"goof" poems
You taught me how to be pro,
It's not like I was ever proficient,
Tibbers goes where he pleases.
But of course you knew that,
You've always been 100 percent-
Cheesey. And because of that,
You sound silly all the time.
Well, okay maybe that's a lie.
But you are a true goof ball.
And I know I'm a dork, but
You catch me when I fall.
And I love that about you.
Shh, that's supposed to be a secret.
Oh yeah, I mean.. it's not like I meant it.
We all know he's an idiot, right?
Wrong. But I won't keep going on.
What am I saying? My words are all over-
The place. Look me straight in the face.
I want you to know that I want to embrace-
You. But I'll give you your space, it's okay.
I don't need it.
My heart is
Complacent.
You are my-
Inspiration.
To land that stun.
You know I will.
We'll get the ****
Don't say you're done.
We got this Thunder Lord,
Now don't be blunt.
Tell me your opinons,
You know I want to hear em'
Whether it's about past topics,
Or about what I'm writing.
Tell me what you think about-
Anything, just don't get toxic.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
Octavian Octopus
lives In the sea
with eight long tentacles
to hug you and me
He spends his days
with Seahorse Sabrina
who dreams longingly
of being a ballerina
Octavian wants so much
to be like his crony
but sadly, all of his
dance moves are bologna.
Still he felt that
he needed to impress
his funky fresh pal
in the pretty pink dress
so for hours, Octavian
practiced his spins and his twirls
he even got a costume
with glittery frills
So came the day
of the big talent show
He could show old Sabrina
that he too, was a pro
But alas,
half way through his act
his big squirmy arms
got caught in a crack
He tripped and he stumbled
and fell off the platform
tears started to fall
and away, he started to storm
"Stop!" a voice shouted at him
and he turned around to see
his best friend Sabrina
giggling with glee
"the very best dancer,
you don't need to be
if you really want to
be friends with me"
He smiled and she laughed
"you're very cool, you silly-old-goof,
but just be yourself,
not a stumbling doof"
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 10:43 AM UTC
Listen my dear daughter, to my first song of caution
Earmarked for you my wonderful sire, come and listen,
That tall old man with white hair all over his head
Standing over there is not good; he is gnomish in the mind
Be careful with him, he is not human in the heart
But a mermaid of Yoruba poetry, just like Thespis of Greece
Even the pecuniary psychopomp of Sweden gave him an accolade
His heart is selfishly full of avarice; he wants everything for himself,
Don’t recite him any of your poetry, lest he spells an abyss
Against your juvenile poetic talent, he will fool you with a gift;
A white sheep or a scarlet goat for your birth day anniversary
Please don’t take it or anything else from him, as nothing from him is genuine
But only machinations of evil spell aimed at mahyeming your talent
Finally to decimate your girlhood and life, this is my caution
For you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear little daughter, to my second song of caution
That short man in a Muslim gear loafing yonder, is suspect
The Muslim beret on his head is merely a smokescreen to aghastly behaviour
He is in no way an avatar of god of love and humane piety
He is a terrorist working with Boko Haram and Algaeda
He is an Alshabab that is bombing young girls in Mombasa and Nairobi
All over Kenya he has killed the young people; his long egret-white sari is not for holiness,
It is merely a nefarious sanctum of grenades, other tools of work in terrorism trade
His loudly prayers, body movements and pocket bursting monies are only a stunt
To have you kidnapped into death conduit, once you goof to join his courts,
His sanctimony is a total picaresque film, (s)heroes of terror the centerpiece
And thus, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear daughter, to my third song of caution
Those tourists thronging our streets are deadly *** pets, they also skulk ****
Their handsome outlook is not a stamp to any good conscientiousness
They derive pleasure from poverty and *** tourism; they yearn to see a girl in poverty,
Often rarely will they help an African girl, out of milieu of beggarly squalorism,
Instead they go straight for the purse between your thighs,
Regardless of the legacy they leave out of this lewdness, they are showy,
They regret not in their Byronic broadcast of *** and fatherless urchins in the poor streets
Foundation for their further poverty tourism, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
*never date an artist:
for they’ll find the beauty in the fight -
they’ll grow to remove themselves from all the light,
knowing nothing lasts forever,
it’s all a stroke of fate -
or a pen’s dance on a paper’s grate.
never date an artist:
for the moment’s together will be exaggerated into a shakespearean play -
love’s trance will be in every date,
never knowing if the words spilled are the beauties of your’s or estranged gains of a moment’s escape,
for everything is painted by the beautiful eyes of an experienced guide -
is it real or a work of art they’re just trying to explain.
never date an artist:
they’ll miscommunicate everything they care to say -
not knowing how to communicate beyond the artistic escape,
an artist will rejoice in the gain of a moment’s grace,
finding every reason to hide from the honest’s truth -
for an artist is nothing but a fairytale’s goof.
painted, writen and expressed to be everything they wish people would see,
washed up and beaten by reality’s plea -
never date an artist, for their life is nothing but a conglomerated mess -
of how to escape the stress of the everyday and live in hopeless harmony,
they’re nothing but an anomaly:
never date an artist.
trust me.*
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
HATE BEING THE ONE THAT HAS TO BEHAVE
YOU SEE, I KNOW MY BROTHER IS ALLOWED TO SAY WHAT HE WANTS
BUT I HAVE TO WATCH WHAT I SAY, SOMETIMES I AM JUST BEING COOL
I HATE PEOPLE TELLING ME I HAVE TO BE GOOD, LIKE MY PERFECT FAMILY
IT’S HARD TO DISCIPLINED TO, JUST BECAUSE, I MUCKED WITH THE OLD FOGIES
I HATE, HOW PEOPLE TREAT ME LIKE A TOTAL AND UTTER LOSER
YOU SEE, WHY DO PEOPLE TRY AND DISCIPLINE ME, I FIND IT HARD
LIKE I CAN’T HELP IT, IF I HATED DADS DISCIPLINE RULE
I CAN’T HELP IT, IF I AM A NICE PERSON
YOU SEE, IF I GOOF UP, I AM TOLD, I HAVE NO MATES ANYMORE
ALL BECAUSE I SAID SOMETHING OUT OF LINE
I KNOW MY BROTHER HAS A WIFE AND KIDS, AND WAS COOL
AND YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE, PEOPLE ONLY LIKING ME
IF I BEHAVE, CAUSE I AM COOL, MAN, THE COOLEST DUDE IN CANBERRA
I HATE WHEN I HEAR THE VOICES BE LIKE US, WHEN I EXPRESS MYSELF OVER THE WEB
YOU SEE, WHY DO I HAVE TO BE NICE, I AM A COOL AND REGULAR GUY
I DESERVE TO BE LIKED, I DON’T WANT TO BE LIKED FOR BEING PATHETIC, NO WAY
I HAD VOICES FROM THE PARANORMAL, YA SEE I AM A NICE COOL PERSON
WHY CAN’T I ENJOY THINGS, JUST BECAUSE I ****** OFF PEOPLE
I FEEL IF I SEE THESE PEOPLE, THEY WILL SAY TO ME, I WAS WRONG
BUT I HATE BEING DISCIPLINED, PLEASE DON’T DISCIPLINE ME
I AM 45, AND I AIN’T COMMITTING ANY CRIMES, I AM STILL SEEING THESE DUDES
I USED TO GET DRUNK WITH, SOME WERE GOOD BLOKES
IT’S JUST THAT BACK THEN, I WASN’T PREPARED FOR OUR OUTINGS
I LIKE FOOTBALL, AND I LIKE GOING OUT HAVING FUN
AND I DON’T WANT TO BE TOLD TO BEHAVE MYSELF I HATED BEING TREATED LIKE A NICE AND POLITE MAN
WHILE MY MATES CAN BE LEFT ALONE, PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE
I HATE THAT MAN KEN, I HAVE TO BEHAVE FOR HIM
I CAN’T STAND BEHAVING FOR ANYONE, BEHAVING IS DUNB AND BEHAVING IS WRONG
I HATE CATHOLIC MORALS, AND I HATE DISCIPLINE, BUT I FEEL ONLY OLD FOGIES HAVE DISCIPLINE MORALS
I TRY AND BE GOOD, WHEN I GO OUT TO EVENTS, BUTB SOMETIMES IT’S HARD TO EXCEPT DISCIPLINE
CAUSE WHY CAN’T I JUST BE ALLOWED TO MAKE A BIT OF NOISE
I AM ON MEDICATION, YA SEE IT’S MY DESTINATION, I WANT TO BE HAPPY, SO I TAKE MEDICATION
I THOUGHT DAD WAS STARTING TO SEE MY WAY OF LIFE, YOU SEE, I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A GOOD BOY
BEING A GOOD BOY DOESN’T WORK FOR ME
I WANT TO BE NORMAL, I WANT TO BE LIKED
I SING A SONG, I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A BEER WITH BAZ BOY, CAUSE HE TRIED TO JUST THINK I LIKED DISCIPLINE
I HATE BEING TOLD TO SHUT UP, IF YOU WANT ME TO SHUT UP, I WILL NEVER SHUT UP, CAUSE, I FOLLOW MY OWN STYLE
WHICH IS FUN, I BELIEVE IN HAVING FUN WHEREVER I GO OUT INTO THIS WORLD
I CAN’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU CAN’T REALISE, I HATE DISCIPLINE, I DON’T WANT TO BE TREATED LIKE I AM TOO WOOSEY FOR LIFE
I HATE BEING TOLD I HAVE TO BEHAVE, WHY DON’T YOU BEHAVE, YOU TELL ME TO BEHAVE, YOUR A TOTAL LOSER, BUDDY OLE BOY OLE CHUM OLE PAL
I AM GOING TO THE BOTANIC GARDENS TONIGHT, BUT I DON’T WANT TO HANG WITH DISCIPLINE LOVING NERDS
