama warns and shoos
Always, she'd never heed but coos.
One moon-ful night,
When she forgot her plight,
Into the sky, unwarily she soars,
And ends up torn in the bellies of owls.
With all her strenght did she beat
But the night birds had had their bits!
A mournful dirge for a fae no bigger than a wasp,
But who ends up dying with a gasp!
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
Kindness is not nice.
Nice is soft and inoffensive.
Nice is easy and effects no change, it's cotton wool - not stuffed tight, but just resting on the surface ready to be blown away or trodden into a muddy disinterest. Nice is a damp whisper, a mouse cowering in the corner, taking up as little space as possible, lest it be noticed, lest it presume too much and cause a whisker of offence.
Kindness isn't like that -
Kindness pushes in, claws out, quick and heavy, uninvited, unexpected, taking pleasure in disturbance, in leaving nothing unsaid and little undone in its pursuit of creating a disruption of difference. Kindness counts everyone a target, anybody a likely candidate for a three act matinee and evening performance of loud Kindness. Surprise is its currency, smiles its language, common humanity its passport to lands yet explored, to vast pink territories with drumbeats of gratefulness for the opportunity to march in with regiments of compassion and to leave a signature devastation of brutal Kindness.
Kindness is not 'nice'.
Kindness is loving awe-ful.
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 2:01 AM UTC
I imagine a therapist office
as they are lavished in on tv shows
and they're not really like that;
instead of a cozy dimly lit office
it's a white wall maze.
As my doctors
are not private ones
and they surely disclose
all about me
to the insurance company.
I can't help, but twiddle my thumbs
and wonder about the
cries for help
that linger on these paisley painted
dry walls--
snickered with inpersonal
portraits of strangers;
that probably wish
they hung in one of those
elegant, brash, and luxurious offices on tv.
Or maybe instead
the paintings longingly wish
to be dead as well--
instead of being
in this subservient storehouse
that is standing in for an therapist office.
Getting up from another stand-in
this rash beast of dull coloured dust;
calling it a chair would insinuate people
are supposed to sit there,
but I assume
it's true purpose is for the ill-ful
to find something uglier than life itself.
Leaving through another betrayal
that existence couldn't be more lame
is a doorway with the most faux of all possible doors;
it's screaming "nobody ever cut down a tree to make this".
Slipping past another door (eye role)
I come to be in the same room,
but this space is two faultering steps to the left.
And instead of dust everywhere
it's a mobbish moss melancholy
that distastefully lingers
in my personal office's air.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 10:45 AM UTC
What am I?
Mother, father, (ladies first)
Can I be pretty?
It's warm in here, a green-
house of orchids. The ladies
& gentlemen come in to
have a look, woman's always
first.
At least,
give me the benefit of doubt;
Will I ever be pretty?
Doesn't matter much to me,
only, ladies first,
describe what it means to be
...human-god.
Human-god, human-god.
Jesus, and
I can carry my doubt like
a knapsack
through the cloud of eye-ful
bodies, (fellow gods)
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
Many are lost songs
dispersed in forests,
locked behind logs.
The keys were thrown
with penny-ful wishes.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC