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"gems" poems
Black surges, forges piling emotion, Foraging, attaining such predicted erosion. Color the rubies to a diluted amber, Brittle, dripped gems are toxic, I clamber To the lamp as to see my implicit devotion. Vitals ascend, and I can't perceive This motionless forfeit I often receive. Aid is essential, it holds potential, To cure this conflicted, addicted vessel. My heart on my sleeve, I'm undeceived. I implore to explore, as breath, I leave, So close to dying, I'm on the eve Of darker clothing, and flowers to family, Hallucinate my abnormalities. Yet somehow, I am still on my feet-
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May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
I'm Still On My Feet
*He sat by a furnace of seven-fold heat, As He watched by the precious ore. And closer He bent with a searching gaze, As He heated it more and more. He knew He had ore that could stand the test And He wanted the finest gold, To mold as a crown, for the king to wear, Set with gems of price untold. So He laid our gold in the burning fire, Tho’ we fain would say Him "nay." And watched the dross that we had not seen As it melted and passed away. And the gold grew brighter and yet more bright, But our eyes were dim with tears, We saw but the fire, not the Master’s hand, And questioned with anxious fears. Yet our gold shone out with a richer glow As it mirrored a form above, That bent o’er the fire, though unseen by us With a look of ineffable love. Can we think it pleases His loving heart To cause us a moment's pain? Ah, no! But He sees through the present cross The bliss of eternal gain. So He waited there with a watchful eye, With a love that is strong and sure. And His gold did not suffer a bit more heat Than was needed to make it pure. ~ A.F. Ingler*
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Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
The Refiner's Fire (by A.F. Ingler)
What's it take These days To write a poem That makes the world go mad That brings the crowds to their feet That spreads like wildfire Through a dry winter forest Is it those excessively long words? The ostentatiously loquacious Platitudinous ramblings Of an insecure mind aspiring To authentic intellect? Is it perhaps...      the "creativity"                of      varied      spacing   or...    could it be..... the lack                               of capitalization                the loathsome little letters                screaming out                          hey, look at us!          ... or maybe it's                the punctuation marks,      littered, haphazardly           through the text                     (whether used correctly)                or, theyre not?!      despite worrds mispeled           and a grammar might is broken    can these gimmicks increase interest         though miswritten or misspoken? Is the trick alliteration Whose bite brightly bids us To center on the snappy sounds? Although all along      unvoiced underneath Ideas idle in the isles    (or perhaps the aisles) Of the mind To meld and craft and bind Our thorough thoughts And worthy words Into lines Which Heard by herds Raise the                   Praise for which we                   Privately, desperately                   Pray Maybe it's a magical mix Of splendid in-your-head rhythm Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks Flowing smoothly without schism Well-spaced stanzas Well-used time Well-crafted phrases Well-thought-out rhymes Well, maybe not...      those gems are often ignored      cast-aside, unread, even abhorred Why? Because the modern world doesn't need your rules your restrictions your regulations your misguided boundaries your oppression your antiquated ideas    of "the right way"    to write    to speak    to act    to live    to (fill in the blank) No, what the modern world needs is Negation! Contradiction! Resistance! Revolt! And poetry whose words Say the same thing Repeat the same meaning Echo the same lyrics Rephrase the same thoughts But in an ever-so-slightly Different Varied Altered Adjusted Changed up way Line After line Of synonyms           over                and                     over                          and                          over                          again ----- What's it take These days To not give in To narcissism's spiral? But more importantly: What's it take To make my poem go viral?
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Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
Viral
What's it take These days To write a poem That makes the world go mad That brings the crowds to their feet That spreads like wildfire Through a dry winter forest Is it those excessively long words? The ostentatiously loquacious Platitudinous ramblings Of an insecure mind aspiring To authentic intellect? Is it perhaps...      the "creativity"                of      varied      spacing   or...    could it be..... the lack                               of capitalization                the loathsome little letters                screaming out                          hey, look at us!          ... or maybe it's                the punctuation marks,      littered, haphazardly           through the text                     (whether used correctly)                or, theyre not?!      despite worrds mispeled           and a grammar might is broken    can these gimmicks increase interest         though miswritten or misspoken? Is the trick alliteration Whose bite brightly bids us To center on the snappy sounds? Although all along      unvoiced underneath Ideas idle in the isles    (or perhaps the aisles) Of the mind To meld and craft and bind Our thorough thoughts And worthy words Into lines Which Heard by herds Raise the                   Praise for which we                   Privately, desperately                   Pray Maybe it's a magical mix Of splendid in-your-head rhythm Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks Flowing smoothly without schism Well-spaced stanzas Well-used time Well-crafted phrases Well-thought-out rhymes Well, maybe not...      those gems are often ignored      cast-aside, unread, even abhorred Why? Because the modern world doesn't need your rules your restrictions your regulations your misguided boundaries your oppression your antiquated ideas    of "the right way"    to write    to speak    to act    to live    to (fill in the blank) No, what the modern world needs is Negation! Contradiction! Resistance! Revolt! And poetry whose words Say the same thing Repeat the same meaning Echo the same lyrics Rephrase the same thoughts But in an ever-so-slightly Different Varied Altered Adjusted Changed up way Line After line Of synonyms           over                and                     over                          and                          over                          again ----- What's it take These days To not give in To narcissism's spiral? But more importantly: What's it take To make my poem go viral?
