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"gruff" poems
helping the kids with homework• no one told you, was part of the job description paycheck earner a-ok, gruff but tender lover, knowing her special places, building a tree swing, a tree house safe and satisfactory, one the neighbors envy taking them to the hospital for broken arms and chemotherapy, part two of the non-routine but a very possible foreseeable, going to school to give that principal a look that will make him think twice before suspending one of his for defending himself you remember your daddy doing the same for you, forgetting to repeat the tar and hiding that came later the tucking in, the pretense ouch when your end of day scratchy beard ruffling the skin of babies, carrying tissues in a toolbox, never heard of, nevertheless done, tho not a memory defining the future inclusive, definitely a learning ability, a likeability doing homework, nuh uh, no way jose, don’t dare let them know how you never got a gold star, always sat in the back row, outta sight, all day dreaming, chemistry rhymes with mystery, and poetry is rhymes needing a big vocabulary which means lots of words for a man who don’t talk much ain’t exactly his strong suit sure, heard of Shakespeare but never met him, know where the on/off computer button hides, the rest is up to them; got no email address, but taught them sir and ma’am, how to address humans with respect, i’ll promise them anything but not doing any homework, unless it the kind that that makes “a home work
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Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
helping the kids with homework
helping the kids with homework• no one told you, was part of the job description paycheck earner a-ok, gruff but tender lover, knowing her special places, building a tree swing, a tree house safe and satisfactory, one the neighbors envy taking them to the hospital for broken arms and chemotherapy, part two of the non-routine but a very possible foreseeable, going to school to give that principal a look that will make him think twice before suspending one of his for defending himself you remember your daddy doing the same for you, forgetting to repeat the tar and hiding that came later the tucking in, the pretense ouch when your end of day scratchy beard ruffling the skin of babies, carrying tissues in a toolbox, never heard of, nevertheless done, tho not a memory defining the future inclusive, definitely a learning ability, a likeability doing homework, nuh uh, no way jose, don’t dare let them know how you never got a gold star, always sat in the back row, outta sight, all day dreaming, chemistry rhymes with mystery, and poetry is rhymes needing a big vocabulary which means lots of words for a man who don’t talk much ain’t exactly his strong suit sure, heard of Shakespeare but never met him, know where the on/off computer button hides, the rest is up to them; got no email address, but taught them sir and ma’am, how to address humans with respect, i’ll promise them anything but not doing any homework, unless it the kind that that makes “a home work
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41
***Crossing the room in slow motion She watches his muscles move in the moonlight Oh how they glisten in anticipation Sit my pet, in a whisper At her feet he waits with bated breath So pleased at his obedience Proceed Such a simple command He inches closer His eagerness evident in his silence In his omission of a proper response An outfaced palm and he stops short Sitting back on his feet, hands in lap, eyes to the floor I'm sorry Ma'am, he says That is evident by his failure to respond He knows what is coming Grabbing the back of his hair she forces his eyes to hers Position, she says disgustedly She leans back in the armchair as he pulls her hips to the edge He lifts one leg and gently places it over the arm Then he positions the other in the same manner Sitting back on his feet, facing the floor His arousal is evident, as is his moist anticipation Respire. The word is grunted through gritted teeth He leans into heaven Hovering an inch away Slow deep breaths He breathes in her essence wanting nothing more Than to bridge the gap with his tongue White satin and peekaboo lace She runs down the rules of his punishment Will you touch the Goddess No Ma'am Will you drool on the Goddess No Ma'am Will you move without permission No Ma'am How long will you hold your position As long as my Goddess sees fit...Ma'am Good boy His breath is slow, deliberate, and heavy The heat of it permeates the thin fabric She runs her hand over the object of desire Accentuating the outlines of what lies beneath An accidental whimper Silence! A gruff command Followed implicitly In a slow and graceful motion A hand slips under the fabric Opening her flower releasing a hint of nectar The scent grows exponentially upon the unfurling of petals A glistening finger touches him just above his lip Is that what you want? It's a rhetorical question Yes please What will you do to get it Such a simple question with but one answer Anything you please, Goddess Stick out your tongue He does so in silence, careful that he does not touch her She uses his wet flesh to wipe her finger clean Closer she whispers Now, within a half inch he breathes her in deeply Mesmerized by the dewy goodness held behind the smooth satin Watching desire grow in painfully slow motion He blows out on the growing dampness As he waits for her next command***
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Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
Rules of Engagement
***Crossing the room in slow motion She watches his muscles move in the moonlight Oh how they glisten in anticipation Sit my pet, in a whisper At her feet he waits with bated breath So pleased at his obedience Proceed Such a simple command He inches closer His eagerness evident in his silence In his omission of a proper response An outfaced palm and he stops short Sitting back on his feet, hands in lap, eyes to the floor I'm sorry Ma'am, he says That is evident by his failure to respond He knows what is coming Grabbing the back of his hair she forces his eyes to hers Position, she says disgustedly She leans back in the armchair as he pulls her hips to the edge He lifts one leg and gently places it over the arm Then he positions the other in the same manner Sitting back on his feet, facing the floor His arousal is evident, as is his moist anticipation Respire. The word is grunted through gritted teeth He leans into heaven Hovering an inch away Slow deep breaths He breathes in her essence wanting nothing more Than to bridge the gap with his tongue White satin and peekaboo lace She runs down the rules of his punishment Will you touch the Goddess No Ma'am Will you drool on the Goddess No Ma'am Will you move without permission No Ma'am How long will you hold your position As long as my Goddess sees fit...Ma'am Good boy His breath is slow, deliberate, and heavy The heat of it permeates the thin fabric She runs her hand over the object of desire Accentuating the outlines of what lies beneath An accidental whimper Silence! A gruff command Followed implicitly In a slow and graceful motion A hand slips under the fabric Opening her flower releasing a hint of nectar The scent grows exponentially upon the unfurling of petals A glistening finger touches him just above his lip Is that what you want? It's a rhetorical question Yes please What will you do to get it Such a simple question with but one answer Anything you please, Goddess Stick out your tongue He does so in silence, careful that he does not touch her She uses his wet flesh to wipe her finger clean Closer she whispers Now, within a half inch he breathes her in deeply Mesmerized by the dewy goodness held behind the smooth satin Watching desire grow in painfully slow motion He blows out on the growing dampness As he waits for her next command***
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69
What is ..... with ...... All this ... " ATTITUDE " ... ?!?    It seems ... The ... " In Thing " ... to simply be ... " Rude " ... !?! ...      People in ... " The World " ... are now .... So Crude .... !!!!!!!    Girls now walk streets ... with arses ... in view ...      " Prostitution's " ... RIFE ...   But this ... " Isn't New " ... !!!!!!    So .... If you have ... " A Bad Attitude " ... !!! ... May I ask ... " What's wrong with you ? " ...    Do you feel ... " Misled " ... ??? Are you feeling ... " Upset " ... ???    Do you feel that your life ... ? is just a .... " Pretence " .... ?    Do you feel as if ... ? You'd be ... Better off ... DEAD ... !!!!!    Well ... if you do ... ? It's Not Just ... YOU ... !!!!!    But it's ... NOT COOL ... !!! to act the ... " Fool " ...   and live your life ... with .... ATTITUDE .... !!!!!    If life's ... " So Rough " ... and you wanna ... " Act Tough " ...      Get in ... THE RING ... !!!!! Try on ... some gloves ...   and if it ... " Suits " ... Make WAR ... NOT Love ... !!!    I riSE ... abOVE ... This ... " Attitude Stuff " ...      But ... " Many suggest " ... I'm ... " Billy Goat gruff " ...      This ain't ... " Call My Bluff " ... !!!!!    But I guess it's cos' ... ??? I'm NOT ... " White Enough " ...   to be .... " So Cool " .... and ... NOT ... Wear Cuffs ...      Presumption can make ... ??? People give ... ATTITUDE ... !!!    So ..... Don't just ... " Assume " ... cos this might be ... ? Your ... LAST MISTAKE ... !!!!    " Attitude " ... that arises ... because of ... " Assumption " ... can leave men with ... " Truncheon " ... Without their ... Heart Function ... !!!    cos' Attitude ... quelled ... will then reach ... COMBUSTION ... !!!!!    So ....    PLEASE ... Don't Assume ... when you enter ... " A Room " ...      Read this ... CLOSELY ... !!! cos' when you ... Assume ...    You just make an ... " *** " ... of ... Both You and Me ... !!! ...      Did you ...   Read it ... CLOSELY ... ???      Break that word into ... " Three " ...    *** ... " U " ... and then ... ME ...      Reminds me of a word ... Yes ... " That Word " ... His - story    Just look at ... News Stories ... and you ... Surely ... MUST SEE ... ?!?    Attitude's ... runnin" .... on streets ... TOO FREELY ... !!!!!      Even on terraces ... in Italy .... !?!    Inter ... or ... A.C.   which fans ... can it be ... ???    I'm told these fans ...   ... " Attitude " ... FRIGHTENS POLICE ..... !!!!!      So ..... When they're ... Supposed ... to use ... BRUTALITY ...      They'd rather not use it ... but ... bring it to ... " Me " ... ?!?    Kind of like people ... who do ... " Poetry " ...    From trying to act ... Like ... They Like ... what I read  ... !!! Until I write words ... That DISTURRRBBBB ... " Their Chi " ... !!!    Attitude ... ISN'T ME ... !!! Come on ... Don't You See ...    My name is ... " Big Virge " ... Friends call me ... " Big V " ...      But .... Unless i've told you ...    You'd better use ... VIRGIL ... !!!    Unless you are ready ... to fall at ... " That Hurdle " ...      This Isn't ... " The National " ... My Poetry's ... " Rational " ...      as are ... " My Thoughts " ... which ... CANNOT ... be bought ... !!!!!    So .... Ideas that you ... " Court " ... of ... Any such .... " Sort " ....      Take my advice .... it's time to ... ABORT ... !!!!! cos' ... Attitude's RIFE ... when my temper ... " Runs short " ... !!!!!    So .... maybe it's time .... ? to leave you ... " This Thought " ...  ???    Attitudes' ... Crude ... and is something for ... FOOLS ...   who think ... Being Rude ... is now ... The New ... " COOL " ... ?!?    Well ....   Check out ... This view ... !!!    You're NOT ... being cool ... !!! You're acting ... THE FOOL ... !!!    Now .... If you're a ... " Female " ... ?    PLEASE ... Refuse to use ...   This ... " Needless Abuse " ... !!!    But .... If you're a ... " Male " ... ?    Just be a ... " Cool Dude " ...   and just do ... " What's Right ... !!!    REMOVE ... !!!    ... " Attitude " ... !!!!!!
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Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
" Attitude " ... A Poem written by Big Virge 14/4/2005
What is ..... with ...... All this ... " ATTITUDE " ... ?!?    It seems ... The ... " In Thing " ... to simply be ... " Rude " ... !?! ...      People in ... " The World " ... are now .... So Crude .... !!!!!!!    Girls now walk streets ... with arses ... in view ...      " Prostitution's " ... RIFE ...   But this ... " Isn't New " ... !!!!!!    So .... If you have ... " A Bad Attitude " ... !!! ... May I ask ... " What's wrong with you ? " ...    Do you feel ... " Misled " ... ??? Are you feeling ... " Upset " ... ???    Do you feel that your life ... ? is just a .... " Pretence " .... ?    Do you feel as if ... ? You'd be ... Better off ... DEAD ... !!!!!    Well ... if you do ... ? It's Not Just ... YOU ... !!!!!    But it's ... NOT COOL ... !!! to act the ... " Fool " ...   and live your life ... with .... ATTITUDE .... !!!!!    If life's ... " So Rough " ... and you wanna ... " Act Tough " ...      Get in ... THE RING ... !!!!! Try on ... some gloves ...   and if it ... " Suits " ... Make WAR ... NOT Love ... !!!    I riSE ... abOVE ... This ... " Attitude Stuff " ...      But ... " Many suggest " ... I'm ... " Billy Goat gruff " ...      This ain't ... " Call My Bluff " ... !!!!!    But I guess it's cos' ... ??? I'm NOT ... " White Enough " ...   to be .... " So Cool " .... and ... NOT ... Wear Cuffs ...      Presumption can make ... ??? People give ... ATTITUDE ... !!!    So ..... Don't just ... " Assume " ... cos this might be ... ? Your ... LAST MISTAKE ... !!!!    " Attitude " ... that arises ... because of ... " Assumption " ... can leave men with ... " Truncheon " ... Without their ... Heart Function ... !!!    cos' Attitude ... quelled ... will then reach ... COMBUSTION ... !!!!!    So ....    PLEASE ... Don't Assume ... when you enter ... " A Room " ...      Read this ... CLOSELY ... !!! cos' when you ... Assume ...    You just make an ... " *** " ... of ... Both You and Me ... !!! ...      Did you ...   Read it ... CLOSELY ... ???      Break that word into ... " Three " ...    *** ... " U " ... and then ... ME ...      Reminds me of a word ... Yes ... " That Word " ... His - story    Just look at ... News Stories ... and you ... Surely ... MUST SEE ... ?!?    Attitude's ... runnin" .... on streets ... TOO FREELY ... !!!!!      Even on terraces ... in Italy .... !?!    Inter ... or ... A.C.   which fans ... can it be ... ???    I'm told these fans ...   ... " Attitude " ... FRIGHTENS POLICE ..... !!!!!      So ..... When they're ... Supposed ... to use ... BRUTALITY ...      They'd rather not use it ... but ... bring it to ... " Me " ... ?!?    Kind of like people ... who do ... " Poetry " ...    From trying to act ... Like ... They Like ... what I read  ... !!! Until I write words ... That DISTURRRBBBB ... " Their Chi " ... !!!    Attitude ... ISN'T ME ... !!! Come on ... Don't You See ...    My name is ... " Big Virge " ... Friends call me ... " Big V " ...      But .... Unless i've told you ...    You'd better use ... VIRGIL ... !!!    Unless you are ready ... to fall at ... " That Hurdle " ...      This Isn't ... " The National " ... My Poetry's ... " Rational " ...      as are ... " My Thoughts " ... which ... CANNOT ... be bought ... !!!!!    So .... Ideas that you ... " Court " ... of ... Any such .... " Sort " ....      Take my advice .... it's time to ... ABORT ... !!!!! cos' ... Attitude's RIFE ... when my temper ... " Runs short " ... !!!!!    So .... maybe it's time .... ? to leave you ... " This Thought " ...  ???    Attitudes' ... Crude ... and is something for ... FOOLS ...   who think ... Being Rude ... is now ... The New ... " COOL " ... ?!?    Well ....   Check out ... This view ... !!!    You're NOT ... being cool ... !!! You're acting ... THE FOOL ... !!!    Now .... If you're a ... " Female " ... ?    PLEASE ... Refuse to use ...   This ... " Needless Abuse " ... !!!    But .... If you're a ... " Male " ... ?    Just be a ... " Cool Dude " ...   and just do ... " What's Right ... !!!    REMOVE ... !!!    ... " Attitude " ... !!!!!!
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A proud man, Upright and unshakable In belief and morals, Once only I did I see him Without a tie. A child of Edwardian England, The links Of his watch chain Glinted As they hung With formality and elegance From his waistcoat pocket, Yes, even as he worked. And work he did. Patiently, Brilliantly and tirelessly With ingenuity and imagination. A craftsman from a bygone age. A master of his tools. Grandfathers are soft, Playful, bear-like in their Gruff-whiskered familiarity. Not Poppy. Unwittingly aloof from his grandchildren, We avoided the need for directly addressing him, Unsure of where we stood. He’d probably have secretly Loved the informality Of our secret nickname. I hope he knew. The chapel piano did for him. Too much weight for his work-weary ticker. Grandma gave me his pocket watch to keep, And for a time I treasured it, Measuring its weight Like a smooth round pebble In my palm. A workman’s watch; Practical. A yellowing face Behind a scratched And hazy glass. But accurate, And precise. Reliable as the man. Detached in life, I liked to hope that Gazing down, Watching, He just might have Laughed In loving acknowledgement of his Grandson’s curiosity And foolishness Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, With heart-thumping nausea Adrift in a sea of springs.
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Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 3:15 AM UTC
Lost Link
A dancing Bear grotesque and funny Earned for his master heaps of money, Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey, And cheerful if the day was sunny. Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood He tramped, and on some common stood; There, cottage children circling gaily, He in their midmost footed daily. Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle Were quite enough his brain to puzzle: But like a philosophic bear He let alone extraneous care And danced contented anywhere. Still, year on year, and wear and tear, Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear. A day came when he scarce could prance, And when his master looked askance On dancing Bear who would not dance. To looks succeeded blows; hard blows Battered his ears and poor old nose. From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon; He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon, Capered in fury fast and faster. Ah, could he once but hug his master And perish in one joint disaster! But deafness, blindness, weakness growing, Not fury's self could keep him going. One dark day when the snow was snowing His cup was brimmed to overflowing: He tottered, toppled on one side, Growled once, and shook his head, and died. The master kicked and struck in vain, The weary drudge had distanced pain And never now would wince again. The master growled; he might have howled Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled. So gnawed by rancor and chagrin One thing remained: he sold the skin. What next the man did is not worth Your notice or my setting forth, But hearken what befell at last. His idle working days gone past, And not one friend and not one penny Stored up (if ever he had any Friends; but his coppers had been many), All doors stood shut against him but The workhouse door, which cannot shut. There he droned on,--a grim old sinner, Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner, Unpitied quite, uncared for much (The rate-payers not favoring such), Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare; Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear Danced back, a haunting memory. Indeed, I hope so, for you see If once the hard old heart relented, The hard old man may have repented.
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4.6k
Brother Bruin
A dancing Bear grotesque and funny Earned for his master heaps of money, Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey, And cheerful if the day was sunny. Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood He tramped, and on some common stood; There, cottage children circling gaily, He in their midmost footed daily. Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle Were quite enough his brain to puzzle: But like a philosophic bear He let alone extraneous care And danced contented anywhere. Still, year on year, and wear and tear, Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear. A day came when he scarce could prance, And when his master looked askance On dancing Bear who would not dance. To looks succeeded blows; hard blows Battered his ears and poor old nose. From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon; He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon, Capered in fury fast and faster. Ah, could he once but hug his master And perish in one joint disaster! But deafness, blindness, weakness growing, Not fury's self could keep him going. One dark day when the snow was snowing His cup was brimmed to overflowing: He tottered, toppled on one side, Growled once, and shook his head, and died. The master kicked and struck in vain, The weary drudge had distanced pain And never now would wince again. The master growled; he might have howled Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled. So gnawed by rancor and chagrin One thing remained: he sold the skin. What next the man did is not worth Your notice or my setting forth, But hearken what befell at last. His idle working days gone past, And not one friend and not one penny Stored up (if ever he had any Friends; but his coppers had been many), All doors stood shut against him but The workhouse door, which cannot shut. There he droned on,--a grim old sinner, Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner, Unpitied quite, uncared for much (The rate-payers not favoring such), Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare; Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear Danced back, a haunting memory. Indeed, I hope so, for you see If once the hard old heart relented, The hard old man may have repented.
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57
I wish that I could fall in love with a female, for she would make a far better muse than the gruff sailors and musicians and drunks and men in general that I am inclined to crave. to write about a painted pout or skin that brushes against your own like nylon, sunlight shining through the window onto a Cupid's bow and dancing down to a delicate clavicle, or black eyelashes that bat and blink remorse into your cavernous heart, to muse over such aesthetic delights, would be ecstasy for my poetess heart. I linger, staring, at beautiful women, androgynous women, delicate, feline women, stringing words together in my head over long legs and hair that flutters like silk, and they think I'm crazy or in love with them. well, maybe I am crazy, but I crawl into bed each night with my snarling, gleaming, mahogany gentleman, and I love him madly, my rugged muse.
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Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
women.
Speak to me in a Russian accent sound all angry and mean then buy me a puppy named Tobias and cuddle fer hours et hours. I like 'em gruff and dorky and sweet and badass and lovely and secretly love to write poems. Do they tear up during The Notebook and still love mountain biking and rock climbing? Can he laugh at my weird jokes and tell some of his own? Maybe.
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May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 8:12 PM UTC
Sashimi
Unicorn Moments It was Maundy Thursday, an afternoon so lazy the words of the passion could sink hardly for my eyes were on the beading tray the unfinished bracelet was now awry off and on, i kept stringing the garnet rounds and pearls kept falling no more tiny brass rings to string in between i had to think of other ways...something also had to wash away the gray feeling. Searched inside my bedroom drawers and found silver flower spacers! i gloried at the thought of finishing two bracelets three, more, maybe even an anklet! Three, four hours had passed, i was so exhausted i had already showered the whole bathroom was spotless, smelling of ^Pandan leaves^ and flowers, i was so delighted! Outside the bathroom door, i stopped spotted the shiny silver spacers! on the bed, i almost dropped the silence was too loud, i couldn't stand the spacers' glare, nothing to say, nothing to offer... just a stare... "No! no way! i'm fine, i'm okay!" was that my voice that gave me away? moment of truth could never be held at bay... I held the cable wire to start beading but body and mind were one...refusing my fingers were limp...a bit trembling tired, from too much scrubbing. My finger traces the head of my unicorn figurine God knows, i have loved this magical creature ever since but, i'm not sure i even like these new visitors, these unicorn moments, they don't come often, yet, they're bound to happen. oh, well....i guess i have to be a bit bolder accept these changes that come with growing older... when this happens, i try to joke and laugh, and then people say......."you're tough!" i answer them with a smile...and a gruff! Sally Copyright April 2015 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 7:02 AM UTC
UNICORN MOMENTS
Unicorn Moments It was Maundy Thursday, an afternoon so lazy the words of the passion could sink hardly for my eyes were on the beading tray the unfinished bracelet was now awry off and on, i kept stringing the garnet rounds and pearls kept falling no more tiny brass rings to string in between i had to think of other ways...something also had to wash away the gray feeling. Searched inside my bedroom drawers and found silver flower spacers! i gloried at the thought of finishing two bracelets three, more, maybe even an anklet! Three, four hours had passed, i was so exhausted i had already showered the whole bathroom was spotless, smelling of ^Pandan leaves^ and flowers, i was so delighted! Outside the bathroom door, i stopped spotted the shiny silver spacers! on the bed, i almost dropped the silence was too loud, i couldn't stand the spacers' glare, nothing to say, nothing to offer... just a stare... "No! no way! i'm fine, i'm okay!" was that my voice that gave me away? moment of truth could never be held at bay... I held the cable wire to start beading but body and mind were one...refusing my fingers were limp...a bit trembling tired, from too much scrubbing. My finger traces the head of my unicorn figurine God knows, i have loved this magical creature ever since but, i'm not sure i even like these new visitors, these unicorn moments, they don't come often, yet, they're bound to happen. oh, well....i guess i have to be a bit bolder accept these changes that come with growing older... when this happens, i try to joke and laugh, and then people say......."you're tough!" i answer them with a smile...and a gruff! Sally Copyright April 2015 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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Sitting early at McDonalds over a dollar cup, I join a gathering of days...no longer years... Whose better days are nearly up Alone, or nearly so, they gather here. Greetings gruff or none belie camaraderie; They wait until each man has joined the crew, Half-hearted views of the morning news, Wonder of a friend who's feeling blue. I cannot hold myself away from finding me A few years up this downward road, Waiting with the men I've come to see... A weary lot to meet and think of growing old.
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Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
Old Men at McDonalds (Montana, 2013)
Wasting my love was only half of the fun, but to waste it on you made me a fortunate one. You taught me that love was never enough, you taught me to lie and how to be tough. You taught me that *** is better when it's rough, because then when you hurt me it's mutual gruff. When I lay my head on my pillow at night, I remember how weak I was during our fights. Because you never loved me and you never cared; though if I knew this then, my skin might be bare. After hurting myself, whilst you hurt me too, I remember today - I am strong - so thank you.                                                                k.d.
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Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 1:55 AM UTC
A letter of gratitude
*Claw beneath your ribs Hold down wild you Just for a little while Feel the anguished flutter Begging these gruff hands . . .* 1. Fear takes commotive hold Makes wooden legs Delayed dance…..so delayed Causing silent attendance of synchrony No use stepping out for flight just yet, if alone Will meantime practise wing-span                            iron out brittle energy                            attempt to fortify links                            .. 2. Careless snubs to fragile sapling Did absolutely nothing To the course set out Only hypocrites squander even half-truths and wallow in obsequious words rendering paralysis and decay I will continue to claw beneath your ribs Covert trove awaits us In the tormented form of Crashing waves on a broken coast Hacked to near-distraction by potent searching 3. Loss is not wasted unseen by its absence: evocative presence felt …with penniless eyes I challenge you to visualise our melting:                  perched on fate’s right shoulder                  re-sent to this basic arena as buoyant token                  summoned by that primordial, blue light                  .. *the sun may well baulk and melt at the ruddy sight of such intense clawing beneath your ribs (like your customary digging into my bristling blades) To find my foetal place within the calling drumbeats of imperative you . . .* S T, sunsday . . . 21 July 2013
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Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 4:50 AM UTC
C L A W
*Claw beneath your ribs Hold down wild you Just for a little while Feel the anguished flutter Begging these gruff hands . . .* 1. Fear takes commotive hold Makes wooden legs Delayed dance…..so delayed Causing silent attendance of synchrony No use stepping out for flight just yet, if alone Will meantime practise wing-span                            iron out brittle energy                            attempt to fortify links                            .. 2. Careless snubs to fragile sapling Did absolutely nothing To the course set out Only hypocrites squander even half-truths and wallow in obsequious words rendering paralysis and decay I will continue to claw beneath your ribs Covert trove awaits us In the tormented form of Crashing waves on a broken coast Hacked to near-distraction by potent searching 3. Loss is not wasted unseen by its absence: evocative presence felt …with penniless eyes I challenge you to visualise our melting:                  perched on fate’s right shoulder                  re-sent to this basic arena as buoyant token                  summoned by that primordial, blue light                  .. *the sun may well baulk and melt at the ruddy sight of such intense clawing beneath your ribs (like your customary digging into my bristling blades) To find my foetal place within the calling drumbeats of imperative you . . .* S T, sunsday . . . 21 July 2013
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44
Another dark day in this dismal old place Snow clouds were moving in fast The sky was so dark, and the wind had a chill This was a storm that was sure gonna last At Cy's, The Old Pawn Shop was empty except For Cy and the stores old dog Gruff The storm was en route and Cy figured that this Was a good time to go through the stuff Years of memories, years of tall tales They were all on the shelves in this store There was all sorts of jewellery, tvs and clothes And in the back was at least 40 years more The door opened sharp and the bell startled Cy He was checking the watches and clocks A young man came in, dressed all in black Cy said "push hard or the **** thing don't lock" The young man was tall, about six two I'd say Cy had never seen him before in his life He'd said "Sir, I've an offer, you can take or can leave" "And it's the best one you've had all your life" Cy looked at the man, intrigued though he was He said "Sit, and I'll put on some tea" He went to the door, checked the oncoming storm And then he put the sign up..."BE BACK AT 3" They sat and they talked, and they laughed as the wind Blew the snow up against the front door Cy pulled out some books, went and made some more tea Then the man left and left Cy in the store. Later that night, under cover of darkness The man came on back with a truck Cy opened up, and with Gruff by his side They watched as the man quickly loaded the truck Two days had passed, and the whole town was white The storm closed the town for a day The streets were a mess and the schools were all closed And the kids had the day off to play On the third day, the town, woke up almost as one With people phoning up Cy's by the score For as they all left for work, there all wrapped up in brown Was a box, sitting by their front doors Jim, was the first, opened his box outside Saw the watch that he pawned with Old Cy Gianni, and Mike, and others as well Received items they'd pawned by  and by In total you see, almost 200 folks Opened boxes paid off that dark night Christmas was early for folks in the town Given by a young man, who'd done right Cy gave the names of the people he knew Even though it was against the Pawn shop man's creed He'd loaned out the money in interest free loans To these folks that he knew were in need About  five thirty that day, the young man returned Cy and old Gruff were waiting inside They spoke how his stunt was a universal success And at this, they both laughed till they cried The man rose from his seat, shook Cy by the hand Cy asked "Why did you come here?" The man answered "I'm here after my Mum" "Her names Mary, and I heard she serves beer"
0
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 7:41 PM UTC
The Strange Visitor
Another dark day in this dismal old place Snow clouds were moving in fast The sky was so dark, and the wind had a chill This was a storm that was sure gonna last At Cy's, The Old Pawn Shop was empty except For Cy and the stores old dog Gruff The storm was en route and Cy figured that this Was a good time to go through the stuff Years of memories, years of tall tales They were all on the shelves in this store There was all sorts of jewellery, tvs and clothes And in the back was at least 40 years more The door opened sharp and the bell startled Cy He was checking the watches and clocks A young man came in, dressed all in black Cy said "push hard or the **** thing don't lock" The young man was tall, about six two I'd say Cy had never seen him before in his life He'd said "Sir, I've an offer, you can take or can leave" "And it's the best one you've had all your life" Cy looked at the man, intrigued though he was He said "Sit, and I'll put on some tea" He went to the door, checked the oncoming storm And then he put the sign up..."BE BACK AT 3" They sat and they talked, and they laughed as the wind Blew the snow up against the front door Cy pulled out some books, went and made some more tea Then the man left and left Cy in the store. Later that night, under cover of darkness The man came on back with a truck Cy opened up, and with Gruff by his side They watched as the man quickly loaded the truck Two days had passed, and the whole town was white The storm closed the town for a day The streets were a mess and the schools were all closed And the kids had the day off to play On the third day, the town, woke up almost as one With people phoning up Cy's by the score For as they all left for work, there all wrapped up in brown Was a box, sitting by their front doors Jim, was the first, opened his box outside Saw the watch that he pawned with Old Cy Gianni, and Mike, and others as well Received items they'd pawned by  and by In total you see, almost 200 folks Opened boxes paid off that dark night Christmas was early for folks in the town Given by a young man, who'd done right Cy gave the names of the people he knew Even though it was against the Pawn shop man's creed He'd loaned out the money in interest free loans To these folks that he knew were in need About  five thirty that day, the young man returned Cy and old Gruff were waiting inside They spoke how his stunt was a universal success And at this, they both laughed till they cried The man rose from his seat, shook Cy by the hand Cy asked "Why did you come here?" The man answered "I'm here after my Mum" "Her names Mary, and I heard she serves beer"
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60
Rehashing the rare Out with the new, In with the old. She's always had a thing For the things that exude A quirkiness and a bucolic charm The smell of old books The black and the white Good ol' Chaplin, James Dean And the Sound of Music The Beatles, a tape recorder High-waisted pants And the gramophone And a rustic old bar With a gruff bartender Who's off his rocker But he'll double up as your therapist And for the boy with the dark brown eyes Who looks across the bar at her. And smiles. It's all black and white again Except this time, It isn't her favourite Casablanca scene But a white screen And a thousand particles Microcosmic A milieu of Unfathomable numbers float Through the atmosphere Connecting her to him. And she doesn't want that. She's always had a thing for the old, But he makes her doubt that.
0
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
Glitch in the Matrix
It was at the cottage, by the marsh, Where the husband slipped through the threshold. The Bass boots left marks of silt and clay on the worn wooden floor. He dropped the shovel on the floor as well. And globs of mud, sawgrass and marsh water seeped in the cracks, forever to stay there, As a silent reminder. He sat down at the dinner table, a table for two, With only one chair. The coo-coo clock chimed above his head, It was dinner time, where was dinner? His thick gruff hands made fists and smashed the table top, Breaking the maple top in two, which now made it a table for one. He just needs sleep, his temper was getting to him. As the husband climb up the stairs to the spacious bed, And laid his head upon the pillow, he fell asleep. But if you follow the muddy tracks down the stairs, through the kitchen, out the door, into the rain, to the marsh, you will see a pile of mud that looks misplaced. The sludge will begin to shift and slide away to reveal a hauntingly beautiful women. She will rise, and walk through the marsh, in the rain, to the door, through the kitchen and up the stairs to see her husband in a fitful sleep. And as any good wife would do, She'll kiss him and lay next to him to ease whatever could be on his mind at this hour.
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Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
A Guilty Conscience
the Big Gruff Man let the fear from his soul leak through grave stone eyes how hard the matter must have been pressed before he released his grip on that liquid prize what a strange sight seeing water falling, falling,                 falling,                                 falling from those grave, stone eyes he looks at me as though i hold the key to unlock the lock and release the chain binding him to his pain look away Big Gruff Man or i will drown in your pleading stare for you are me or more to the point what i fear to be i scream to his deaf ears "it is not the matter but the clinging that brings your pain!" let it go,                   let it go,                                    let it go the waters will come the waters will rise the waters will carry you away
0
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 7:29 AM UTC
BGM
A man is a man Is a man He stands tall With strong shoes And blue jeans And red wings He does not strut But He owns the block With his talk and walk A man is a man He understands To be gruff is to be loved To be aloof is to be good Muscles to waste away And away And away And A man Broke the rule A man Choked me through Pulled me too close Transparent as ghosts An unyielding lust To the horrors of man Stare into fear Such horrid leer But please Don't Hurt Me So I Let This Man Take and steal and scare and sing Or better yet his radio sang Such a long quiet sorrowful manly drive For those who wish to thrive Be a man? No Take a stand For a man is a man is a man is A Man Man You broke my life Left me as bile But I'm still alive With vision for miles I see it clearly now I see that a man is a man is a man I understand You're sad
0
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 10:10 PM UTC
Clarity of Man: A Maelstrom Interlude
I was once in a rough & gruff biker gang figthing with tough as nails bikers, dang and I knew all of the sick biker slang, but then I woke up when my cell phone rang
0
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
5-halfway there(and in the light!)
maybe it's there, in the crevice of his hard heart, that he heard the soft echo of light. maybe, if the wound really is where the light enters you, it's in the heavy handed claps or in that gruff way men tell their sons, when it seems like the right thing to do, that they love them, and then it's gone, vanished into the cold nothingness, behind rough hands and hearty laughter and the slow descending numbness of duty and honor and being a man. it's faded, worn over, rusted old coppers, until there comes along a boy who'll tuck the rough love away, who won't stand startled but rather perplexed, who'll keep it boxed safe like pressed flowers between thin brown paper. and then maybe, maybe that sweet boy will spread a few more, until his love is no longer a coarse and dying brittle sea air but nourishing, sustaining, and maybe then he can start over.
0
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 8:09 PM UTC
adam
My shoes are scraped and scuffed, But I'm still walking. My voice is pained and gruff, Yet I'm still talking. My fear appears so tough, But I'm not balking. My love had never seemed enough, So this is shocking. I feel so blessed. Each wound a test. Please hear me knocking.
0
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
Sorrow and Optimism
what person could have known how a cataclysm rolls in slowly obscuring the towering force of nature what person could have known that there was a tip to that tower how cold is the view from its peak now clouded by teardrops now rising through though heaven made mist of the sky rising from a cotton mouth to make a liar of the tongue what person could have known for we do not speak of a lonely tower but to climb it we do not speak of a distant summit but to find it we do not speak but we see it rising from a bluff on a cold shoulder turned away from gruff land on a plain sky residing it is not enough to pierce the sky to see through it where there is a window there is a view it must be seen to be true where there is a cloud there is the sun shrouded though it seems get high enough to find the clue what person could have known that you were here alone watching for a break in the storm unless it was them all and the tower was home to everyone all at once
0
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 11:46 PM UTC
Ivory Towers
A time from now, we'll put the French Riviera to shame with the spellbinding travesty of our **********   The stars that grazes the Monte Carlo sky must realize that they've never even really shined once they witness how my eyes will glisten with rapture as you taste me for the very first time. Oh, we'll hush the musicians of Vienna with the rhythm of our moans, the terrifying yet invigorating song of your gruff voice begging for more. As we succumb to each other's biddings, the world shall be left helpless with no other choice than to watch.
0
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
Shading Europa
I want to be a man. I want the broad, Sculpted shoulders. I want the deep, gruff, Musty vociferation that roars From within the pit Of his stomach. I want the veiny, ***** Callous hands. The ruffled, Strong hands that hold dirt And flesh without hesitation, Or dubious grasp. I want the broken nose, The ****** teeth, And the enraged, inflamed eyes. I want the hair, the dark, Damp, coarse hair that grows From his every pore, Resembling more and more The body of an ape. I want the smirk, The arrogant smile splat On his face. I want the swagger, The saunter that is So impregnated in his walk, That one which steps the earth, Waiting for it to shatter With his every advance. I want the commanding voice, That which with his footstep, Orders the world to be held In his hands. I want to be proud, Be primitive, Strong. I want my immediate desires To be quenched By the milliard. I want to destroy And create. I want to seek, Seek with zeal, And desperation Despite stability, Despite being pleasured. I want the dissatisfaction That comes with being a man, The constant unhappiness, The constant yelp For something Other than what is being offered. I want to hate, I want to enrage, And be enraged. I want to punch, To butcher till that which I despised Is nothing more. I want to rip that which is his, And his, and mine. I want the lack of restraint, Because it is all acknowledged When you are a man. It is all pardoned, And when condemned, There is always exile, Exile to then live in solitude, Still seeking for that which isn’t his. I want to breathe freshness, And deliver the putrid breath of Meat, *** and saliva. I want to be a man, For I am not.
0
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC
Masculinity
I want to be a man. I want the broad, Sculpted shoulders. I want the deep, gruff, Musty vociferation that roars From within the pit Of his stomach. I want the veiny, ***** Callous hands. The ruffled, Strong hands that hold dirt And flesh without hesitation, Or dubious grasp. I want the broken nose, The ****** teeth, And the enraged, inflamed eyes. I want the hair, the dark, Damp, coarse hair that grows From his every pore, Resembling more and more The body of an ape. I want the smirk, The arrogant smile splat On his face. I want the swagger, The saunter that is So impregnated in his walk, That one which steps the earth, Waiting for it to shatter With his every advance. I want the commanding voice, That which with his footstep, Orders the world to be held In his hands. I want to be proud, Be primitive, Strong. I want my immediate desires To be quenched By the milliard. I want to destroy And create. I want to seek, Seek with zeal, And desperation Despite stability, Despite being pleasured. I want the dissatisfaction That comes with being a man, The constant unhappiness, The constant yelp For something Other than what is being offered. I want to hate, I want to enrage, And be enraged. I want to punch, To butcher till that which I despised Is nothing more. I want to rip that which is his, And his, and mine. I want the lack of restraint, Because it is all acknowledged When you are a man. It is all pardoned, And when condemned, There is always exile, Exile to then live in solitude, Still seeking for that which isn’t his. I want to breathe freshness, And deliver the putrid breath of Meat, *** and saliva. I want to be a man, For I am not.
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73
He hurriedly glanced at his wristwatch again, The shadow of the cross from the steeple Landing in the middle of the watch. A sigh echoed through the church courtyard, And a few rats scurried out of their hide-aways. They should be here by now. The moon hung in the sky, Trying and failing to shed light on what was below. The harsh noise of a truck on gravel reached his ears, And he breathed a sigh of relief. The newcomer parked the truck and lumbered out, Holding several filthy beer bottles in his large, grimy hands. “Here you go.” His voice was gruff, calloused even, as if it was being Grated like cheese. Money from the priest’s hands went into the driver’s hands, And when the priest looked into his eyes, They spoke legends of ****** The truck drove away, and Pretty soon the courtyard was silent again, Except for the hoot of an owl, The contented sigh of the priest, and the Pop of a beer bottle being opened.
0
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 10:36 PM UTC
My priest drinks too much
~ who knows the definition of a poet? ~ *for my friend, S.Y, who I will embrace with both hands, both eyes, when he hands me a signed copy of a book that answers the question* weighty subjects deserve your best work, expressions of affection and introspection, need careful reflection, a proper set up for the tumult inevitable when delving in the unopened recesses where the answers kept so, of course, the writing commences well after 1:00am, when the darkness of night clarifies the process, for I work by day but live by night, when summoning up my one tool no one can take away, the joy, the relief, the spectacular exultation  of rearranging the aleph bet in new ways, when the quietude of reflection transports me across the continents in visions of what will be I don't know if I know the answer, perhaps, any answers, but when this man demands the ebb tides of soul to depart, to make him stand alone on the shore of endings, forcing  him to acknowledge his reckonings, lonely, only humanity and frailties I hear a voice gruff growling and me laughing- "cut to the chase, make your point, get out of people’s way" so in your honor, this simp fool who asks questions no human has any business, the answers knowing, will one last stanza grant and give and yours to keep, and commence countdown waiting for that day of welcoming *from the underground comes a chorus of voices, in one voice but many languages, chanting:* ***all humans are poets who acknowledge and freely confess that the blood and stuff, the kisses and the touches of family and friends, parent and child, are the ***** and the egg, the beginning and the circulation of the never ending, the open entrance that penetrates the berm surrounding real life, all these are the root and the stem and the blossoming, of poetry writ large, for they who have these in their possess, are surely by definition certainly humans, poets*** ~ 5/14/17 2:05am
0
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 2:37 AM UTC
Who Knows the Defintion of a Poet?
~ who knows the definition of a poet? ~ *for my friend, S.Y, who I will embrace with both hands, both eyes, when he hands me a signed copy of a book that answers the question* weighty subjects deserve your best work, expressions of affection and introspection, need careful reflection, a proper set up for the tumult inevitable when delving in the unopened recesses where the answers kept so, of course, the writing commences well after 1:00am, when the darkness of night clarifies the process, for I work by day but live by night, when summoning up my one tool no one can take away, the joy, the relief, the spectacular exultation  of rearranging the aleph bet in new ways, when the quietude of reflection transports me across the continents in visions of what will be I don't know if I know the answer, perhaps, any answers, but when this man demands the ebb tides of soul to depart, to make him stand alone on the shore of endings, forcing  him to acknowledge his reckonings, lonely, only humanity and frailties I hear a voice gruff growling and me laughing- "cut to the chase, make your point, get out of people’s way" so in your honor, this simp fool who asks questions no human has any business, the answers knowing, will one last stanza grant and give and yours to keep, and commence countdown waiting for that day of welcoming *from the underground comes a chorus of voices, in one voice but many languages, chanting:* ***all humans are poets who acknowledge and freely confess that the blood and stuff, the kisses and the touches of family and friends, parent and child, are the ***** and the egg, the beginning and the circulation of the never ending, the open entrance that penetrates the berm surrounding real life, all these are the root and the stem and the blossoming, of poetry writ large, for they who have these in their possess, are surely by definition certainly humans, poets*** ~ 5/14/17 2:05am
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48
She ran a boarding house in Boston, But they used her size to terrorize men And lead them to the lock-holes. Or was she a lady clad in black ruffles, Presented to the Queen in 1844? Perhaps she was a racehorse Foaled in Harlem and won a prize. She had peddled drugs and run a gang In the chaos of Civil War, Black Mariah escaped from the darkness Of Edison’s studio to roam the world, But in it found herself re-imagined. They named police wagons after her It’s said, but no one knows the truth. Did she cross the battle lines again, To tread on civil rights? Or swing the batons in Chicago And fire rifles at Kent State? She seems to take time out to charm Gruff-voiced men who sing her praise. She prowled the streets of Brixton, In 1983, with truncheons at her side. Through gas clouds, dragging men to jail. Black Mariah is with us still, Helping to create tyrants and traitors, To stop the mouths of those who defy She’s an accessory to the killing.
0
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 7:09 PM UTC
Black Mariah