"honors" poems
*be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit
give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration
so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction
more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying
speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them*
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
I love the crack of the bat
not in a big baseball field
but when my Daddy plays.
Yeah sure,
he's on Pitt's Honors College team,
and they call themselves 'Nerd Softball'
but it makes me happy to watch him play.
It has been a rough couple of years on Dad.
I know it,
*** he keeps coming to talk to me
and he never, ever used to do that
and now he's always chattering away
it feels nice
but I am worried.
Today, they lost 25- 4
not 24
4
but they were playing the Pitt Police
so I'm still proud.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 6:45 PM UTC
715
The World—feels Dusty
When We stop to Die—
We want the Dew—then—
Honors—taste dry—
Flags—vex a Dying face—
But the least Fan
Stirred by a friend’s Hand—
Cools—like the Rain—
Mine be the Ministry
When they Thirst comes—
And Hybla Balms—
Dews of Thessaly, to fetch—
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Who believes what we’ve heard and seen?
Who would have thought God’s saving power would look like this?
The servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling,
a scrubby plant in a parched field.
There was nothing attractive about him,
nothing to cause us to take a second look.
He was looked down on and passed over,
a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand.
One look at him and people turned away.
We looked down on him, thought he was ****
But the fact is, it was our pains he carried—
our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on himself,
that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him,
that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole.
Through his bruises we get healed.
We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost.
We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way.
And God has piled all our sins, everything we’ve done wrong,
on him, on him.
He was beaten, he was tortured,
but he didn’t say a word.
Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered
and like a sheep being sheared,
he took it all in silence.
Justice miscarried, and he was led off—
and did anyone really know what was happening?
He died without a thought for his own welfare,
beaten ****** for the sins of my people.
They buried him with the wicked,
threw him in a grave with a rich man,
Even though he’d never hurt a soul
or said one word that wasn’t true.
Still, it’s what God had in mind all along,
to crush him with pain.
The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin
so that he’d see life come from it—life, life, and more life.
And God’s plan will deeply prosper through him.
Out of that terrible travail of soul,
he’ll see that it’s worth it and be glad he did it.
Through what he experienced, my righteous one, my servant,
will make many “righteous ones,”
as he himself carries the burden of their sins.
Therefore I’ll reward him extravagantly—
the best of everything, the highest honors—
Because he looked death in the face and didn’t flinch,
because he embraced the company of the lowest.
He took on his own shoulders the sin of the many,
he took up the cause of all the black sheep.
~ Eugene Peterson
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
Musings of a Police Reporter in the Identification Bureau
You have loved forty women, but you have only one thumb.
You have led a hundred secret lives, but you mark only
one thumb.
You go round the world and fight in a thousand wars and
win all the world's honors, but when you come back
home the print of the one thumb your mother gave
you is the same print of thumb you had in the old
home when your mother kissed you and said good-by.
Out of the whirling womb of time come millions of men
and their feet crowd the earth and they cut one anothers'
throats for room to stand and among them all
are not two thumbs alike.
Somewhere is a Great God of Thumbs who can tell the
inside story of this.
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KENYA
K….Kenya my beautiful country
E ….earn honors and respect
N …none is like you my country
Y …you shine brighter compared to any other
A …across the world, you light brighter that the sun
The beauty sceneries of the green vegetation
The dark color of the people of Kenya
The arable land in Kenya
The mines
The animals and tourist centers in Kenya
The presidency
The politics
The hot springs
The digitality in Kenya
The economic growth in Kenya
The agricultural sector,
The flag of Kenya
The education sector in Kenya
All make me feel proud of Kenya….
And I feel so good to be Kenyan.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 9:16 PM UTC
At age 7, I was guilty
when I accepted an invitation
to go into the apartment of a neighbor
He smelled of beer as he groped me.
At age 10, I was guilty
when I walked home too late
because I missed the train
He popped out of the bushes
exposing himself.
At age 12, I was guilty
when my uncle forced
tongue into my mouth
because I could not
get away.
At age 14, I was guilty
when my uncle forced
me to sit on his lap
while in my bathing suit
and I ran away from home.
At age 16, I was guilty
when my uncle convinced
everyone that I was a liar
and I quit school.
At age 18, I was guilty
when I gave birth to
my first child,
because I was ignorant.
At age 20, I was guilty
when I saw the cardiologist
in the reflection of a lamp
************ and the
police laughed at my report.
At age 30, I was guilty
when my employer
trapped me in the elevator
to ***** me, because I
was his subserviant.
At age 36, I was guilty
when I earned jujitsu honors
but risked going to jail
for defending myself.
At age 70, I was guilty
when a neighbor brought
me fruit and grabbed my
breast, because I was alone.
At age 72, I am guilty
of being a ferule woman
for 50 years and for
NOT be silent!
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
Up and lead the dance of Fate!
Lift the song that mortals hate!
Tell what rights are ours on earth,
Over all of human birth.
Swift of foot to avenge are we!
He whose hands are clean and pure,
Naught our wrath to dread hath he;
Calm his cloudless days endure.
But the man that seeks to hide
Like him (1), his gore-bedewèd hands,
Witnesses to them that died,
The blood avengers at his side,
The Furies' troop forever stands.
O'er our victim come begin!
Come, the incantation sing,
Frantic all and maddening,
To the heart a brand of fire,
The Furies' hymn,
That which claims the senses dim,
Tuneless to the gentle lyre,
Withering the soul within.
The pride of all of human birth,
All glorious in the eye of day,
Dishonored slowly melts away,
Trod down and trampled to the earth,
Whene'er our dark-stoled troop advances,
Whene'er our feet lead on the dismal dances.
For light our footsteps are,
And perfect is our might,
Awful remembrances of guilt and crime,
Implacable to mortal prayer,
Far from the gods, unhonored, and heaven's light,
We hold our voiceless dwellings dread,
All unapproached by living or by dead.
What mortal feels not awe,
Nor trembles at our name,
Hearing our fate-appointed power sublime,
Fixed by the eternal law.
For old our office, and our fame,
Might never yet of its due honors fail,
Though 'neath the earth our realm in unsunned regions pale.
7.6k
Desks and chairs and messy hair
Student rankings, must compare.
Always having something due--
Wake up at eight, slept at two.
Coffee, Red Bull, I need more
To push through my every chore.
My health and sanity is growing ill,
But all I need is an Adderall pill.
"It will be worth it in the end," I'm told,
But this college thing is getting old.
Always working and losing sleep
Because I have straight As to keep.
"Amazing essay," "Good job!" they say,
But they don't know of the price I pay.
They never listen to what I need or want
Unless it's in Times New Roman, 12 pt font.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC
I'd heard about problems with police
hard to hear harder to believe
personally I never had a problem
oh a few well deserved speeding tickets
probably cut a break no definitely
I drove very fast especially in the turns
roll-the-tires fast in the turns
that was me
and the more I heard the faster I turned
as a young kid I applied and was accepted
to six colleges six for six piece of cake
why the stress my SAT score equated
to an I.Q. of 1 above plant life
accepted open arms those WASPs loved me
graduate school one for one
best in the country
bar none MBA with honors that was easy
they called it the golden passport yes
passports are even faster
I never had problems
with band-aids
the bank
the insurance company
the healthcare system
never turned down
for a credit card car loan
life insurance policy
or request for a specialist
experience is the best teacher
and the more I learned
the less I wanted to know
and the faster I turned
then I learned
about certain specifics
certain policies
with regard to traffic stops
bank loans rental property
heath care voting rights marriage
read the color purple
and then that invaluable government
syphilis experiment
that would have been inconceivable
even to doctor mengele
that the star spangled banner
has more than one stanza?
really there were four stanzas?
MY country ‘tis of ME
and it was making me feel *****
learned that no one
voluntarily held that flag up
that hellish night
o’er the ramparts WE watched
as slave and freedmen
were ordered
to their near certain death
with the threat of absolute
certain death
then I watched a cop
shoot a kid in the back
in cold blood
near a merry-go-round
on a playground
in baltimore maryland
I liked baltimore
fast very fast he emptied the 10 round clip
of a semi-automatic 9mm Glock 27
into THAT kid's back no hesitation ******
baltimore baltimore baltimore baltimore
I hit the brakes hard
on those fast decades and decades
generations generations generations
of turning
I slowed down way way way down
stopped
took a deep deep deeper breath
then did what I always did and do best
I turned turned turned I turned around
and as I turned I woke
to kneel
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
Thank you sir, for everything you have taught me in your honors algebra two class.
I do understand that it is important to learn these things
and memorize where each variable goes
and what to square
and what the equation of an ellipse is
and I am not being sarcastic
But I was hoping maybe you could also teach me the equation to mending things that have been broken?
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
Hear the LION'S ROAR
As the many indignant souls
Find themselves restored
In his majestic presence
As he rattles the very fabric
Of this world as many
Broken men become renewed
Their fractured parts
Collect in the melting ***
Of the Lions stare
So let us all dare
To live life like a Lion
Lounging in the sun
Owning and surveying
His beautiful life
Storing great forces
Reservoirs of strength
To pounce and punch
Soft pads of silent stealth
Gather for all his wealth
His appetite strong
He honors every parts of self
But there is no where
To hide in the cats eye stare
As my many fumbling phoney selves
Dissolve in his melting glare
As I am shamed by a look
As I approach life like a crook
My procrastinating belly exposed
In my lack luster display
As I breath a contempt
For my precious life
Standing strong in stature
And rich in golden shine
Radiating with a presence
Of Absolute rule
The air washed with
A bristly respect
A natural pride
Beams with a beauty
Freed from all that is false
His being effortlessly
Embraces the fields
Of his own nature
As I am silenced by
The strangle hold of this
Bitter dysfunctional world
Tightened by a
Multitude of silent gestures
I sit to listen
To the LION'S ROAR
I feel my throat burst
My gagged tongue freed
My choked throat
Beams like the sun
As I softly delve
In to the LION'S ROAR
An open infinity
Cuts my many collars
Releasing my self expression
As a thousand trap doors
Open in me
Learning from the loving LION
Our self expression freed
And our appetite renewed
We live a new adventure
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
My soul honors your soul.
I honor the place in you where the entire universe resides.
I honor the light, love, truth, beauty & peace within you, because it is also within me.
In sharing these things we are united,
we are the same,
we are one.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
whom do you trust
solider, sailor, tinker, tailor....
what eyes see the meaning of the blind
what tongues listen...which lies
in the picturesque morning
beauty spins its deceptions with golden hued sunlight
weaves its hand puppet theatricals made of
fleeting wisps of smiles
kissing gestures weakly delivered
solider, sailor, tinker, tailor...
they gather round the dead man
some come to mourn the lost
some come to rifle through his pockets
some come to silently wait for their own fate
he sits in his worn chair
in a pool of lamplight
with a small hammer in hand
his spectacles on bridge of his nose
tapping tapping ever so gently the thin metal mask
tinker...tailor...sailor...solider
the uniform of his mind shifts according to his lie
his tool is always the deceptions and misdirections
a sly smile...firm handshake...a signature style
'to whom do you trust' is a phrase that troubles him
her perfume lingers in the air
years have buried the cold war
but not its warriors
not their handiwork
they dress the dead man for his burial
with his decorations and platitudes
with his shiny sword and neat uniform
with honors they lay him
with truths his secret they bury him
why did he do thus....to whom did he answer
to the tomb with his truths and lies
to the tomb
he gathers the long coat
and the umbrella
walks out in london's chill spring night
to a bridge
and throws a small box into the river
long years after the cold war died
these men of shadows still play
these keepers of the gate still watch for hannibal and his horde
solider, sailor, tinker, tailor
whom do you trust
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
everything is dumb
gender is dumb
sexuality is dumb
school is dumb
everything is just dumb
why can't i just stay inside all day and sleep
i can deal with the bed sores
**** it i'd take those over algebra two honors any day.
why can't i just live how i like, without people telling me i'm wrong.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
KENYA
K….Kenya my beautiful country
E ….earn honors and respect
N …none is like you my country
Y …you shine brighter compared to any other
A …across the world, you light brighter that the sun
The beauty sceneries of the green vegetation
The dark color of the people of Kenya
The arable land in Kenya
The mines
The animals and tourist centers in Kenya
The presidency
The politics
The hot springs
The digitality in Kenya
The economic growth in Kenya
The agricultural sector,
The flag of Kenya
The education sector in Kenya
All make me feel proud of Kenya….
And I feel so good to be Kenyan.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 2:28 AM UTC
by
rgpage
in this late hour on a mid-august night
the day's torturous heat now just a trace.
with heaven's dark sky splattered star light bright
and with the moon's help, how they now illuminate.
naked to the night on a blanket she waits
from a crystal flute she sips her wine.
its acrid taste makes her body brace,
and her silky skin to shine.
our lady awaits anticipates the night of love to be,
she's made her nest in secluded style
away from prying eyes, alone in the night
she patiently waits for her lover to arrive.
her warm body bathes in the evening breeze
eyes closed she lets her fingers roam,
her half-erect ******* she'll gently squeeze
'til engorged with blood they flush fully grown.
laying a hand to her most sensitive spot
the cradle of life's onset if you will,
her first finger eases itself into place,
and deftly a second does follow.
slowly and softly in clockwise rotation
wishing it were her lover's trace;
the effect was good with her hip's gentle motion
her soul now wrapped in silk and lace.
with quiet stealth on an old forest path
her mate breaks out of the tall trees cover,
spotting his sensual prey's silhouette
naked and silent he slips toward his lover.
feeling his presents her eyes slightly open
towering above her as tall as the trees,
she sees her muscular handsome young swain
in time to see him drop to his knees.
leaning in he gives her soft kiss'
his hand tracks her ******* with a gentle lover's mirth,
slowly and gently he brings her along, with a
touch as soft as a feather's fall to earth.
reaching forth and touching his face
and gently pulling him down to her lips,
they lightly touch then drift apart
as he makes his way to her ******* and hips.
the time is not urgent there's no wasted efforts,
every inch of her skin he greets with a kiss,
as a hungry lion studies his prey
not a single sound made, nor morsel missed.
seductively firm he leads her to ******
she honors his every wish and whim.
knowing his every move leads to pleasure
from pleasure to rapture time and again.
as the moon crosses over making way for the day,
and the star's disappear in the sun's early light.
our lady awakens alone where she lay
her mysterious lover is gone with the night…
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 12:00 PM UTC
When I was sophomore in high school I was cut from the volleyball team and I started thinking about what I would do next
I decided to try out for the cheer team for my junior year
When I told people I heard the same two things
But aren’t you in honors classes?
And
But you’re not a *****
my friends I thought would support me were only perplexed by my decision
a friend told me I would be invited to parties
and pressured to date a ****
but they forgot, my best friends forgot
that even though I’d be a cheerleader, I’d still be me
I would still get nervous and talk too much,
I’d still be awkward and angry and sad
I made the team and the next year
In my honors classes people asked “but aren’t you a cheerleader”
When that cute senior invited me to his bedroom that night
I refused and he said “but you’re a cheerleader”
And I did not understand why people could not see past the uniform I wore
I got invited to parties
But I usually went and stayed quiet while everyone else mingled
And sometimes I left early because I felt so alone
I was still awkward and angry and sad
And people still did not understand that even though I was a cheerleader
That I was still me
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
On winter nights beside the nursery fire
We read the fairy tale, while glowing coals
Builded its pictures. There before our eyes
We saw the vaulted hall of traceried stone
Uprear itself, the distant ceiling hung
With pendent stalactites like frozen vines;
And all along the walls at intervals,
Curled upwards into pillars, roses climbed,
And ramped and were confined, and clustered leaves
Divided where there peered a laughing face.
The foliage seemed to rustle in the wind,
A silent murmur, carved in still, gray stone.
High pointed windows pierced the southern wall
Whence proud escutcheons flung prismatic fires
To stain the tessellated marble floor
With pools of red, and quivering green, and blue;
And in the shade beyond the further door,
Its sober squares of black and white were hid
Beneath a restless, shuffling, wide-eyed mob
Of lackeys and retainers come to view
The Christening.
A sudden blare of trumpets, and the throng
About the entrance parted as the guests
Filed singly in with rare and precious gifts.
Our eager fancies noted all they brought,
The glorious, unattainable delights!
But always there was one unbidden guest
Who cursed the child and left it bitterness.
The fire falls asunder, all is changed,
I am no more a child, and what I see
Is not a fairy tale, but life, my life.
The gifts are there, the many pleasant things:
Health, wealth, long-settled friendships, with a name
Which honors all who bear it, and the power
Of making words obedient. This is much;
But overshadowing all is still the curse,
That never shall I be fulfilled by love!
Along the parching highroad of the world
No other soul shall bear mine company.
Always shall I be teased with semblances,
With cruel impostures, which I trust awhile
Then dash to pieces, as a careless boy
Flings a kaleidoscope, which shattering
Strews all the ground about with coloured shards.
So I behold my visions on the ground
No longer radiant, an ignoble heap
Of broken, dusty glass. And so, unlit,
Even by hope or faith, my dragging steps
Force me forever through the passing days.
3.8k
Headline Story:
Sweet old lady found dead in oven;
Science and Medical:
Prince develops cure for narcolepsy;
Gardening and Leisure:
Giant beanstalk wins first prize;
Duckling takes honors in beauty pageant;
Entertainment:
Sorcerers apprentice: You're Fired!
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
She poise
Her presence commands respect.
She doesn't quickly respond when under attack.
She dress elegant.
Then can dress accordingly.
Some refer to as lady of dignity.
She reserved.
Hold truth to her word.
Up hold the honors of all women.
And when she speaks so divine with words.
Many can't even believe it's her.
But when noticing her.
They soon come to the conclusion she's a lady of dignity.
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
Dewey Dell Bundren
Had her baby
And ran off to college
Worked single-mother hours
To keep her ****** apartment
And never missed a class
She married the first theology professor she could find
The kind
With the horn rimmed glasses
Drinking imported scotch
Discussing literature around the fire at night
She got a degree
At Northeastern
High honors in history
She never knew all those books were about her
And the people she came from
The places
Had their stories told
In the pages
Shaped everything she had ever known
She was grateful
For her history
And once a year made the trip
Back to Jefferson
Mississippi
Put flowers on her mother's grave
Still tasting
the bananas
Hearing herself saying
"Hadn't you ruther"
Still hearing Jewel
Cursing softly
******* you, ******* you"
"You sweet sonofabitch"
Still seeing the mules
Swollen
Floating
Bellies up
Past Cash and the coffin
Leg broken
In that biblical spring flood
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
Death showed me how to dress.
it says "not that one, these shoes rather, somewhat less dynamic and somewhat more meek, more
modesty, less certainty."
Death showed me not to wear hoodies, to keep my head revealed, to wear light hues
rather than dull in light of the fact that I am sufficiently dim as of now
to purchase a belt for some jeans I possess, even better, to not wear pants,
death showed me how to do my hair, it says "less curl, more typical, straighter, longer,
more slender," it consumes my scalp and gives me a brush and says "isn't it decent to run your
fingers through it now,"
Death showed me who to like, what music to tune in to, how to keep individuals agreeable,
instructions to walk; "don't limp, straight shoulders, however remain littler than them,"
it showed me my vocabulary, the majority of the enormous words that gain me honors, for example, 'verbalize,'
'dislike whatever remains of them,' 'a great one,'
Death is continually instructing me to be less, less American, more African , an appreciated expansion, a
token, to reveal myself and strip myself of any weapons, any dangers
Death is a x-beam machine, and says in the event that I do anything incorrectly, it will come
as though I'm not kicking the bucket to myself as of now
Death says "what an opportunity to be alive."
since in this nation, Black is imperceptible
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 12:56 PM UTC
I see the way you look at her.
You can't deny the attraction.
Why don't you do the honors?
Subtract me from that fraction!
Cause our relationship is only half of what
it was.
You had me drunk on love but now I'm just
slightly buzzed.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 5:00 PM UTC
Mix hormones, sprouting hair, and teenage angst in melting ***
Add 2 cups of Varsity Sports
Blend in at least 3 leadership positions
Sprinkle AP & Honors classes liberally
Acquire obscure talent such as playing a Theremin
Add long-term anxiety disease
Brag constantly about how you helped Jakito, a small African child, on a mission trip
Drain all traces of possible love connection
Substitute sleep for academia
Bring stress to boil
Add spoonful of “legacy”
Separately mix “White Guilt” with a cup of diversity (Native American if available)
Marinate in SAT classes
Spread 2300mg of SAT on top
Shake Well
Ice decoratively with essays about Jakito
Most batches must be rejected
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC