"lingo" poems
Walang sukat ang damdamin at wala rin itong tugma,
Ang wagas na pag-ibig o nagbabagang galit ay walang ritmo,
Lahat ng ito ay dapat na lumaya. Sumabog na tulad sa bulkan
Kung kinakailangan o di kaya ay dumaloy na tulad sa agos ng ilog.
Ganito ang malayang taludturan na aking tinatangkilik, oo alagad ako
Ni Walt Whitman at hindi ko ito ikinakahiya.
Hindi ko kinakailangan na bumilang ng mga araw, lingo at buwan,
Hindi ko kailangan na pagandahin ang mga salitang isusulat ko.
Totoo na gusto ko ring sumikat at makilala ng balana ang maging tanyag
Na tulad ng iba. Subalit wala akong balak na itakwil ang aking tunay na
Saloobin, hindi ko isasakripisyo ang aking nararamdaman para lang
Tanggapin at kilalanin ng iba.
Minsan mala-sutala pero mas madalas ay magaspang na tulad sa sako
Ang mga salitang ginagamit ko. Hindi ako nanunuyo sa halip madalas ako’ng
Nagmumura at nang-uusig. ‘Pagkat yan ang laman ng aking dibdib at hindi
Ko ito ikinakahiya. Malaya ako na tulad sa malayang tauldturan na itinataguyod ko.
Putang-ina ko man kahit hindi ako ma-publish gagawin ko parin ito.
Hindi ko pakikinisin ang magaspang na katotohanan, hindi ko pababanguhin
Ang nangangalingasaw na kaganapan ang isusulat ko ay ang tunay lamang.
Magiging tapat ako sa aking damdamin, hindi ko uulolin ang aking sarili at hindi
Ako mag-iinarte sapagkat hindi naman ako artista. Hindi ito Sunugan o Flip Top ito ang
Tunay na ako na s’yang nagsasalita. Hindi ko kailangan na magpatawa.
Ang tunay na makata ay naglalahad ng katotohanan hindi ng mga salitang
Gustong mapakinggan lamang ng mga taong bumabasa ng kanyang mga tula.
Walang sukat at walang tugma ganito ang tunay na demokrasya. Damdamin ko
Ang magdidikta, ito ang panginoon ng aking panulat.
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 7:08 AM UTC
Saya, yan lang naman ung gusto kong maramdaman ngayong 2020 na kasama ka
Bakit parang hindi ko ito dama gayung kakasimula palang ng taon
Pait, sakit, hirap ilan lamang yang nadama ko simula ng pagpasok ng bagong taon
Ang hirap, ang hirap isipin kung ikaw pa ba ung minahal ko?
Bakit parang pagpasok na pagpasok palang ng taon ika’y nagbago?
Pait kasi hindi ko na maramdaman ung tamis at kilig sa bawat yakap at halik mo.
Sakit, ang sakit sakit isipin na ako pa ba ung babaeng laman ng puso mo?
Hindi ko alam kung paano ito sabihin sayo
Dahil napakasensitibo **** tao
Mahal,mahal na mahal kita ng buong buo,
Ayaw kitang saktan sa mga salitang gusto kong ibahagi sayo
Kaya sa tula ko idadaan ang mga to
Susubukang maghinay hinay sa mga salitang bibitiwan
Mahal ikaw pabayan? Bakit parang hindi?
Kung magbiro eh hindi ko alam kung akoy sisimangot o ngingiti
Pero sige na nga akong ngingiti nalamang ng Makita **** ayos lang saakin
Habang nakangiting naisingpang sa iba nalang tumingin
upang hindi mo Makita ang mga lungkot saaking mga mata
tatawa para di mahalatang akoy nasasaktan na
baka kase pagsumimangot ako ay iyong sabayan
mga sumpong na aking nararamdaman eh tatakpan nalamang ng mga tawa.
Sige patuloy akong magpapanggap na maging masaya
kahit ang aking nararamdaman eh sobrang sakit na
kaya ko lamang ito ginagawa upang hindi ka mawala,
mahal, sana pag ito’y iyong nabasa wag ka sanang mawalan ng gana
o di kaya ay sisihin ang iyong sarili sa kadahilanang ako’y iyong nasasaktan na.
ayos lang ako wag kang magalala
patuloy na kumakapit upang ang relasyon natin ay hindi masira
mahal na mahal kita sana iyong tandaan
ngunit ako’y makikiusap lang sana
wag ka sanang panghinaan ng loob sa aking mga nasabi at patuloy na lumaban
dahil hindi ko na alam ang gagawin pag ika’y nawala pa
alalahanin ang saya, tuwa, kulitan na ating nagawa
at patuloy na kumapit at subukang ayusin itong problema wag ka lang mawala.
Madami pang oras, araw, lingo, buwan,taon o kahit dekada.
Wag ka lang bumitaw saaking kamay mahal.
Mahal na mahal kita. Tandaan mo yan
Mahal na mahal kita kahit ika’y ganyan
Madaan yan sa lambing
Wag natin ulit sayangin etong pagkakataon
Dahil mahal ako na ang nagsasabi na tayo hanggang dulo
Away, problema, ilan lamang yan sa mga pagsubok na ating dadaanan
Dahil pagtapos ng mga iyan
Maganda ang surpresang naghihintay satin.
Mahal kapit lang, laban pa. malalagpasan din natin yan.
Jan 10, 2020
Jan 10, 2020 at 7:58 AM UTC
After dark, energies flow in manners that pleases them most
braided together in lust, two king cobras were seen spiraling up
when darkness like a camouflage sets in thickly around,you're
the marijuana of my mind, seeking far horizons of pleasure.
I willingly seek oblivion, when pink pointed goosebumps
like tarantula's love bites, results of mating time cruelty
infest all over my body's landscape, signatures of ecstasy.
I feel your lips become, moist, soft, honey from each drips
never enough,for me, is it possible to get inebriated more?
Your sighs and moans speak the vocabulary of a forgotten
ancient language love hurriedly resurrected for us from past,
brevity is the crux of that lingo of erupting jets of desire,
it teaches you to moan in fifty different tones in all;even more?
Your sharpened nails etch cave murals on my itching back
that has the searing taste of blood, in hot hot chilly red.
my taste buds of lust, begs for more and more of it.
You are the marijuana fueling my narcotic flights that land
in your misty land, enveloping my senses as a whole.
"The night is still young, hear what the darkness whispers"
I hear you speak like an oracle, on things about to happen.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:50 AM UTC
Anak kumusta na ang Dodoy ko diyan sa syudad, Masaya ka ba diyan , ha?
Kami ng itay mo at ng mga kapatid mo dito ay ayos naman.
Natanggap ko nga pala yung sulat mo nakaraang lingo alam kong mahirap mabuhay at mag-aral dyan sa syudad anak, pagbutihan mulang at mairaraos ka rin namin.
At yung itay mo hindi na umiinum ng alak at di na naglalasing, meron na rin siyang tatlong-daang katao na under sa kanya. Sa sobrang busy niya nga sa trabahao, hindi niya na nga masabi mensahe niya para sayo ngayon, nasa trabaho kase siya naglilinis at nagdadamo sa sementeryo.
Nanganak na nga pala ate mo kaso di pa namin nakikita ang yung bata, di pa tuloy naming alam kung tito kana o tita, kaya dodoy tulungan mo kaming magdasal nasana maging tita ka para di matigas ang ulo ng bata at di magmana sa kuya mo.
Nandoon sa bundok nagtatraining sa Army, eh nakapagtataka may mga baril wala namang uniporme.
Okey naman ang lagay ng panahon dito sa atin, dalawang beses lang umulan ngayong lingo. Noong una tatlong araw tas nung sumunod apat na araw naman.
Ang itay mo okey lang din, naalala mo na yung sinabi ng doktor na mabubulag na daw siya buti nalang pumunta kami sa albularyo nakaraang lingo at pinigaan siya nang binendisyonang kalamansi, ipapatak daw yun sa mata ng itay mo at gagaling na daw ang katarata niya sa makalawa.
Anak wag ka magalala sinusulat ko to nang dahan-dahan, alam ko naming di ka mabilis bumasa.
P.S. Maglalagay sana ako ng pera sa sobre kaso nalawayan ko na anak, di bale sa sususnod na buwan nalang ako magpapadala ng pera sa iyo anak, magaral ka ng mabuti!
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
Yo soy *****
**** immigration and the racist white tèjanõs, please tell me how the hell would they ever know what I know, shout out to my Mexicans Hondurans and black Cubanos shut the border down call it the no fly zone. Adios Americanos me and my amigos are stealing ya women and playin em like pianos, vocal terrorist this lyrical revolt should be your primary interest. Public enemy number one the domestic hectic terrorist I'm influencing your white son, right to bear these nuts I'm taking the tea parties guns stealing your freedom from right up under you, all your jobs, and way of life, your point of view. I'm the original black power ranger hide your right winged minds if not I swear they'll be in danger. I am the broken brick the stone left unturned the rhythm of the wind the willingness to learn and the desire to fight and get what you earn. I am the individual placed on the no fly list with my hand balled into a fist cause my turbin is too tight and my beards to thick. I am the man choked to death by nypd for selling cigarettes now I'm rioting with my words doing lyrical pirouettes. Yo soy ***** spitting jive like lingo I want a Pam Grier keep your Marilyn Monroe, from the 6th borough buckin like bronco they said finish em I'm educated and black had to hit em with the combo. I'm non fictions Huey Freeman battling congress and their demons catch me flexing on the law lookin like the black He-Man Standing up for what I believe in writing in my notepad I stay steady schemin with my head up in the clouds I stay steady dreamin. Yo soy ***** freeze em like sub zero not concerned with dolores or the dinero yen or bills yo, I'm still waiting for marvel to make a Mexican superhero.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
**Mastering the whole range of bleats with meanings-
made him think his command of 'goat lingo' was perfect,
But a cheeky Anglo-Nubian goat wasn't impressed by his fluency so remarkable,
"Vocabulary is not all, my dear Sir" she bleated back " your accent is singularly atrocious"**
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
emotions collide
unlocking flood gates
lips locked they are tongue-tied
tongues slidin against each other
bodies grindin against one another
body language speaking the same lingo
sensing the vibes she's dropping
and he's picking up on the signal
Aug 29, 2019
Aug 29, 2019 at 6:25 PM UTC
a love poem, of new & old,
why I am the summer-man!^
summer is winding down,
sky’s multi blues freezer safe stored in ziplock see thru bags,
marked and named by hue, the where and the when,
so when the eyes finally fail, when the squinting don’t help,
when the good things those good blues aroused,
poems, lush and morning thanks for being alive come-not-at-all,
quite the opposite, these cold blues
may help, to recall why it was worth breathing
summer is winding down,
so am I, the synchrony no accident, time,
the Pharmacy kitchen calendar
claiming another victim, willing or not,
those cars and the blue eyed models,
are now but blurred wishes and hopes, even these words, spoken,
not finger scribed, for the keyboard a
jumbled jungle of alpha-numerical
of confusion hellish and
my sons don’t come to clean up my pathetic messes, sending
their little children, beloved concubines of my heart
the daytime watcher, spanglish her native lingo,
tho single words she’s pretty good at too, but that don’t help much;
the grands, toddlers to pre-teens, the eldest a womanly eight,
tries but soon frustration bored, slips away quiet like
replacing her with her two year old sister, who knows her alphabet
which ain’t an exactly a help, but her five pencils stored^ nearby,
tagged with her name, awaiting her poems, her one true legacy
try to imagine her as a grandmother, farseeing the day when she
occupied this too too hard to-get-out-of-by-myself “easy” chair,
making rhymes with her next-next generational descendants,
faint remembering the silliness sorcery that I secreted in her brain;
zingo, bingo, lingo
tango, ginkgo, jingo,
** ** oh no, oh no!
ashes, gray hairy poppy is a silly,
when he is not a grumpy,
old man all fall down!
which she acts out with giggles galore,
adding a teacup embellishment,
a creme fraiche pearly teeth smile topping,
the day watcher agrees, verrry verrry funny,
but time to me *** and take a needed morning *****
no poppy! no poppy! no poppy!
no nap, no *** no *****
thinking the call out is for her,
stomping her feet in an alternating rhythm and rhymes
I, happy poppy, ecstatics drooling out,
foreseeing the rhyme is strong in her,
get wheeled away crinkled and crackling,
*zingo, bingo, lingo
tango, ginkgo, jingo
** ** oh no, oh no!
ashes gray hairy poppy is a silly,
when he is not a grumpy,
old man all fall down!*
a new genre me of gibberish summertime love poems
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 5:11 PM UTC
A soul, a survivor of an emptied dark pit
We calleth the planet-globe; Certes a western
Mountain glow. She giveth all, even to those
Who cometh with hatred, she's outspoken,
Unbroken, willing and thus patient. A prophetess
Of the clandestine; her poetry as wine to relax
Men and boy's, girl's who knoweth none joy- she
Bringeth the finest of lingo. Even with her own
Worries, she let's thine head, with her comforting
Word's- relax upon thine pillow. She's verily a
Poetess of the native land's meadow's. O' soul-
Survivor, with an open heart and kindred-spirit.
Only if everyone couldst seeith thy light, they'd
All come near it.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Birthday dedicated to soul-survivor....
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
The daughter of the village Maire
Is very fresh and very fair,
A dazzling eyeful;
She throws upon me such a spell
That though my love I dare not tell,
My heart is sighful.
She has the cutest brown caniche,
The French for "poodle" on a leash,
While I have Bingo;
A dog of doubtful pedigree,
Part pug or pom or chow maybe,
But full of stingo.
The daughter of the village Maire
Would like to speak with me, I'll swear,
In her sweet lingo;
But parlez-vous I find a bore,
For I am British to the core,
And so is Bingo
Yet just to-day as we passed by,
Our two dogs haulted eye to eye,
In friendly poses;
Oh, how I hope to-morrow they
Will wag their tails in merry play,
And rub their noses.
* * * * * * *
The daughter of the village Maire
Today gave me a frigid stare,
My hopes are blighted.
I'll tell you how it came to pass . . .
Last evening in the Square, alas!
My sweet I sighted;
And as she sauntered with her pet,
Her dainty, her adored Frolette,
I cried: "By Jingo!"
Well, call it chance or call it fate,
I made a dash . . . Too late, too late!
Oh, naughty Bingo!
The daughter of the village Maire
That you'll forgive me, is my prayer
And also Bingo.
You should have shielded your caniche:
You saw my dog strain on his leash
And like a spring go.
They say that Love will find a way -
It definitely did, that day . . .
Oh, canine noodles!
Now it is only left to me
To wonder - will your offspring be
Poms, pugs or poodles?
4k
I smile when my profile picture gets 50 likes
but would it mean more
if I liked my face without the assurance of others?
Maybe not,
I'm a millennial, after all.
1994, born and raised
a "90's kid."
I tweeted that...it got 12 favorites.
Too bad I can't favorite my internal thoughts
in order to validate them without sharing them.
I sent that as an iMessage
to my friend who responded
"#deep."
I'm posting this poem on the internet
so that people I don't know can read it.
Maybe they'll even leave a comment.
I say what I feel,
via text message,
followed by an emoji and a hashtag
as a sort of millennial footnote,
minus the APA style.
I'll use LOL style
or FML style
or the style of ironically using texting lingo
to prove that I'm not #basic.
I, Lex the Millennial,
wrote this poem on my iPhone 6.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 9:02 PM UTC
1.
Look! two butterflies entangled
in the thick of love, try extricating,flapping wings
girl, forget you're a doctor,let love resolve it.
2.
A strawberry touches her lips,
astonished I stop eating my peach;
where does the fruit end, her lips begin?
3.
Your dad is conservative,
mother is moderately appreciative,
every move of amour, has to be politically sensitive.
4.
On this bikini your body prattles,
a language unintelligible through, I am all ears,
darling, make your body speak, the lingo it truly appreciates.
5.
Water nymph, your bodyhugging dress
simultaneously does myriad things,
talks erotica, tries seduction,makes me a fool fumbling for words.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
My very first hello was intentional, focused
You say i never gave you a chance, i just overwhelmed and took over
I was intoxicated, i still am
I saw the fortress around you but i refused to acknowledge, I'm relentless like that
Came into your shell and took over
Got into your sheets and dreamed well
I looked straight into your eyes and you held my gaze, baby I'M HERE TO STAY SO FALL ASLEEP
I watched your chest heave and your eyes lift
You say i drove you crazy but you were the engine
It's all very new so i act like a learner in the drivers seat, buckle up baby.
Butterflies rip apart my stomach
Euphoria took over my soul, you make me smile
I took a hit of you and now I'm high on life
You asked me what i want
We are still young for you to handle what i want but one day soon, when your mind nests in my heart and our eyes lingo suffice
For now I'll settle
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 3:21 AM UTC
Read the palm of my hand,
Analyse the lines and see that it maps a highway with no destination
You became a long highway with high speeds and good music but as the driver, I knew it were to go nowhere
But as the passenger, you anticipated us to go everywhere
And for that I’m sorry
You became a best friend that I resented
And I became the best friend that you had to learn to resent
Long car talks became our lingo and daily messages was our travel snack that we would crunch like a pass time
But as you found another, our cars collided
Inertia was met by fastening seatbelts and an accident we both denied had occurred
And it's not that I’m jealous or realised I love you
But I am now met with suburbia,
With corners and cafe small talk,
Stop signs and round a bouts,
And I am to know that I can no longer rely on you like a country road but instead give way to another
I wish all the best for you
I know you once looked at my hands as a destination for yours
And honestly, sometimes I wish it were
But instead, they are creased maps leading to the nowhere for you
And everywhere for someone else
Although, I really hope you enjoyed the trip home
Jul 9, 2021
Jul 9, 2021 at 7:53 AM UTC
Baby, why you playin',
I know you feel the vibe?
Body language speaking my lingo
And your smile coincide
Saying things with your eyes
That type of silence never lies
Mar 16, 2024
Mar 16, 2024 at 6:17 PM UTC
The decaying mansions of English language
Rot and recede
into teenage grasses
with each unspoken year
The hired help have left their hair unmown and surrendered their uniform dress
Content with the neglect of nature
taking its timely course
When the architects and master masons of linguistics
Survey their forgotten plans in the heaven of English literature
They are not dismayed
but patiently sit and sit
The pristine edifices of the classics
Once grand and clad in deferential brick
Stand scaffolded and unread
The doors unlocked, ajar and hopelessly inviting
Into the library of the English canon
The dusty cloak on the carpets of grammar
Sheets thrown over the disused armchairs of archaic words
Echoing the plink of the out-of-tune pianoforte of the perfectly crafted short story
Bathrooms of formal poetry
With the rusty plumbing of metre and rhyme
Whereas the temporary outhouses,
hastily arranged huts of slang and idiom
are adorned by the living grasses of new forms,
creepers of half remembered dreams
mulching leaves of half formed thoughts
forests of half forgotten loves
writhing in living incompleteness
Which will in turn harden and fossilize
And we can then rue the passing of our once organic lingo
Dec 14, 2009
Dec 14, 2009 at 10:18 AM UTC
Theres an original Aussie lingo
That out there one can hear~
Most of all when you are in the country
And places like that you love so dear~
RIPPA RITA , An aussie bush expression of rejoice~
When something really goes so well
And usually not by choice~
FAIR DINKUM means simply for real
Are you fair dinkum mate~
STRUTH another real Aussie expression
A bush word for something that you hate~
Just a few words of real Aussie lingo
You might hear now and again~
SEND HER DOWN HUGHY they'll cry
When they reall do need rain~
STONE THE CROWS you'll hear them yell
When something happens by surprise~
Often in the country
When they can't believe their eyes~
HOWZ ZAT a bloke will often call out
when he manages to do something better than right~
And very indeed proud of himself
Without trying to skite~
RIGHTIO dad will call out to mum
When she hollows don't forget to get the bread~
TOO FLAMEN RIGHT he'll say back to her
When she says well ... did ja get it ted~
YA GREAT GALLOOT is what they'll call you
When you do something really wrong~
So much original Aussie lingo
They should put it all within a song~
SHIELA'S are of course suingle women
Who often are as well called BIRDS~
All this fantastic Aussie terminology
How I miss all these words~
Ocker's are usually blokes in shorts and thongs
They call thongs Japanese riding boots~
CODJA'S are older blokes
Sometimes they call them COOT'S~
COCKIES are blokes that own properties
STRIKEN A BLOW is a term for work~
BLUDGERS are those that don't like do do it
And being lazy is to of course SHIRK~
All that age old aussie lingo
I miss it so I do~
Can't wait to say HOWZ YA GOEN MATE
And G DAY to a mate or two~
It's all got a sound of it's own
One gets used to it in life~
Like the LITTLE WOMEN and THE BETTER HALF
Is what they call a wife a wife~
( Was'nt game to use spell check lol )
https://youtu.be/PT331BRkkP0
Terrence Michael Sutton
Copyright 2018
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 8:57 PM UTC
Your body language,
Speaks to me,
in ways,
I yearn to understand.
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 12:34 AM UTC
Tribal maternal's terrace
***** by carnivorous shipmen
Earth over ran
By Marxist's and ditty wit's!!!
Hold thine lingo
Release thy spit
Oh vertebrate of underworld grief...
Tend to thine flock
Cut thine beef,
As in the cattle thou hath becometh...
For the serum doth runneth
Wherein thine swords becameth thy first choice....
Where is thy voice?
God of technology
Made science thy hobby
Made gentlewoman thy footstool......
As thou hath runneth a muck
And made thy queen thy second elect!!!!
For I just bet
That thineself shalt lose to all thy debts....
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
My wife agreed to marriage counseling before the great divorce,
and of course, she picked the counselor. This is it; one session, one shot at redemption. I waited with bated breath for the day to arrive.
It did. We met at his office, where hope was dashed to shreds like a ship
on a coral reef, like dreams of domestic bliss made of glass and shattered on the kitchen floor with no broom to sweep them up.
We shouldn't get lawyers and go to court. We should have a funeral and sing, Rock of Ages, because divorce is the death of a family.
The room is nice and cold as ice, and he's friendly, boisterous, and bold, but here's the clincher, he wore an eye patch. Maybe he had surgery or some type of injury, but everything he said was drowned out by the voice in my head that screamed, "He looks like a pirate, and no ******* pirate is going to tell me how I should have been a better husband." I quickly scanned the room for a cage where he kept his parrot, which usually sat on his shoulder and sang old songs of the sea. I glanced at his right hand, but conveniently it was hidden by the desk. Now I was sure. It wasn't a hand at all, but a hook, that he used to scratch his *** or to spear the shreds of broken lives left over from a long day's work. His hand was probably a casualty, lost on a voyage to a shark he tried to advise.
I leaned over and whispered in my wife's ear, "Where did you find this ******* nut. Long John Silvers?" The humor eluded her like the sunken treasure did the old sea dog that sat across from me. I swore if he said, "Aye aye matey." I would smack him, and jack his ship, and maybe my wife and I would sail south to the Caribbean, not to the ride at Disneyland, Pirates of the Caribbean, but to the islands, where we would lie **** on the sandy beaches and drink Pina Coladas, or some other fruit-filled umbrella drink, until we were so drunk we couldn't see straight, and all our problems would sink like the setting sun into a brand new horizon. But the old scalawag had no pirate lingo, so the hour came and went, our money was poorly spent, and it was lunchtime, and I was bent on seafood.
Jul 24, 2024
Jul 24, 2024 at 11:31 PM UTC
"Hello, and good day; yes I'm ready to order.
I'd like a Big Mac ...
Oh, I want it on a tray
and not in a sack."
"I want a large fry, freshly dropped
with very light salt.
I'll also have a Chocolate Milkshake,
though I'd really prefer a Malt."
"OF COURSE, I want it super-sized,
are you trying to joke?
Waddia mean $8.50?
Well, now I've gone broke!"
He steps from the counter
and goes to sit down.
The food smells great ...
yet still, he frowns.
"I'll need a second job
if I wish to keep eating here.
I can't binge on these gut-bombs
and still have my beer."
"I wonder if there's an employee discount ...
as I've got the lingo down pat:
I have a Filet-O-Fish and a Coke on your order ...
Would you like some fries with that?"
PLEASE JOIN THE HELLO POETRY FLASHMOB!
SEE THE NOTES BELOW!
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 8:22 AM UTC
Double edged sword is a pania machette
In Belizean lingo.
Conquistadors blade. Slicing on the
Downstroke. Slashing on the up.
Forked tongue.simile
Can't turn the other cheek.
Nor close the gap.
Quisling?,
Smiling mouth
Eyes of death.
Ben Arnold wasn't a bad guy just
Bad information.
Pania machette in hand, flicking blood of the end.
Reaching out with the free hand
Smiling sweet treachery.
****** and rip.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
An army of plastic fellows shelter from the pouring rain.
Hiding under shrubs and trees.
Guarding the garden insidiously.
They're on patrol again.
Sat by the pond, musing.
Nattering in their lingo gnome.
Unheard by ears of men.
They watch nature in balance.
Peeping at the trees.
Guarding their mothers security.
Mother Nature gives them trees, and grass and bumble bees.
Go out for a while, come back and smile.
They carried out with precision all the garden chores.
Come rain or shine, they live out doors.
Those gnomes took control of the garden their home.
They leave you a job, you come out with your mower.
They are a touch to small.
They can however, *** and ****
When they're in your garden, they are, they sow the seeds.
They natter to each other in their own sweet dulcet tones.
After carrying out security.
They're still just garden gnomes!
(c) Livvi
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 4:52 AM UTC