I DON’T DO BEHAVING, OK I WILL NEVER DO BEHAVING, I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE AN OLD FOGIE
I AM A COOL MIDDLE AGER, WHO LOVES TO PARTY
STOP DISCIPLINING ME, YA ****
OR I WILL NEVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 6:09 PM UTC
My parents left late at night
Driving to my mom's parent's house
I feared for the worse
That I would lose my poppy
Never in my wildest dreams would I think I'd lose you
There is so much I want to say
To do with you
You promised you'd teach me to drive
A promise I still hold to you
but now you are gone
I know you are proud of me
I will try to keep my head up high
I love you so much
I know you will forever be looking out for me
As you soar above the clouds
And goof around with the rest of the family
I love you dearly
and I know I didn't see you a lot
I know work was important
You will forever be my fun cool Uncle
And I will always share the stories of you I have
Rest in Peace Uncle Adam
Heaven has gained another angel
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 5:56 PM UTC
flat at
flake lake
flame lame
flamenco cool
flamingo goof
flapped lapped
flayed layed
flavor vortex
flannel electricity
flag lag
flash lash
flaxen axen
flab lab
flail ail
flattering ring
flaw law
flair air
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
What kind of Animal(goes woof,woof)
When we were growing up, I bet all of us had a favorite TV show,
and one of the things these shows for younger kids had I know,
was a song of some sort that would make us laugh and smile,
It was always some silly little ditty, just think back a while,
you had the Flintstones with their Yabba dabba doo,
Captain Kangaroo and Mr Greenjeans and Mr Clock too,
now I don't know all the shows, or the songs that you sang,
just trying to make you think, make a bell go clang,
my favorite was from the Howdy Doody show,
guess that makes me really old I know,
they would sing this song about animals, for little tykes, 1st grade,
trying to identify, by the sounds that they made,
like the title of this poem What kind of animal goes, woof woof,
the kids would respond a dog of course, you goof,
and on and on through all of the chickens and ducks,
bet the smile on your face is worth a thousand bucks.
Gomer Lepoet...
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 1:06 PM UTC
As low as nicknames go,
I chose the worst for you,I chose this as your position,
your time,
your place to me,
even if you're my third one,
you're all I can see.
You're my third one,
the third person to make me swoon,
You're my third one,
Though the first to make me feel torturingly alive,
You're my third one,
and you know what they say,
Third time's a charm.
I still feel guilty calling you Third
When you're my first
right now,right here,
Open or close,
My eyes,
They see your cheery white teeth
in your amazing smile,
My eyes,
They stare at your confident lazy eyes
coolly seeing,hiding your emotions in it's golden brown depths,
My eyes,
They appreciate your Greek-like,straight nose,
long with strength and sharp with confidence,
My eyes,
They see your mouse-like ears,
keen to casually hear
conversations you may not seem to care.
;
My eyes,
They see your fine build,
veins running downs places,up and over your tiny muscles.
My eyes,my heart,
they don't see your personality,
they only see the cool outside shell you've built around it.
Yes,occasionally,
you let go of that cool aura,
you goof off,you laugh,you act silly
with your friends.
And I'll stand there,
not even ashamed to stare
your perfection a glare
like your sun rays bear.
You like your sports,
your music,
your Dota 2.
I want to know everything about you.
That's the sad part,isn't it?
For me at least,I don't know about you.
I DON'T KNOW (ANYTHING)ABOUT YOU
YET I'M CRAAAAAZY
For you.
Get a hold of yourself,self.
The audience aren't here for screaming.
They want sadness ,tragedy,romanticism.
But damn,I can only give you guys 2.
There's no romance but in my head,my dreams,
torturing me with false hope and implanted feelings
No sadness but in my heart,
I can't have him,
I know,
I'm slowly tearing apart.
We don't talk,we don't speak,
we look,we glance,we sometimes take a dare and stare,
but
that's the only tweak.
There's no tragedy but in the non-romantic relationship between his friend and me,
I was called a stalker,
my best friend rudely rejected for small favors,
that's a tragic crushing history.
There were chances I could've taken,
if you,my Third One still sat on the bus,
when your sister wouldn't be between us,
but day after day
It slowly became a bust.
More sadness?
Well,summer's here.
I can't see you no more,
you didn't show the last week of school or the few days before.
I admit,I'm stalking you.
But I need you to stop stalking my mind,taking over my thoughts,my vision,
making me blind.
Maybe I'll forget about you the next 2 months.
It'll be hard but I'll try.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
Shipwrecked heart
Sea of betrayals
Misconceived idioms,
Blindly enslaved.
Was it really worth it anyway?
Fighting with hope; a lost battle.
Fallible carcasses on a wooden platter.
Poisonous Ivy in my veins;
silent heartbeat bursting into flames.
Time is a thief,
buried beneath the sea.
Was it really worth the wait?
Fighting for love; a lost cause.
Permeable holes in an empty cup.
Troubling nature, impatient thoughts.
Infected,
Standing aloof.
Leveled indifference,
taciturn blind goof.
Lost chance; misleading poker glance.
Arms twisted, magnificent ache.
Ashes corroding the mechanical brain.
Bloodbath,
besieged wound.
Abrasive torture,
revealing the truth.
Cursed fortune; insensitive to pain.
Piercing a bullet through the soul,
expressed disdain.
Adamant rapture
with no return.
Imprisoned belief
with no more fire to burn.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
This is the Fisherman's tale
With a rod in hand and live bait in a pale,
Of a day spent out on the beach
And fish just a cast out of reach.
The day started as any fisherman would
Before the sun was up, when the fishing was good.
He hopped on his bike and road the old trail
Till he could smell the tides from the ocean gale.
Today was the day, he could feel it in his bones
He would bring food to his loved ones at home
This was his day, he was so sure,
With a brand new rod and a homemade lure.
Cast after cast, hour by hour
Time moved by until he started to sour
All that time and not a single bite;
Now clouds rolled in, black as night.
The wind started whipping the sand all around
Still the old fisherman stood his ground
The storm was coming, in just a matter of time
"I can't leave" he thought, "until that fish is mine."
As the thunder boomed and lightning crashed,
He decided to give just one more cast
As the rain came down, soaking him through
This was the one, he swore it was true.
Waiting there patiently, slowly he'd reel
Even if his legs he could no longer feel.
When all of a sudden with a great flash
he was able to tell that this was the cast.
The line went tight as he threw back the rod
He was hooking this fish, he thought with a nod.
The battle that followed was one terrible fight
Fish verses man all through the night.
And as the sunlight rose, marking the dawn,
The fisherman still fought as the battle raged on.
He wouldn't give up, he wouldn't let it go
The fish was his, and he would soon let it know.
The fish neared the shore jumping clear through the sky
Only to get robbed off the hook by a seal passing by.
The fisherman stood there, staring in awe
"The seal stole my fish!" He thought dropping his jaw.
"The fish it was huge, six feet at least," he would say
"I fought it all day and night till that beast took it away"
Yet no one believed him, they just called him a goof
And scoffed, "how convenient it is, that you don't have any proof."
Still this is The Fisherman's story
After fishing all day and night on the beach
One filled with unseen glories
How he was one cast away from the catch of the week.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
In dead earnest,
she tries to raise hell,
put on an act
as best as she can,
forgetting altogether
she still is a greenhorn
in such matters, though
graduated to be his bride
from a lover for so long
underprivileged all the while,
grabbing the very first chance
after the new found privilege.
He watches her goof up
inexperience in evidence,
out of the corner of his eye
does nothing but conceals his smile;
caught in the act, her perplexity
gives her up, that was the best part
of the act: the bride's belligerence.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
she was reading haruki murakami
and licking her lips of muffin crum
bs - - i, placated via cellphone, calle
d to leave a message for a friend ab
out Oscar Wilde's De Profundis a
s i think i forgot it on his couch spea
k-easy speak-fast distract myself wit
h cigarette headrush rants and slow-
mo's she moves close gazing as i c
uriously whisper back with connect
ed pupil and she comes so so close - - g
arbage can next to me close - - she keep
s peeking at me, pulls out norwegian w
ood scans road i awkwardly pull out an
thology of chinese poems from backpa
ck to possibly impress! she keeps peek
ing peeking peeking i almost start conve
rsation but heart-beats race-track grand
prix miss my bus and i know it almost re
trieve cigarette from pocket (ghoulish goo
dy) second-guess she may think it unattra
ctive? no shiney faced race horse (*do u ev
en lift, bro - - no dude i don't, i literally do
n't lift*) cement truck clamours past and i n
ot really paying attention to the ******* c
hinese poems anyway begin to read the way
the sun glances off the spinning barrel like c
hinese poetry - - glancing always to newspea
k my way into awkwardity so ******* he
adrush** she walks away, turns on heel to loo
k me in darting eyeballs (*are u coming? i sup
pose so, jesus*) i clamour onto my feet and foll
ow her pretend to be checking bus-times ya fu
ckin goof 15X arrives and she departs without
a smoke-signal we were close we were close we
were close *and i missed my bus waiting for my
self to brave-and-snake* so i walk away pretend-
careless and finally retrieve cigarette from pocket
read the smoke like chinese poetry (ghoulish goody)
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
When I was wee my feets was small.
They found no grip, I'd trip and fall.
I'd stumble bumble left and right
From morning sun to bed-time night.
But as I grew my feets did too.
They grew out of both sock and shoe!
And when I slept they grew some more.
They grew right out my bedroom door!
They grew right out onto the lawn
And when I woke my feets was gone!
I sat there scared within my bed
Just wondering where my feets had fled.
Did my feets go out on a trip
Along the Mighty Mississip?
Were they stomping Kansas corn,
Or hanging ten in Californ?
Hiking in Saskatchewan
Or Yucatan or cold Yukon?
All day long and into night
I worried of my Feets's plight.
Worried that they'd never phone
To tell me they was coming home,
Worried that I'd be bereft
Of both my feets, the right and left!
And so I pictured my two feets
Just wandering dark Parisian streets,
Or alleys in the south of Spain,
Or freezing in the Russian rain,
Or separated in Des Moins
Without the calf, the knee, the *****
But wait! Hold on! What's this I see?
I'm such a goof, oh silly me!
I did not lose my big old feets!
They were just sleeping 'neath my sheets!
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 9:57 PM UTC
It took 20 minutes
to drive and pick you up from work.
It took 15 minutes
for me to beat you in 2k with a smirk.
It took 10 minutes
for me to show off my ukulele skills.
It took 5 minutes
for you to show me your on stage thrills
It took 2 minutes
to goof around and give me a shove.
But it only took 1 kiss,
and I was in love.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
Laughter,
Jokes,
Humour,
Smiles,
Never ending chatty lines,
Aching heart with a big wide smile,
Fun and pun both combined,
Look I just made a joke,
Come on pal Smile,
They ask me why u smile so much,
I can't tell them,
It's my secret and such,
A joker they call me,
A goof they call me,
Carrying so much pain,
A broken heart that's stained,
Hiding those tears behind this laughter,
And collecting the broken pieces there after,
Cause I swear I'll always smile,
Never let my sadness dim the light,
Because the moment I'll lose this smile you will realize,
That this joker is dying inside,
Why I chose this path you ask me?
Life played me as a joke,
Sadness came after me,
So I decided I'll grab the sadness,
Never let it escape,
Don't let it get to anyone else,
Some will say it's madness,
It will make you dark and dead,
But look I'm smiling from my toe to head,
Cause deep inside I know it's foolish I know it's hard,
Cause deep inside it's all damp and dark,
Cause deep inside there's nothing left,
Cause from the deep inside this joker is dead,
The joker is dead,
The joker is dead.
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 6:03 AM UTC
You stole my umbrella,
You danced and laughed at me,
I tried to clean and you decided to investigate the bags,
You are such a little thief,
You are so mischievious,
You pick on me and hide from me,
Sometimes you get so hyper that you run into the wall,
You're such a goof ball,
I can only sit you still with peanut butter,
You play until you just cant play anymore,
You look so sweet when asleep,
But wake you up and you just want to run and hide things,
You make me laugh,
I love you little guy!
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
Trees always have to go out with a bang, don't they
explosions of bursting color
freeze-framed fireworks of fall
bursting and cascading,
leaving ashes and hot coals to cool in soft grass
...I used bursting twice, didn't I?
alright, let me go open up my thesaurus...
blast? pop? rupture?
just replace it with one of those and call it good.
Back to the poem:
my popped-collar peacoat straightens my back
gotta match my posture to the pompous portrait
black wool on an over-scratched scratch paper
might as well just pick it all off
allow the color some room to expand
(I don't even own a peacoat, I just like the metaphor and imagery)
you could set the sentinel alight for the same effect
a more smokey atmosphere, sure,
but the color would be a little brighter
and I'd have the mushroom of smoke to match my coat
I've substituted my earbuds with the crunch crunch crunch
of leaves
crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch ––––
shoot that one looked good but it just flattened
crunch crunch crunch
invariable sound
back to my Beats by Dr. Dre
The arrow of geese points south
...
that's really all I have to say about that
some sort of metaphor about flapping my arms and following them?
I like jacket weather though
better stay grounded
hands in pockets; arms in long sleeves
insert some connection to death to match nature's descent into winter
Gosh, this season is too good to stand for something so sad
let's go jump off the roof into a pile of leaves
drink hot soup and get cuffed
watch steam and frost paint picturesque mornings
read in a dogpile of blankets
Winter may be coming
but so is spring ya goof
get off your melancholic horsey
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 12:10 AM UTC
i.
talk myself outta church.
ii.
ain’t sad enough not to goof on a tricycle. jesus.
iii.
nuns in garters. I can’t remember
or be expected to
all
the titles. but that one, we’d out
our knuckles.
iv.
she slid under me. it was like
she was able,
had space.
v.
I loved a boy for his dog. broke a ruler
for my ****
in half. after that,
did things to my knee.
vi.
are afraid most water snakes of water. spend they
lives
being fast.
vii.
to keep us from being poor
my dad
kept us
in one room
at a time
so we’d have rooms
all over.
viii.
batman’s mom had pearls. made it hard for me not to be
********
ix.
storms don’t have doors. imagine my talk.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
I want you.
I want to snuggle between your arms and your chest, wrap my legs up with yours and feel you breathe.
I want to nuzzle into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder and feel your warmth against my skin.
I want you to kiss me and rub my hair softly like you do sometimes.
I want to mumble sleepily into you and somehow you understand.
I want to laugh and goof off together and curl up under blankets and feel safe and warm in your arms.
I want to lie a little bit away and watch your expressions and play with your hair.
I want to stroke the soft skin on your cheek and neck and kiss you.
I want to say I love you a thousand times and once more for luck.
I want to slip my hands under your shirt and press them against your back to pull myself towards you and nuzzle into you and breathe you in.
I want to press close and confuse your heart beat and the motion of your lungs.
Mostly as long as I'm close to you, I feel safe.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
Blue eyes
brown hair
cat lover
horse rider
directioner
small hands
big lips
open heart
open arms
little sister
cute giggle
perfect hugs
stupid fights
smarty pants
goof ball
little sister
annoying
beautiful
talented
Jillian
Little Sister
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 9:52 AM UTC
My mouth waters taste buds tickle
When I see a jar of lemon pickle!
On the sunny roof the lemon pickle
It starts a child’s saliva’s trickle!
It still gives his conscience a *****
He played on the old man a trick!
For the old one was sunned on the roof
Jar of lemon pickle what a goof!
The glass jar stayed there all day
But the child just couldn’t stay away!
At midday when they all were asleep
Little feet climbed the stairs steep!
Made sure not an eye was watching
What joy did the sight of pickle bring!
The child such small was his need
He only had to open the jar’s lid!
Pick up one for nothing he could miss
One juicy sweet sour lemon piece!
In his mischief he did go that far
Each ****** piece he put back in the jar!
So that they would never find a trace
Not one piece of lemon would be less!
The poor old man he never knew
The child’s blended saliva in the brew!
The child ****** pickle had his fill
What the old man relished with his meal!
I know this story isn’t worth a nickel
Still I find irresistible the lemon pickle!
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 6:04 AM UTC
Sometimes we goof; sometimes we’re aloof
yet all of truth is under one roof
All the same really; not always so clearly
Reduce not to merely the entire theory
The arts carried magic before mass production
But still can be found, the numinous induction
Minority knows; majority knew
Sonority is truth….can you hear it too?
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC