"humorous" poems
your little voice
Over the wires came leaping
and i felt suddenly
dizzy
With the jostling and shouting of merry flowers
wee skipping high-heeled flames
courtesied before my eyes
or twinkling over to my side
Looked up
with impertinently exquisite faces
floating hands were laid upon me
I was whirled and tossed into delicious dancing
up
Up
with the pale important
stars and the Humorous
moon
dear girl
How i was crazy how i cried when i heard
over time
and tide and death
leaping
Sweetly
your voice
84.3k
I am a stranger to myself.
I do not know how to be gentle, compassionate, or loving, to any part of myself.
I have always been able to present myself well in most public situations,
be it work, school, parental obligations, parties.
I can be calm and level-headed.
I am able to problem solve in logical and intelligent ways.
I can be humorous and glamorous when need be.
But it seems as though that power and confidence,
that grace and strength, is only a mask.
I now have more days when that mask feels heavy.
And when I lack the strength to put it on, I have to hide myself.
And I’ve been hiding a lot lately.
I hid yesterday.
I am hiding today.
I hear the words of care that others speak,
but they don’t feel real to me.
Sometimes I can accept their words while knowing
that they do not realize that I am a disgusting person who deserves to be treated badly.
They see what I want them to see.
I watch them interact with the humorous Nita, the intelligent Nita,
and I watch it all from the outside.
I want so much more for myself.
Who is this Nita that is respected by so many?
I want to be loved and to feel love.
I want to be free from the father and the host body.
I desperately wish to be free from them, and not just in a surface way.
I want them out of me forever.
My soul cries out for kindness and gentleness
and yet when it is offered I cannot accept it.
I want to be respected and loved
and yet I do not know how to love or respect myself.
I know how to pretend.
I wrote the book on how to hide your feelings.
I know how to smile, I know how to laugh.
I know that I have been given gifts but I don’t know how to use them.
And the ones who were abused, ***** assaulted, degraded…
they are afraid to dream that there is more to life than this.
They cannot fathom that there exists a world
where they can be loved in a gentle way, touched in a way that does not hurt.
They stopped dreaming a long time ago.
I want to stop fighting so hard,
so much of the time...fighting myself, the therapist
the fighting stubborn one just comes out in full-force at any perceived threat
and I want her to stop fighting when there is no reason to fight.
I want to learn to trust in myself and others.
I want the chaos and confusion inside my mind to clear
and I want some sense of cohesiveness and togetherness inside of me.
I want to believe that there is more to life
than pretending behind an illusion of imaginary togetherness...
more than just feeling ashamed and degraded.
I want to trust that I am allowed to heal.
I want to believe that I am worth the time and the effort it is taking,
and the pain I endure every day.
I want to believe that I am not what they said I am,
that real love actually exists,
and that I am worthy of receiving it.
And even as I write this, there is that voice inside speaking to me,
"But what if you're not worthy, Nita? What if you are what they said?"
She is a big part of me~ she has a loud voice.
And if I don't believe in myself...
how can I convince that part of me that I am good and I am worthy?
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 5:29 AM UTC
Such a humorous man
A kindhearted soul
His fame it does seem
Had taken it's toll
All his money and fame
Could not bring him peace
Behind laughs and smiles
Lay his demons , his beast
The world a little dimmer
With another bright star gone
We'll definitely miss him
Though the world will move on
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC
the frustration I had
after failing
to bring myself to ******
for the
tenth
time this past week
makes me more
furious
than depressed
seriously
my *** drive
has always been high
as soon as I
got over
the shame
society places on women
for enjoying
their sexuality
I have always used
************
as a release
relieves
stress
leaves me
relaxed
and
content
or should I say,
left me
feeling that way
usually
it was once a day
fairly frequent
but, it
matched
my *** drive's
needs
what the **** is wrong with me
I have tried
imagining,
watching,
reading,
looking at
every form
of erotica
that exists
I have searched
through everything
I can find
from
****
******
stories,
comics
and my search history
will let you know
that I've searched
everything
from
****
to
******
to
interracial lesbian forced *******
and things
worse
than that
e v e r y t h i n g
used to take me,
oh, I dunno
maybe three minutes
with my ********
after
around an hour
is when I give up
now
I even bought
a different
********
NO
RELEASE
NO
PASSION
GONE
what is
WRONG
WITH
ME
oh yeah -
depression
I mean
I knew it was bad
when video games
no longer
had appeal
that was enough
games
have been a passion
and a hobby of mine
since I was five
the other hobby
I started a bit older than five
but
you stole that one, too
after depression
beat the **** out of me
on Tuesday
I thought that was it
thought
since the next morning
I awoke
without the urge
to **** myself
it was over
nope
you have robbed me
of the simplest
things
in my life
that give me pleasure
no more
wriggling
moaning
spasming
the tingling
sensation
that starts in my toes
and makes its way
up
the length of my body
the warmness
that follows
with it
the
satisfaction
slight smile
snuggly
sleepy
post ****** me
I miss her
give her
back
I miss my life
give it
back
this isn't
ME
for ***** sake!
I am a ******
witty
humorous creature
full of passion
looking
for opportunities
to get myself off!
not this
depressed
apathetic
vessel
without soul.
you won't stop
until you have
everything
in my life
you won't stop
until you
put
my soul in your mouth
chew
grind
crush it
your saliva
breaks me down
spit me out
please
I am fighting
for you to cough me up
regurgitate
the essence
of me
let me put myself
back inside this body
please
please
no
you won't stop
you will eat my soul
until
ever fiber
protein
ounce of health
I had
is now
inside of you,
depression
cold-hearted *****
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
Many of the most profound pieces of poetry
May not have been dreamed and transferred
In particular manners professional,
And many of the most practiced writers
May not have been as noble nor indicative
As their readers would imagine and preach.
This concern thus produces a humorous conclusion
That through probability, possibility, and realism,
Many of the greatest and most inspiring words
Passed down to our misguided generation,
May have been conceived, scribbled, and explored
From the humble origins of atop a toilet.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
Home bound after work
near 12:30 am
just a few minutes from checking my email
then retiring
as us old folks like to call it
from the North side of route 7
at a slight angle
there and gone in half a second
was the biggest meteor I've ever seen
if that's what it was
so big that I slowed and listened for a boom
but nothing came
I have no idea how far it went before touching down
but this isn't about the meteor
this is about the fact that when I got home
and thought about who I would tell...
there was no one that came to mind
I've seen so much crazy **** in my life
that the stories have grown old
even the new ones
I breathed life into a dead woman one morning
then faced the fact that I couldn't save another
hit by a truck on my way home
just after midnight
on the day before the great Russian meteor
I saw 2 objects in the sky on fire
and not moving...
in broad daylight
I've been touched and spoken to
by spirits or ghosts or phantoms
take your pick
I saw 3000 people sacrificed in the name of what?
and as a child I witnessed a president murdered by those supposed to follow him
I've grown to see the young know nothing of that last President who actually had a vision and a spine
and when I quietly leave this life
there will be little to note...
a brief glance
of my obituary
by a few sad souls
I often think of a quote I heard as a young man
by a comedian; George Gobel
who was on the 'Tonight Show'
Dean Martin and Bob Hope were also on that show
and unknown to George, Dean was flipping his cigarette ashes
in George's drink as he was telling his humorous stories
this caused the laughs to come out of sequence...and finally a confused George said; 'Did you ever feel like the world was a tuxedo and you were a pair of brown shoes?'
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
It's a humorous thing
How scent can take you places
Past, present and future
Relive fury
Remember lust
Extract happiness
O sweet aroma
Teach me to conjure these feelings again
O masculine, divine smell
Covering my clothes
Filling the atmosphere with mesmerizing fumes
Intoxicating my mind with sensual aromatics
Drink me up
I will **** you in, I will take you in completely
Take me to far away places, dreams and memories of soft kisses and tender hugs
Of romantic dances and innocent laughter
Remind me of past events once enjoyed
Resurface memories far and near, quiet and loud
Let me live them once more
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 8:46 PM UTC
Hi, below I copy a humorous hiabun, which I shared as an exercise to mentor enquiring and inspired poets to learn, so they might adopt and try different techniques and then give critique together with awesome comments... Yes, I used the words *** ****** and **** for context the rest was left to an individual imagination as in good poetry!
It included reflective commentary encompasses innocent classification terminology used in the critique, reading, examining, appreciating, understanding and writing of poetry for example: POETIC DEVICES (enjambement, duality, keriji, images, collocation, semantic, oxymoron, repetition, listing etc.), STORY (personification, characterisation, subject, context, voice etc.), IMAGERY (synaesthesia), STRUCTURE ( lineation, breaks, syntactic etc.), SOUNDS (syllables, rhyme, alliteration, pace, musicality, phrasing, beat, assonance, onomatopoeia, mouthed rhythms, patterned) and WORDS (preposition, determiner, verbs, adverbs, lexical, nouns, adjectives) used by poets, critics and academics...
And here it is :
**** tongue-in-cheek haibun - a reflective commentary on writing a popular tanka
Eye lashes flicker
a shared urgent interest
parting - dancing smile
My first inspiration was *** passionate life squeezing screaming *** the thumping wall musicality of *** exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet.
I wanted to make it a senryu but for duality the female characterisation demanded two more lines each extending to seven syllables.
Arousing images captured her moaning splashing loneliness in unusual collocation.
I was first excited by the placement of a hovering extended enjambement to give life to my final line, whilst also considering the satisfaction in using noisy mouthed rhythms.
I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context with a watery semantic field, that suggested she would choke and drown.
So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’ as a cutting keriji to make clear the dominating ****** context, having previously used a preposition and determiner to maintain duality!
Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite
**
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 7:10 PM UTC
The mirrior is my adversary.
My eyes variance, what others don't see.
To the word I'm adequate, crowning , spotless, and skilled
Every morning I wake up, get ready and cover my lips in red majestic mac
Red lipstick seems to illuminate confidence in the eyes of many,
but to me it is merely a pigmented shield of secrets.
Humorous isn't it?
Every unmarred life, seeks to relive its pigments
Fears, self-doubt, imperfection.
Mirror, mirror, mirror on the wall..
Who's the thinnest of them all...
The sound of battle rumbles
Conscious at wrists ends
Bawling in me
Fat,
Fat,
Fat,
Yours tricks are foul, you tauntful mind
Vision is blurred from reality,
Oh mind how you love to frolic
Your sheer joys leave me unpieced,
The snickering of my mirror,
Damages my frame.
Sorrowing fades my red lipstick
Pigments revealed,
Vulnerable,
Unworthy,
Marred to the bone
Quickly I learned that the mind is the enemy, filled with con
Staring in my mirror and all I see is fat.
Red lipstick always seems to fade by the end of the night.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
"TIME to put off the world and go somewhere
And find my health again in the sea air,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
"And make my soul before my pate is bare.-
"And get a comfortable wife and house
To rid me of the devil in my shoes,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
"And the worse devil that is between my thighs.'
And though I'd marry with a comely lass,
She need not be too comely -- let it pass,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
"But there's a devil in a looking-glass.'
"Nor should she be too rich, because the rich
Are driven by wealth as beggars by the itch,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
"And cannot have a humorous happy speech.'
"And there I'll grow respected at my ease,
And hear amid the garden's nightly peace.'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
"The wind-blown clamour of the barnacle-geese.'
5.7k
I am not writing this
to get attention
or pity
or so people will tell me
I'm beautiful the way I am.
I am writing this
because when I post a poem about
being terrified to look at myself
because I hate what I see,
it should not be added to a collection titled
Humorous.
I am writing this
because when I sit at a lunch table
without a brown paper sack,
boys should not laugh when they ask
what, are you anorexic?
I am writing this
because when I watch Disney Channel
with my eight-year-old cousin,
I should not hear jokes
about skipping meals.
I am writing this
because when you google
anorexia is,
the first suggestion should not be
anorexia is good.
I am writing this
because our society should not
expect people to be paper thin
but judge them
for trying to get there.
I am writing this
because insecurities
are not a joke,
*no one
should be laughing.*
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
I was reading this little story today.
A group of four-year olds were asked
“What is love?”
The answers were humorous.
They were cute, even true…
But I came across one
That made me think of you.
“I know my older sister loves me,
Because she gives me her old clothes,
And she has to go out and buy new ones.”
I smiled at this,
But thought about it some…
This little girl is right.
I’ve given you buckets of clothes.
I’d give you the shirt off my back,
Because an older sister’s love
Is the most selfless act.
I love you more than I love shoes,
Or the way it smells after it rains,
Or our conversations we have in the car.
You’re more than the sum of our memories,
And you’re more than our shared genetics,
You’re my best friend forever…
You always were, really,
Because who else would just let me cry
Over the stupidest things
While you just listen?
You always were the pretty one,
But you make me feel just as gorgeous.
I know I’m not.
But thanks for letting me believe it.
You’ve tested my patience a billion times,
But it only made me love you more.
You let me learn self-control,
You showed me how to love peoples’ flaws.
I chuckle.
I used to write you stories,
And now I write you poems.
My poems for you are my favorite ones, anyway.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 5:30 PM UTC
I failed to save another soul today.
On my high patrol, I heard their last gasps leave their lips,
and I let their salvation get away
slipping through my super-powered fingertips.
If I can write assurance to a thousand souls lost, humorous and witty
"If I muster all the words that I know," I thought, "Surely I can save this city."
But life can't be measured by honeyed words, and it's agony to see
the souls' salvations that I'm missing beneath my red-caped nobility.
Even if I flew higher still, with my cape waving proud and free,
no great power I could bring to bear could match my responsibility.
For every orphan girl I save, there's another not too far afield.
For every chain broken, for every freed slave, there are chains that will not yield.
I'd fly around the world and turn back time, but I know t'would be in vain.
What's a single Superman to do, when the whole world cries to be saved?
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
You bring me good news from the clinic,
Whipping off your silk scarf, exhibiting the tight white
Mummy-cloths, smiling: I'm all right.
When I was nine, a lime-green anesthetist
Fed me banana-gas through a frog mask. The nauseous vault
Boomed with bad dreams and the Jovian voices of surgeons.
Then mother swam up, holding a tin basin.
O I was sick.
They've changed all that. Traveling
**** as Cleopatra in my well-boiled hospital shift,
Fizzy with sedatives and unusually humorous,
I roll to an anteroom where a kind man
Fists my fingers for me. He makes me feel something precious
Is leaking from the finger-vents. At the count of two,
Darkness wipes me out like chalk on a blackboard. . .
I don't know a thing.
For five days I lie in secret,
Tapped like a cask, the years draining into my pillow.
Even my best friend thinks I'm in the country.
Skin doesn't have roots, it peels away easy as paper.
When I grin, the stitches tauten. I grow backward. I'm twenty,
Broody and in long skirts on my first husband's sofa, my fingers
Buried in the lambswool of the dead poodle;
I hadn't a cat yet.
Now she's done for, the dewlapped lady
I watched settle, line by line, in my mirror—
Old sock-face, sagged on a darning egg.
They've trapped her in some laboratory jar.
Let her die there, or wither incessantly for the next fifty years,
Nodding and rocking and ********* her thin hair.
Mother to myself, I wake swaddled in gauze,
Pink and smooth as a baby.
5.2k
Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one:
Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot
A constant habit; that when I would not
I change in vows, and in devotion.
As humorous is my contrition
As my profane love, and as soon forgot:
As riddlingly distempered, cold and hot,
As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none.
I durst not view heaven yesterday; and today
In prayers and flattering speeches I court God:
Tomorrow I quake with true fear of his rod.
So my devout fits come and go away
Like a fantastic ague; save that here
Those are my best days, when I shake with feare.
5k
Gates climb
News and paraphernalia
Modern communication
Internet on vacation
Today, rural Australia
Goes awol in valleys, hills
As seeking when hiding
Frustration biding
Trees, various pitfalls
An Insufficient population
Say Cannot build towers
Excuses bely hours
Trying, for connection
Work with what's known
Try cavalier solutions
It's the execution
When, creativity shown
First try computer waving
Above head I'm shaking
Signal not taking
Despite, the swaying
Next option lying on floor
Hint of access, fleeting
Patchy greeting
So slow, won't store
Then stand on top of bed
Try to reach high ceiling
Wobbly feeling
Response, still lead
Despite heat, go outside
The temperature violent
Connection silent
If Home far, just beside
Time past, similarly stung
Found access best rate
The paddock gate
Balancing, top rung
Troop to gate hopes keen
As Searing heat, metal
Stand and settle
Tightly, cradle machine
Process long, time lost
A Connection success
Finally access
But who, counts cost?
Eventually, its loaded mail
As Balancing hold keen
Humorous scene
As Sway, in light pale
Internet access by Gates
Not Bill, Steve, Microsoft
Hung steel aloft
So basic, surely debates
Climbing for a signal now
Is the practical response
Sadly ensconced
As Rural, area know how
But surely it must be time
When access essential
Internet critical
Yet today, gates climb
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
I found me heart in the sea
surrounded by corral that's rust red
locked in a chest with shiny cents
So heavy it never rose
not even when given a good laugh
pearls and black diamond tears
The fish cry saltless tears
and no one I know can see
They only know my joyous laugh
and the things they wrote, I read
blooming like a rose
I was this made more sense
But alas, I waste my two cents
soaking in salty tears
I wish that chest had rose
from the sand beneath the sea
****** heart beating red
god I need a laugh
The octopi around me laugh
for they have a humorous sense
and don't know the things I read
standing in the theater tiers
Their big, old eyes can see
the locked chest that never rose
They gather in pews and rows
eager for another laugh
They don't understand, they belong in the sea
but my heart down here makes no sense
so I still have salty tears
mixing with each pump of red
The octopi never read
sorting coral into rows
They never had to cry tears
They only know how to laugh
because to them this all makes sense
Their hearts belong in the sea
They cannot see, for they have not read
They have no cents, they don't know the rose
all they do is laugh, ignoring human tears
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
The long hours of the night highlight our inner insecurities
Relating to the change slowly disappearing in a clanking machine
My stomache burns
I didn't suggest to pay this, indebted to the alcohol
No filter to the lewd humorous words we speak
As we cruise away from the wild eyed life, bits of lint collect on the drivers glass
The mistakes and embarrassment blinds our minds
A push of a button, watching the grey fluff slide down the wind shield
Turning into a tumble **** rolling down the loneliest highway
No commitment to the grief
The clouds smother the brown smudged mountains
A white submissive canvas, I see
My metaphoric future becomes one with the peeks
My heart weeps as they come back into view
The world once teaching me, is now background beauty
Where shall this car take me
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
It must be two in the morning.
it's cold. Dark. The bleeding is relentless.
My fault.
I didn't ask for any of this
but in the end it is my fault alone.
I try to breathe.
how?
I can't.
it feels like
liquid nitrogen.
not oxygen.
I need air.
can't breathe.
chest collapsing.
I wake up.
two ten.
still dark out.
got a text
at ten something
from my Bluebird of Peace.
a list of inappropriate but still humorous jokes.
some are cringey,
but I still laugh or smile.
and so guilt and shame are washed from my mind,
as I debate running
to the bathroom
to wash the cold sweat off
that has drenched my skin
and clothes.
I keep smelling iron
though I know it isn't there.
the things I have seen
and the things I have lost
like to haunt me.
I would like to be a ghost.
to haunt them
in return.
instead I breathe in.
I breathe out.
I change clothes,
stripping down entirely to put on shorts and a t-shirt.
I put on his hoodie.
Wait for warmth.
Hold my old stuffed lion.
send my Bluebird
a text.
I need some type of noise,
but all I hear is snoring
and the dripping of a faucet.
I am glad
for instances like these
that I do not
live alone.
at least this time
i didn't cry myself awake.
one day
it will be different.
"That part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail."
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 2:44 AM UTC
I
A body of white walls
houses familiarity
Somehow even familiarity
distorted itself
beneath raw cinder blocks
doused white enough
that I could see
the eyes of the past
the eyes of the future
looking back at me,
the eyes of the present
Must journey
behind the white walls
into the familiar unknown
For there is something there
Beyond walls
so very high
They
only crumble,
only die
For there is something there
I must look now
through the deep crevices
deep through my mind
For there is something there
Do I find?
I see people
I see minds
Beyond the white walls
looking back
at I
Why oh why
must I continue?
looking forward
only to
look back again
I am stuck,
encased inside
eternity
Only looking back
to find
a way out
a way out
of me
Me
I have always
been my own infinity
Inside, a prisoner
handcuffed to
the white walls
I am shackled here,
alive
kicking
Death
here in the
eternal infinity
Great intellects
dead,
killed by me
I am my own infinity
I must **** me
I will be free
no longer shackled
I am my own infinity
I am my own uncertainty
I am my own familiarity
It is me
I am my own infinity
The white walls
close in on me,
my own infinity
I do not want to change myself
I do not want to change me
I change
I die
Death’s kiss might be sweet
Death’s kiss may free me,
finally
Yet
I cannot accept it
I will not
I just want to be me
but I am everyone else
and they are me
my own infinity
Everything,
everything
Beyond the white walls
are nothing you see
White walls
everywhere
White walls
everything
Encasing all
of us
It is here,
it is here
The white walls
shackle us,
shackle us
to
reality,
society
There is forever
no infinity
in me
The familiarity
tastes of death
mistaken for
reality
society
The burning truth
The familiarity
the distorted familiarity
that
is
reality
society
We rely on each other
So much we shoot
each other
We are not strong
We are not smart
We can be
We can’t be
If we break
the shackles
If we keep
the shackles
I am in pieces
I am shattered like glass
I cannot do this
I cannot presume
Death’s kiss
seems sweeter than ever
(forever lost in my own infinity)
You see we
build ourselves up
so
the white walls
eat us up
until we are part of
the white walls
until we are part of
the unknown familiarity
Can I break
through?
want to
need to
break through
White walls
oh,
white walls
I’ve been punching
for so long
I am tired,
I am weary
Resisting,
rebelling
Far too long
White walls,
White mazes
Around
my infinite
familiarity
I cannot
make it out
of myself
So I
walk,
So I
walk,
This great
maze of my
soul
Humorous,
I call it a
great maze
I only walk
in circles
Forever in cycle
I’ve felt the
tears,
Fallen onto
the white walls
Hard
to tell
if they
are clear
or just another
drop of paint
Mind
loops back
on itself,
(always does)
Losing it
(finally insane)
A mad man
I am
A new coat
to adorn
Darker
darker
darker
Cracks,
crevices
the white walls
emit abysmal black paint
So-cold
oil,
(called paint)
I will make darkness burn
It stings,
makes a statement
deep within me
Have you ever
felt pain?
Have you ever
felt life?
Walls
I have forgotten
what color
infinity was
Happiness,
feels
so white
but
burns
so dark
Have you ever
felt dark?
Dark feels me
as I
wander,
wither
In
white darkness
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
Once again I looked at my sides,
When I decided my password needed a change,
It was rotting - really.
This gaming website required a unique password,
It required at least 10 characters,
My sides were clear and none was peeping.
It required 3 special characters as well,
2 capital letters were also required for it,
I thought for a while & decided as follows:
Superman + Spiderman + Batman + New Delhi + New York = 3SSB2ND&NY;
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 1:57 PM UTC
Juliet, your Juliet.
I grew out of her.
She was all dreamy, and fabled.
She was brave enough to love you.
She was brave enough to be crumpled to shreds yet fake a smile flawlessly.
She grew on you.
Juliet, your Juliet.
I grew out of her.
She was graceful and too kind to be true.
She was the daisy of your garden, where flowers weren't just a few.
She loved sunshine as much as the misty moon.
She was ravishingly rhythmic. Forming melodies out of those midnight stars,
adding beats and verses to your mundane mornings.
Your Juliet, your Daisy, your sanguine Sestina
all of them. Yet, nothing better than a reverie.
Juliet, your Juliet.
I grew out of her.
She was all chirpy and consoling.
Solace was what made her.
Her love was fire, worth burning for.
At times, her eyes form glaciers,
arctic and numb.
At times, she feels worn out and ready to drop.
But, Juliet's audacious to hold on tight yet, taken down by you. Remember, she grew on you.
Juliet, your Juliet.
I grew out of her.
She was delicate but humorous.
Compassion knit her soul together.
You tell her, she is all you ever wanted and is grateful for.
But, the woman lying next to you hears the same.
She was a writer and left you one.
Juliet, your Juliet.
Not anymore.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 5:57 AM UTC
He is tall.
So tall.
Too tall.
So tall that I have to look up to meet his eyes,
but it’s worth it.
Because his eyes are black.
Humorous.
Sparkling.
Sarcastic.
Smirking.
And his mouth is high up.
But it’s worth it.
Because his mouth is perfect.
Smirking at me, he knows what I’m thinking.
****** *****
He’s too tall.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 12:48 PM UTC
Day by day I lay it down,
“All right men, here’s the plan;
you go on in, and get 7 of them
(because 7’s a holy number)
and we wouldn’t want to offend
any defender of the other inclination.
Our nation would suffer at their loss,
and that would cost too much in terms
of net profit, would disturb a delicate
balance, we wouldn’t transgress
or progress, rather stagnate,
in a backwards state of mind."
You told me you liked my poetry.
But would you really
if you could see what I
see the ladies hooked on
Turkish series and
not enough men
to count fingers on?
Our men left long ago,
got hooked on the same show we were watching,
and it was alarming how it was cut with some
breaking news, something about how Syria was
going to lose another plane, and we felt some pain
and flipped the station, where we were met with
temptation masked as the latest ads only to add
to the list of the things we’ll never have.
So much for bad TV.
Could we please see something real?
And I fear the Kardashian’s aren’t quite enough,
you see, I’ve caught onto the bluff that **** must
be staged. But that’s ok I’ll let it pass, perhaps some
movie to catch my attention. Attention becoming
another word for distraction, and we carry
that emblem all around, hoping for anything
to evolve this frown into laughter whether
humorous, devilish, or maniacal in tone.
If not TV, reach for your phone.
Anything to get to another zone,
another place, just space out because
anywhere is better than here.
Where is the end, be near?
- I want to meet it smiling.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 9:26 AM UTC