"handsomer" poems
Rose of a champion
Thought, in a beautified accord
Set to waiting hours, a needs complexion
Where we are, the tale of unity to its peaceful order...
Skip, argue or define
The truth, we removed by bounty of pouts...?
Sated avarice, and the curtness of kin caught in a notorious lie...
Welcome a shadow to breath, when a harrowed eye allowed...?
Is a requited girth, of when, any of a decency's curse?
Has found me, in a live and by chastity's purpose
Handsomer skills that agree, in no known terms...
I had the taste of pride, like a reality of sin, to accuse
Why...?
No man with a tradition of sincerity, is this island commit
Without the sigh of me, the irony to dwell and seek tight
The course of another ship of fortune, that has seldom to wit:
Look, an eye of poise, if not intellects poison...
Made manifest by the only few, of bared conscience
That has us for curiosity's fool, but you, for another hero to loan
A flower of understated chaste; a victim of letters of prescience?
Tall tales of nothing more than a drunk hysteria?
Here is your mind, in my way for one more timidity...
Think and details of weal, we will know until votes ***** drama
To a reaching hour, no one above another, like acts of humanity...
Sep 4, 2022
Sep 4, 2022 at 3:17 PM UTC
ALACZOO
ALACAZAR
Make me handsomer
PIFF,
PAFF,
PUFF,
There is no way..
Even magic can make that face good,
I'll snap you in two, ill make you kindle wood.
You would do that, I'm where the magic is.
You think your better I'm the Mage,
A stick you are just enchanted wood.
We can do many thinks you and I
But your stubborn,
And my stutter,
Lets never reveal what happened
What happened when I tried that spell,
And we created lawyers.
Now there everywhere about,
ALACPING
ALACBOO
This is the end of this poem
Thanks for reading it all of you
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
You can be my ball of wax.
I'll roll you between my fingertips
until you're warmed and soft
and I can mold you.
Some are impressionists
or modernists
but I wanted to be a
realist.
So I made you in the image
of my reality.
Only I made you
taller,
kinder,
handsomer,
sweeter.
I shaped you
with so much
self-deception
and so much
failed perception.
You can be my boy of wax.
I made you in the winter
and you were strong
and solid
for a time.
But the summer came and you grew
smaller,
shorter,
quieter,
farther,
and you,
my artful manipulation
of
what I so
wanted
to create,
melted.
You can be my pool of wax,
a shapeless
well
of malformed memories
that change
with every touch.
I curl my knees to
my chest and
do my best to stop
prying and prodding you,
my pool of wax.
Because with every touch
it burns
my skin and turns
my fingers
an angry red.
I made you,
and I never
knew
that
a boy of wax
could unmake
me.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
your lip jutting out is like a shard of broken glass
and I know you’d just stitch me back up if I tried but
I don’t think you’re very amenable to being kissed;
not now, anyway.
not here, you’d say.
all I've ever wanted was to put my mouth on you, baby,
taste the salt of your skin like natural protection against
your demons and mine
and all the others in between.
you think you've seen them all but believe me,
I'm older, I'm wiser, handsomer too but you don’t see me bragging about it
and I've seen what’s down there. I tried
to protect you for as long as I could but
we have seen the end of night
in the complete dark
together.
I almost miss that dark, the obscurity where you’d admit you didn't always have to be so **** conscious
and we slipped back to raw instinct and raw feeling
and I've still got the feel of your skin under my fingertips
and between my palms
and my hands have been covered with you for years, now.
I don’t dare to breathe on them lest the last of your DNA
slip through my fingers -
but it was probably too good for me, anyway.
your genes and your jeans fit you beautifully and I'm like a ****** hopped up on the memory of when
I raked my nails down your back and
though the lines have faded
I will always reopen those wounds.
I will never leave you more whole than I.
we have broken every rule and we have broken
each other, and I wonder why anyone
would settle for any less than this;
because an empty passengers seat is the loneliest place I've seen in the continental united states
and that’s counting the grand canyon, baby.
I have stood above that yawning tear in the ground and tossed my voice into it, practising idiocy and ventriloquism and other interchangeable words like that
and like a man carved from stone I stood there, watching, listening, waiting with a patience borne of desperation,
but after a few thousand lungfuls of broken glass there was no reply and I
left.
I pulled your favourite move and I
left,
alone.
so what do we have now? a car, the change in our pockets and each other?
it sounds romantic as **** but you've always been the poet here.
I'm just the guy who sits behind this frozen wheel and drives
because it’s easier than warming my hands
and when I tear your heart out the cold
numbs your chest so you can’t even feel it.
have you ever felt anything? have you felt me, baby?
has this whole ******* existence of mine been in vain?
because your lip jutting out is like a shard of broken glass and I've got
the oddest premonition that it can slice me to ribbons
if you would just move your head and look at me.
baby, please. look at me.
let me know I'm alive so I can die for you.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
Thinking of thee makes me feel love;
Love so sweet and deeper than mine.
Unlike the winds, I cannot move;
Unlike the sun, I cannot shine.
To be thy own love is my dream;
no more my past, nor but of him.
He once filled my heart and destroyed;
He lent me an unthoughtful joy.
To dream of him is but a pain;
Thoughts that shall fray in feeble rain.
Shall never I want him again;
Only my curses, shall remain.
Like butterflies in the garden
Thy images flirt 'bout like heaven
Thou art handsomer than glosses;
Even more p'rilous than roses.
Thou shall cure me of all torments;
Thou shall be my real gentleman.
Best of the stories I invent,
A tame hero; a loyal friend.
He is a past too far away;
He whose worries are past dismay;
He traced my path last September;
out of autumn fogs and winter.
He lured me into his foresight;
let me astray in memory.
He knows nothing of wrong and right;
He is too blind to say sorry.
Far I'd wandered past cliffs and beaches;
Until thy heart came into view.
Thou turned backwards within my reach;
Bringing me fresh feelings and clues.
Thou found me 'gain in summer's bliss,
Thou stole my love from heart of his.
I saw in thy bright complexion,
Neither lies nor trepidations.
Thou art worth all salutations,
The ringing joys of fond prayers.
Thou art the fruit of all seasons,
Son of truth and a fast healer.
Thou art the song of morn and night;
Thou art Lantern to all delight.
To be with thee is'a great blessing;
As are t'ese crazes, and love feelings.
And being with thee feels just right;
To breathe by thee at a holy night.
Thou art profuse, like yon foliage;
Good as my dreams, of marriage.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC
The ******* took the beauty, and it wasn't
because he's handsomer, wealthier, or more caffeinated--
as you supposed, Christopher.
It was timing.
She was lonely.
He was there.
Chris, you were typing an email.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
More grease to your elbows
We say, I hear
Why not? Why not?
More paraffin to your elbows
We will go on a honey-moon
We say, I hear
Why not? Why not?
We will go on a sugar-noon
Full-stop
We say, I hear
Why not? Why not
Fool-stop
Slap slapped, sleep slept
We say, I hear
Why not? Why not?
Slap slapped, sleep sleeped
I own ten sheep and fishes
We say, I hear
Why not? Why not?
I own ten sheeps and fishes
He is going to three stadia and banks
We say, I hear
Why not? Why not?
He is going to three stadiums and banks
Tall, taller and handsome, more handsome
We say, I hear
Why not? Why not?
Tall, taller and handsome handsomer
Give him his book, and give her, her book
We say, I hear
Why not? Why not?
Give him, him book, and give her, her book
Shall, should and must, must
We say, I hear
Why not? Why not?
Shall and should and must, mould
This world of nays and yays
We say, I hear
We say, I hear
This world of ups and downs
This crazy world of English
Why not, why not
Why not, why not
Where I am so proud to be an alien.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 4:45 AM UTC
It is true
I am here, and
have finally arrived at
my fifty eighth year.
I have beaten the odds and
those rotten sods who
never gave me a break,
take a look at me now,I am
getting younger and handsomer but don't ask me how.
It must be in the genes or so it seems,it is certainly not down to a lifetime of abstainence,there's not a chance of it being so,I really don't know the reason why,
I am feeling more sprightly as the years pass on by but I am.
This old ham is ageing and ready for staging a comeback come back tour,poor I may be, but comebacks come back and they're generally free.
Happy birthday to me,and
fifty eight times
I love the sound of it,
and it even rhymes.
It is true that
there were times I was blue,suicidal at best when never my best,when sometimes the best of you is lost like the rest of you and the only thing you can do,
is map out a route for the bullet you shoot from the gun,oh what fun,what glee,happy birthday to me.
I am safe now and secure and back on the road, where recovery is a load off my mind,which is mine now and finding it clear in my fifty eighth year is a gift from the Gods
and those rotten sods who never gave me a break,take a look at me shine,you made me feel all the time like an outcast,passed through 'til the last man was out for a duck,
ha, you can just **** it and see,
it's a happy birthday full of mirth day and I'm very glad to say
it's all mine.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
The ocean never cared, only carried.
The universe never felt, but swelled.
At the start must have been a **** fine time
to be alive,
but there then is the here now.
Nostalgia proud.
Feasting on the delicacy from
a moment of childhood blur.
The rapture is not waiting for you, nor me.
The rest of them neither, just entropy and ether.
A dalliance, daily fawning.
Morning stretches and yawning,
two moments of apex excess.
Then the dusk rusts the sky,
belts tightened 'round younger necks.
Begging to be bled instead of sexed.
Every margin scrawled with the cat-calls of handsomer men.
Opinions stolen from anonymous ponderings of "Remember when?"
The fates would have us conclude, due to their rules.
That taut strings fraught with change are messy wirings.
But if a slant rhyme can still give your skin ******
Then perfection for its own sake should be dismissed.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 5:06 AM UTC
Was water my lover?
And due another question
Of mercy and its lover, so your...
A choice made; a house of blessings?
A church that ****** my brains out
Named clergy's epistle
A wish I followed till kingdom's come's pout
I fear you like a smile in the world...
Awkward promises
To begin an ending that thought more
Than the race of love, before it loses
A handsomer prayer, for a devil called forth...?
Shame, we run like your future
Silver tongues, golden lungs
Longing for tomorrow, like a few was certain...
To wish again; who is mere and who is strong?
This kiss cost me, a mercy's shadow
Simple risk's and rises of sincerity, found
With a second prayer, of wind and rain to owe
That asked, is it all right to admit allowed?
Tales of presumption, a city of angel's
Quiet was my need, like a chat to lead
The service of an ideal, that keeps you well...
Acts, deed and time, to look far ahead
The sound you swim with...
Poise, can a fish remember your hands?
Or the feet of austere powers, that meant...
A look of life, to and with the might of lands
Swallow our pride?
Thus said the fury of anger:
Liberty is a long run with a heart full of shied...
That a season has its own for a care to wonder
By and asked the spirit of me...
In the mind of mercy
Is a wisdom to know, sharing is energy
With the time to say, is love waiting on history?
Thank you, for a prayer
I stir in the hands of another
I take for worth, and the beauty of care
Which when asked, why is God a timidity to bother?
Feb 9, 2025
Feb 9, 2025 at 4:18 PM UTC
In the scattered night, down from Trinity Bay,
where the primary schoolers kiss under the docks,
I cup my hands; I gather sand; I drink the sand.
I name every grain, every star. I'm vibrating.
Transforming. I'm floating above myself--this is a
defense mechanism, a necessary one, a beautiful
one. Tonight, I want to live. I want to live all the
time. I want a dark-haired woman to coddle me.
I want a dark-haired woman to kick my ***
I want a dark-haired woman to wear me thin,
wear the endings of my nerves smooth. Transfigured
salt, transfigured sand, transfigured sky. You may want
to write this down. You may want to record this. I'm going
to breathe myself backward; I'm going to become handsomer,
stronger, younger. I'm full bottle, I'm chime, I'm breeze.
Wait. Listen. You might just delight in me.
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 1:54 AM UTC
No fork
No spoon, until life looms
No knife, without friendship to implore
No plate, to make a wish without room...
For more...
Special is the need
Of compelling, to understate sore
Feelings about the rue and the role of thee
Sent to sweet for an eventual chastity
The chiding of gall, to subsume, we favor
The limit's of worth, a world can save, by vanity
Of coolly and calmly clashing with a problem's suitor
Spare or seasoned
The tale you seek, came with the force of promises
Made and sometimes fate, is a fickle keep, of reasoned
Many to jump into an argument, of sense and the nobility of lives
Know fork, the taste of complexity, to give rage a gift
Know spoon, the till and the handsomer will of cordiality
Know knife, for itself, the common and the baring eyes of distance
Know plate, coming here and now with a future for you, nativity
Jul 8, 2022
Jul 8, 2022 at 10:37 PM UTC