"gutsy" poems
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Talk nerdy to me
It's my thing!
Use words so pedantic
They're obtusely romantic
Let's politick and homilize
(For philosophy use French and Chinese)
We'll ramble until we're halfway wise
Or let's invent a new word, at least
Talk nerdy to me
SNL and X-Men
Then note the plot holes
With a trendy quill pen
If you can't talk nerdy to me,
Just be yourself. That's also gutsy
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
And when you give
Give like the widow would
Quietly and thoughtfully
Wholeheartedly and consciously
Like you know the value of costly
The value of giving til you laughingly
Really hurt in your fund for a holiday.
And when you give
Keep your other hand wondering
If it's sufficiently
Not knowing if it was slight of handedly
Or open handedly
So you're tempted into giving more
Than you intended previously.
And when you give
Give hilariously
Generously
Be gutsy til angels agree
On the degree
To which you plunge
The depths of your karki jeans
And if in doubt
Just focus on the tree
And the costly sacrifice
He willingly made
For you and me.
Give like the widow would -
Like it's just between you and God
And then you'll be free.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 5:14 PM UTC
i find myself eating with the thought in mind of how it will feel coming up
i find myself staring at the toilet when i go to the bathroom
wishing i had the guts to do something about it
what a pun
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:16 AM UTC
This is for the residents who remember
And for the transplants who
Have yet to be informed
But have got an inkling
Burque has gone from
Bustling to busted
And back again
Growing up in the 80’s
I learned about the
Varying degrees of “sick”
As my dad pointed out
The pekid pachucos perusing
Pharmacy isles
Attempting to purchase
Cough syrup with codeine
In the evenings
Driving home down Central
I would ceremoniously
Count hookers
My parents would
Precariously pack heat
In the trunk of our car
Or even in my mom’s special ***** pack
With the hidden compartment
For her .38 snub nose
Because you never know
Who will be in your home
When you arrive
That’s a given
When flop houses are
Interwoven with prime real estate
And barrio boundaries
Border the bourgeois’ bungalows
And Huning’s Castles
And residents rarely recognize
Or realize
That aside from the locals
The European Jews
Was the only group gutsy enough
To settle here
And create commerce
Despite risks of being raided
By Apaches
And they reaped the benefits
Off Roma and Marquette
Because the rewards
Turned out to be greater than
The risks
And up North
Where Sephardic turned Crypto
Conversions to Catholicism
Kept the Messiah’s spirit alive
But in basements
They still did Chi fives!
I was saddened in middle school
When I realized
That many of our parents
Were too ashamed of our roots
To teach us Spanish
And our
Schools ****** so severely
That most of us
Didn’t learn English either
But hey –
All you need to
Communicate while cruising
Are cat calls
And the thumping boom
Of the bass in the tubes
And the hydraulic drop
When they hit
The hot spots
From Tingley, Kit Carson and
Central to Copper
Each kid dreams that
His ride
Will be the show stopper
I could rant and rave
And rattle off for days
But bottom line –
We have the most
Curious state
With mysterious qualities
And in-depth histories
But most of us are
More concerned with
Bud Light
And Biscochitos
Con Manteca
Because it just tastes great!
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
Rustle in the leaves,
tussle with the vines,
afoot in the tree of life,
the gutsy snake coiling,
Raddled and rattled with mans sin,
Divulgence to the loner who cherished the fruit,
in the dusky orange red skies which brought in the adhen
and from the tolling bells in the distant church ,
While the snake lolloped in the stark blue skies,
Manipulating this oppo for the abyss.
The wandering seam of the night,moon,
With flickering light forbade the seance on the seemlessly never ending night,
Pity the snake for another morn would rise
For it will have to go to the *** ,no the pit.
The ***** and cuckoo within cooee , chanted and coerced another morn out !
Following the sun like the grail, the people lounged in to the waters of the ganges.
While broods of hurted children huddled in hate,
hurling stones at the traitor.
Hauling the renegade into the throngs,
Hunnish hands assaulted him until he swooned in to the motherlands lap,
Hue and cry of the avengers brought in the tripper,
Heavy loads hugged on to his shoulders,
In poise words he spoke,
''for every creation has its flaws,
And when we batter on the withered soul,
It leaves the barren man dry again,
To ward off evil is like blowing into the forges of Vulcan,
And only when tests and temptations are burnt in the bonfires of joy,
will man be moulded into a joyous being''
Hissing whisphers from the crowd spoke,
Heresy of the tripper is the hold,
Hasten yourself and bring our brother medication,
Hunt down the snake will we,
For this vagabond has spoken in verses,
Only to be filed in the trippers travelogue.
Hushed up as the snake in the pit.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
I would rather be strong
I would rather be able
I would rather be admired for my spirit
and convictions than on how prettily I smile.
I can take a door off its hinges
in under 2 minutes.
And I can do it heels and dress.
I'd rather know how to change a tire
Than how to call for help.
I would rather be gutsy
I would rather live without fear.
I would rather lead the march
Then bring up the rear.
I can dive off a cliff
from 80 feet up
And never balk as I lift off the edge.
I know that kindness and encouragement can bring success
Faster than belittling and disdain.
I would rather be smart
I would rather be confident
I would rather hold passionate discussions
Than make petty small talk.
Engage me with ideas of philosophy and literature.
Tell me about space and democracy.
Don't ask me about the weather.
I would rather be gallant
I would rather be good.
I would rather chance getting hurt
Than close up my heart "as I should"
I'm kind to all people
I love, trust, and have faith.
I'd rather feel love than put distrust in its place.
But that's just me.
Who would you rather be?
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
I've created a place inside
your favourite pillows there
you don't know your names on it
and that it's yours to declare
you've no idea what id give up
nor know my fear of it
I doubt you feel the same
the deepness I've yet to admit
You somehow control me
In some way it brings me rapture
I cant quite hit the nail on the head
but its something id like to capture
I'm near you from a distance
I remain a ghost in your world
I'd expose it like a peacocks tail
that will one day be unfurled
Unheard of, is this emotion
Unseen is its colour
Without you , life
Would just be duller
Im taller
Because I look to the sky
you're my light
as if you were nigh
Im somber
as if to cry
But my eyes
are only dry
Please try
To forgive me
I should have told you
but I'm not at all gutsy
still I wonder
how it would be
If your love only
had a guarantee
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 12:44 PM UTC
I didn't learn about being beautiful from supermodels walking down the runway. I didn't learn about being beautiful from glamorous movie stars or musicians. I didn't even learn about being beautiful from the pretty girls at my school. No. I learned about beauty from my best friends and the freckles on their cheeks. I learned about beauty from the scars and imperfections they hated. I learned about beauty by watching them believe they aren’t.
I didn't learn about being intelligent in school. I didn't learn about being intelligent from some documentary I watched or book I read. I didn’t learn about being intelligent from studying day and night. No. I learned about being smart from my brother. I learned about being intelligent when I watched him stress for four years about college. I learned about being intelligent by helping him cram for tons of tests and quizzes and celebrating his success. I learned about being intelligent listening to his sobs when he received a full ride to his dream college.
I didn’t learn about being kind from some after-school special. I didn’t learn about being kind from watching my parents help being at the supermarket. I didn’t even learn about being kind from being treated so unkindly. No. I learned about being kind from my band director. I learned about being kind when I sat in her office with tears permanently stained on my cheeks and she just accepted my tears. I learned about being kind when she let me sleep on her shoulder for two hours on a bus. I learned about being kind when she gave me the coat off her back because I didn’t have one.
I didn’t learn about being courageous from daredevils on the news. I didn’t learn about being courageous from gutsy characters in books or on television. I didn’t learn about being courageous from teens who thought yelling at a teacher for no reason meant courage. No. I learned about being courageous from the people I saw stand up for themselves and for others no matter where it may be. I learned about being courageous from the people who risked their lives to save somebody they didn’t know. I learned about being courageous from the men and women who defended our country everyday, sometimes with nothing to show for it.
