"jagger" poems
Those who lash out when the heart speaks
avoid the many mirrors reflecting themselves
For in this rippled dream,
where perfect does exist
and mistakes are long gone like a Milli Vanilli song,
they fail to see that we are all human…
errors come with the package (batteries not included)
Sidewalk footprints, back and forth
pacing past the entrance to that world
where words have no meaning,
regardless of how they are spoken (or written)
Self-absorbed deeply in the waves
of that ocean tide of fantasy
crashing in white foam feelings, disappearing by sunset
What is it that makes us who we are…
our smile, our fingers, our brand of cigarettes
shipped in plain brown envelopes,
our thoughts, our dreams, the poetry we write
when we need to get it out…good or bad
When lack of judgment drips from the skylight
illuminating courage to do what we shouldn’t (even in darkness)
Wrong, I was wrong…regret, more than I could have known
I have looked in this mirror, then I looked away quickly,
Ashamed of that face, fell three stories below my heart
slipped on the disgust splattered at my feet (by me)
sunk up to my knees…bent, folding, scraped and bruised
but I require no sympathy, for I am not that devil Jagger sings of…
at least I hope not…please allow me to introduce myself…I am sorry
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
Sometimes, when you listen to their enounciation.
You realize, just how beautiful they speak in their British accent.
Every word expressively spoken.
That you're mermorized by each vocal.
Maggie Smith, the lady of class.
Cary Grant, the man of taste.
Oh, that British voice.
That you might chose , if had you that choice.
Or seek ways to adapt them to yours.
Michael Redgrave/Michael Rennie/Vanessa Regraves
All of them had that lovable voice.
Then you notice the beautiful Julie Andrew.
Words spoke so you see the greatness of the phase.
Which we notice too in Richard Attenborough.
Who reminds many of Richard Burton?
Yes, the British accent.
You just got to love it
Similar to loving Honor Blackman when she speaks.
A great difference from Jacqueline Bissett.
Except written about them with great respect.
Who can't admire the British Accent?
Yes, there's the French.
And I'm not kicking it.
Then , there's Spanish.
Which has more trying to learn it.
But this is about the English and the various style of vocals.
Colin Barker and Prince Williams the Royals speaks so wonderful.
Just like, the man called Michael Caine.
I just have to mention Deborah Kerr.
That also goes for Joan Collin.
It's something about their style of speaking.
Maybe because you understand every spoken word.
Which is level toward the great Timothy Dalton.
And Samantha Eggar and **** Jagger.
Plus, the late David Niven.
And honorable mention to Julie Christie.
Jane Asher, Hugh Grant and several more.
Have you wishing to make their voices be yours.
Yes, the British Accent just so lovable.
And the greatest things about it.
You don't have to be famous to be adored.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
One each end of a shelf
Victorian figurines
A boy and girl
Like crystalline
With stiff edged lace.
Never fell in love
But still precious
Bought by a Godmother
Who did not have children.
Then the plaster dancers
Spied in a box of my father’s
Given by a poor grandmother
Loved these two
With their net “tutus”
Such graceful arms
Long pointed legs
Felt their life twirling.
The difference between
Two worlds
The rich and stiff
Poor but beautiful.
My bedroom shelf,
With a poster of
**** Jagger,
in the middle,
smiling.
Love Mary x
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 2:21 PM UTC
I always reached for the stars thinking that it was you.
In my life full of chaos, you were the one who gave me a colorful hue.
I watched you as you swayed your body
Throughout this catchy rhythm and loud melody.
Your smiles that worth thousands of butterflies
Our fate is impossible to catch in our eyes.
I prayed every night to hug you and kiss you before I sleep
For in your sparkling eyes made me easily leap
It doesn’t matter how long I’d wait
Rumors around started to burn into hate
You are the star twinkling at the darkest skies
Your every movements are watched in every eyes
How I wish I was beside you
Holding, hugging and comforting you
Optimistic words that encourage you to do better
My heart is really shot like a jagger
Then I realized I’m out of your league
The endeavors will never be with us even if I beg
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
--slightly out of tune
Am I right to hedge my bets on being famous, ply my arts all day alone,
silence, no tv? Mark said, the difference is people are actually listening
to **** Jagger, but I thought that’s not so big a difference.
When Dad died it only reinforced the futility of our daily efforts
notwithstanding my hopeful eulogy about our responsibilities to each
other.
People listened then, and closely, searching for an echo
from the abyss. What is this abyss and how do I know
it’s there?
Jul 18, 2023
Jul 18, 2023 at 7:29 AM UTC
Crazy am I driven by the idea,
the possibility,
of another's kiss on your collarbone.
I recall St Valentine's Day,
when your **** Jagger lips told me
'I'm yours'
with such sincerity
and that I could hold you to it.
And I will.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 9:39 AM UTC
***** alleys weeping garbage (fish heads)
40s (alhambra) for 1 euro & a new leather
jacket;
football games in parks
carpeted broken glass/kids laughing.
sun like a strange shimmer 'yond th'mountains rearing
like
jagger's wild horses ,
liquid spanish smiles in little bars all w/th'same signs.. words
words
words like birds ...
(birds that take off
in th'park in raucous flights
if yer talkin' too loud.)
eat minute fried fish outside over 6 glasses strong beer.
almost fall off stool twice's'many times scrutinizing passing girls.
go home & write pomes 'bout cig'rettes & running,
call it "oxymoron" 'cause doing both in same day
is bad ******* news for the guts.
go to the university campus
for cheap coffee
& conversation
w/a girl from the bar (the bartender)
write a poem while she talks & call it
"terra nova"
that one's about nothing.
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 8:58 AM UTC
buried among
other favorites
you sing to me
about the girl
I used to be
beautiful
yet
reckless
oblivious
preoccupied with
my own
pain or gain
so naive
I dreamed then
I was naked
I dream now
I'm behind the
steering wheel
but the car's
driving me
out of control
out to sea
I hear your voice
and I want you
to come over
and wrap your
arms around me
I've grown older now
I'd never let you down
but then, too soon
the music changes
**** ******* jagger
reminds me
I've already
found what
I need
but instead of
being comforting
the choir, that chorus
it mocks me
and
it taunts me
maybe I will blow
a 50-amp fuse
I'm tired of
the self-abuse
I already have
what I need
but I think
you're what
I want
you're what
I feel
but it's
not real
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 11:38 PM UTC
well it was the alternative to gregory isaac’s night nurse... but then the bouncer on the catwalk with flares... skidding up on a rhyme and cooling it with an edge of the appropriately cut fashion... chased it.
innit kamikaze (rap’s shortchange in shaken pears
for martini bond and chanced cockney slang in shakespeare,
all 90’s groove though)
lyric’o gangsters
in the mollusk slush
two’s up freed
with the sly sly s.o.s. sloth
chinning up to the chariots of nero’s double for portrait:
naa na na na na na na na na na na na na naa,
naa na na na na na na na na na na na na naa
(i miscounted... didn't i?) -
where kurt cobian’s yeah yeah yeah used to be
along with r.e.m.’s cowboy astronaut.
come mike jagger with me the liszt skeleton
of b & w’s worth of crescendos tipping lazy waitresses
with a toreador’s worth of breezy napkins folded, flapped and sneezed into -
i’ll be dumping my shadow into splits for extras to boot frying it in
the hiroshima of paparazzi’s blinking.
failures are worth other people’s success when playing the lyre to a burn out of capitals:
anyway, edinburgh is the ultimate cameo in the literary bloodline
begot by paris for the 20th century ultimatum of identity scripted.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
i became the jumpin' jack flash in november '77.
there was slush in new york city and the bums at the piers
still burned trash in metal barrels you could see from over on coney island even.
just like kerouac said.
in the daytime foolish kids picked weeds in central park
and called them flowers. they got laid by stringing charming words together as they gave them
to the thousand daughters of manhattan's old monied men,
the wall street hacks hanging from the teats of the
great & frenzied cash cow of capitalist interest. the milk
came slow that winter.
one week, early december when the slush gave way to furtive snowfalls
i took a bus to patterson, NJ
for a few days, drank a lot of awful coffee writing obscenities in my journal but speaking
them aloud in the restaurants and bars and so
was deemed just like everybody else in patterson, NJ.
drunk & high, helicopter tours, stuffed with bread and half-truths.
and when shortly my irish luck ran out i raced back to the big smoke
in a drop-top mercedes driven by a man whose thick accent i couldn't quite place.
whose only serious question was whether i knew anyone
who had good coke.
in the city it rained for three weeks straight and
david byrne, in some bowery apartment wrote a song called 'flood'
which was never released on any talking head's album
but lingered in his brain as a reminder of the three weeks
he spent cooped up, eating saltines and dancing to the rhythms of the thunder and rain outside.
totally alone with his mind & a bass guitar. tina weymouth, naturally, was furious.
the bass was the last thing she had left in a band she half-started. and david had stolen even that.
but that was tina weymouth, that was new york.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 9:33 PM UTC
you cant stop looking at me you cant stop looking at
swagger jagger
swaggeer jagger
swagger jagger
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
2014, a year where 90s and late 80s babies are happy hyper turnt up not turnt down are swaggerific vs Brillitelegerent. Everyday we live is a commercial Just because we see many commercials Young fly and flashy is what we all want to be but what about those that just want to be "young wild and free"
Free to speak, free to act, free to stand, free to move, free to sing, free to dance, free to read, free to eat and more importantly free to choose how and what we want things to be like Females: I see we got swag of soul urban sophisticated finesse then theres those of us who are preps that are chic may be geeks. Lastly the girls that love to twerk alot plus cover themselves in thick make up and hair dye or is it a weave or a bob (Bob)
They say we sweet cuz we got that "bubblegum" question is what is your flavor something like K Michelle? Nicki Minaj? Rihanna? Miley Cyrus? In that case so do we all skirts and crop tops and bikinis and short shorts or is it galaxy leggings or perhaps jeggings.
Fellas they say you are pimps and players dons and brothas that be like "Forget the haters" they say you are cool with swagger as Kesha said something like that Nick Jagger. Urban dominance, fitteds and suits glasses and high fades what about those high grades Yasssss my brotha ooh I cant forget about those gorgeous dread heads now Ayeeee
Alright I mentioned alot about the guys but which are you...chris brown? Drake? That boy Meek milli or Justin Beiber well whichever it is Ladies and Gentlemen Just remember your place and Destination our Generation peace
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
Listening to “The Chieftains” again,
Their Long Black Veil CD: a gift to
Marijuana smokers. N'est-ce pas?
**** Jagger singing the title track,
A sweet, lugubrious ode to black widows.
Could there be such creatures?
Women you would **** for,
Offing your best friend for?
She had better be as good as it gets.
Could such women exist?
Beautiful & toxic;
Duplicitous, cunning,
Cunnilingus-worthy.
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**** would have licked her **** as
They led him up the scaffold steps,
She was a woman worth dying for, to be sure.
And Sinéad Marie Bernadette O'Connor?
Isn’t it time we forgave her?
So she shaved her head.
So she shredded the Pope’s photo on SNL.
He was, after all, the Polish Pope,
The one that kissed the ground
Whenever he got off an airplane.
How could you not love the guy?
Shot while riding in his Pope Mobile,
He later visited Mehmet Ali Ağca in prison,
Forgiving his would-be assassin face-to-face,
Exonerating the Bulgarian kreplach, for all
Special Victims Unit “especially heinous offenses” &
Proto-Islamic terror.
Surely, he could forgive the little Irish ****
Can’t we? Leading by example?
I don’t know what you’d call it.
In any language: powerful.
Oh, Sinead, my sweet Sinead,
We miss your sweet sad dulcet tones.
Consider yourself exonerated.
Consider yourself free to be loved again.
And let’s not forget Tom Jones,
Come on ladies: you threw your sopping
Wet ******* to the stage for him.
His “Tennessee Waltz” breaking my heart,
Losing my wife to my best friend.
No wonder I shot the Sheriff.
Surprised I did not also shoot the Deputy.
And “The Chieftains” themselves,
Transporting us to the Coast of Malabar.
We are all Irish sailors
Infatuated, hopelessly enchanted by a
Swarthy Dravidian shiksa.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
Today I felt something
something so beautiful,
something so angelic
something so divine
something so cosmic
like it came right from the shrine
Today i felt the drops,
yes,they were the raindrops,
no matter how they are welcomed
welcomed with thunders,
they still continue to be tiny
pretty,little drops
As i heard the lightning,
i rushed outside,
and just how beautifully,
a few accumulated drops
fell from the roof.
that tipper - tapper ,
no jagger
slowly fell on the railing.
I just noticed their
speed,
how slow yet so fast
I almost hallucinated
I could see them as a distorted man,sick of troubles of life
falling from the rooftop
and just when he collides with the railings.
he gushes down,so down
that he eventually
bids adieu , the final adieu .
Even before I could soak it in,
i was thinking that drop,the tiny
drop beared my weight
and it fell and then mixed
with the almost flood water.
Rainwater,pure,angelic.
Now dangerous and muddy and impure.
The drop didn't have any idea,where its taking itself
still it dropped down,and when it fell,
the others decided to lose themselves too.
then the other.
and then the next.
My mind went a million miles away
but what it felt on my palm.
that purity & coolness,I felt cold.
suddenly,they fell with
such a rush,
and touched me,
it got disturbed
into a hundred other
small droplets,some fell on my face
blurring my glasses ...
and wetting my
face and hand,
the cool drops now made me warm.
so warm that the chill
could no longer be felt.
I could relax.
I have always hater rains,
like they were always a pain,
i don't know why?
but today felt like something else.
but eventually after,giving me a moment of surprise and joy.
it finally decided to die.
how sad?
how negative?
how negative could my
interpretations get??
i ponder why?
................................
........................
...............
.......
...
Still WONDERING.
oh dear, sigh !!
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 9:38 AM UTC
She served him red ripe cherry pie at dawn,
Oven warm,
With a skimp of cheddar cheese,
Curled up and asleep on the side of the plate.
He captured the first whiff while strutting through
The maze,
Of a last minute dream.
On stage, lead guitar, **** Jagger, Brown Sugar.
She held a fork full of promise near his nose,
And smiled.
He woke humming, strumming, ***** and confused.
What more pleasure could desire be.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
sitting in the ****** sunlight
pondering **** Jagger
and who’ll inherit his lips when he dies.
smoke chains from my mouth and
Motown comes to mind.
What I Got is a pregnant cat
with cautious green eyes.
what i think i’ll do is wait,
but when will i stop?
i’ve read my calendars
birthed my charts
and i still can’t decide.
wind blows up my shirt
school buses scream by.
Hey, Children, Hi.
my nicoteen teeth burp
and i’m pushing out a cigarette
heading back inside.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 5:38 AM UTC
for Beau
this mixte bag of nutty facts,
compote of this's and that's,
fragrant but yucky tasting potpourri,
sordid assortment of
seemingly unseemly
random collection of
facts, whoppers,
recipes and formulae, and his 'n her
stories (my fav!)
useless motorized drivel,
running around my head
that you have with me creme-filled,
data conglomerated,
transformed by mongol hordes of grey cells
urged on, nay transformed,
by **** and beer into
a magnificent miscellaneous mile of jumble,
virtuous and verifiable grab bag of
ever so humble,
tuneful melodies of a medley of
snatches and patches
of Jagger and Liszt,
a verifiable pastiche of
vital and downright dumb
Factors and Factoids,
I thank you suchly muchly
musta taken years, maybe even
decades to collect and codify,
this assemblage of verifiable factoids,
after-all, took you twelve to
feed me in eye dropper ingestible quantities!
though with Wiki this and Wiki that,
I coulda save us all some time,
and since it is all on the Internet,
and any way 99% I forgot
like a cell phone number
no matter, I can reads and counts
and writes term papers downloaded,
but caught my eye you wrote
of a mutton stew denominated as
hotchpotch,
but we variant truants,
ici, aux Etats-Unis, on dit
and spell our salmagundi as
hodgepodge
but in summary summation,
thanks for teaching me creative thinking,
for without this skill,
I would but be,
a tool
of Wikipedia
and not its creator
P.S. It's gadzooks,
not gad zooks,
according to Wikitionary,
even them Oxford fellas agree,
tee hee,
you could look it up
on the internetsky,
Teach....
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 5:50 AM UTC
you're 17,
but you're a beauty queen,
only a year older than me,
but you'll never open up your eyes to see, but
you have a georgia jagger smile,
and in my dreams,
you're with me,
i'm complete,
but for now you're only words on the page of poem,
that you will never read,
you're wonderful, incredible and yet i'm invisible,
the way you hold your stares,
the way you tuck your hair behind your ears,
the way you bite your lip,
the way your beauty is pure,
the way you stutter as if you're unsure,
as if you can't see how perfect,
in my eyes you are too me,
i just wished you'd notice that i'm the angel who'd give up her wings to be your anything,
if that's what you needed from me,
you're beautiful
you're so **** dead set beautiful and nobody compares to you
~d.a
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 5:59 AM UTC
Unstable rabble
ill in mind, body and soul
unfulfilled and desperately unhappy
fearful always, insecure, lacking and inadequate
skeletons in cupboards, shaming secrets hidden aplenty
false, fake, white-washed and all semblance soulless nonentities
vacuous sad pathetic weak and academically challenged majority
ignorant belligerent bellicose cowards, drunkards n mob shysters
rise, rise. rise
jump, jump. jump
do the twist n put the boot in
stand up and bellow
you can't loose your chains
your self loathing is too great
your shame and pains hurt all the time
you are reminded of your insignificance always
your helplessness and your weaknesses shames you
you always have to fake it, scrape, beg, borrow and steal
the aggrieved spectators as talents, wealth and the ritzy drive past
rise, rise, rise
jump, jump, jump
do the locomotion and spread the ****
scream and shout
hurl slander and lies
fight like cowards and bully
get badass and wicked and mean
get ****** angry and get ****** even
leave your bacon butties and fry the greedy pigs
forget your chips and come chip the brains of the tyrants hogs
put down those pints and lets keep this momentum of hate alive so
rise, rise, rise
jump, jump, jump
do the stoning and lets move like Jagger
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 3:47 AM UTC
This pumice really rubs me the wrong way.
Matadors moisturize with oil of ole.
Heidegger has moves like Jagger.
Any critic - Jaeger; Typhoid Mary - plaguer.
Who's the top chef that goes derpa derp derp?
Wyatt Earp.
I'll drain the swamp like Dagobah's.
A Clovis Person. Legolas.
The nipple's best on chicken breast.
Pin that on your Pinterest. To show all the dispossesed.
Witness Godwin's Law at work:
****** you're a ****
Pick up the phone and call Cthulu.
Get hung up on by Shaka Zulu.
Chalupa mis huevos, says the chihuahua.
Hey Tarzan. Ungawa.
Jesus walked across Titicaca.
Crane thinks the Bridge is over.
Biddy bah bah.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 12:43 AM UTC
He knows he will never be smart enough
To do much more than lift heavy things
He is eighteen and struggles to read
And walks like the earth wants to stand him still
And always smiles Jagger lipped and crooked tooth
Regardless of the reason
He just likes to smile
And knowing all of this about himself doesn’t stop him from trying
Everything was born with the desire to be better
Haven’t you heard of squirrels trying to grow wings?
They can be seen gliding between trees with the hope of a true takeoff
Or birds that prayed to be human?
Birds that live as long as we do
And then they learned to speak
Or small brightly colored frogs that wanted to be as strong as giants
So they made their own skin poison
And other creatures learned to fear their beauty
He is afraid of his own reflection
Once threw a television through a window
While watching the reality show COPS
He watched a police officer be mean to a woman for no reason
I found him after the crash
Staring at the broken glass saying
“People aren’t supposed to do that to other people”
He knows he doesn’t know much
And is confused when everyone isn’t nice
He knows
You can keep a loaded gun and still trust everyone
If
Keep it in your heart
And
Use is to fire off adrenalin when you need to be fearless
He knows he is going to feel like a real man some day
Despite his everything
Nothing’s going to stop him from trying
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 4:34 AM UTC
I would be in heaven,
if I have the style of David Niven.
Or the voice of George Sanders.
I would be in heaven,
if I had the comedic style of Benny Hill.
It would be a delight.
It would be a thrill.
To have the qualities of these Englishmen.
I been in heaven,
if I could play the guitar of Eric Clapton.
Or the theatric of **** Jagger.
Say, what you want?
He knows how to thrill a crowd.
Not once, will you not see them going wild.
Even the gent Peter O' Toole was the best of the cool.
Same, with the great actor Michael Caine.
And it never could be a hurting to not be Richard Burton.
Who had style and grace?
Dalton, Moore and Connery, all contributed a personal style to James Bond.
And , even this man named Daniel Craig.
Not to over look Pierce Bronsnan.
It's something about the guys of the United Kingdom.
We see coolness even in Prince Charles.
Whom probably learn this from his lovely mom.
Notice, the way ladie admires Hugh Jackman.
Only, if I had these gents accent.
I probably could try to fake it.
Except, who woud I be fooling?
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 11:17 AM UTC
Turn the "M" sideways.
Marshal Mathers
Marilyn Monroe
Marilyn Manson
Matthew McConaughey
Meghan Markle
Mac Miller
Melissa McCarthy
Mads Mikkelsen
Mandy Moore
Max Minghella
Malcom McDowell
M.J (M) 13+(J) 10 = 23 (two threes) 33
Michael Jordan
Michael Jackson
Michael Johnson
Magic Johnson
**** Jagger
Marc Jacobs
Milla Jovovich
Montel Jordan
C.C (C) 3+(C) 3 = (Two Threes)
Chevy Chase
Cindy Crawford
Chelsea Clinton
Courtney ***
Chris Cornel
Christopher Columbus
Charlie Chaplin
Camila Cabello
Chris Cuomo
Chuck Connors
B.C or C.B (B) 2+(C) 3 = (Two Threes)
Bill Clinton
Bill Cosby
Bradley Cooper
Benedict Cumberbatch
Billy Crystal
Ben Carson
Chadwick Boseman
Christian Bale
Chris Brown
Charles Bronson
Chris Benoit
Companies Hiding Evil Numbers
BBC=223 Skull and bones 322 (biblical) just Google 322 bible. They are trying to become God's. Eat from the tree of life and live forever. What do you think that means?
WWE Flip the letters around and you get 333. For 33.3
CNN logo is CW for 33 (C)3 + (W) flipped is a 3
F.O.X in the hebrew alphabet is 666
Sep 28, 2021
Sep 28, 2021 at 5:51 AM UTC