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107
The sun is setting on a hot day, he hides coyly behind tall sycamores, his reflection playing on the undersides of trees on the riverbank. His warm breath is the breeze that kisses my cheek. The river carries me on, over pebbles and rocks below the glassy surface. Dragonflies dart around, flying gems that glisten in the sun. The heron, with diligent patience, hides seamlessly in the trees awaiting his next meal. He takes off when I get near, his frame is much larger in flight. The sweetness of honeysuckle is thick in this warm air. The trees on the riverbank are laden and dripping of the sweet flowers. As I gently glide through the water, the waves lap against my boat, almost making the sound of kisses. This is my river time. All these beautiful things, I love. There is passion in Nature, it is in birdsong and in the breeze. It is in the river as it moves along and the swaying of the trees. This is where I breathe.
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Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
My River Trip [Short Descriptive Essay]
*erstwhile a halcyon extant universe incessantly ceaseless cradled itself in hues of violet phosphorescence laced with cobalt shimmering stars perpetually whole it nonetheless sought to know itself encompassing all that is bubbling over in effervescent ebullience intertwined with indescribable catastrophic splendor it shattered into tens of millions of splinters of eloquent efflorescent light shining in the night each splinter heretofore imbued with sempiternal felicity began to conjure sumptuous dulcet elixirs furtively seeking out savory emollients to mollify the pique of separation plummeting they fell into monstrous competition seeking demesne they lost the purpose of gaining awareness and intelligent consciousness surreptitious estrangement overflowed deluging them in excruciating agony thus an epiphany was born the carving of the beleaguered fragments inked with tremendous pain created a transfiguration of splinters to crystals hence enlightenment commenced as the gems magnetized together constructing a world where omnipotence shines the ineffable beauty formed by the reintegration of crystals far exceeds the original as they dazzle with universal light bursting from diamonds etched in deep wisdom flooding the firmament with kaleidoscopic rainbow strobes cascading the sky ©2016janetaylor
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May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
crystals of light
Kashmir Delirium Oh People Of Earth! Thankful are we, For each act of benevolence shown to us. Your gilded sweet words describing, The beauty of Kasmir, land and people. Mention in books and talks of it's riches, Naming it the Sweet Paradise Of Earth. The Lord has been bountiful to Kashmir, Treasure of resources in every sphere. To elevate each aspect, our wish for life, As every acre of this land is worth millions. Full of treasures and recreational value, Forestry with grandeur and silvery rivers. The outside world's view is so limited, Simple folks living in the lap of rich bounty. Mentioned in world forums and organizations, But what of the goal of giving us freedom? What has The UN established in our name? To measure the pain and anguish we bear, At the hands, of our supposed benefactors. The saviours who has us fractured. But in reality they train their enforcers, In the art of creating oceans of tears. The red blood now hidden in camouflage, The spent shells now gathered and hidden. The leaders we are told to elect in electoral shams, Run publicity kiosks and swell friend lists. Joint conferences to address personal interests Dialogues that never address the root issues. Just the formalities and no sympathy, For the ones burnt in cruel sadistic reprisals. The hypocrisy continues deliriously unabated, More augmentation of the security forces. For a first hand view of deep hypocrisy, Walk this land, you know as beautiful. Religious leaders will teach you political artistry, Sermons full of ambiguity and guile. Waywardness and narrow mindedness on display, Political apologists give great lessons. Religion and religious ethnicity are tools, That keep minds and bodies in total check. Gamesmanship by leaders is the rule of thumb, As promises are forgotten once office is obtained. When writing of this succulent beautiful land, Write of the air, pregnant with sadistic practices. This land is being stripped of worldly treasures, And the greatest treasure is mistreated daily. The best of nation is the inhabitants, Ignored are the real gems of this beautiful paradise.
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Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 6:44 AM UTC
Kashmir Delirium
Kashmir Delirium Oh People Of Earth! Thankful are we, For each act of benevolence shown to us. Your gilded sweet words describing, The beauty of Kasmir, land and people. Mention in books and talks of it's riches, Naming it the Sweet Paradise Of Earth. The Lord has been bountiful to Kashmir, Treasure of resources in every sphere. To elevate each aspect, our wish for life, As every acre of this land is worth millions. Full of treasures and recreational value, Forestry with grandeur and silvery rivers. The outside world's view is so limited, Simple folks living in the lap of rich bounty. Mentioned in world forums and organizations, But what of the goal of giving us freedom? What has The UN established in our name? To measure the pain and anguish we bear, At the hands, of our supposed benefactors. The saviours who has us fractured. But in reality they train their enforcers, In the art of creating oceans of tears. The red blood now hidden in camouflage, The spent shells now gathered and hidden. The leaders we are told to elect in electoral shams, Run publicity kiosks and swell friend lists. Joint conferences to address personal interests Dialogues that never address the root issues. Just the formalities and no sympathy, For the ones burnt in cruel sadistic reprisals. The hypocrisy continues deliriously unabated, More augmentation of the security forces. For a first hand view of deep hypocrisy, Walk this land, you know as beautiful. Religious leaders will teach you political artistry, Sermons full of ambiguity and guile. Waywardness and narrow mindedness on display, Political apologists give great lessons. Religion and religious ethnicity are tools, That keep minds and bodies in total check. Gamesmanship by leaders is the rule of thumb, As promises are forgotten once office is obtained. When writing of this succulent beautiful land, Write of the air, pregnant with sadistic practices. This land is being stripped of worldly treasures, And the greatest treasure is mistreated daily. The best of nation is the inhabitants, Ignored are the real gems of this beautiful paradise.
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49
Through the red joysticks And white & blue slap buttons. Without the advancement of memory cards Or weird split screens to distract. My last life is always the one I save for you, Through the experience points and colorful gems There’s much more to explore. My first wow, my first time, my next again & Again. No matter how many times I feel like I lose, You’re the reason I always get back up. My initials fill all ten slots of your heart, Until you're decommissioned and pulled Out of stock. There they will always remain
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Dec 31, 2021
Dec 31, 2021 at 4:47 AM UTC
Red Joysticks
Impatience rode and passed me by, I caught her looking down on me, cuttingly, with her gems for eyes. scornfully, sighting me up & down. Laughingly, the sadistic mirth in her vision spoke: "Ha-ha, Yes, I've caught your attention, how little you know; a simple race with men & your limbs fail. How then will you run with horses?" I took wisdom from that evil look of thought. In that moment, I pulled on My Covering much tighter, that Humble but Faith-full Cloak, I wrapped around me firmly averting my eyes to the blazing fire before me, warming myself in the comfort of its gaze, patiently waiting... …waiting for horses. © Qwey.ku
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May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
PATIENCE DEAR FRIEND - PATIENCE
the ***** ghost comes to those who have suffered long the agony of torrid loves hunger he is a savior that needs to be saved a glittering pageant of ****** despair his color sapphire a weeping shell a dark cloud of smoldering ash that never burns out he is heat and light he can smell the musk between your legs taste tears of want as if they are his own his **** bursting like trees bludgeon hard, substanceless no you can't put your finger on it your heart a weeping furnace your parched mouth dire is his the emptiness between your legs is his he comes to you a vacant smudge then, white attendant with black eyed gems be not afraid he was lost in life a moralist who could not find Jacobs ladder nor free him self of false boundaries set upon him by the good people their minds spider bites and corpses who imagined a god who loved them by decrees of thou shalt not not not and did not know that flesh needs flesh and only human love could save him then to the grave, just a ***** ghost theory to the living
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Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 10:01 AM UTC
***** Ghost Theory
She thinks that she is only silver. Second place, forever and again. But this girl ... she is so, so much more. She is my dear, dearest friend. Her soul, while brighter than the sun, is tortured by confusion and things in her past ... lofty goals that would thwart even the toughest and a lifestyle going so fast. Courageous ... and meek. A warrior ... and a flower ... all at the same time. Legions of followers, those who look up ... never to see, the little girl who roams in her mind. She will get were she is aiming ... my heart believes in her so. She is strong, stubborn ... so very brave, and this child inside her grows. Now distant, I'll still watch her life unfold from this abyss, for reasons that may forever remain untold. She is far more valuable than any silver, precious gems ... yes, even gold. No object d'art or more costly antiquity ... has ever, ever been sold. I only wish that I could have somehow ... somehow made her see ... that as my friend ... she was so, so much more ... than merely silver to me.
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Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 7:11 AM UTC
She Thinks That She Is Only Silver
*Contemplate a teardrop, and this is what I see. A drop of moisture from an irritation? Some agree. What is a teardrop made of, just some water from a gland? But brush it off and contemplate the moisture on your hand. It's also made of sorrow or from pain that you may feel A treasure of emotion on your cheek that might congeal "Tears of happiness" are made of joy or great suprise That fall like rain in summer from a pair of smiling eyes. They course down cheeks in rivers or collect on lashes there. They form in silent puddles when emotions are laid bare. Tears are gems as precious as a diamond that is mined So do not take them lightly if their origins you can't find. They're made of things like music that can make the heart take wing Or how the soul can elevate to hear an angel sing.*
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Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
Treasure of emotion
Perhaps it was destiny, That we met on that rainy day, You looked so happy, saying the teary raindrops were like jewels, Joy surely comes in different kinds but what made them like gems for me was that bright, luminous grin of yours, while gazing away, Out of selfishness and lonesome thoughts I drove myself near you, To feel your warmth, to feel your soft, delicate skin and to feel loved. Drawn into the imaginated landscape within my heart you lit an evening star, made it shine so my dim thoughts shall not corrupt me, How generous you were, sharing your light with one who has none, Yet, when I understood the meaning of eternity, you were long gone, Passed away due time, an old dreamer who always saw the positive, Fallen to the destiny of a life's end, oh how ruined I was then. Since I cease to fade, I may as well keep the light you lit within me forever, so you too will never fully disappear from the face of earth. ~ Umi
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May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 8:30 PM UTC
Destiny
Attracted to the broken Like myself I yearn to be fixed To make amends To feel once again To wake up to my favorite person at my side It’s not in the cards for me And it wasn’t for you So broken No matter the repairs I’ll never feel like new Find me in a thrift store Along with the other gems Marked down due to being used
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Nov 23, 2019
Nov 23, 2019 at 10:12 AM UTC
Thrift item
The glitter and the shame The wow and the woe The wants and the needs Do we even know? Covered in gems that weigh us down Chasing the trends that never last Isn't it enough? Isn't it exhausting? Such contradictions we resort to The more we huger, the more we fall Only to find that nothing last at all So what are we chasing, what are we doing? Does this ever end? What has humanity become? I am disgusted Myself included
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Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
Materialism
As I walk along the sea of life I pass the soft blue water against the pale blue sky I think of the sea creatures, the ducks, the seagulls, the seahorses and starfish the myriad array of shells and stones bringing me gems of wisdom... The carefree breeze as the water splashes on the shore relaxing and renewing me... I meditate on the serene tides bringing me calm and focus The sea is intense but still as it enters my inner and outer worlds, but even though there is an end somewhere - it seems like an eternity...
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Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 11:29 AM UTC
The Deep Blue Sea
when the moon has finally succumbed to the flirtatious will of night and even stars grow weary of guarding peaceful slumbers the sneaky temptress twilight makes her move and slithers through my window as she glides into my bed, I can tell she is up to her old tricks my eyes forget to close and my mind forgets to sleep the darkened outlines of my room crumble as each breath escapes my lips and now I remember where I've hidden you, blue eyed boy how strange a sensation to remember your body a rekindled sullen mood your arms are a heavy warmth against my waist and your legs are clumsy giants that wrestle with mine all night yes, this is how it feels when your cheek nuzzles the nape of my neck and even here, your breathing rumbles like a storm rolling out to sea Your heavy exhales compose a sensual melody as each crescendo crashes against my clavicle I'm at the mercy of your lingering shadow I'm the casualty of the pressure in this room I want to stop breathing because I feel that I could make love to you in the blackened air my hands trace out your handsome face and place two gems for your brilliant eyes and caress the sharp angles of your cheek your lips were delicate so I use only my right hand I'd give myself to you so honestly this time but here, loneliness slowly swells your lungs a tar that coats the lining of your throat you are a cruel asphyxiation brought on by the mystic twilight herself but her ruse won't last forever I'll drift off into the sweet solace of sleep and ponder on how you love me more when my bed is empty, blue eyed boy