I've learned about beauty, intelligence, kindness, and courage throughout the years. From my best friends, my brother, band director, or perfect strangers. I didn’t learn about those things through mainstream ways that you find crammed down your throat.
You don't have to learn how to be you through people you don't know. Take a step back and look at those you do, because I'm sure it'll mean more to you when you start seeing those qualities in yourself.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
Broken, life seeping.
Gutsy and lawless:
Gunpoint switchblade
Only seeing, never sleeping.
Groan and crawl, muck and mud
Run and **** Push my luck, down over.
Over and over again. Head over heels
Brain splatter banana peels.
Spacey air, musty sight.
Cold nights in the cold earth.
Bent and spent, came and went.
Statement of your rebirth.
Voices drowning down salt streams.
Craters on Retna Moon; green beams.
Too many visitors. No hesitation.
Sleeping beauty, my proclamation.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 10:09 PM UTC
There's an earthquake going on inside me, my chest is the fault line, My stomach is a shoe lace factory, and a tornado decided today was a great day to do tornado things.
Ya know? It really ***** when your lungs turn to vacuums and not the good kind, the kind of **** when you can hear sand knock around trying to find a way down. There's a sandstorm in your lungs and all you need is an inhaler, but breathing is easy so you don't need an inhaler.
My mom taught me how to handle this. She handles this.
She taught me cold weather can freeze this over.
But when this fails it can turn into tar and we know that tar is hotter than ****
Are you aware that it doesn't work out when your stomach becomes a shoelace factory and a tornado happens to do tornado things?
My mom handles this. I asist.
Her guts turn to strings and don't do very gutsy things.
Her pancreas called in sick.
That was 3 years ago.
Her cheeks aren't very cheeky.
Her bones show through her skin.
Every now and then I feel the ground start to rumble and I wait for us to fall in.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 1:55 AM UTC
With a shattering smile
You left me in exile
And for you it's been an art
Knowing well it breaks my heart
As into tens of thousand pieces
Until my breath ceases!!
Broken pieces of my heart
That lay scattered as a piece of art
Healed by itself in your thoughts
In a venge to rise against odds in lots
From the floors of time to face
Everything of anything with grace!!
Your choice to leave me forever
Is no more for me a nightmare
As my lone broken heart
Is gutsy enough to face our ways apart
With boldness of ten thousand hearts
Accepting ... somethings... can never be bought!!
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 10:04 AM UTC
October
October. Your birthday.
I was the first to wish you.
You kept it hush– don’t tell anyone,
you said. I obeyed. Like a dog.
When you pat my hair I bared,
but you’re tearing my heart inside.
I’m scared.
October. Smiles and cameras.
If my friends didn’t push me then,
I’ll have no proof you exist.
Will that be better? But I’m happy.
I’m always happy.
October. Studies, studies, studies.
I was drowned in studies. And food.
I thought I forgot about you for good.
Yet amidst equations, you’re there.
How can I ever fare?
October. Memes, dreams…
Dreams. At night, alone, I do feel
a bit lonely. Empty…
Nah. I got my gutsy guitar.
We jammed till daylight.
October thirty-first. Ooh, spooky–
hold my gin, I’m gonna burst–
listened to good ol’ rock as
I drank whiskey on rock, coke– I
had fun of course– without you.
Without you–
October, ending in an hour.
A friend and I in the bus,
We laughed.
My mate returned.
The bed is no longer bare.
October, November. If liquor
can erase my entire hard drive,
then so be it.
But just of you.
Just of…
Just of… who?
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 10:35 AM UTC
There is a gutsy finality to
the way you add curls of cream to the cup;
a knowing glint in the chintzy sheesha,
second-hand, jewelled, meditating on the
window-seat behind you. Beds of children
form foamy chains against the azure blankets
out there, above your head. Your glasses are
windowpanes, screens to a lighter view. Curled
in your belly is a shaman with the
bold dimensions of a project. You stir.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
There is little room in the sky
The wind is a gutsy bully
Can move you with a gust,
There is little room in my past
The future is aging so fast
To this point life is a bust,
Don't mind me
I will just peel back the rust
Expose the internal busted workings
Who can begin to trust a clock,
Made in Grande Prairie
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 12:35 AM UTC
well she could sit around all day
and rot her poetry this way
just put it all rot down and say
"I've done my rotten duty"
done let the cat out of the bag
done with the hairball that old nag
all gutsy green this rotten queen
just rode a rotten beauty.
she'll change the word to what it's not
and that ain't wrong, but it ain't rot
and just like garbage turns to ***
and get's all down trodden
then long the rod, like rodeo
these words are ridden, time to go
so get the horse and don't be slow
you're right in time with ridin'!
We're ridin' errors then all day
poetic license paves the way
don't know quite where but that's okay,
cause it's our rot to ramble
and what this rutted road has got
is what the dusty novel's not
the long and short of every rot
is pure poetic bramble.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
your fingernails under my skin
your skin, my fingernails within
blood boiled over and what for?
your guts gushed on the floor
your body oozing into mine
brothers, us lovers of clandestine
how the crow sings for you, my love
and for me, oh, the mourning dove
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
Fear is not pertinent,
Fear is not relevant,
Fear has no particular matter,
Fear is not suitable, fit or apt,
To the fearless, the bold,
And the brave,
To the gutsy, the intrepid,
And the valiant.
To the fickle, the false,
And the hypocritical,
Because no one is,
Deep down, in true honesty,
Fearless.
Jun 16, 2010
Jun 16, 2010 at 3:49 PM UTC
Who knew I would fall in love with you
from a gutsy "Hi" and "How are you"?
Who knew a few weeks later
We'd spend all night talking,
A night we would always remember?
Who knew that we had nothing in common
but still found each other to be the perfect match?
Who knew we would be giving out promises that we said would last?
But of course who knew that would all change?
Who knew tears could leave so many small stains?
Who knew love, such a beautiful, and magnificent thing...could sting?
Who knew I would lose you...my everything?
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
A blinding fall
reflected off lakes in greens and browns
almost a year removed
from wide-eyed walks across
the Borden Avenue Bridge,
counting steps and calculating
just how many sweaters
you’d have to layer for it to seem accidental.
November was dragging
and you weren't trying to impress.
You drove to school
and didn't go to class.
You thought I’m flexing,
you thought I’m finding my feet,
you thought thinking was overrated.
You smoked cloves on benches,
let bracelets rot off your wrists, followed every ‘person
you may know’
on Twitter.
Holed up in libraries across the Shoreline, you read Vice,
posed for pictures with strangers
and made friends with Cat Marnell but she never texted back.
You played with words in a way that started to smell nice.
December was still lucent,
your curvy cheeks and sloping
thighs receded into something new-giggling and compact.
When you skipped finals
and failed every class,
you shrugged, deleted the emails
and got really into makeup.
Winter was a dizzy dazzle of
new pills and old clothes and
a pallor that crept just on the line of
*** glitter and death.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
He tried to fix me,
And I was too clumsy,
I broke his heart so steadily,
A small rip and feelings trickled freely;
He tried to show me love,
And I fearful of things I don't have,
Dare not make the same gutsy move,
So instead I gave him a shove;
He tried to understand,
Why I'm afraid of making amends,
When all he did was extend a hand,
And I saw it as a start to many bitter ends;
He tried to show more than just care,
But I took one look and saw despair,
Afraid my temperament will be a scare,
For him to put up with from here on until there;
He tried to win,
And I a sore loser,
Only wanted to ink 'fin',
When there's a whole new chapter.
@byizn
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 4:38 AM UTC
Gutsy words
Facty tones
Make me want to shove your fist in your mouth, because I don’t care about your epic or what you’ve earned. You’re a kid. Just a kid,
Smiling, right
Insincere you’re
Defined by a definition of artificiality, there’s a smile over a brand that you sell and you sell it good. I never would; you never should.
A crowd and
Girlfriend bought
With my looks and my humor. You’re not some gift from god, and if you are I’m more so. But I’m a female and I’m a lab rat. It’s all I’ll never be.
What a kid
What a hoax
Your eyes are oval and your mouth is oval, like some plastic doll. I hope you live like them, all the sheep and they never laugh ‘cause they never fall.
Matter of fact
You’re happy dead
Can’t you accept that the world isn’t shaped by those who can say, “You think too much”; the monkeys in their suits who are in such a rush, the people in their cage.
It’s not
It’s not about us being different from one another
It’s not even about me being different from you
I make the world while you go in play in it, or I mess it up
Because you are the world
and I’m just a human, I’m just a girl
Isn’t it ironic?
That you were the trouble maker
I was the good girl
You were once alive
Now you’re a lie
You’re just one lie
You coordinate
And cooperate
I’m irate
I disobey
You just want them and you just want they
But that’s it
Its just it
The world pays attention to all of your **** just like they do with sitcoms and trash tabloids. It’s so awful. And you don’t respect me for being a human being.
But I’m something
I’m everything-
I’m everyone’s rage and somewhere deep where they care
I care
you just care about your picture on a chatroom
with bad music taste
and tight legs and a tight, but
I’m your only black mail
I am the black sheep
and I think
You’ll be that celebrity’s unknown brother; I promise
Sincerely, Freak
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 8:46 AM UTC
well she could sit around all day
and rot her poetry this way
just put it all rot down and say
"I've done my duty"
done let the cat out of the bag
done with the hairball that old nag
all gutsy green this rotten queen
just cut a cutie.
she'll change the word to what it's not
and that ain't wrong, it's all she's got
but just like garbage turns to rot
the road untrodden
she'll long the rod, like rodeo
these words are ridden, time to go
so get the horse and don't be slow
it's time we're ridin'!
We're ridin' errors then all day
poetic license paves the way
don't know quite where but that's okay
our rot to ramble
and what this rutted road has got
is what the dusty novel's not
the long and short of every rot
poetic bramble.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
fearless flame
dance entrance me
jump on the bullet train
fairy dust torrid
gutsy love
whirl around me
telepathic, high speed
multiplied by multiples
from underground, all over town
punch drunk carpet ride
organized, cartel sized
cat got your tongue
caramelized, cinnamon slide
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
The new that I wanna experience has yet to begun.
Vibrant expressions of raw ideas and ventures are booming through my temples.
My soul is renewed as a novel momentum takes over me,
making me look towards a horizon brand new.
This feeling is as fresh as morning dew.
What will become of the old me?
What will become of this has-been shell of familiarity?
I can no longer be a prisoner of scared.
This is not my conventional method of living.
But as I look at this unique path ahead,
fear bolts and flees.
There’s no more room for uncertainty.
I’m climbing out on my limb,
longing to taste the strange fruit of living,
the fruit of life that grows on the stem of ****** territory.
I’m fearless.
I have to be courageous.
I am now my own savior, freeing me from a prison of my inner coward,
as a dauntless self becomes MYself.
I’m alone, but sure.
And I’m now too gutsy to endure
such mediocre living.
I must be brave.
I have to grab this life by the horns
And hang on for the ride.
This is strange, yet familiar.
And I feel like I belong.
I’ve been living but yet to be born.
Now I’m finally alive,
Finally embracing the joy of my new.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 5:53 AM UTC
*Words slither from their mouth
The sound ripples
in her ears like the drops
of water from a lonesome cave
She decided to build a wall
and hear no more echoes
In silence,
the heart pitter- patter's
the lungs pounding... in and out
wanting to tell that she's alive,
telling her in a mute
'don't let your gutsy soul fly'
In silence,
there's too much noise
so she just decided to break the walls down as she rose from solitude.*
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC