Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Words
"knack" poems
We all want to Support stopping racism, because we sent black and white men to die in war together, before we could be educated together, The end gender inequality, Because women can't where cloths, and feel safe, walking down a street alone, with out feeling were going to get ***** Same or different *** relationships, Because the way you love your significant other, wouldn't be the same if they changed there gender to the other? Transgender rights, Because there a man everywhere else but in there pants, And men don't get cervical cancers, So yes legally changing my gender won't help me if i need a treatment only a lady would get, and this goes vice a versa, But I shouldn't have to worry about any other pains, except the possibility of one in my unwanted **** **** victims, including males, Yes you, Feminist views, Please just Stop over looking, Men go though it too. And we all may know men may be the main cause, Women have just as much play, No human, Wants an unwanted Violation, to come into any contact with them so personally, See all these things, we want to stop, and they need to, but, When u last walked down the street, what stranger did your Arrogant eyes peek? they saw someone, and you though they were, too fat, too small, too tall, a **** needs to button up, he used to pop pills, now he cant pay his bills, and there's so many I'm leaving out, like what they thought about you, so you see, each of these little groups, we just pass each other on the street, even when we didn't even meet, it's human nature, our natural order, to insult each other, some just get the really blunt edge. maybe we should change how we think and act, before we go wishing for things out of our knack's.
0
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
GodDamnItCat
Change is not a possibility, its only a dream.
We all want to Support stopping racism, because we sent black and white men to die in war together, before we could be educated together, The end gender inequality, Because women can't where cloths, and feel safe, walking down a street alone, with out feeling were going to get ***** Same or different *** relationships, Because the way you love your significant other, wouldn't be the same if they changed there gender to the other? Transgender rights, Because there a man everywhere else but in there pants, And men don't get cervical cancers, So yes legally changing my gender won't help me if i need a treatment only a lady would get, and this goes vice a versa, But I shouldn't have to worry about any other pains, except the possibility of one in my unwanted **** **** victims, including males, Yes you, Feminist views, Please just Stop over looking, Men go though it too. And we all may know men may be the main cause, Women have just as much play, No human, Wants an unwanted Violation, to come into any contact with them so personally, See all these things, we want to stop, and they need to, but, When u last walked down the street, what stranger did your Arrogant eyes peek? they saw someone, and you though they were, too fat, too small, too tall, a **** needs to button up, he used to pop pills, now he cant pay his bills, and there's so many I'm leaving out, like what they thought about you, so you see, each of these little groups, we just pass each other on the street, even when we didn't even meet, it's human nature, our natural order, to insult each other, some just get the really blunt edge. maybe we should change how we think and act, before we go wishing for things out of our knack's.
Continue reading...
57
1995 saw the start of Generation Z, the ‘iKids’ with a knack for this new-fangled technology, Millennial 2.0, caught in the limbo of the World Wide Web development and Rose Gold iPhones. They say we’re adaptable, but apparently we can’t make our own decisions about anything. They say that we don’t care about anything except for our tiny little screens, but they forget who put them in our hands, and they forget who they run to for help when they forget how to troubleshoot. They forget what kind of technology we need to keep sustaining life in the Information Age, Caught in a crossfire because Yeah, we’re 90s kids—but the 90s never really actually ended until 2006, the only difference between two decades being how much neon versus how much chrome, and just how expensive accidentally opening the internet app on your mom’s blackberry phone was. We’re nostalgic for all the things we can’t quite remember, and half these high schoolers weren’t actually born until 2000 or 2001. Most of us aren’t old enough to even remember 9/11, nothing outside of the news clips that our teachers show us in history class every single September. I was born in the same year as the Columbine shootings. The United States has not been at peace for a year of my life. We are always fighting— fighting for everything. Human equality, posing arguments about micro aggressions and refugees, seeing the inhumanity in the past that we’re living. None of us are older than 21, under such hard scrutiny while Baby Boomers Wave 2 still run our country. We inherited the Millenial’s exhaustion, the generation before us spending our childhood fighting for all the things that we have never really believed in. Fairytales. Generation Z. The ‘iKids’ who are going to one day be making leaps and bounds with technology, the generation to nurse this dying planet back to health, Millennials 2.0 who know how to learn from our forerunners’ mistakes, who know how to adapt from Sidekicks to iPhone 6S Plus in less than a decade. We’re the kids who have realized that fun is found in safe spaces rather than invading each other’s personal spaces. They say we’re too sensitive, but at the same time they claim that we’re desensitized. And I thought we were the generation that couldn't make decisions.
0
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
hutchinson
generation Z
1995 saw the start of Generation Z, the ‘iKids’ with a knack for this new-fangled technology, Millennial 2.0, caught in the limbo of the World Wide Web development and Rose Gold iPhones. They say we’re adaptable, but apparently we can’t make our own decisions about anything. They say that we don’t care about anything except for our tiny little screens, but they forget who put them in our hands, and they forget who they run to for help when they forget how to troubleshoot. They forget what kind of technology we need to keep sustaining life in the Information Age, Caught in a crossfire because Yeah, we’re 90s kids—but the 90s never really actually ended until 2006, the only difference between two decades being how much neon versus how much chrome, and just how expensive accidentally opening the internet app on your mom’s blackberry phone was. We’re nostalgic for all the things we can’t quite remember, and half these high schoolers weren’t actually born until 2000 or 2001. Most of us aren’t old enough to even remember 9/11, nothing outside of the news clips that our teachers show us in history class every single September. I was born in the same year as the Columbine shootings. The United States has not been at peace for a year of my life. We are always fighting— fighting for everything. Human equality, posing arguments about micro aggressions and refugees, seeing the inhumanity in the past that we’re living. None of us are older than 21, under such hard scrutiny while Baby Boomers Wave 2 still run our country. We inherited the Millenial’s exhaustion, the generation before us spending our childhood fighting for all the things that we have never really believed in. Fairytales. Generation Z. The ‘iKids’ who are going to one day be making leaps and bounds with technology, the generation to nurse this dying planet back to health, Millennials 2.0 who know how to learn from our forerunners’ mistakes, who know how to adapt from Sidekicks to iPhone 6S Plus in less than a decade. We’re the kids who have realized that fun is found in safe spaces rather than invading each other’s personal spaces. They say we’re too sensitive, but at the same time they claim that we’re desensitized. And I thought we were the generation that couldn't make decisions.
Continue reading...
39
When it rains here once again I remember the time we clenched hands that monsoon. And we trailed down that railway track on a cloudy noon We weren't alone did you know? In a place unknown to fog and snow The weather had lost its temper The train had been blinded enough to lose track. Who doesn't know it's all a knack! Derailed, they say. Before the next I wish they simply care These are not mere accidents you bare, But testimonies you claim on a paid fare. Indian Railways or any other for that matter I say, When they pass the word 'happy journey' We simply wish it's not our last. When it rains once again here, I remember the time we clenched hands that monsoon. And I wailed down the railway track on that tragic day, I do not understand which side to stake. Or wish for summer once again in my life Or curse the rails, frames and journeys that shatter. Shatter! Solely due to human hands that fell short, short to value the lives that derail.
0
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
Sharonteresa
Derail
When it rains here once again I remember the time we clenched hands that monsoon. And we trailed down that railway track on a cloudy noon We weren't alone did you know? In a place unknown to fog and snow The weather had lost its temper The train had been blinded enough to lose track. Who doesn't know it's all a knack! Derailed, they say. Before the next I wish they simply care These are not mere accidents you bare, But testimonies you claim on a paid fare. Indian Railways or any other for that matter I say, When they pass the word 'happy journey' We simply wish it's not our last. When it rains once again here, I remember the time we clenched hands that monsoon. And I wailed down the railway track on that tragic day, I do not understand which side to stake. Or wish for summer once again in my life Or curse the rails, frames and journeys that shatter. Shatter! Solely due to human hands that fell short, short to value the lives that derail.
Continue reading...
23
From the BBC today, Excerpt Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies? "It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master. Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song." That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope. But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody. Excerpt Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech. "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." Rebuttal Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands. ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG. Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity. Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion. One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state. It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE. If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses. If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine. You are not an artist. You are an employee. "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ                                            BECOME                               EVERYONE ON EARTH                ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG                       HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS             NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE                                          HOW BAD                                       artist? or employee?
0
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
david-john-mowers
Article: Taylor Swift and why rhyme sells,
From the BBC today, Excerpt Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies? "It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master. Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song." That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope. But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody. Excerpt Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech. "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." Rebuttal Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands. ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG. Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity. Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion. One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state. It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE. If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses. If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine. You are not an artist. You are an employee. "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ                                            BECOME                               EVERYONE ON EARTH                ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG                       HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS             NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE                                          HOW BAD                                       artist? or employee?
Continue reading...
36
I start to answer her question, She seems taken aback. I rattle off my list. “Witty comments, An easy found laughter… I like competitiveness That’s wraps itself around playfulness, Like I want to wrap myself around His big found epiphanies. Symphony of intellectual connecting’s and Good intuition. A quick reaction time, helping you step away Before **** has had time to hit the fan. Eagerness to help other human beings… Taking advantages of opportunities instead of people Charisma that is unselfish in its tendency to be noticed. Awareness of one’s self. a knack for insightful observing.” These a list of things I find attractive But yes he also has a nice jaw line It traces lovely underneath a finger tip But it’s a faraway line on a map That has eloquently plotted out his most beautiful parts It’s faded and dim in comparison to the additional obvious existing’s It is so far from those parts of him I find to be most beautiful That I hardly understand how out of all of it That was the only thing you really responded to. The only part of the map you related enough to To point to and say I have been there.
0
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
Rage
Friendship should find
I start to answer her question, She seems taken aback. I rattle off my list. “Witty comments, An easy found laughter… I like competitiveness That’s wraps itself around playfulness, Like I want to wrap myself around His big found epiphanies. Symphony of intellectual connecting’s and Good intuition. A quick reaction time, helping you step away Before **** has had time to hit the fan. Eagerness to help other human beings… Taking advantages of opportunities instead of people Charisma that is unselfish in its tendency to be noticed. Awareness of one’s self. a knack for insightful observing.” These a list of things I find attractive But yes he also has a nice jaw line It traces lovely underneath a finger tip But it’s a faraway line on a map That has eloquently plotted out his most beautiful parts It’s faded and dim in comparison to the additional obvious existing’s It is so far from those parts of him I find to be most beautiful That I hardly understand how out of all of it That was the only thing you really responded to. The only part of the map you related enough to To point to and say I have been there.
Continue reading...
29
Shrek is wreck Wreck is deck Deck is beck Black rack In the back Of the knick-knack Zipppity bow How is how? In the luau I only eat lard Poems are hard cancer
0
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
vladmir-putin
Shrek is Wreck
Shrek is wreck Wreck is deck Deck is beck Black rack In the back Of the knick-knack Zipppity bow How is how? In the luau I only eat lard Poems are hard cancer
Continue reading...
12
Id love a big fat **** Or a wrinkled up old bag An ugly looking hag Who wants a ******* **** If I had a big fat ***** with a big fat bucket I'd lay between her fleshy thighs, and definitely **** it My thrusting **** inside her **** is where I'd like to tuck it Spunking up would be sublime, when I lick and **** it When your about to **** the fat, it takes a certain knack Stuffed up fishy **** ***** or **** ******* round the back A nice piece of chunky **** with a big long sweaty crack Fatty *** holes make you hard ,my **** would not be slack I would ride a big large Gal, just like a waterbed Bathroom ******* would be fun, as well as in the shed Spunking up between her legs, cream cheese would then be spread When both holes are full of *** she can **** my **** instead And after I have finished, with all of those fat ******* Something different I would want, maybe some old wrinkled witches All wearing apple gatherers, and big large ******* britches Older ***** long overdue, scratching long lost itches A lot of fun I could have, in an old folks place Disrobed willing grannies ***** stuffed right in my face At least eight bits of gristle ****** a display of my disgrace With each granny ****** in turn, if they can stand the pace As I lift their skirts up their knickers I would sniff I'm hoping that old fannies good, and they don't smell or whiff The smell of old used granny **** is probably just a myth But I won't let it bother me, as long as I get stiff I wouldn't even care, if they wore crap NHS glasses As long as I could **** and *** inside there wrinkled arses I would **** them old ****** , all from different classes Some of them in wheelchairs and some with heart bypasses. It's irrelevant how fat you are, I really do not mind As long as you are willing, and your pussy's wet and kind And if you like it up the **** then I'm that way inclined ******* ***** is quite fine, so is ******** from behind So come on girls fat or old, all slags are a possibility Your sexuality can flood out, there's no need for negativity I'm willing to **** who comes along, to the best of my ability Just make sure that I stay stiff, and maintain my agility
0
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 5:44 AM UTC
kirk
Fat Slags And Old Bags *** Again - 2018
Id love a big fat **** Or a wrinkled up old bag An ugly looking hag Who wants a ******* **** If I had a big fat ***** with a big fat bucket I'd lay between her fleshy thighs, and definitely **** it My thrusting **** inside her **** is where I'd like to tuck it Spunking up would be sublime, when I lick and **** it When your about to **** the fat, it takes a certain knack Stuffed up fishy **** ***** or **** ******* round the back A nice piece of chunky **** with a big long sweaty crack Fatty *** holes make you hard ,my **** would not be slack I would ride a big large Gal, just like a waterbed Bathroom ******* would be fun, as well as in the shed Spunking up between her legs, cream cheese would then be spread When both holes are full of *** she can **** my **** instead And after I have finished, with all of those fat ******* Something different I would want, maybe some old wrinkled witches All wearing apple gatherers, and big large ******* britches Older ***** long overdue, scratching long lost itches A lot of fun I could have, in an old folks place Disrobed willing grannies ***** stuffed right in my face At least eight bits of gristle ****** a display of my disgrace With each granny ****** in turn, if they can stand the pace As I lift their skirts up their knickers I would sniff I'm hoping that old fannies good, and they don't smell or whiff The smell of old used granny **** is probably just a myth But I won't let it bother me, as long as I get stiff I wouldn't even care, if they wore crap NHS glasses As long as I could **** and *** inside there wrinkled arses I would **** them old ****** , all from different classes Some of them in wheelchairs and some with heart bypasses. It's irrelevant how fat you are, I really do not mind As long as you are willing, and your pussy's wet and kind And if you like it up the **** then I'm that way inclined ******* ***** is quite fine, so is ******** from behind So come on girls fat or old, all slags are a possibility Your sexuality can flood out, there's no need for negativity I'm willing to **** who comes along, to the best of my ability Just make sure that I stay stiff, and maintain my agility
Continue reading...
40
I try to forget and just walk away But I am left wondering if she is ok When I am at the gym or in work I am talking to people when all of a sudden I stare into space All this pain and loneliness I must face I start a conversation and then I hear her voice Suddenly I stop and stare at my phone I want to call because I feel so alone Her voice is all I hear I sit and wonder ......and wonder if she is near How could it be her voice is so clear It is my head but how can it be She is miles away can't you see I can't believe her voice is in my head Should I not be holding her instead The only way they (the voices) will get out of my head If I let go....... But how do I  let go of the love of my life Why did I I do it cause all of this strife At night as I lay alone in my bed I watch our programs we used to watch...... and all of a sudden I hear her wise crack.... That is her for she had the knack I don't want to but I must try forget her and move on Stand up on my feet and accept that she's gone.
0
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
TWALLACE726
Her voice is in my head
I try to forget and just walk away But I am left wondering if she is ok When I am at the gym or in work I am talking to people when all of a sudden I stare into space All this pain and loneliness I must face I start a conversation and then I hear her voice Suddenly I stop and stare at my phone I want to call because I feel so alone Her voice is all I hear I sit and wonder ......and wonder if she is near How could it be her voice is so clear It is my head but how can it be She is miles away can't you see I can't believe her voice is in my head Should I not be holding her instead The only way they (the voices) will get out of my head If I let go....... But how do I  let go of the love of my life Why did I I do it cause all of this strife At night as I lay alone in my bed I watch our programs we used to watch...... and all of a sudden I hear her wise crack.... That is her for she had the knack I don't want to but I must try forget her and move on Stand up on my feet and accept that she's gone.
Continue reading...
24
A chance All that I ask for is a chance A chance to meet and not divide We’ve played this game, Time and again And throughout it all we still remained friends But to write off someone based on what _you_ lack Is a sorry thing that you have a knack Of repeating again and again. I’m not begging for you to be chummy ole pals Only I plead for you to meet without a judgmental scowl. Though a childish endeavor I know it to be, For once I just wish You could see what I see. With out the taint of jealousy.
0
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 3:17 AM UTC
iska
Childish Chance
A chance All that I ask for is a chance A chance to meet and not divide We’ve played this game, Time and again And throughout it all we still remained friends But to write off someone based on what _you_ lack Is a sorry thing that you have a knack Of repeating again and again. I’m not begging for you to be chummy ole pals Only I plead for you to meet without a judgmental scowl. Though a childish endeavor I know it to be, For once I just wish You could see what I see. With out the taint of jealousy.
Continue reading...
21
P-Postponing all those things until another time R-Rostering them for attention down the track O-Offering all sorts of excuses stalls one's climb C-Constantly one defers the mounting job stack R-Repeatedly ignoring their pealing bell chimes A-Acting upon them requires an assertive knack S-Still one avers in responding to their rhymes T-Taking not a step forward nor any back I-Initiative and get in and do it isn't one's paradigm N-Never does one heed their ever tolling clacks A-Always sitting in an idle non moving show time T-The day shall arrive with a great waking whack I-Into motion one shall soon be called to climb O-On one's toes the chores are waiting in the rack N-No more disregarding the many sounding chimes
0
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
ElizabethSquires
Procrastination (Acrostic Poem)
P-Postponing all those things until another time R-Rostering them for attention down the track O-Offering all sorts of excuses stalls one's climb C-Constantly one defers the mounting job stack R-Repeatedly ignoring their pealing bell chimes A-Acting upon them requires an assertive knack S-Still one avers in responding to their rhymes T-Taking not a step forward nor any back I-Initiative and get in and do it isn't one's paradigm N-Never does one heed their ever tolling clacks A-Always sitting in an idle non moving show time T-The day shall arrive with a great waking whack I-Into motion one shall soon be called to climb O-On one's toes the chores are waiting in the rack N-No more disregarding the many sounding chimes
Continue reading...
15
The lawyers, Bob, know too much. They are chums of the books of old John Marshall. They know it all, what a dead hand wrote, A stiff dead hand and its knuckles crumbling, The bones of the fingers a thin white ash. The lawyers know a dead man's thought too well. In the heels of the higgling lawyers, Bob, Too many slippery ifs and buts and howevers, Too much hereinbefore provided whereas, Too many doors to go in and out of. When the lawyers are through What is there left, Bob? Can a mouse nibble at it And find enough to fasten a tooth in? Why is there always a secret singing When a lawyer cashes in? Why does a hearse horse snicker Hauling a lawyer away? The work of a bricklayer goes to the blue. The knack of a mason outlasts a moon. The hands of a plasterer hold a room together. The land of a farmer wishes him back again. Singers of songs and dreamers of plays Build a house no wind blows over. The lawyers--tell me why a hearse horse snickers hauling a lawyer's bones.
0
5.6k
Carl Sandburg
The Lawyers Know Too Much
The lawyers, Bob, know too much. They are chums of the books of old John Marshall. They know it all, what a dead hand wrote, A stiff dead hand and its knuckles crumbling, The bones of the fingers a thin white ash. The lawyers know a dead man's thought too well. In the heels of the higgling lawyers, Bob, Too many slippery ifs and buts and howevers, Too much hereinbefore provided whereas, Too many doors to go in and out of. When the lawyers are through What is there left, Bob? Can a mouse nibble at it And find enough to fasten a tooth in? Why is there always a secret singing When a lawyer cashes in? Why does a hearse horse snicker Hauling a lawyer away? The work of a bricklayer goes to the blue. The knack of a mason outlasts a moon. The hands of a plasterer hold a room together. The land of a farmer wishes him back again. Singers of songs and dreamers of plays Build a house no wind blows over. The lawyers--tell me why a hearse horse snickers hauling a lawyer's bones.
Continue reading...
27
Knick Knack, Patty whacks Give away a soul This old man just paid his toll.
0
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
maka22alburn33
Soul Eater
Knick Knack, Patty whacks Give away a soul This old man just paid his toll.
Continue reading...
3
i'm going to die here, i know i will, they change their scope of helping me, every time i slide farther down the hill, "you can have this pill at a certain time," "NO! Wait! We've changed our mind," "you can have it at this new time, how kind!" "just make sure there's someone on who can tell the time.." and if i lay here waiting, for what i may or may not get, my hands will slowly tremble and my mind so deeply frets, all alone in this wrinkled bed clothes, no one sees me yet, but now the nurses have come to me with a little more regret: "the doctor says you'll now have to wait 7 more hours for relief, it seems he doesn't like being awaken at nighttime when he sleeps." so, i get to feel my tears build up behind my bloodshot eyes, no one is here at all to help me understand just why. you should see me now alone trying so hard now not to cry, all i feel is stunned, cold shock and this feeling that i will die --i'm going to die here, bit by bit, inside out and all alone, i don't know what to do or say, or how to make last atone, for all i've done in my life, that has brought me to this place, to compose this death-wish poem to read as tear-drops paint my face. but, for now with nothing else left to do in my hospice room, i do the last thing that i can do the best, just write and wait for doom. is there anyone out there? help, help, help me, i beg and try to plead! will anyone please come here, hold and hug me in my need? i'm  going to die here, and i'll be all by myself, left alone like a broken knick-knack on a dusty shelf. ___________
0
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
d-conors
i'm going to die here
i'm going to die here, i know i will, they change their scope of helping me, every time i slide farther down the hill, "you can have this pill at a certain time," "NO! Wait! We've changed our mind," "you can have it at this new time, how kind!" "just make sure there's someone on who can tell the time.." and if i lay here waiting, for what i may or may not get, my hands will slowly tremble and my mind so deeply frets, all alone in this wrinkled bed clothes, no one sees me yet, but now the nurses have come to me with a little more regret: "the doctor says you'll now have to wait 7 more hours for relief, it seems he doesn't like being awaken at nighttime when he sleeps." so, i get to feel my tears build up behind my bloodshot eyes, no one is here at all to help me understand just why. you should see me now alone trying so hard now not to cry, all i feel is stunned, cold shock and this feeling that i will die --i'm going to die here, bit by bit, inside out and all alone, i don't know what to do or say, or how to make last atone, for all i've done in my life, that has brought me to this place, to compose this death-wish poem to read as tear-drops paint my face. but, for now with nothing else left to do in my hospice room, i do the last thing that i can do the best, just write and wait for doom. is there anyone out there? help, help, help me, i beg and try to plead! will anyone please come here, hold and hug me in my need? i'm  going to die here, and i'll be all by myself, left alone like a broken knick-knack on a dusty shelf. ___________
Continue reading...
32
“The executioner’s face is always well hidden” a Bob Dylan lyric <> mine own “ex,” in chest encased, silent, with grimacing smile, happy to be of sir-vice, sent home unhappy, cause his cut, not quite deep enough this time, though nearly succeeded, but his biz is an-all-or-none inclusive Swifty tour, disillusioned, he don’t get paid unless he brings my punched ticket to a glorious sadness conclusion someone asked (axed in local accent) if I’m nearer my god having survived despite my best efforts at self destruction, to which I’m smiling when uttering a “heartfelt prayer” of Hell No! cause the channel always been open and either side can initiate when so desired, the gates of love always open, so wasn’t surprised when playing with my matches, he went silent, but knew fully well, Mr. G a risk taker, put his roulette chips on a “basket bet,” (1) needing a double 00, to collect, because, shoot, the timing was good… Me? ain’t naive enough to hope that a prayerful request would not be met with a “now you want some intercession?” and a heavenly sneer, cause we always been perfectly clear, with each other, ask and you won’t receive, and none of that what have you done for me lately razzamatazz, nah, the record impurities gray and no pencil erasures allowed… knowing that the executioner will be back’ round someday, my wounded heart too tempting to pass up twice, and that’s ok, this old man learned to live with a not entirely pleasant uncertainty, *”This old man, he played one,
 He played knick-knack on my thumb;
 With a knick-knack paddywhack,
 Give the dog a bone,
 This old man came rolling home.”* but he didn’t play two, having no kazoo!
0
Sep 5, 2023
Sep 5, 2023 at 12:24 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
“The executioner’s face is always well hidden”
“The executioner’s face is always well hidden” a Bob Dylan lyric <> mine own “ex,” in chest encased, silent, with grimacing smile, happy to be of sir-vice, sent home unhappy, cause his cut, not quite deep enough this time, though nearly succeeded, but his biz is an-all-or-none inclusive Swifty tour, disillusioned, he don’t get paid unless he brings my punched ticket to a glorious sadness conclusion someone asked (axed in local accent) if I’m nearer my god having survived despite my best efforts at self destruction, to which I’m smiling when uttering a “heartfelt prayer” of Hell No! cause the channel always been open and either side can initiate when so desired, the gates of love always open, so wasn’t surprised when playing with my matches, he went silent, but knew fully well, Mr. G a risk taker, put his roulette chips on a “basket bet,” (1) needing a double 00, to collect, because, shoot, the timing was good… Me? ain’t naive enough to hope that a prayerful request would not be met with a “now you want some intercession?” and a heavenly sneer, cause we always been perfectly clear, with each other, ask and you won’t receive, and none of that what have you done for me lately razzamatazz, nah, the record impurities gray and no pencil erasures allowed… knowing that the executioner will be back’ round someday, my wounded heart too tempting to pass up twice, and that’s ok, this old man learned to live with a not entirely pleasant uncertainty, *”This old man, he played one,
 He played knick-knack on my thumb;
 With a knick-knack paddywhack,
 Give the dog a bone,
 This old man came rolling home.”* but he didn’t play two, having no kazoo!
Continue reading...
39
I would remember half dunk, half remorseful that you would hold my hand a certain way it would stain my heart that knack you had for holding me so far from you and then i would have died just for that touch like a man seeking glory I would regret in those twilight hours the times i told you how beautiful you looked with your ugly heart and faceless brow and forced smile and the knack you had for me to willingly unwind myself for you to ravel back to-get-her I would like to think my lips made an indelible print on your forehead and tore through your broken mind thoughts borne and torn through deadly actions you learnt from other soldiers demented from the ache of the heart I would pray to sleep alone without the imprint of you echoing around the house your words like compliments spat at me like posion darts of deceit which lay at my door for it was my fault you couldn't let it all go I would take back my sorry's and my fighters stance my bulletproof face that stood in front of your glass house and watched your life implodel and i scraped my fingers through the wreckage in the hope you weren't hurt I would I could I should I had I did I came I left I remember
0
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
rachael-stainthorpe
Past participles of an irregular verb
I would remember half dunk, half remorseful that you would hold my hand a certain way it would stain my heart that knack you had for holding me so far from you and then i would have died just for that touch like a man seeking glory I would regret in those twilight hours the times i told you how beautiful you looked with your ugly heart and faceless brow and forced smile and the knack you had for me to willingly unwind myself for you to ravel back to-get-her I would like to think my lips made an indelible print on your forehead and tore through your broken mind thoughts borne and torn through deadly actions you learnt from other soldiers demented from the ache of the heart I would pray to sleep alone without the imprint of you echoing around the house your words like compliments spat at me like posion darts of deceit which lay at my door for it was my fault you couldn't let it all go I would take back my sorry's and my fighters stance my bulletproof face that stood in front of your glass house and watched your life implodel and i scraped my fingers through the wreckage in the hope you weren't hurt I would I could I should I had I did I came I left I remember
Continue reading...
42
Boredom #2 I’ve never seen so many synonyms for one small noun, Blocking maturation and enjoy-dom: Boredom. “Weariness, ennui: frustration; Restlessness, dissatisfaction, unconcern: frustration; Lethargy, lassitude, flatness and frustration; Dreariness, repetitiveness, apathy: frustration; Tedium, monotony, dullness. yes, frustration.” Can it be overcome, this boredom? No more war - the boredom won, Exchanged for something more like fun? It can. A friend who, when we speak, says, “It’s a part of nature…has no answer...” Reasoning fallacious, She is wrong as wrong can be And her reasoning a fallacy. Awake at night: hormones, full moons; The glut of light: electric gadgets and devices, Radios that play a song too strong, too long.. A trick I’ve learned that’s brought results; A knack, a shortcut worth consulting Is to train the brain to focus on/in/with the brain; Travel round in, sense and feel… Make it real – as if you really feel The part you aim at, frame then tame. In seconds you’ve an object that’s becomes a subject. Boredom fled, you freed, You and your mood well pleased, released And taken places least expected, Un-objected to by you, The burden boredom’s through. And doomed! Boredom 11.24.2016/ #2 revised 2..16.2017 Revelations Big & Small; Definitely Didactic; Arlene Corwin
0
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 6:30 AM UTC
arlene-corwin
Boredom #2
Boredom #2 I’ve never seen so many synonyms for one small noun, Blocking maturation and enjoy-dom: Boredom. “Weariness, ennui: frustration; Restlessness, dissatisfaction, unconcern: frustration; Lethargy, lassitude, flatness and frustration; Dreariness, repetitiveness, apathy: frustration; Tedium, monotony, dullness. yes, frustration.” Can it be overcome, this boredom? No more war - the boredom won, Exchanged for something more like fun? It can. A friend who, when we speak, says, “It’s a part of nature…has no answer...” Reasoning fallacious, She is wrong as wrong can be And her reasoning a fallacy. Awake at night: hormones, full moons; The glut of light: electric gadgets and devices, Radios that play a song too strong, too long.. A trick I’ve learned that’s brought results; A knack, a shortcut worth consulting Is to train the brain to focus on/in/with the brain; Travel round in, sense and feel… Make it real – as if you really feel The part you aim at, frame then tame. In seconds you’ve an object that’s becomes a subject. Boredom fled, you freed, You and your mood well pleased, released And taken places least expected, Un-objected to by you, The burden boredom’s through. And doomed! Boredom 11.24.2016/ #2 revised 2..16.2017 Revelations Big & Small; Definitely Didactic; Arlene Corwin
Continue reading...
37
The cats sleep on the rooftops, an ambient beat from the shower radio comes tone-deaf through the open window, replacing the hum of lawn mowers that had been harmonising all Sunday afternoon. We buried one in the garden, an overlooked shrine within the deep grass, child-like magic markers  with a simple turn of phrase; yet all I can think about as I look over her grave are how the beetles are nesting in her brain. I lost the knack for sympathy, ever since they medicated my drink and told me I was their patient. I lost the will for empathy, ever since I tried to hang myself and still they told me to be patient.
0
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
Edward-Coles
Four Months At Home
The cats sleep on the rooftops, an ambient beat from the shower radio comes tone-deaf through the open window, replacing the hum of lawn mowers that had been harmonising all Sunday afternoon. We buried one in the garden, an overlooked shrine within the deep grass, child-like magic markers  with a simple turn of phrase; yet all I can think about as I look over her grave are how the beetles are nesting in her brain. I lost the knack for sympathy, ever since they medicated my drink and told me I was their patient. I lost the will for empathy, ever since I tried to hang myself and still they told me to be patient.
Continue reading...
18
Sometimes he was like f+ck it just went ahead and stuck em let em fall where they stood crack another bottle and brood hysterically on the ridiculous he had a meticulous knack for belittling the serious, berating feelings and imposing his will in a furious fashion. He liked knives and passion, and will cash in on your lashings. A vigilante, stealing antes to match the chips. The missing teeth of split lipped grinns bidding his amends to the dense. sent to cleanse, the fences on the perimeter. a distributor of disasters. contributor to the laughter in the stoical spleens of nerdy teens, always cheering for the away team. He was the benefactor of traction-less tractors rotting in the mud. He was a slacker, smothering the world in love. He was above all else, on drugs.
0
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC
Mikhael
The Vigilante
Sometimes he was like f+ck it just went ahead and stuck em let em fall where they stood crack another bottle and brood hysterically on the ridiculous he had a meticulous knack for belittling the serious, berating feelings and imposing his will in a furious fashion. He liked knives and passion, and will cash in on your lashings. A vigilante, stealing antes to match the chips. The missing teeth of split lipped grinns bidding his amends to the dense. sent to cleanse, the fences on the perimeter. a distributor of disasters. contributor to the laughter in the stoical spleens of nerdy teens, always cheering for the away team. He was the benefactor of traction-less tractors rotting in the mud. He was a slacker, smothering the world in love. He was above all else, on drugs.
Continue reading...
8
Intimidated by political thugs Prone to insert in one's mouth The nose of a loaded gun Or suspend a plastic bottle full of water On males' reproductive ***** Devoid of freedom of expression Also denied  to his right and Deplorable condition drawing attention Shunning his God chosen land, What is more a bright and warm country Under the sun ,a journalist dreaming began Fighting all odds between The deep blue sea and the angry Satan To migrate to a better place, Where for democracy Avowedly there is a better space, Inhabited by civilized people, Averse to discrimination based on race! Burning his boat, Crossing desserts, Crammed with other refugees, Packed with him in a boat Some trying  to reverse Their economic lot, Surfing uncharted waters Seeking a paradise on earth He headed to the country he sought Though some their lives At the hand of brutal traffickers lost Beaten and thrown out of the boat, Also at a port Suspected of a terrorist bent Many migrants to prisons were sent. After a humiliating acid test Why for a dreamland his country he left As migrants' bane They placed him at the foot Of an ice-clad mountain. “I will never see My country again, You are trying my patience in vain!" He vowed Despite the razor-sharp cold untold. Then they took him up higher An epitome to a cold fire! Once more He put his foot down Putting on more clothes and Changing attire. They placed him At the mountain's helm As hell dark Where the angel of death Is seen stark. Then in his head Something began to bark “*You rather choose the better evil If both your assailants and hosts Are no two different devil! *" Seeing first hand Those with cold shoulder Assylem seekers adore to attack Though there are Few not off humanity's track At last he decided to return back And under his country's sun bask Mum for his rights to ask Killing his journalistic knack!
0
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 9:18 AM UTC
alem-hailu-gkristos
The better evil
Intimidated by political thugs Prone to insert in one's mouth The nose of a loaded gun Or suspend a plastic bottle full of water On males' reproductive ***** Devoid of freedom of expression Also denied  to his right and Deplorable condition drawing attention Shunning his God chosen land, What is more a bright and warm country Under the sun ,a journalist dreaming began Fighting all odds between The deep blue sea and the angry Satan To migrate to a better place, Where for democracy Avowedly there is a better space, Inhabited by civilized people, Averse to discrimination based on race! Burning his boat, Crossing desserts, Crammed with other refugees, Packed with him in a boat Some trying  to reverse Their economic lot, Surfing uncharted waters Seeking a paradise on earth He headed to the country he sought Though some their lives At the hand of brutal traffickers lost Beaten and thrown out of the boat, Also at a port Suspected of a terrorist bent Many migrants to prisons were sent. After a humiliating acid test Why for a dreamland his country he left As migrants' bane They placed him at the foot Of an ice-clad mountain. “I will never see My country again, You are trying my patience in vain!" He vowed Despite the razor-sharp cold untold. Then they took him up higher An epitome to a cold fire! Once more He put his foot down Putting on more clothes and Changing attire. They placed him At the mountain's helm As hell dark Where the angel of death Is seen stark. Then in his head Something began to bark “*You rather choose the better evil If both your assailants and hosts Are no two different devil! *" Seeing first hand Those with cold shoulder Assylem seekers adore to attack Though there are Few not off humanity's track At last he decided to return back And under his country's sun bask Mum for his rights to ask Killing his journalistic knack!
Continue reading...
69
It was my best friend who asked me what I'd choose to be in my next incarnation. Honestly, she caught me completely off guard, intellectually dumbfounded by a prospect I'd never considered, nor felt I deserved. That night I wracked my brain searching for a suitable chakra from which to derive an answer. I know she believes everything is renewed, so, deferring to her convictions, I chose a jaguar, as suitable for my solitary way. She's always had a knack for surprising my existence, deflecting the metaphysical, steering for spiritual shores. I recognize this power she exudes, though she dismisses me. The jaguar I'm evolving divinely subsumes her virtues, is cognizant of the heroine from Mumbai ashrams. I'd like to tell you I hear rumblings in the sky, that there's a certain path beneath my feet, but my destiny eludes all outward signs, striving for that inner love that has no name.
0
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
brian-oarr
Ontology for a Nameless Tao
It was my best friend who asked me what I'd choose to be in my next incarnation. Honestly, she caught me completely off guard, intellectually dumbfounded by a prospect I'd never considered, nor felt I deserved. That night I wracked my brain searching for a suitable chakra from which to derive an answer. I know she believes everything is renewed, so, deferring to her convictions, I chose a jaguar, as suitable for my solitary way. She's always had a knack for surprising my existence, deflecting the metaphysical, steering for spiritual shores. I recognize this power she exudes, though she dismisses me. The jaguar I'm evolving divinely subsumes her virtues, is cognizant of the heroine from Mumbai ashrams. I'd like to tell you I hear rumblings in the sky, that there's a certain path beneath my feet, but my destiny eludes all outward signs, striving for that inner love that has no name.
Continue reading...
19
Not sure if this is finished or not... Heaven sent for the weakness of flesh a carpenter, teacher, came to live after death. A knack for wood-craft at first look it would seem but a knack for love and life creation beneath the skin is His real craft. Beneath the skin is your real craft. On the surface what most would see as a means to an end. Beneath the skin for someone their heart it could mend.
0
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 5:07 PM UTC
aiden-williams
Crafts of the Carpenter
Not sure if this is finished or not... Heaven sent for the weakness of flesh a carpenter, teacher, came to live after death. A knack for wood-craft at first look it would seem but a knack for love and life creation beneath the skin is His real craft. Beneath the skin is your real craft. On the surface what most would see as a means to an end. Beneath the skin for someone their heart it could mend.
Continue reading...
9
I almost died the other day And I came back to this place just to say That you never know when it all can get taken Away All your life's lessons suddenly play like a highschool production through your mind's electric grey clay, a mind managing to keep itself oxygenated enough to operate even as consciousness fades A body lying there, blue as a mid summer's day, gasping For breath, and for a chance to stay Alive. I woke up, having almost died the other day, To a room full of strange faces, whose eyes all aimed my way. A room full of strangers, My vision regaining clarity, I see equipment of many types, lying around a well decorated living room, it seemed out of place, devices dreamed up by engineers a few hundred miles away, At an elite institution, of mechanical engineering and science, engineering devices that now lay about my horrified friend's living room, Then the puzzle regained its shape, and I was graced with the understanding that it was all going to be okay, this time, anyway. the first responders, My saviours. Real heroes, Who wear no capes, Nor spandex, But who know their job well, And do it without delay, And these people who saved my life today Are out of my life now forever, and onto saving another fragile life, on some other street, On some other day. I saw people in blues, reds, and greys, yellows and oranges, and then the light of the day. The light of the day on which I did not die, But I could have, had it been another time, Another place. My stretcher was bright yellow, by the way... I almost died the other day, and its implacable oncoming rush scared me. The fear of not having lived a worthy life, an unobserved life, Of dying too soon, with things left to do Of leaving people behind, Of wrongs left to right Of lying here blue On my dear friend's plush carpet, And her child witnessing it as he comes home from school. Innocent as day, then scarred for life. Luckily I have a few friends and modern miracles on my side. I almost died the other day, and I came back here, having missed all the poetry, that makes life worth living, day after day. Beyond the biorhythms we must feed In order to stay Alive.    Peace.          Love. Breath.              Focus.                      A good enough mantra,                      Wouldn't you say? I almost died the other day, But I didn't. I breathe in with gratitude, And I exhale with relief, that I still got the knack for it.
0
Dec 9, 2022
Dec 9, 2022 at 10:52 AM UTC
JAMSchmitt
I Almost Died the Other Day
I almost died the other day And I came back to this place just to say That you never know when it all can get taken Away All your life's lessons suddenly play like a highschool production through your mind's electric grey clay, a mind managing to keep itself oxygenated enough to operate even as consciousness fades A body lying there, blue as a mid summer's day, gasping For breath, and for a chance to stay Alive. I woke up, having almost died the other day, To a room full of strange faces, whose eyes all aimed my way. A room full of strangers, My vision regaining clarity, I see equipment of many types, lying around a well decorated living room, it seemed out of place, devices dreamed up by engineers a few hundred miles away, At an elite institution, of mechanical engineering and science, engineering devices that now lay about my horrified friend's living room, Then the puzzle regained its shape, and I was graced with the understanding that it was all going to be okay, this time, anyway. the first responders, My saviours. Real heroes, Who wear no capes, Nor spandex, But who know their job well, And do it without delay, And these people who saved my life today Are out of my life now forever, and onto saving another fragile life, on some other street, On some other day. I saw people in blues, reds, and greys, yellows and oranges, and then the light of the day. The light of the day on which I did not die, But I could have, had it been another time, Another place. My stretcher was bright yellow, by the way... I almost died the other day, and its implacable oncoming rush scared me. The fear of not having lived a worthy life, an unobserved life, Of dying too soon, with things left to do Of leaving people behind, Of wrongs left to right Of lying here blue On my dear friend's plush carpet, And her child witnessing it as he comes home from school. Innocent as day, then scarred for life. Luckily I have a few friends and modern miracles on my side. I almost died the other day, and I came back here, having missed all the poetry, that makes life worth living, day after day. Beyond the biorhythms we must feed In order to stay Alive.    Peace.          Love. Breath.              Focus.                      A good enough mantra,                      Wouldn't you say? I almost died the other day, But I didn't. I breathe in with gratitude, And I exhale with relief, that I still got the knack for it.
Continue reading...
58
My compass has no arrow, no markings north or south I've a map without a key, with markings I can't read. Maybe a friend would do, someone to share my doubt A soul-mate of some sort, with a knack for topography I dream of her, beaming radiant smile Eyes so bright, face full of life But it's naught more than a faint fleeting flash Of fantasies in my head that taunt and tease Hopes and dreams of when there was a chance Are now gone as an evanescent dalliance These foolish flimsy thoughts seep like sewage Polluting what was youthful optimism From vivid imagination to dull ruin So I brood my path The conflation of desire and reality But now I realize, This map makes a bit more sense to me.
0
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
darren-morocco
Lost
My compass has no arrow, no markings north or south I've a map without a key, with markings I can't read. Maybe a friend would do, someone to share my doubt A soul-mate of some sort, with a knack for topography I dream of her, beaming radiant smile Eyes so bright, face full of life But it's naught more than a faint fleeting flash Of fantasies in my head that taunt and tease Hopes and dreams of when there was a chance Are now gone as an evanescent dalliance These foolish flimsy thoughts seep like sewage Polluting what was youthful optimism From vivid imagination to dull ruin So I brood my path The conflation of desire and reality But now I realize, This map makes a bit more sense to me.
Continue reading...
17
Have you ever heard the tale about the hedgehog with no spikes, such a sweet little boy who all the other’s didn’t like? A case of alopecia, there was nothing they could do, such a sad little hedgehog who cried and cried, “Boo-Hoo”. But soon the lad grew older, he wanted to look more lush so onto his back he tied himself a little scrubbing brush. His friends, well they just laughed at him and bullied him all the more, until one day, he'd had enough and walked out through the door. For years not much was heard of him, his mother, she did fret for she’d heard about the busy roads and trouble, in which, he could get. But life had turned out fine for him and soon he’d found a place where he could earn a little living and put smiles on many a face. Within the railway station with his brush upon his back, a jumping and a jiggling till the queue would start to clap. People travelled from miles around just to come and watch the show, their trips no longer boring they would leave with faces aglow. But what’s the hedgehog doing to make the people come to see? What makes them laugh and cheer and fills their hearts with so much glee? You've never seen a shoe shine stall with such a special knack, for the owner was a dancing hedgehog with a brush upon his back! * Written by Darren Scanlon, 3rd January 2014 Revised 26th August 2015. Artwork by Angie Caira. © 2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.
0
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
darren-scanlon
THE BALLAD OF THE BALD HEDGEHOG
Have you ever heard the tale about the hedgehog with no spikes, such a sweet little boy who all the other’s didn’t like? A case of alopecia, there was nothing they could do, such a sad little hedgehog who cried and cried, “Boo-Hoo”. But soon the lad grew older, he wanted to look more lush so onto his back he tied himself a little scrubbing brush. His friends, well they just laughed at him and bullied him all the more, until one day, he'd had enough and walked out through the door. For years not much was heard of him, his mother, she did fret for she’d heard about the busy roads and trouble, in which, he could get. But life had turned out fine for him and soon he’d found a place where he could earn a little living and put smiles on many a face. Within the railway station with his brush upon his back, a jumping and a jiggling till the queue would start to clap. People travelled from miles around just to come and watch the show, their trips no longer boring they would leave with faces aglow. But what’s the hedgehog doing to make the people come to see? What makes them laugh and cheer and fills their hearts with so much glee? You've never seen a shoe shine stall with such a special knack, for the owner was a dancing hedgehog with a brush upon his back! * Written by Darren Scanlon, 3rd January 2014 Revised 26th August 2015. Artwork by Angie Caira. © 2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.
Continue reading...
45
What do I have at my disposal? A knack for always wanting to write My intuitive messages down. But it’s got no substance, It’s got no meat. I’m all bread and cheese and Condiment without any meat. It’s fitting for a vegan, I suppose, But not for a poet. The poet has to lead breadcrumbs For the reader in order to get to the meat Of the poem, the substance, the protein. Where is it? I’m lacking substance where I have all these Nice little toppings and sauces and vegetables, I have a dipping sauce for this sandwich, But no meat! I have to go to the store, I have to keep honing my skill. I have to develop a hunger for meat.
0
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 6:53 PM UTC
amy-bells
Meat
What do I have at my disposal? A knack for always wanting to write My intuitive messages down. But it’s got no substance, It’s got no meat. I’m all bread and cheese and Condiment without any meat. It’s fitting for a vegan, I suppose, But not for a poet. The poet has to lead breadcrumbs For the reader in order to get to the meat Of the poem, the substance, the protein. Where is it? I’m lacking substance where I have all these Nice little toppings and sauces and vegetables, I have a dipping sauce for this sandwich, But no meat! I have to go to the store, I have to keep honing my skill. I have to develop a hunger for meat.
Continue reading...
20