"hir" poems
****** boy, ****** boy
You're playing with the wrong toy
That truck is only for the boys
Lost girl, Lost girl
Put on a pink dress, spin around and twirl
That's what you're supposed to do
****** boy and Lost girl
They're one person, their life is unfurled
A hell washed over hir and now hir head's underwater
H. I. R.
Not a her or he clearly
And I want to just scream, no
But ****** boy put down that toy
Lost girl, go put on that dress and twirl
My mind says trucks and mud
But the bigger people say to twirl
And so I twirl
Around this world, placing my feet on the continents
Singing to the oceans as I glide on top of them
And so I twirl..
But maybe I want to watch while my daddy's fixing our car
And maybe I don't twirl the way all the girls do
Maybe I have a rougher, less eloquent twirl
But Maybe I want to listen as my brother's talking football plays
And maybe I don't have the brightest, girliest smile
Maybe I've got one only fit for a boy
Maybe I want to play with trucks until the sun hides
Maybe I want to be the quarterback on the field
Maybe... I want to make cities in the sand box
Maybe it's because... I am a boy.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
onus of science, or dream, to all explain;
the inexplicable remains dismissed:
being here or there: exactly arranged
and no one yearns to know of nothingness
between the emptiness of meanings each
with labeled names, boxes tightly-packed--
towers darkly lined, well beyond the reach
of but a few, lost, scattered minds...
xe shouted through hir lungs a greener hue
that we could live beyond the concrete grey
die in love despite our evil ignorance,
our rainbow cutouts crying for the sun
--posthumous teleologies begun
in kinder dreamers, earthly songs enhanced.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
Ah wuz lookin oot o' mah winder and ah saw this lad
wi' a barry wee lassie gaun' up the hill.
-Wair the **** d'ye think you're gaun tae? ah yells oot.
But the daft ***** didnae answer at aww,
must've been oot o' thir ****** heids wi' E's or summat,
d'ye ken what ah'm tellin' ye,ye daft radge?
-Wair ye're ******* going? ah yells a couple mair times
and finally the gadge yells back to ays,
-Up the ******* hill tae fetch a pail o' ******* watter,
me Ma's hud her fuckin' taps turned oaf by the fuckin' Corporation,
which is a ******* pain in the erse ah had ter agree.
I realised ah knew the wee **** Jack but,
eh wuz an auld classmate of ays and eh's hung oot wi' ma brar n me,
when we wuz bairns oan the Scheme,eh?
-That's a bonny wee lassie ye've goat wi' ye, there Jack, ah yelled,
thinking ah'd nae kick her oot o' mah scratcher
withoot gi'ing her a guid ride.
Ah huvtae sey ah recognised hir as a wee ****
called Jill from the Scheme, a right tidy wee ride
in mah opinion wi' a guid little ***** on hir, as ah recall.
-Mind ye're own fuckin' business, the **** yells back at ays,
takin' the pail in yin hand and the hoor's wee hand in the other yin.
Ah can tell ye ah totally pished meself wi' laughter
when the pair o' they wide ***** fell doon,
Jack breakin' his fuckin' croon n the groond,
ah'm sure he nivver meant it tae happen,
'n eh mustae squashed his ******* bawws
as eh fell doon n aww from the wey he screamed oot,
but the wee lassie cam tumbling doon the ****** hill n aww,
heid n **** oor her fuckin' erse
'n ah could see she wasnae wearin' any ****** *******
'n her ***** was on display under her skirt.
Ah wouldnae expect anything else from a wee hoor,eh?
-Dinnae worry, ah'll com and help ye, ah called oot,
but when ah goat thir, both o them wis deid,
ah thoat o' gittin mah hole wi' the deid lassie n aww,
but you shouldnae dae that, it's no respectful tae wimmin,
'n eywis, the polis might trace me through the DNA,
those ***** are clivvir 'n aw, ye ken.
So ah contented mesel' wi' rummidging through the poakits
o' the lad's jaykit tae see if eh hud ehs payment from the Joab Centre,
but the daft **** mustae spent it aww on a boatil or two o Grants,
ah ken ah'd hae done the same mahsel'.
And there wasnae a penny in the lassie's purse,
so ah thoat ah'd jus' **** oaf doon the ******
'n ask some **** tae call the hoaspital and the ****** polis.
Eh?
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
Hir eyes
Are full of emptiness and sorrow
His eyes
Want to be someone, someday
Her eyes
Glisten with beauty, yet she lashes out
His eyes
Keep all of it locked away
Her eyes
Soft and gentle, but under strict laws
His eyes
Hurt and broken again, still moving forward
My eyes
Trapped in fear only longing for joy
We all stand together
Never fading away
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 4:36 PM UTC
SO PRIKETH HEM NATURE IN HIR CORAGES
Never did
help my Da enough.
Always
head-stuck-in-a-book.
"Donall son..."he call
"Can you hold this while
...I saw.!"
"Awwww Da!"
I'd wail.
Me lost in Chaucer
and his tale.
And so the saw saws
but all I see is..."Yo!"
"The Miller was a chap of sixteen stone,
A great stout fellow big in brawn and bone.
The saw cuts through the afternoon.
Pauses: then....chaw chaw
Chaucers on again.
"He did well out of them, for he could go
And win the ram at any wrestling show."
"Say what...?
Oh, don't get me
wrong I
adored the aesthetic beauty of
sawdust floating
in a universe of its own
suspended in sunlight and shadow.
The smell of pine
kidnapping my mind.
The green dance of the bubble
in a spirit level.
Didn't have time for all that
hammering and sawing.
I was a boy on a mission
ever since our teacher sighing
"Oh I...don't know why I
teach you scruff Chaucer
...you'll never read the book!"
But by the weekend
( furious at the rebuff )
I( ha ha)HAD!
My poor auld Da
only getting begrudging help.
"Whan that Aprille..."
( the words falling like gentle rain upon my mind )
"...with his shoures soote
the droghte of Marche..."
(Words words oh sweet words. . .)
"hath perced to the roote"
(My mind. . .)
"...bathed every veyne in swich licour,"
(the bubble in the spirit level
poised perfectly...perfectly poised)
"Of which vertu engendred is the flour."
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC
being the "sum of what the world 'thinks' I am"
is written, smeared in blood across the cave i've come to love
and leave behind but only in an understanding:
selfhood carries with it all we lack.
it carries on its seas the diatomic algae fruiting slowly back
it carries on each ladder-rung the selves that other's see,
the lovers' feelings felt,
the mailman's kindness kept--
a stranger's instant siblinghood in eye-flash recognition wept.
my heart is tattered there, and rebuilt here;
i could not be the beating love-train joyful as the sorrows,
the pain and lonely misery, the mind-split cosmic surd of this
that Jenkins must have felt, before her captors left hir dead...
--a bullet in hir back, a simple heart-stop pellet placed--
i could not be the beating love-train joyful as the sorrows,
without your words, your rich, kind thoughts of me
that others do not know they have,
that Kiesha could have known.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
AS SURE AS SHOES IS SHOES
out of the interlocking needles
a sock
grows
hanging from its needles
the sock
a chrysalis
Auntie Marge's socks
as if a rainbow
had grown two feet
Auntie Marge's
infamous rainbow socks
flying off for Christmas
Paris..New York...Termonfeckin
nieces nephews children grandchildren
all wearing rainbow socks
the half grown sock
tick of a grandfather clock
wait for the mourners to return
her needles in a cigar tin
standing to
attention
sticking their heads
out of the bin
some large crochet needles
"As sure as shoes is shoes
I kept warm the feet
of this here family!"
clock cuts up Time
into little bits
so that the humans can understand
***
Her grandfather was a cobbler and would always say this whatever the situation. People would always need shoes...although the family of the cobbler often did without as shoes is what put food on the table.
But who is wurs shod, than the shoemakers wyfe, With shops full of newe shapen shoes all hir lyfe?
[1546 J. Heywood Dialogue of Proverbs i. xi. E1V]
All languages have same sounding adages...whatever the profession.
Les cordonniers sont les plus mal chaussés.
with a first quote by Montaigne : Quand nous veoyons un homme mal chaussé, nous disons que ce n'est pas merveille s'il est chaussetier in
In German:
Die Kinder des Schusters haben die schlechtesten Schuhe.
In Spanish (En casa de herrero, cuchillo de palo "In a blacksmith's home, knives are wooden").
In Chinese "the lady who sells fans fans herself with her hands",
In Arabic, "at the potter's house water is served in a broken jug".
***
Her grandfather was a cobbler and would always say this whatever the situation. People would always need shoes...although the family of the cobbler often did without as shoes is what put food on the table.
"Chomh cinnte is bróga atá bróga!" as she would say in her Irish.
Her grandfather would shorten it to" is bróga atá bróga!" or" shoes is shoes."
Feb 12, 2024
Feb 12, 2024 at 7:18 AM UTC
death to the hair!
all the men burning their
hir!
yeah... the missing A...
must be...
Cymru-Silesian...
coraline soundtrack -
dreaming...
davy jones' - theme song
edward scissorhands' -
ice dance
once i used to cry...
but have you ever watched
snow fall,
in a graveyard,
at night?
it'a like...
the souls of the dead were
being reborn...
so little of this world
is due to the up-keeping
of a fleeting-thought,
its objectification
of this world..
and so much of it...
is due... sorry,
dough,
of what is not thought,
but is felt...
hence my disgruntling at
what is at most: disgrace!
cheapening emotion,
how could you!
how could you
cheapen emotion to a level
of elevating thought?!
heretics!
i'll say it again:
blasphemers!
who are you to demean
emotion in favor of thought,
which you cannot convince?!
batman returns OST -
birth of a penguin part 1 & 2...
no wonder i go and ****
once my grandparents are alive...
a week or two...
twice a year...
weeks after Christmas,
and weeks after Easter...
4am over-shadows...
that concept of a lingering
guilt, about some cleavage
named Kelley Scarlett...
my due... your turn...
death appears, and disappears,
but then the "magic" of mortality...
ever watch snow fall
in a graveyard?
ever watch a supposed
Dervish in said "in situ"?
i could have died,
but upon a reinterpretation,
i did't have to live,
to subsequently die,
to live once more...
i... just didn't require
to live, at all.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 11:03 PM UTC
SO PRIKETH HEM NATURE IN HIR CORAGES
Never did
help my Da enough.
Always
head-stuck-in-a-book.
"Donall son..."he call
"Can you hold this while
...I saw.!"
"Awwww Da!"
I'd wail.
Me lost in Chaucer
and his tale.
And so the saw saws
but all I see is..."Yo!"
"The Miller was a chap of sixteen stone,
A great stout fellow big in brawn and bone.
The saw cuts through the afternoon.
Pauses: then....
Chaucers on again.
"He did well out of them, for he could go
And win the ram at any wrestling show."
"Say what...?
Oh, don't get me
wrong I
adored the aesthetic beauty of
sawdust floating
in a universe of its own
suspended in sunlight and shadow..
The smell of pine
kidnapping my mind.
The green dance of the bubble
in a spirit level.
Didn't have time for all that
hammering and sawing.
I was a boy on a mission
ever since our teacher sighing
"Oh I...don't know why I
teach you scruff Chaucer
...you'll never read the book!"
But by the weekend
( furious at the rebuff )
I( ha ha)HAD!
My poor auld Da
only getting begrudging help.
"Whan that Aprille..."
( the words falling like gentle rain upon my mind )
"...with his shoures soote
the droghte of Marche..."
Words words oh sweet words.
"hath perced to the roote"
My mind
( "...bathed every veyne in swich licour, )
the bubble in the spirit level
poised perfectly...perfectly poised
"Of which vertu engendred is the flour."
Aug 26, 2019
Aug 26, 2019 at 3:53 PM UTC
Come take a dive in the waters of my secluded beach.
Just a short swim and paradise can be right at your reach.
You can find warmth north and down south.
The warmth is guaranteed to bring a smile to your mouth.
After your swim, seek comfort in the relaxing shade…
Allow the feelings of euphoria to coax you into a restful daze.
Need to quench your thirst once more take a sip from the fresh fountain,
Or seek adventure from one of the island’s many small mountains.
Do not worry about the small tremors you feel beneath your feet.
The more you enjoy the island the more the more these tremors excrete.
The tide can go from low to high with the blink of an eye.
Jump in and ride the wave before the rarity passes by.
There’s so much one can do…
Whichever adventure you choose is up to you.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
One of the best at it
moving efficiently
he cleans up his mess
using all the tools in his kit
Go on my brother
I knew you'd do it
Even when others don't understand
he cleans up his mess
working hard
doing what is needed
until all damaged parts
are buried in the sand
I say looking up
Bismillah hir rahman nir raheem
Please bring him again to the deen
He backs out strong
Brother's muscles moving
brother's gone
Do you need help?
randomly appearing another asked
Allah's voice speaking unmasked
I say looking up
my hands open to the sky
Bismillah hir rahman nir raheem
Please bring him again to the deen
He backs out strong
no need to look behind
the bright sight ahead
moving him right along
By: Najwa Kareem
Written on 12/22/21
Dec 25, 2021
Dec 25, 2021 at 12:37 PM UTC
Hellos feel a dearth of meant to room to manoeuvre
The aforementioned vibrissa came to be coupled with corporeality esse
Hir effulgent nowhere near multistorey augment some rangi
Mlles draws breath granting the fact that which all and sundry wave to or but curtsy
Up til ply immensely crosswise ciaos this macrocosm
Out of sorts sustentation examinate in addition to operational savoir-faire enclosed by a forestland
Into bodies that one yours truly to which canonised a stone's throw away from lasts yourself surrounded by steadfastness en route toward captivation Undaunted summat auxiliary earlier than a mortal arising out of the eradicators live-in lover When ring compared with bidie-in originating at leman acts as larboard eating the dust
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 8:16 PM UTC
Bismillah hir Rahman nir Raheem.
I am glad I had Faith,
I believed in HIS ways,
I adhered to HIS path.
Now,I am six feet under,
I see, feel taste and hear HIS Light,
With countless senses,
With every fibre of my being.
I understand the sureness of his plan,
There are no sequence of events,
No, questions to ask,
All answers are here,
With downloads of information,
You are never confused,
You have a deeper sense of self awareness.
Sorrow, anxiety and remorse has no place here,
It's beautiful,
It's heaven,
My abode,
With only the presence and love of Allah and HIS Angels.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 7:59 AM UTC
. Zap Zap Zapping
On Zelensky's Door
Vlad is tapping what
Was their store.
Zaporizhzhia
Is off the grid
Bidens Bidding
For the Mid.
Soon the $nakes
Will leave the pit
Rattled vipers
Will beging to spit.
Hir o'shima is
Their style
But this time
They’ll meet hostile.
The time has come
To rid the WASP’s
St. Patrick failed
We've still got Asp's.
Aug 26, 2022
Aug 26, 2022 at 1:41 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
Avon Man and the Mystery of His First-Best Bed
I gyve unto my wief my second best bed…
-Attributed to Shakespeare in his will. Or Churchill. Or
Milton. Or Elvis. Or Some Famous Man. And Shakespeare
was secretly a Catholic. (No, he wasn’t.) (Yes, he was.) (No, he
wasn’t.) (Yes, he was; I read it on the InterGossip.)
That second-best bed doesn’t matter a pop
Those anyones whoever slept in it are deads
Memorialized as dashboard bobbleheads
At Ye Olde Anne Hathawaye gifte shoppe
Kinge Richarde nevere cryede, “mye kyngdome fore ye bedde!”
Yea, goode olde Sirre Erpinghame joked, “Now lye I like a kynge”
So what’s the deale withe the firste-beste bedde thynge?
Thatte seconde bedde is where the Widowe rested hir hedde
Ande thusse ye scholares maken withouten cessatione
Unsupportede argumentes and allegationes
Jan 25, 2024
Jan 25, 2024 at 9:31 PM UTC