"intervenes" poems
We call her name like she's the queen.
Lips quiver with understated pleas.
So this is what "your highness" means.
The analog clock wails 4:18.
Our voices muffled in this cool sea.
We call her name like she's the queen.
You, my own porcelain figurine,
Each tiny chip of you impales me.
So this is what "your highness" means.
No room for time here in between,
All else I've known has been set free.
We call her name like she's the queen.
Quake my pulse like a tambourine,
Let me teach your mouth to see.
So this is what "your highness" means.
Powerless when she intervenes;
Royalty lives between the knees.
We call her name like she's the queen.
So this is what "your highness" means.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 7:57 AM UTC
Once there was an old woman
who had tremendous bad farts,
And this is where our story begins
this is where it all starts.
Her farts were just awful
they'd stink up and ****
They'd make babies cry louder
and make all the roses wilt
When she walked into town
her farts wouldn't stop
A green stink cloud would follow
wherever she'd walk
"Whats that AWFUL smell?!"
people would exclaim
Then they'd all point to the old lady
who always suffered the blame
Due to these consequences
the old lady was lonely
How much she longed for love,
and just a place that felt homely.
They say there's someone special
for each and every soul
Even for stinky old ladies
and that's why this story is told
When fate intervenes
no one can really say
Whats meant for you or me
or what makes old lady's day.
For one day old Miss Stinky
was walking through a store
She met a perfect gentleman
who held open her door
He didn't run away
like all the other people
He came up to Old Miss Stinky
and oh how she got so feeble!
He fell in love
with all of old Miss Stinky
To her **** bombs and green clouds
he said "Oh wow, That's real *****
You can never know
when your special someone comes by
For If stinky old ladies find happy endings
why shouldn't I?
Now she's not alone
just happily farting each day
They had a huge hazmat-mask wedding
and he swept happy old Miss Stinky away
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
A coffee shop afternoon can say it looms significant
In the steamer’s sweet humidity
And the idle legs pace for more
I hear the whispers of world-changers and gossip mix
Local color of a quiet little town.
Sit humble and lean, a fixture ‘till showtime
And ask lines around just we’ve they’ve been
And who they’ve seen.
There’s a poetry in the patron, come
My gaze permits and intervenes
Its narrative and scheme, in lover’s hand enweaved.
Graphite plays its frustrate part the writer
Seated far, far in a blissful nadir
Bristles in his pony tail like drawers end to no avail.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
Cant you hear their cries
Of pain. Of suffering.
The echoes of malicious crimes.
Or have we become unaffected by the images
As history repeats itself one more time
Some where down the line
Humanity has been lost
As ignorance prevails, and their conscious dies
Who is left to preserve and protect innocent lives
As we sit watching the events unfolding
And the tears of both young and old
Like the missiles, do they fall
Have the oppressors forgotten, it was these people
who gave them shelter when they were the oppressed
United we were then to end the brutality and maltreatment
Now the tables have turned
We ignorantly refuse to believe it is happening again
For the innocents the fight continues
Their faith and their strength. It never falters
As they take back what is theirs.
Hoping that someone helps and intervenes
Giving back what's theirs, bringing them peace
The fear and dread
The weeping souls
The blessed land
Forgotten and torn
They fight the battle
as we look on
The hourly struggle
of the abandoned ones.
© maria.who
(Comment below please)
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
Removing the little lace dress with its white hem I place it back on its chair.
The white hem radiates slightly enticing my naked boyhood once more
With its lusciousness, a savannah of continuous beautiful evocation
I sit naked and watch the little lace dress with its white hem
See it become languorous and dreamlike
I smell the exotic flora of its continued subtle seduction
It ripples softly in a slight waft of air
Like a breath blowing on a still pond
I cannot resist it, I am the trance of its hypnosis
Nothing intervenes, nor tries to prevent me
As my fingers fall for its flirtations
Once more I acquiesce to the most wanted desire
Of the little lace dress with the white hem
To caress the body of a fifteen year old boy
To become a second skin
I allow it to slide over me seducing my senses
Realizing the counters of my thin syrup coloured form
The words whisper again about my girls’ complexion
About my long black hair, about the body I inhabit, the likeness of a girl
I look once more in the mirror, they could be correct
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
I am behind a wall with no windows and no doors.
I feel trapped and helpless.
But inside this prison I am safe,
from the outside world,
which threatens to destroy me.
There is no one in this prison,
except for the prisoner (me) and the jailer(me)
Life in this prison is not pleasant.
The only company is the jailer,
but she is very cruel.
She taunts me with self criticisms.
Thus the isolation starts as a place of safety
but soon becomes a place of torture.
And the depression begins.
Inside this prison, there is a huge wall,
separating me from the outside world.
I reach out for help.
But the barrier intervenes.
I take a step forward. But there is no where to go.
There are no windows.
There are no doors.
There are people reaching out to me.
I can hear them, but I cannot touch.
Loneliness and fear shuts them out.
My fears of being hurt again
results in me being alone.
I must live my life with this fear of growing old,
unwanted and unloved and being on my own.
I have grown up with this barrier against other people,
stopping me getting to close.
I have this powerful feeling that if I let the barrier down,
I will be swirled away in a turbulent flood of emotions.
I cannot risk letting down my barrier and discovering
what it would be like in an intimate relationship.
It could be a relationship where I float in a flood of
joyful emotions with no barriers.
A flood where I float in bliss, happiness and love.
Not as I do now feeling only fear, helplessness and sorrow.
I grew up loving my parents, and fearing them a little.
They disappointed me, hurt, betrayed and abandoned me.
Now I feel afraid to love completely,
to protect myself from ever feeling this hurt again.
If I don't protect myself who will protect me.
So a life of isolation is what is in store for me.
I need to start digging a tunnel to get out of this hell hole,
to escape the darkness and find the light.
I have to stop blaming myself, for my family being like barbwire 'untouchable'
It is not my fault my mother was misguided, mistaken and confused.
or my fault my father abandoned us and died.
I know once I accept this I will find the light.
Free to live and love .
The first time in my life.
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 10:41 AM UTC
Take something as simple as grains of sand,
Look at it if you can,
Picture it if you must,
Now, understand that your life IS revolving around these insignificant, ugly,
Things.
Lemme ask you something
Is it beautiful to you?
Because when everything’s beautiful
Everything means something.
It’s quite the opposite for me.
What’s whirling around me is not for the faint of heart.
You may think you’re prepared but you honestly
Aren’t.
Under this pale, freckled covered skin and heavy, hair matched, eyes is a dull dying soul.
Living with a severed heart. What was once carefully mended from the past broken road.
So…
I see you’ve made a fool of me, yet again.
Does my sheltered being tickle your funny bone?
Give you that…ya know
Painful laughter. As if inside you is screaming
“How could I be hurting the one I claimed to have loved?!” I was your happy, I was your crazy, I was your
Beautiful.
You had your lame, unacceptable, pathetic, coldhearted, mean, conniving reasons. Don’t worry I understand. But I am no longer the little girl from your memories, so stop living in them…it intervenes from the
Now.
And now, thing’s aren’t so beautiful.
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 2:34 PM UTC
The funny thing about life is
You try and try to be a good person
A good neighbor
In a good mood
With only good things to say
But then life intervenes
With the landlord screaming
About uncollected bills
That shouldn’t exist in the first place
Of bosses ranting
That you’re lucky to be working for them
When they’re running the company into the ground
And your only compensation is a poor paycheck
That you take home to your family
So that you can afford to stay under your roof
For another day longer
And put some food on the table
For another night longer
And let’s not forget about the conservatives
Screaming at the top of their lungs
That we’ve lost our way
And that only they can save us
By bringing us back to how it used to be
News flash grenade explosion
**We are the way we are
Because we were the way we were
For far too long**
And then the conservatives parading
Their hidden agendas like they’re liberals
Pay more taxes than the government is worth
A system that’s failing to support it’s own weight
Should have it’s leg kicked out from beneath it
To quicken the fall and rise of sovereignty
Every day is a new day
And it’s how you deal with the obstacles
Placed in front of you that matters
But the matter of banging your head
On the brick wall
Trying to placate the niceties that we were
Brought up to hold so dear to our hearts
Gets out of control
I’ll grab the sledgehammer
And bash the wall down
I’ll walk around the wall
And find my own path
The one least occupied
By the masses
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 5:53 PM UTC
It is vice versus virtue, in vindictive victories, laden in vanity, as venial villainy, intervenes in the memes of the idolatry, that dauntingly hangs from branch-less trees, vetted out, and stripped by thieves, as only on our knees we breathe, in peace.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 12:35 AM UTC
Transcendence and unity was always my friend
I know,
Something that doesn't exist yet always lingers
a man in black, everywhere, always filling cups
and know I'm staring into the face of that man though he no longer exists
There's an undiscovered idea or concept, nobody sees it but it's here
with me over my shoulder always
Do you hear those voices on the mainline when the shore is out
why do you see today, when not yesterday, was blind
a certain sense of paranoia, uplifting
Behind the lamp post on the corner there's the man in a black overcoat
and on the roof, over there
and in trees behind brick houses
everywhere
I see him
How can you escape these walls when captive men's lives linger on
Sighing again, it's morning, did you cry today?
Those headphones passive pass no mas but moreover we're dying
cerebral disconnect
everything changes
creativity dies when the keyboard intervenes
and the blackness of one turns into itself and everything dies before being reborn again somewhere else
somewhere different
Erratic thoughts but these are dying words when they come each night, the terrors
Is there anybody or anything anymore?
Resistance to life now is dull and over. Done.
heavy lungs still breathing but detached
Where the ghosts of Saturday night roam in pilfered streets
and numbed limbs crawling
re-percussive Robitussin and gushing percussion, oh the jazz-hall bells
swing la
swing
oh its yellow in nightlife fever fervor forever
Gábor!
Tell me these sweet dreams again
great white flags on the shoreline as the ships arrive home
and the war is done
Did I import the brown in past lives?
Jeer jazz man jeer!
and this wild hair is the sea, swim with me forever
the guiding hand on my wrist is not my own
the door slams shut in echo chamber corridors and the tension in the neck is incredible
but the end is never that, it's only the beginning in disguise
I am constantly haunted by my psychosis
Amphetamine dreams
and Sunday dawns
the hazy yawns
- to sleep
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 9:18 AM UTC
I dreamt I still knew myself the moment you turned your face to me
you were about to enter a very personal space: a diary, a dream journal, a shoebox of love letters, a suicide note, the angry ramblings of a madman
Standing on the bridge where we're no longer suffering, the dream exhaled
and joy found eternity running over the closing frame, floating away in every direction where time intervenes
Apr 10, 2023
Apr 10, 2023 at 8:51 PM UTC
Shining lights on a Dalmatian shore
Broken little mirrors on an aqua sea
provides the backdrop for boys wrestling on a concrete diving board
Girls soaking each other with a push button tap
The thin old man in speedos intervenes
One hand holding a roll up
The other gesturing in Croatian
The setting sun behind the city of Split
Is a rusty heat haze for swallows to dart over
Truffle oil fills the air from the cafe
A couple use sign language to speak as the sea roars in
Backs and shoulders covered in beautiful inked art with Angels, crosses and devils
Pine trees provide shelter on the stony beach
Families playing cards and laughing.
The church bells signal it is time to go in
We start up the hill and look back at the sky.
A night to remember and a night to repeat.
Aug 9, 2022
Aug 9, 2022 at 4:28 PM UTC
A chariot is thine heart,
O thou rich tressed Selene
In which doth ride the tides,
of ardor, tepid aflame.
Strung to thy chariot by chords
Unseen yet tangible knot,
Whither thy chariot wandereth,
Thither draggeth me, constrained.
The chord unseen, yet bindeth,
Ethereal, tenuous sublime,
A barb so dolorous in seasons!
Other times candescent delight.
What causeth this bond precision?
Nay no reasonable cause,
Entrapped in each a residue
from prior existence unknown?
Why doth the string pull so constant,
Tho' intervenes a thousand miles!
Why cometh thine chariot instant,
When unseen, my spirits' downcast?
Selene! ageless,deathless, thy Endymion,
Eternal though his sleep,
Our souls entwined forever,
Many an aeon shall we keep!!!
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 11:19 AM UTC
Even a prey can capture a predator.
Sep 30, 2020
Sep 30, 2020 at 10:32 AM UTC
i came out the dark knight @ a time of Halloween...
October 31st, aka 13!(thirteen)! its like revenge of the shin-obi
when the master ninja intervenes! ill scratch you off my ticket, no ANTIHISTAMINE!
I OPERATE OF PRESURE POWERED BY MY SELF ESTEEM!
life is like a submarine, aka 20,000 leagues
13 FLAMES @ the caliber of 90 degrees,
WHY? B cuhz his psyche is that of majestic tree$
he grounds his feet magnetically and sails on solar seas,
like dreams i am the cosmic center piece and your in for adventures anytime you mention me.
weathered emotions or emotions are weather, all we endeavor, just REMEMBER, that we're in it 2gether.
i seek for that lyrical gold, the magnificent treasure
where mere letters compose characters for the spirit of a ghost.
i control, their minds like buttons on a remote
juxtaposed isotopes,,,
reran episodes hide the codes, thru magic cloaks,
the lames don't want to feel my fury like thunderbolts
or 13 tornadoes and mashed potatoes.
nova flames ENABLES, his girl to experience rare occasions
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
Today you were taken….
Today you were taken
Your life abruptly ended
All of a sudden
Cruelty bared naked
The sadness is deep
A sorrow so painful
We miss you so much Timmy
The shock still palpable
How can this be?
Such a beautiful young soul
So quickly taken
Your body in a hole
You didn’t want rest
You didn’t want peace
You were so full of life
You wanted to hunt, and eat cheese
It was not your time
Such as evil intervenes
Barely two years old
Natural causes take time
I am so sorry Timmy
That this had to happen
No words can express
The deep pain left within
May your spirit continue to bless and watch over us, you are forever welcome.
We hold you so dear,
Your loving friends- both here and afar. For you are so loved.
💔🕊💔
🐈
Aug 22, 2021
Aug 22, 2021 at 5:00 PM UTC
*Isn't she such a magnet irresistible?
does she feel that too, each of us attract the other?*
which divine hand intervenes to vaporize,
ego, anger and greed, that blinds?
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 1:01 PM UTC
Time, an absolute, yet relative.
During hardship, forlorn, moments:
it is slow, tick by tick… a lackadaisical jester.
As if tomorrow will never come,
as if hours felt like days,
as if you wish to immediately die.
The pain is unbearable, the torment treacherous.
Excruciating agony, with anticipation of therapy.
Permeating through the skin, right into the bones.
Every blood valves suffocating, each vessel about to burst.
Your train of thoughts, muddled in convulsion.
Pollution, Persuasion, Permission.
The three overlaps, the three intervenes, and the three clash.
Like loud bangs and rambunctious cymbals.
CLANG CLANG CLANG.
“Make it stop!”
Your thoughts deter your peace,
and your sickness prevents your happiness.
The insecurities and hate abolishes your well-being,
all you wanted to do was breathe.
We almost forgot that we had the right to breathe,
that oxygen was given as a gift to release.
Inhaling and exhaling should be a blessing,
and every minute should not be this stifling.
Sometimes we forget that time is against us,
and we are the enemies of ourselves.
Don’t continue living if you are actually dead,
but do things that make you alive so that when you die,
you will have no regrets.
Time is absolute, but you can also make it relative.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
Thanksgiving Menu Planning for Gaining and Losing
~~~
having shed thirty pounds plus,
another X more yet required,
to be forever properly de-cored,
a happy subtracted scoring
part too,
brought the curtain going down
on a seven year insanity,
paid off the forever divorcing *****
that weight worth more than a Venetian
pound of flesh
now finding myself
in a re-entry orbit,
though hardly gliding,
encased in a capsule,
friction glowing gold
the now never~ending
calorie counting and exercise rituals,
in every aspect of life,
all friendly devils of relentless,
demanding utter devotions,
all watching, wondering, watering, endlessly,
a new perennial flowering of a leaf,
all watchdogs of the truth serum called
what if?
what if
had I lived my prior
lazy loose life,
with the current rigor
of daily barefaced truth
I would never have made
choices that have redline scarred,
some made back in 1975,
into a forty year losing war,
spiral declination that permitted the
insidious, slo-mo of decay,
that could be, would be,
reversed only
by this recent heart
and soul surgery
*nowadays, menu plan my life's
every actionable choice,
limiting the sugared foolishness
from the decay
one can coat themselves in,
survival lies and refrigerator drugs,
until sleep~rest intervenes
what shall I eat,
what shall I choose,
what will be this day's life choices from the menu,
answering daily inquiries from
Oliver and Siri (1),
acknowledging that more-than-occasional slippage will occur,
but taking no true satisfaction
from the periodicself-cheating,
always
daily weigh myself
twice,
first my body,
then, my soul,
upon the rising,
upon the setting*
***to see quantifiable
what I have,
thankfully
yet to gain
by losing***
~~~
Thanksgiving Day
2015
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
The rain gives way to blossoms and blossoms
give way to snow that never drifts but scatters.
In this way now the weather intervenes;
the legacy of a child’s breath upon a popsicle.
With only one hand on the steering wheel
we still find it hard to let go our designs;
a glance in the mirror of a mirage, of carnage?
The territory swallows us all the same,
only the precision of the map is at stake:
how well the landscape bends to the road.
To be lost in this world and not afraid
is a skill we have yet to remember;
to master life in the ruin of life: life
dissembling in the rings of the ash tree.
What looks like rot is just the caterpillar
giving way to the nascent butterfly
but not like your smile gives way,
breaks, before the latest tyrant.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
Star and fashion designer Melissa McCarthy shares her guide for feeling fabulous and the emotional inspiration behind her new clothing line. Subscribe now for instant access to this PEOPLE exclusive!
Melissa McCarthy‘s foray into the fashion world with Melissa McCarthy’s Seven7 is already a bonafide success — but that doesn’t mean her daughterswill start looking to mom for fashion advice.
“My daughters have their own sense of style, which is a thousand times better than having mine,” McCarthy tells PEOPLE in this week’s cover story.
Georgette, 5½, and Vivian, 8, McCarthy’s daughters with husband Ben Falcone, are already setting their own trends.
“Georgie is very specific in what she wears,” McCarthy, 45, says. “Vivie can be more flexible, but she’s said to me on several occasions, ‘That’s my style, Mama.’ And I can tell when she wears something and feels good in it.”
The actress says she only intervenes in the girls’ attire when safety is involved.
“For me it’s like: As long as you’re not going to the park in a long skirt that you’re going to trip and fall on, you go for it,” she says. “If there’s no danger issue, wear whatever you want. I can tell you like it, I can tell you feel good about yourself in it, so knock yourself out.”
McCarthy tells PEOPLE she’d support her daughters even if they wanted to wear a shirt “wrapped like a turban” around their heads.
“I just think you’re going to have so many people saying, ‘You shouldn’t, you can’t, that’s not okay,’ that there’s no way I’m going to be one of those people. I’m gonna help fight that as much as I can. So turbans for everyone,” she jokes.
Vivian is so fashion-forward that one of her designs is even featured on a t-shirt in McCarthy’s range.
“My daughter Vivie drew that cat last year saying ‘Le Meow.’ Because, she explained, ‘everyone should have a fancy cat,'” McCarthy explains. “I can’t even think of what I’ll do when I see someone on the street wearing it. And when Vivie sees it? I’d better be standing next to her to watch her little heart fill up.”
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
And suddenly its dark,
the lights they all went out
and everything is quiet
not a sound throughout
A striking match the only sound
its flare the only light
oil lamps and candles
illuminate the night
Sitting here in silence
amazed by lack of noise
how do we never notice
our cacophony of toys
I cannot help but wonder
this peace that's so serene
how do we never choose this
until nature intervenes
Apr 30, 2010
Apr 30, 2010 at 1:03 PM UTC
Count up all your shattered memories.
Yes, they are all your forgotten, buried enemies.
If you regain them, what will you begin to chant?
If you regain them, what will you answer to what you'll be asked?
Think up another fairy land,
but please, make sure to not make it just as bland.
And once it's over, become lost in the deep dark woods.
Nowhere to hide,
nowhere in sight,
there isn't anything good in your mind.
Cast some mysterious magic,
put on a sullied dress.
If you cry sweet tasting tears,
everything will become a lie.
Forgetting all the dreams, and memories you were looking for.
In your head, it's just like a war.
Offense, countered by self-defense.
D-sxPpxaRiNg xvEnt-s.
Think up another child's play,
Just like every other day.
And when it ends, become lost in the long night...
Again, you can't do anything right!
You should just leave,
Might as well, your future isn't very bright.
Cast some magic words,
without covering them up with social pretext.
Just cry sweet tasting tears,
and transform everything into sound.
(Just scream out already, if you don’t show you’re in pain, no one will know it’s there.)
Everything will become a lie.
Cast some mysterious magic.
"Please, fix me", oh, how tragic.
"Please, take me away from here!"
Don't worry, the end is near.
Show me your sullied dreams.
There's no one that intervenes.
Close your eyes, this will all become a fairy tail.
Spilling over to my wonderland!
But to my surprise, on the other hand...
The life I known simply ended up being just a dream.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 1:19 AM UTC
The darkest visions shadowed in green permeate my soul
Seeping from the deepest places in my heart
What I vividly see and think I know to be
Make these visions start
Still I cannot eradicate this view or stop the flow
Of this vivid shade of green
Even knowing what the silhouette will destroy
As its looming shadow intervenes
Thoughts of darkest green invade my peaceful mind
As I lose control and let the shadow play
Go dancing through my very soul until it finds
A way to turn my peace astray
Into the chaotic flow occurs a crimson shade of red
My heart sent out in battle force
Creating peaceful shades of the deepest blue
My trust to reinforce
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 8:48 AM UTC
I think your genes are intertwined with the seasons
Spring, Summer, Fall were hard to believe
Then winter intervenes
Tears turns into icicles
Blind cold rage blocks your ability to see
Choking on snow
causes me to stop breathing
Death is cold
“Death, Do you want me?”
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC