"grimes" poems
A breadcrumb I am - the morsel of my old dough,
a piece of chewed bread rotten, missed near a toe,
shredded by the sons of righteousness and “normality”,
entombed I am under the carpet to fulfil “morality”.
Mum added the yeast for me to grow, as well as flour,
Hoping my crust would golden as a vivid live flower,
She sprinkled little salt into me, to know the grimes,
Sugar too, for life brings out the salt to eyes, at times.
Dad poured the water, to soften toughness uncalled,
For man is kind too, not merely clay masked, walled -
And above all, they added affection and compassion,
They wanted me to satisfy mineself, not one’s ration.
Into the oven, 9 minutes, under fire: I show colors,
The warmth turned the heart warm for all others;
I am left to rest, to harden the shell and eternal body,
To be perfect as ma and pa wish: not adverse, shoddy.
But the stale, unpuffed, unfresh bread of this world,
covets but loathes what is good and not yet twirled,
It wishes for me to inhibit mold and evict dignity,
Mais allez, étrange moi, expose me not to malignity.
The least of their gurgling sounds puncture heads,
And the weakest of their advice the spirit dreads;
The making of me is the capacity of mine flexes,
Your ingredients suit not me, mortals and sexes.
Days yearn for you, not this battle of complexes:
You, mine old dough who suddenly “complex” is,
My parents baked me on low heat nice and gentle,
And they sear me with words not for me, mental!
Know you: Pita, Kmajj, Brioche, Shrak, or Baguette,
Bread is bread, could be different, but it is no threat.
Jan 18, 2023
Jan 18, 2023 at 9:27 AM UTC
pouring myself over green candle magick
my hands are the warm wands
letting the healing eucalyptus fire
seep into my throat chakra
seep into the tulsi i’m brewing
the california poppy herb.
my olive leaf aligned in a
tipped isosceles
and your sound waves are
melting the part of my stone
wall that obscured self awareness.
but now, if just for a
few moments, i am
awake.
in the city it is the witching hour but
in the cosmos it is no-time
infinitytime
time is a river making
golden spiral waves
i am replenishing the circles
like ancient amber blueprints
now fated by the stars to be built.
poem for grimes ~~
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
*There was a time,
A time so fair,
A zero despair,
Cuz She was fair,
Life as I knew it was drizzling daisies,
Bleeding me the feel like the crazies.
Perfect absolutes,
Chimerical dilutes.
Enchanting moments with ephemeral bliss,
Rapt me into blissful abyss.
Ambient lightnings,
Forming supernova sightings.
My soul trapped in her seductive high,
Unknowing of her destructive lies.
Little was I was aware of her two-tone design,
My ****** Valentine
An alter ego so divine.
Demon with deceitful frames,
Unravelling her intimacy games.
Her bloodless lips whispering in the corridors of time,
Deporting me into her hate grimes.
Mutating into odium of torrential far cry,
Lies sarcastrophic podium of her mislaid demise.
Gagged and bound as me you broke down
And I believed everything,
As my love for you was logic drowned
Round and round I emanated all the way down.
Still submerged in the swamp of dummy beliefs,
Hoping to heal with concealed appeals,
Squeals of her feels reveal choking ordeals,
Cuz it was a different belief in a veiled inception,
Infinitely drowning with these unconcealed dogmas,
Remembrance feels like a past from yesterday,
All I am choked with are these Interstellar beliefs,
Detonating memories,
At the haste of light,
Giving me an anguish fright from the down right,
Corroding my heart with those Sulphur memories we once called a lifetime.
Like those 4 years with 4 million considerations.
Still lost in her maze of psychopathic daze,
Downward spirals decayed & set ablaze.
Reveries of her infinite sentiment once called transcendences.
All that’s left now are your radioactive reminiscences,
Of a place once called Tomorrowland.*
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC
Da queste parti .siamo tutti circa il vestito bianco;questo non è un segreto .Ma oggi ?Stiamo celebrando i nostri ragazzi !SMPers .lasciate che vi presento clothier personalizzato .Alton Lane.Dotato di abiti da sposa on line sposi e dei loro ragazzi un processo di adattamento e di divertimento senza stress .sta preparando per il grande giorno è appena diventato infinitamente più facile !
C'è così tanto per amore di Alton Lane;iniziando con laid-back .appuntamenti privati per gli
sposi + i loro ragazzi dove ognuno si misura e montato .il tutto sorseggiando un drink .sdraiati su un comodo divano e guardare la partita sul grande schermo piatto .Con showroom a Dallas .New York .DC .Boston .Richmond + più a venire .Alton Lane.riduce la necessità di raccordi con l'uso del loro top di gamma tecnologia 3D body scanner !Un consulente personale farà in modo che la misura è giusta e avrete consigli su opzioni di personalizzazione come il taglio .sfiati .pieghe .monogrammi e colore rivestimentoètutti che è incluso nel prezzo base!Con camicie a abiti da sposa 2014 partire da 89 dollari e abiti abiti da sposa on line a solo $ 595.personalizzate non è mai stato così conveniente .
Con una straordinaria selezione di colori dei tessuti e pesi .Alton Lane.ha coperto se stai andando cravatta sulla spiaggia casuale o nero.Head over qui per suggerimenti personalizzati della Guida look e donè èperdere alcuni dei Alton Lane ' matrimoni reali presenti !
Photo Credits : Fotografia Ciao Amore | Brooke Fitts | Melissa Grimes - Guy Fotografia
Ciao Fotografia L'amore è un membro del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .Ciao Amore Fotografia VIEW
http://188.138.88.219/images_ld/td//t35/product_thumb/1/1632635353535_394716.jpeg
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-2014-c-13
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
Dimes times, dimes times
A little better off than Lennie's pennies
Grimes threw thymes, fines
For thin lines
Into the giving ***
Crime slimes, crime slimes
Poorer than peeling off ***** pauper
Wines and dines, limes
For fat kinds,
Into the waiting rot
Mines mine, mines mine
Sames the games we've all been playing
Shines sharp pines, rhein
Same all the time,
Unto the wading well
.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
I hear the breeze of days gone by
with the whisper of long days, long nights
and with a sigh,
I strain for the echos, the signs
of loves lost, of games played
of all the grass and dirt and grimes.
Remember the times?
Merry-go-rounds and nursery rhymes?
That one first kiss that opened your eyes?
To the world of our minds, our maze
couldn't make out the beginning or the end
of those days
To no surprise,
They're comprised....of swing sets and slides,
jump ropes and bikes
and just when it was the end of the day,
the wind blows the smell of freedom your way.
Barbecues, fires, and the onset of night
to remind us of the times when everything was right.
What a sight!
As the grass and trees rustle in the wind
remember these days,
Of coloring books and crayons, markers and paint
paper planes, plastic trains, and origami flowers so quaint
running around so long that the blue in our jeans had gone...
faint.
Back then, our friends lived close and the games we played
in the sandbox and blacktops left us drained
So we sat on the hill and let the wind give us chills
under the trees, in the shade, from the heat we were saved
So much time was killed!
And yet, we were thrilled...
when our birthdays came,
and our family came,
and our presents came,
And we never felt lame, playing the same games
Making silly names, growing pains
Kissing Jane and dancing in the rain....
And as the wind blows through the silt
and the echos pass us by,
Cry!
For the whispers of the wind have taken flight
Reach out and hold on with all your might
as it is on these memories that your spirit can again fly
Aug 22, 2011
Aug 22, 2011 at 4:33 PM UTC
My mother and I met on Cupid.com
I was thirteen and she was forty-five;
but on her profile she was listed as
twenty-nine. We agreed to meet
at the local Starbucks on a Sunday afternoon.
The sun was out;
it's rays like orange sprinkles dusting
the dead, green earth
and snake-like sidewalks.
I sat in the far corner, my head
in a book; every now and then
peeking over the pages my
finger bookmarked. I was reading
****** and I had not made it
past the first page. Lo-Lee-
Ta, or something rather.
She arrived ten minutes later
than the time we agreed on,
but I wasn't angry. She offered
to buy me a Iced Vanilla Frappuccino
and salted caramel cake-pop but I declined.
We sat there for what seemed like a decade.
I was too busy looking around; acting
like I was admiring the art on the walls;
and she was playing with her hands;
humming to a popular female folk singer-
songwriter that was playing over the loudspeakers.
'I can go,' she said after the track finished.
'No, it's okay.
Stay, please' I said.
There was silence.
'It's been a while since I've seen you'
she said.
'I know, I know' I said,
'You lied
about your age.
That's not cool'
'Sorry about that.
I just didn't know
if you'd like me
if I was older
than forty..'
'That's the entire point,
no?' I interrupted.
And I didn't notice
she had bad posture
until she started fidgeting
with her hair; it was in a loose,
unkempt bun. She tugged
at the hair tie until
it all fell down to her shoulders.
I was finally relieved
to see that I had a beautiful
mother and soon suggested
that we go to her place
and talk about my childhood.
She smiled, and made
an attempt to grab the car
keys she left on the table,
but I was quicker.
'No,' I said laughing,
'I'm driving'.
And that was the first
time I ever took charge;
and nothing has changed since.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
how strange it
is to be
so comfortable
with silence
and a phone that
doesn't buzz
painting my nails
purple and
listening to grimes
as I learn
that I missed it -
that I love
to be alone
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 2:22 AM UTC
I could always go to a laundromat
Toss away the basket without a care
But your handwash is still the standard
And up to this day, it's beyond compare.
You can topple mountains of ***** clothing
Even before the sun gets to call it noon
Taking your skillful palms to a rhythm
More powerful than a wild monsoon.
With natural precision and technique
You'd feel each fabric and make them clean
A stream of colors that changes every week
You unfold them neatly for the humid winds.
From silly pants and hand-me-downs
You leveled wrinkles and washed the grimes
To buttoned shirts and graduation gowns
Your hands have stood the test of time.
Dried and folded, ironed and hanged
It's nothing short of a magical sight
A bundle of comfort, a pile of warmth
Just a peak of your motherly might.
May 7, 2022
May 7, 2022 at 8:33 PM UTC
I dont ever wanna make you feal like u werent enuff for me
Im Stuck on beats eternaly searching deep for the love beneath
Something keeps calling me no apologies follow me
Accept all of me maybe take the fall for me this wall is weak lets break it down with an ice pick
Lets reshape the crown for ur highness
Excape the crowd till u cant find us
We keep these scars too remind us dont fall 4 their blind trust
spine crushed without ur divine touch
Im done
But ready too start again in no time
A ghost writes my lyrics while u borrow ghost rights the game is so grimes you'll go blind
from staring up at the sun shine
One mic is all that is needed too become prime one time for my second hand addicts right winged savages on automatic why panic when u feal gigantic walking around on my ghost planet taking no damage
U wont manage acting so frantic
Invoked madness
In every pesant and vagrant
Becuz my essence is sacred
With every sentence connected
This headtrips defective im restless not connected infested the surface on purpose im wreckless confessions of an mcs lost sessions hoping that u.got questions im not stressing
These thoughts are weapons
Mic checking u too death your less im more when I press record check the cords before making a.mess on the floor opening the store knowing that youll receive more
I.dont wanna let u in
Your like toxic oxygen
Its ok. Its the end my friend
Lets runaway pretend
im here again
X3
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
unnecessary lies
Knocking at my door at all times
I can't stand these grimes
Nothing but a bunch of crimes
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC
As the new dawn
glimpse over the rotten conurbation,
hope arises with auspicious smile
Rays of sunlight
beaming her serene countenance
right before the grimes and ashes
of her horrendous past makes its way;
Annihilating the permanent damage
the besmirch had caused.
Because one can never outslick
the twinge of affliction.
But,
'Today is a good day'.
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 6:46 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
I'm gonna do a love crime,
I told you I don't have time,
Intentions for the foul Grimes,
I'm gonna do a love crime,
And you said it would be fine,
I gave you all of my time,
Feeling open just to build a shrine,
Waking up to the smell of pine,
But I forgot to open the blinds,
Reminiscing about you being mine,
And their open now,
the sun shines,
Im gonna do a love crime,
As the wind blows in my face,
I hear the screams of your aching heart,
Its a alive,
Don't leave one phase to save the other,
I committed a love crime.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
Look down my child,
At this world below.
It's made for you,
A toy, a home.
I've filled it with colour,
With joys and grimes.
With curious creatures,
And weather alike.
It's vast and deep,
And it's even got sheep.
Though I'm not fond of the name,
It sounds kind of lame.
So I'll give you choice,
And plenty of noise.
Free will and likes,
To help you do right.
Don't fret my child,
For you wouldn't be alone.
I'll make you more,
With more of you.
And just for the flavour,
I'll even give you colour.
But all of them,
Would be all of you.
Not one different,
Except just in hue.
Now sleep my child,
And dream of pretty things.
Like Beatles and Music,
And all that you'll build.
And when you awaken,
You'll feel kind of lone.
But remember you're everywhere,
And here you'll always find a home.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 5:16 AM UTC
See how the others live
garnish your morning gruel with gossips
makes your cold porridge taste just a bit better
search out the tit-bits and the juicy blue parables
all from the House of Windsors can never be fake-news
when Princes bed seventeen aged maiden cold teas taste hot
gloom and doom means pep-ups, a smile and a spring to their steps
in rarefied air the stench of the ghettos and the belches from drains
should whiff in polluting and disturbing the perfumery of gentility
and why not...do they hear the cries of the motherless babies
or listen to the frustrations of the thieves having a no dice day
as Joan sells her body to pay the loan-arranger yesterday
and Jason is so bothered looking for a fix down the alley
do they know Roger took his own life cos he had no job
yes to sit and hear of the pain and sufferings high above
makes cold toasts and bacon of-cuts that much sweeter
and as the kettle whistles away they hope the vapour
clears the grimes of trodden lives and deadend roads
and rain hot molten ashes on the Semites and Giles
and madam in the big house up in the green Hills
and the Garters and Coronets all burn in Hell
with their socks on......
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 4:45 PM UTC
Are the scars that cross along
the lonely veins on my skin
something to marvel at or
something to grimes at?
Are these scars on my legs
worth your glee?
all i wanted to be is free
and all you want is me to leave.
you cant have your way,
**** I'm Gonna STAY!
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
George lies in the dark
of his room, a slit of light
from the moon squeezes
through the gap of the
curtains and makes a streak
onto the floor and the wall
by his bed. He hears gunshot
and explosions, hears men's
moans from No-Man's Land,
senses rats run along the trench.
His hands shake, his eyes stare.
By the window fast asleep a
nurse sits unaware of the wars
inside George's head as he lies
in bed. He watches as Grimes
sits against the trench wall,
smoking a cigarette, then
stands up and goes to the steps,
and looks over the top; smoke
from his cigarette floating
about his head; a whine, splat
and Grimes falls back dead.
Georges stares and mumbles.
Grimes lies staring into the
blackness as if an answer is there.
George gets out of bed, walks
to the wall to tend to Grimes.
The chair by the wall where
the nurse's coat lies stands still.
George talks to the coat, talks
to Grimes. The coat is silent
and unmoving like one dead.
George sees Grimes lying there
in his broken mind and head.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
You caught at my understanding,
You shocked me right to the core,
I’ve not had a harder landing, than:
‘Don’t come here anymore!’
I thought that you must be joking,
But couldn’t detect a smile,
My heart had missed when you said that this
Was coming on for a while.
I shook my head in confusion,
How could I have missed the signs?
You working, close in collusion
With your mentor, Matthew Grimes.
He promised you’d have a starring role
In a film he was going to make,
I said right then to be wary, when
He was probably just a fake.
He’d said he was a Producer,
I treated all that with scorn,
The only score that he’d had before
Was something to do with ****
You shrugged, and said that you trusted him,
That he was your first big break,
And then, ‘So what,’ for he said you’d got,
Everything that it takes.
‘Everything that it takes,’ he said,
We know what he meant by that,
He wanted you ******* on the screen
With a cane and a tall top hat.
I didn’t think you would go for it
But I see, how wrong could I be?
You’ve let the seed of ambition rule,
Confused it with artistry.
I toss and turn in my fretful sleep
And sweat in my bed at night,
For every dream is of you, it seems
And it puts my sleep to flight.
I can’t tell whether it’s real or dream
When I knock at your old front door,
And you keep repeating the same old theme,
‘Don’t come here anymore!’
David Lewis Paget
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC
Left said is of the simple stories unread,
Begun of tales lost and of mistakes within rot.
A flower blooms in the mist,
Open petals of human thirst,
Nourish, as the sun burnt, our seething scars learnt.
Each of each fought,
And this story witnessed by the stars,
Grows through the whistling call of the Sorrowful,
The Vengeful,
The Regretful.
All characters sought;
A kiss from the power of light, life with litigation,
Left and begun,
Battle and won, from all, anticipating admiration.
Hero, he is, to escape the soul of those that know him not.
He was everything, yet
Everything willing to bet.
The tale of called-on salvation from endless forget.
Script by the Gods, this desperation,
A play with human nature, I must mention.
He proved endearing eyes, grinning grimes,
By grain and by grain,
Destiny designs a breakable frame.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
but I feel i've been cursed with seriousness
I watch jerry seinfeld,I think he is like a machine gun with his jokes, they fire
I watch grimes do her music video, I have watched it many times, it's brilliant in the background
modern, post modern, post post modern, post post post modern, end, the end, of the end, the morning, the beginning, unmodern, self-serving Ironcically, modern again, linear progression, circular progression,
swiss cheese.
That's supposed to be a joke, but it isn't funny
why? because I do not posesss that talent
or perhaps in seriousness I am the funniest person in the world
jerry told a joke about men believing they are super heroes in their own lives
I laughed, and I laughed, and I laughed
but now the joke is over and I am serious again
time, wine, time, wine,
I had an enlightenment, but then it wore off, like a drug wears off
just time, this time
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 4:37 AM UTC
good morning dystopia
i could really use a rick grimes
to drink my instant coffee with
but all you bring me are the
orange and white umbrellas
infesting the sidewalks of south lake union
every misty morning
home was never home
and is still not home
though there is no place left to go
i've been half meaning to write a book
about a species that is saved from extinction
but then spreads a deadly virus that wipes
most of us out
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 1:57 AM UTC
It was not real, an illusion
Hiding from beneath
The threshold of those
Lies that you told
To make me believe
The person whom I'm talking
Is a hero of the olds
Your kindness was bitter
Spiteful, but bold
It lacked so much leeway
For comfort and soul
Believed in being the freedom
When it was tethers of cold
As time passed by
It ran out of fillers
To conceal it's grimes
From words that I uttered
Consoling such ruse
I stepped on it, yearning
With my truth and yet you
Your deception was forgiven
Only in your mind
All this time I have driven
The wheels you brought out
Unknowing, insane is brethren
With your impurities of time
Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 1:14 PM UTC