"grr" poems
I'm a Disney princess
A pretty, pretty actress
Sought by handsome princes
and by ugly wicked witches
My hair is blonde
and shiny and smooth
or soft and long
and fragrant and strong
I'm just like my hair
Shining bright like a flare
In a world of unfair
I'd get even and square
(Grr, grr!)
'Cause I'm a Disney princess
My skin is white and lovely
So are my eyes and my teeth
And everything about me
Because I am perfect
I'm created to win
I'm the hero of your dreams
Armed with my tears and high-pitched screams
Sometimes I'd only sleep
Then there comes his charming kiss
It's hot, it's sweet, it's salty
Thanks for waking me up!
Sometimes I'd sneak on a ball
Dancing 'til I hear my midnight call
And leave one of my silver slippers
For my curious prince to ponder
Then he'd seek and find me
And we'll live happily ever after!
Wait, why am I here
In this sad forgotten tower?
With my evergrowing golden hair
Can't even find a single stair
I wanna go down
I wanna go down so badly
I wanna go down so deeply
Somebody please help me
Please help me go down
And my wish is granted:
A prince had just appeared
He pulled down my slender hair
Saved me from my lonely despair
But “ouch! That hurts!”
No it didn't! I'm just trying to flirt!
(Wink, wink!)
'Cause I'm a Disney princess
I can have all that I want
I can make all those mistakes
And fix them with a magical wand!
My life is a dazzling fairy tale
Packed with curses and magic spells
Who really cares about moral lessons
If everyone's happy like a bunch of morons?
Because I'm a Disney princess!
Everybody loves me
Whatever I do
You still wanna be me!
Curtain closes,
bells go chimes
My story ain't over,
it's just begun
Countdown starts,
five times the fun
Four times the thrill,
the Evil Queen awakes
Thrice made the chill,
the dragon is unleashed
Twice turn the pages,
here come the mages
Once upon a time,
I'm a Disney princess!
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 4:19 AM UTC
Tell me a story Cuddlekins!
Rawr. Rawr. Grr. Rawr.
Rawr. Grr grr RAWR!!
Wow! That's a good story.
Now let me tell you
one. A story of a boy
who was so afraid of
being alone he put himself
in the most amazing adventures.
Imagine a beautiful forest
in the middle of nowhere.
Untouched. Unmutilated with.
Un-everything. This boy,
John, flew here and
laid his case down
and pulled out his violin.
His music went.
Dah. Dah. Lalalala. Doooo.
Soft. Sweet. Charming with
a twist of a faint memory
on the tip of your tongue
wanting to be known to
the world.
As he played on and on
for hours the animals
gathered around and fell
to sleep. John
inspired by his surroundings
played more and more
until there was a rustle in
the distance.
John didn't hear it
but again and again
the rustle of the leaves
grew ever closer still.
There was one animal
who wasn't sitting at
the clearing in the forest.
It was the jaguar. He awoke
and wondered
where everybody went.
They were no where to be found
As he searched for his
friends a scent caught in
his nose. It smelled of
food but an unfamiliar one.
The long lost forgotten food
that his ancestors once described.
He chased it slowly
turning every corner
hiding behind branches,
bushes, and bark.
Finally he found his prey.
He creeped slowly
and attacked.
All the animals could
say was that 'ol jagy was
at it again just a hungry
beast. Not sophisticated
or classy enough to
understand music.
You know Cuddlekins, I think
it was on that day the rest
of the animals discovered
'ol Jagy was deaf.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
I was doing a little jig down the sidewalk
When all of a sudden
This red, bulbous, obstruction pounced into my field of view
I said, "Whoa, hotshot, cool down"
He/she/it did not reply
"I'm talking to you kiddo
Can you please communicate with me?"
It just sat there staring at me. Why?
You see, hydrants can be little stinkers sometimes
They'll talk your earlobe off one time
Other times they act like a sack of taters
They're just little drama queens
"Meow meow" said the hydrant
I take a look over yonder, than ask the **** target,
"Are you talking to me sir?"
"Meow," it said "I'm not sure I like your tone"
"You must be some sort of mind type hacker dealio
Cracking into my cerebellum, what are you doing in there?
Seriously man! Come on!
You must be going through emotional trauma. PTSD I don't know."
"Calm down buco, let's talk about this
Over a bucket of churned goat milk, I love that stuff.
How's Shirley? I hear she took up crocheting
I respect that"
"Grr, graa, paa?
Me oh my, this reminds me of pick up sticks all over again
Hey look at this man,
If you walk without rhythm, than you won't attract the worm."
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
However, we chat.
High we were.
But talks were on every topic,
every article, detailed.
In endless fundas,
these luchas,
****** up concepts,
made up basics,
domestic things are tough for them,
ha! I see
being a girl has its natural instincts,
miss allen'ahoy!
listening to bolly-jazz,
beautiful sultry sounds,
laughter and peels of it,
spread all around,
mister. grungy shorts!
licking his whiskers,
meow! grr!
moew!grr!
Mr.dannish charmboy!
His orange T-shirt,
he is happy,
nice hair-cut,boy!
serves my fantasies well.
Tonight is going to be a night huh!
Kisses
<3
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
Could
YOU
really handle
this
grr
Tiger that they've seen?
Perhaps
for you,
she'd be kitten-like
purr
(if you'd just believe!)
Yes ...
Kitten
might be naughty,
~(but her playing's always true)~
softly purring deeply,
as
(my)
claws
leave marks
on you.
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
Not sure how it happened.
I was just walking (well crawling)
And SUDDENLY!
This tree got stuck in my hair. (on my back)
It is rather difficult to move now.
Actually I think I am stuck
It's a pretty big tree
And there is a slight possibility that it may still be in the ground.
I don't like this tree.
It *****
Grr.
Rawr.
Growl.
Hiss.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
the initial purport
this literary effort delivered atchew
to reed constitutes hazmat tocks sin
within White House blew
per, viz thee president be
getting a Hollywood love story
with "Stormy Williams" despite brew
haha murmur, now dapper Don in deep doo doo
thus, this garrulous married pro LIX prone papa flew
off (like a bat out of hell)
to his Macbook Pro laptop presenting myself
implicating Trump as po' faux guise Mister McGoo
affiliated, confused, and explained
being on par with Winnie the Pooh
especially stuck right tub bear arms in grr...
Rabbit's House, now he doth stew
nsync, nonetheless this path a logical
rhyme stir on the straight and true
composeing grist sill for ye to view
now, nar hating, hit ting
private links provide attention turned toward
two thousand twenty presidential election campaign
no Iron nee, anno putter opportunity,
how he diplomatically strived, and nearly scored
to boast asthma, overt braggart, stalwart
asper ideal consistency of cement poured
affiliation, aggregation, and attestation moored
prevails ma (Jack booted - magical) lord
rolling back to Timbuktu progressive liberal
Democratic initiatives star Apprentice
sans ("NO LIES") being linkedin, he almost ignored
with voluble chattering class hud hoard
hobnobbing (with the likes of Missus Muir's ghost,
who resort to Matthew Scott's turf brand),
reconstituted, recycled, and repurposed, gourd
nonetheless Trumping protocol necessitates me bing bored
predictable feigned "FAKE" non accord.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 10:31 PM UTC
Every strips of resound season
Pull away by the endless green light of time
Can you feel the cold wind of the step by step
Nostalgic mind blowing memories?
If so, hope now
Hope is the presentable reaction
to life's ups and downs
So ask your inner self to number each
Of the link that connects to the uncertain room
When you see yourself in a lack of open door interest
This is the time to hold on to what is eternal,
To switch on to what is unblemished sense of the Maker
Let the heaven knows the concerns of your heart
For They longs to hear your voice
And it is like a sweet song sang to them
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 7:45 PM UTC
the fledgling light being carnivorous ate up the stipends
of the hopes that suggested anti-colonial rule
beginning with India and pop-culture;
i'm sure they recorded Frogstomp aged 15...
imgining it, Israel's Son teen fancy for politics, **** me,
Nevada in an hourglass trickles a month through...
curses worse off than attributed to Nirvana -
i'm with Heath Ledger on this one
and his joker dubbed Neil Swats
given the drunk accenting debauch;
called him the Watts or the Volts,
or Tom Waits - grr, gurl or curl the toothpick -
for use in chop-chop-Bruce-Lee
mitigating Springsteen with chord rhythm -
i get it, a crowd pleasing type,
i wasn't, never will be - i minded midnight
tomorrow than the noon of today -
so many people ended up on a car-boot sale of
expectations that few geared into owning a
sports car - it was wonderful, thank you,
some of us educated ourselves for no reason,
that we know happened, because all the **********
capitalised on your stupidity -
we were never the nuclear physicists,
so why did we bother rather than investing in being
supermarket cashiers? why did we?
what was the point? i guess we fabled having parents
who wished us a better life, and in so wishing
begot themselves a better one, and for us a worse one...
oh well... what awaits us in redemptive spirit is
a Samurai's death and nothing else;
akin to Isaiah's oath demanding populist demand
from the heights of formerly being a socialite
in the rigidity of an Israelite king's courtship -
for sooner the pauper claiming to be king,
than the king claiming to be pauper - should both
compete to make his stance righteous among
the merchants / Mohammads / or among those
selling pigeons for worth of postage stamps in
Jerusalem's sacred temple that suggested the news be spread,
rather than those spreading it be whipped and
thrown out - so a pauper-king precedes a king-pauper?
oddly, had that Tibetan prince not descended to India
rather than scaled his way to China - then the similarity -
as the man who desired the northern lands but had
misgivings to the Arabian soil.
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 9:14 PM UTC
Relationship that stern, thoughtful Sonnet:
passionate words are restrained.
Pass that beer and tonic
drown the scars of pain.
Does this forced enough?
covered in kisses, lost in time.
We lay in bed about to make love.
We are not at the same rhythm.
We couldn't keep up that rhyme.
Words of utter distortion,
treading further with careful feet:
lips kissing with caution.
Us both leaving slowly
in that black hole,
behind the last train.
Rules been broken.
This isn't a sonnet, just random
spontaneous incomplete words
spun together. GRR... Words
GRR... that twisted verse.
You are an inspiration, a Muse
Fed me ideas, fed me words.
Your not to be abused.
Your meanings are heard:
the free bird, the free poet.
I could never make you suffer
Trapped in kisses, hugs of Envy.
I wanted to admire you:
admire that beauty.
Your the art I discovered
never to touch.
I love your voice, twisting
words, metaphors of
politics... knocked up.
We read such beautiful
ballads exposing the
crooked past we share.
We wrote, we read and recite.
Drink to share that regret, that shame.
Watching protests of pent up anger
sharing the same humiliation
that same physical... pain
We search for that one person,
the Muse to set us free.
Heal scars of
the scorned heart
escape the scolding fire.
You are the best friend,
the comrade, the big brother,
never my lover.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
The front wheel drags, grr,
short of breath I cycle on --
panting like a dog.
Feb 25, 2023
Feb 25, 2023 at 2:29 AM UTC
Walking through raindrops.
Autumn raindrops.
Heading for the river.
Car flies past it splashes me.
I wave my fist in anger.
Grr, hearing those expletives.
The pretty lady shouts.
Get to the river bank.
Walking almost alone.
The company of bobbing ducks and a solo floating cob swan.
Watching them drifting for a moment or two.
One quick look.
Now they're gone.
A walk in the rain.
Obscurer of pain.
Love walking.
Fighting drops.
Hope the rain never stops.
Walking for Sunday.
Beating Sorrow.
Hoping it rains again in the morrow.
Normally loathsome rain.
(c) Livvi
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 5:22 AM UTC
What a commotion!
My talent needs promotion!
I can't seem to write.
I really want to fight
whatever's stopping my fingers
because now they over-linger
on the keyboard.
Agh! I really want to write!
But quit I just might!
The words in my head
just want to go to bed,
but I don't want to let them!
Grr, writer's block is frustrating.
I have ideas, I'm ready to verbal *****
but the something that stops me
I'm really really hating!
It's like there's a transparent wall
between my motivation
and my story ideas.
I can see them,
but I can't use them at all.
Help! I need a bulldozer!
I can't break this wall down!
Ugh, my head hurts from being overused.
I can feel my brain frown.
Come on, dude!
Writer's block, go away,
don't ever come again
another day!
PBTHHH I can't think.
Maybe I can use a hammer
to pound ideas and motivation
into my head.
Okay I'm done.
I still hate writer's block.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 12:35 AM UTC
there's this fluff
on my forehead
where my hair starts
- yeah, right there
i like to look tough
not only a tad
so it's pretty hard
to be like that anywhere
when my hair is curly
and rude
and I just wish
i could go somewhere
without looking
like a goof
this isn't funny
i'm _serious_
I SWEAR
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
wuof
wauwau
wfff grr
wf wf wf wf
grr
wau grrrr wooph
gr grr grrr wau
wau
wauwf
grrr
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 2:41 AM UTC