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Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 12:50 AM UTC
blue eyed boy
when the moon has finally succumbed to the flirtatious will of night and even stars grow weary of guarding peaceful slumbers the sneaky temptress twilight makes her move and slithers through my window as she glides into my bed, I can tell she is up to her old tricks my eyes forget to close and my mind forgets to sleep the darkened outlines of my room crumble as each breath escapes my lips and now I remember where I've hidden you, blue eyed boy how strange a sensation to remember your body a rekindled sullen mood your arms are a heavy warmth against my waist and your legs are clumsy giants that wrestle with mine all night yes, this is how it feels when your cheek nuzzles the nape of my neck and even here, your breathing rumbles like a storm rolling out to sea Your heavy exhales compose a sensual melody as each crescendo crashes against my clavicle I'm at the mercy of your lingering shadow I'm the casualty of the pressure in this room I want to stop breathing because I feel that I could make love to you in the blackened air my hands trace out your handsome face and place two gems for your brilliant eyes and caress the sharp angles of your cheek your lips were delicate so I use only my right hand I'd give myself to you so honestly this time but here, loneliness slowly swells your lungs a tar that coats the lining of your throat you are a cruel asphyxiation brought on by the mystic twilight herself but her ruse won't last forever I'll drift off into the sweet solace of sleep and ponder on how you love me more when my bed is empty, blue eyed boy
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29
The snow glimmers like diamonds, each falling flake sparkling in its own array of prismatic colors. The sky, clear and blue, is sprinkled with these small gems. breathe in.       The air is cool and crisp, stinging her nose on every intake, but filling her lungs with clean fresh air. breathe out.       Little puffs of steam flow from her mouth and into the world, each little droplet tumbling over another as they scramble to explore this new universe, until they vanish completely from sight. breathe in.       The soft breeze drifts carelessly over the snow, leaving an icy touch in its wake. breathe out.       The thumps of her heart increase and fill her ears as she approaches the gate. breathe in.       The thumps become steady, a rhythmic beat to keep the time. breathe out.       Three. The hand goes up. breathe in.       Two. silence.       One. It drops. breathe out       She is gone.
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Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
Untitled
Children are playing in the pools of tyrant kings, Who died during the war, Of justice, lust and fear, The need for starvation and death are the shining little gems in the hearts of the Kings Queens, Inhale the sweat of broken toys, Who knew no more than heartless throwings, And kiddies puberty which makes them forget, The fun that they had, Oh inhale, inhale, in jail, Gang tattoos are removed, So death wouldn't be nigh.
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May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 6:56 AM UTC
Inhale
Donuts, o donuts, Wheat Flour Enriched Soybean, Palm and Cottonseed Oil Hydrogenated Vegetable Oil Partially Hydrogenated Cocoa Processed with Alkali, Sodium Acid Pyrophosphate Sodium Aluminum Phosphate Aluminum Sulfate Salt, Dextrose, Soy Lecithin, Guar Gum, Cellulose Gum, Tapioca Dextrin, Corn Dextrins, Mono Diglycerides, Citric Acid, Enzymes, Natural & Artificial colors & flavors Sorbic Acid and Sodium Propionate and Potassium Sorbate To Retain Freshness: Eat 'em up yum.
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Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 2:08 PM UTC
Donut Gems
Your atoms were once a part of the stars and maybe that explains your brown eyes and the shine inside them. The atoms that sculpt your body used to sculpt the ocean and maybe that explains the depths, hollows and dark corners of your mind I've yet gotten to discover. Maybe your rough edges are explained by the solely fact that the atoms forming who I'm deeply in love with were once rocks with gems inside them. It has been a privilege to fall for a beautiful, bright and amazing combination of Earth that is you.
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Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
Atoms
Appearances can be deceptive, And to the superficial gaze The outside looks dull and grey Plain looking in many ways, Yet, when a crack causes Water to seep slowly through, A Geode can split to reveal A dazzling sight to view! Piles of purple crystals Sparkling in the light, Such wonderful inner beauty Now apparent for our delight! Have you noticed how some people, May seem plain as plain can be? Yet, if we take time to peer deeper, Then, what gems would we see? Perhaps a beautiful heart We never thought was there, Where an aching generosity Is waiting its time to share? Yes, a warm, glowing inner beauty Will emerge before your eyes, A newly discovered Treasure For you to cherish, and to prize!
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Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 11:47 AM UTC
Beautiful Inside
Poet, be not afraid. There are far worse things than Bad poetry. Keep writing; like a child keeps Drawing with the purest of Disregards to likeness. The more stones you turn, the more Gems you produce. The more ink you rain, The more gracious your written Children grow. All flexing builds muscle. Rough bricks form castles. Even Dalì carved canvases to shreds And started anew Not caring too much. Not caring Too much To keep painting.
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Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
Worse Things Than Bad Poetry
Into a place far away but too familiar, I push open the rusty purple gates, Inhale a lungful of the province air, Kick away blue pebbles on the dusty ground, And then Mano my lolo, my tito Beso my lola, my tita And give my cousins a nudge on the arm, A pinch on the cheeks. I squeeze between four people In a rickety wooden bench and Pass around plate after heavy plate. I fill my banana leaf With spaghetti too soft too sweet, Almost like pudding, With crispy chicken dripping with oil. I wash it off with a cool glass of gulaman, Chewy beads and gems in sugary water. Fathers talk about basketball, boxing, billiards; Mothers browse through photo albums and magazines; While we children argue about Superman or Batman. Our laughter fills the humid air And goes up, up, up to the ears of the neighbors. In celebration of the time we have together And a nice sunny day We devour our meals And go ahead and Climb trees and Get our faces sticky with sweet fruits, Lick chocolate ice popsicles, Chase each other in the weedy playground, Bike around town, Pick colorful flowers, Wrestle with each other, Play badminton on a windy day, Scare around chickens and guinea pigs, And play patintero under the dull orange street lamps. We nervously creep inside the back door, All sweaty, bearing bruises and scratches But still with wide smiles on our faces. All is futile though. An angry grandmother awaits, Scolding us for Coming home past sunset. More and more stars glitter the sky As the night gets deeper and deeper. The gentle evening breeze whistles a note As it enters through the window. The karaoke blasts grating voices Interrupted by hearty laughter. Playing cards and corn chips litter the table. We children exchange jokes and ghost stories. And then, We bid our goodbyes, Sharing hugs and kisses Stained with discontent and sadness. Our hearts about to burst In excitement for the next Reunion.
0
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC
Reunion
Into a place far away but too familiar, I push open the rusty purple gates, Inhale a lungful of the province air, Kick away blue pebbles on the dusty ground, And then Mano my lolo, my tito Beso my lola, my tita And give my cousins a nudge on the arm, A pinch on the cheeks. I squeeze between four people In a rickety wooden bench and Pass around plate after heavy plate. I fill my banana leaf With spaghetti too soft too sweet, Almost like pudding, With crispy chicken dripping with oil. I wash it off with a cool glass of gulaman, Chewy beads and gems in sugary water. Fathers talk about basketball, boxing, billiards; Mothers browse through photo albums and magazines; While we children argue about Superman or Batman. Our laughter fills the humid air And goes up, up, up to the ears of the neighbors. In celebration of the time we have together And a nice sunny day We devour our meals And go ahead and Climb trees and Get our faces sticky with sweet fruits, Lick chocolate ice popsicles, Chase each other in the weedy playground, Bike around town, Pick colorful flowers, Wrestle with each other, Play badminton on a windy day, Scare around chickens and guinea pigs, And play patintero under the dull orange street lamps. We nervously creep inside the back door, All sweaty, bearing bruises and scratches But still with wide smiles on our faces. All is futile though. An angry grandmother awaits, Scolding us for Coming home past sunset. More and more stars glitter the sky As the night gets deeper and deeper. The gentle evening breeze whistles a note As it enters through the window. The karaoke blasts grating voices Interrupted by hearty laughter. Playing cards and corn chips litter the table. We children exchange jokes and ghost stories. And then, We bid our goodbyes, Sharing hugs and kisses Stained with discontent and sadness. Our hearts about to burst In excitement for the next Reunion.
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59
Star light full of silver Moon beams laced with gold I'd give you all I gather For you just to behold Flecks of gold in sunshine Silver steaks upon the sea I'd gather all for you to have If you would be with me Gather up the silver dust Gather up the gold Gather up the moonlight mist I will offer up my soul Gather up the silver dust Gather up the gold Gather up the moonlight mist If you once I just could hold Emeralds and ruby gems From rainbows in the sky I'd gather them for you as well For you my dear I'd die I'd mine for diamonds in the night From the stars up oh so high I'd gather all if you would be The one for which I'd die Gather up the silver dust Gather up the gold Gather up the moonlight mist I will offer up my soul Gather up the silver dust Gather up the gold Gather up the moonlight mist If you once I just could hold
0
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 7:16 PM UTC
Silver Dust and Moonlight Mist