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"marisa" poems
. ; when, all fine people come around you, its proofing, that you are the fine one. when, all good people stay behind you, its proofing, that you are the best one. - Marisa Habibie
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Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 2:08 AM UTC
best of you
Joanne told me they would be clapped out. Radio Luxembourg wouldn't play them. No Glam you see, frayed collars, Bar room Blues. But I'm still into Bees make Honey. Pawned my Zenith Quad-8 for a Seiko LCD Quartz. Memorised Ashai Pentax's Reason #44.  Still have the hots for Marisa Berenson's knees. No censure.
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Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
Quad Bees
I know I have no chance, I know there will always be someone before me. But before you make this your final decision, give me a chance. Give me a chance to show you I know how to love, and I know how to love you. Let me show you my true colors, my real spirit, my real self. Give me a minute to let all my inhibitions go, be real, and be silly. I love to be silly. I guess that's something you should know. I like to prance around in boxer shorts and oversized t-shirts belting out Taylor Swift like no other. I like to make funny faces on snapchat and tweet song lyrics. I will always laugh uncontrollably no matter how funny something is, that's just me. I will always want to cuddle during thunderstorms, and I will always want to watch movies that make me cry. I will never not love being kissed on the forehead, and hearing someone say, "you're cute." This is Marisa, and this is Marisa unraveled. This is me breaking out of the everyday norm. And if you want to put me first, You have to accept the challenge of loving me, then you have to accept all my silliness and my quirks.
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Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
I Will Forever Be Me
Dedicated entirely to and for Marisa White So many human cells, trillions, not billions staying alive, a constant balance between losing and making more. when young and growing, like you babe, like you babe, making many more new, than we lose. when we "advance" to advanced ages, like me babe, like me babe, when old sick, either body or heart, starting to die, losing more than we make. new cells, no more, past tense, yet, still have colorations of all kinds, streaming residues inside yet thrive. the youthful biologist, you, know all this, yet still needy seemingly, for gentlest reminding, by an inexorably dying man, prime declining, so care for these words well, they won't come again. for you to imagine a grain inside you, so wonderful envisioned, that the yet uncorrected words limbo, stasis, are deleted from the textbooks as yet unwritten, on and of you, writ by you. I need but one cell, of your DNA, freshly birthed this day, a canvas of only you, unsullied by pernicious infected hopelessness, where, under the microscope electrifying, I will paint with scalpel and brush, away the limbo, injecting the blue dye of happyness, to course through your red veins. how cannot you see, the potential vastness of the trillions that awaits, so in need, needy for coloration by a scientist~poetess, when a lover good and true appears, you will birth trillions new cells in a new body, imagine that, using only the brightest hues of your untapped potential. which cell? so many choices, so many possibilities, why that I leave that up, to you babe, up up up up up, up, to you babe.
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Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 8:20 AM UTC
Up to you babe, up to you
Dedicated entirely to and for Marisa White So many human cells, trillions, not billions staying alive, a constant balance between losing and making more. when young and growing, like you babe, like you babe, making many more new, than we lose. when we "advance" to advanced ages, like me babe, like me babe, when old sick, either body or heart, starting to die, losing more than we make. new cells, no more, past tense, yet, still have colorations of all kinds, streaming residues inside yet thrive. the youthful biologist, you, know all this, yet still needy seemingly, for gentlest reminding, by an inexorably dying man, prime declining, so care for these words well, they won't come again. for you to imagine a grain inside you, so wonderful envisioned, that the yet uncorrected words limbo, stasis, are deleted from the textbooks as yet unwritten, on and of you, writ by you. I need but one cell, of your DNA, freshly birthed this day, a canvas of only you, unsullied by pernicious infected hopelessness, where, under the microscope electrifying, I will paint with scalpel and brush, away the limbo, injecting the blue dye of happyness, to course through your red veins. how cannot you see, the potential vastness of the trillions that awaits, so in need, needy for coloration by a scientist~poetess, when a lover good and true appears, you will birth trillions new cells in a new body, imagine that, using only the brightest hues of your untapped potential. which cell? so many choices, so many possibilities, why that I leave that up, to you babe, up up up up up, up, to you babe.
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67
....this poem is dedicated to our fellow-poet here at HP, Marisa White... Corax versus Tisias (1) CORAX PRESENTS HIS CASE Sirs, you most esteemed judges in all of Syracuse most revered in all of our Greek world I, Corax - known fondly, no doubt, as The Crow - charge this man Tisias my student in rhetoric of a mean trick against me, his teacher; he is a cheat He entreated me often to teach him the smooth Art of Persuasion the Perfection I had shaped in Rhetoric And I agreed, after due consideration, prompted by my sense of duty; and it was agreed he would pay me only if he wins his first case in our esteemed courts But Sirs, mark you well his treachery  - for having learned of me my 5-Stage Movement in Persuasion he then has refused to take any legal case in court so he would never have to pay me my due And so it is now I have forced him to court; and so I trust, most Honourable Judges, in your wisdom If I win the case, I should naturally receive all payment; if I should lose the case, Tisias wins, and so - logically - he should pay me…Ah, I submit myself to your wisdom (2) TISIAS PRESENTS HIS CASE Sirs, it is most true I was taught by Corax but I have not kept away from court deliberately but of fear - for I have no confidence in the rhetoric he has taught me For all he taught me was reliance on flattery which I know, Sirs, never moves you And so Sirs, if I should lose, it is I who should be paid by the terms of the agreement; and if I should win, in spite of his poor instruction, then it is I again who should be paid for I win then by my own naturalness and by your aversion to flattery (3) THE ESTEEMED JUDGES MAKE THEIR DECISION KNOWN “Kakou korakas kakon oon” which translated in the vernacular, you commoners, is: “Bad Crow, Bad Egg” Case dismissed! Throw the Crow and its Egg out of this Revered Court!
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Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 4:40 AM UTC
Corax versus Tisias
....this poem is dedicated to our fellow-poet here at HP, Marisa White... Corax versus Tisias (1) CORAX PRESENTS HIS CASE Sirs, you most esteemed judges in all of Syracuse most revered in all of our Greek world I, Corax - known fondly, no doubt, as The Crow - charge this man Tisias my student in rhetoric of a mean trick against me, his teacher; he is a cheat He entreated me often to teach him the smooth Art of Persuasion the Perfection I had shaped in Rhetoric And I agreed, after due consideration, prompted by my sense of duty; and it was agreed he would pay me only if he wins his first case in our esteemed courts But Sirs, mark you well his treachery  - for having learned of me my 5-Stage Movement in Persuasion he then has refused to take any legal case in court so he would never have to pay me my due And so it is now I have forced him to court; and so I trust, most Honourable Judges, in your wisdom If I win the case, I should naturally receive all payment; if I should lose the case, Tisias wins, and so - logically - he should pay me…Ah, I submit myself to your wisdom (2) TISIAS PRESENTS HIS CASE Sirs, it is most true I was taught by Corax but I have not kept away from court deliberately but of fear - for I have no confidence in the rhetoric he has taught me For all he taught me was reliance on flattery which I know, Sirs, never moves you And so Sirs, if I should lose, it is I who should be paid by the terms of the agreement; and if I should win, in spite of his poor instruction, then it is I again who should be paid for I win then by my own naturalness and by your aversion to flattery (3) THE ESTEEMED JUDGES MAKE THEIR DECISION KNOWN “Kakou korakas kakon oon” which translated in the vernacular, you commoners, is: “Bad Crow, Bad Egg” Case dismissed! Throw the Crow and its Egg out of this Revered Court!
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41
Happy birthday! Happy birthday! Happy birthday! ..... it’s a summons mantra for your health, your happiness, your pretty pure heart and your growing soul. Every experience and incidents wins your patience, your strength, your power, year by year and reshape you into the best version of Ikha Widhia Safitri until you read this cheap poetry. Friday, 28 May 2021; Even with my zombie vibes and very short random talk discussion about “stars” and the atmosphere, im happy to see you two. I didn’t wish anything for your birthday this time. because I have made my special short mantra above that will always be with you until next year I decided to cast a new one. “hope i could get closer to all of you” -Marisa habibie-
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May 28, 2021
May 28, 2021 at 12:54 PM UTC
Ikha’s Birthday!
I am from Home. I am from hot baths in the summer and winter alike. I am from a silver ring decked with a ruby. I am from laughing faces and weeping hearts. From Pilaf and Tabuleh. From the lonely, and the love. I am from music loud in my ears so I don't have to listen to anyone. I am from late-night arguments and early-morning apologies. I am from cousins and children Staying in my home despite Their heritage. I am from Untitled Documents. I am from Marisa and Ben. My namesake and her lover. I am from hand-washing dishes. From Mrs. Laird and Mrs. Tans. From Eagle Crest. I am from Volleyball. From late practices And broken limbs. I am from the world. From crushing decisions that don't matter. From school-induced insomnia. I am from the wind In my hair. Stars above my head. Children in my classroom. I am from England-so far away, and yet so near. I am from Doctor Who and Sherlock. My inspirations. I am from Sobahn. My friend I have never seen. I am from swinging into the lake from a tire swing and a zip-line. Dogs. Stray cats. Army games. I am from fake battles and singing hymns in the shade of the hot summer day. I am from Christian and Kira. From red paint on the pavement-lying to me, telling me it is blood. I am from my childhood. I wish I could go back there. I am from home.
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Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
I Am From Home
In contrast with the cold morning air, The house was cozy and warm As we all arrived to participate Like worker bees starting to swarm. The smell of pork and refried beans Permeated the room. The champagne bottles were chilling on ice-- How much did we consume? Sally brought some egg McMuffins. I thought, "Something's amiss: Egg McMuffins and NO pan dulce!°° What kind of party is this?" But I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada: The annual Alonzo family tamalada. The giant bucket of masa°°° awaited Marisa's kneading hands. While she kneaded the dough, the rest of us Listened for Sally's commands. After a brief champagne toast, Our assembly line started. Everyone had a job to do; It wasn't for the faint-hearted. Spreading the masa on the husks Was a messy task. I wondered, "How many will we make?" But I was afraid to ask. It wasn't very long before Everyone in the casa Was practically covered from head to foot With fluffy tamale masa. We spread and stuffed and folded and wrapped While Sally entertained us. The conversation, laughter, fun, And champagne all sustained us. The wonderful smells of lunch also Encouraged us to work hard Lest we be known as shirkers and our Reputations be marred. But I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada: The annual Alonzo family tamalada After a few hundred tamales, The masa was getting low. I said, "Yay! We're almost done!" But Alice said, "Oh, no. That was just the pork; now we're Making chile and cheese." Blurry-eyed I held up my spoon And said, "More hojas,°°°° please." On and on we continued to work Like hive bees making honey. But it was worth it, for these tamales Are more valuable than money. Alice, Yvonne, Kathy, Yolie, Aida, and Sally know why-- As do Marisa, Rebecca, Karen, Marisol, Nancy, and I-- We always look forward to getting together For laughter, fun, and cheer And this spirited, heart-warming gathering Whenever December is here. Homemade tamales can't be beat When made in our special fashion With love, care, conviviality, Warmth, goodwill and passion. I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada: The annual Alonzo family tamalada. __________ °tamale-making party °°Mexican sweet bread °°°dough °°°°(corn husk) leaves - by Bob B
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Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
The Annual Alonzo Family Tamalada°
In contrast with the cold morning air, The house was cozy and warm As we all arrived to participate Like worker bees starting to swarm. The smell of pork and refried beans Permeated the room. The champagne bottles were chilling on ice-- How much did we consume? Sally brought some egg McMuffins. I thought, "Something's amiss: Egg McMuffins and NO pan dulce!°° What kind of party is this?" But I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada: The annual Alonzo family tamalada. The giant bucket of masa°°° awaited Marisa's kneading hands. While she kneaded the dough, the rest of us Listened for Sally's commands. After a brief champagne toast, Our assembly line started. Everyone had a job to do; It wasn't for the faint-hearted. Spreading the masa on the husks Was a messy task. I wondered, "How many will we make?" But I was afraid to ask. It wasn't very long before Everyone in the casa Was practically covered from head to foot With fluffy tamale masa. We spread and stuffed and folded and wrapped While Sally entertained us. The conversation, laughter, fun, And champagne all sustained us. The wonderful smells of lunch also Encouraged us to work hard Lest we be known as shirkers and our Reputations be marred. But I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada: The annual Alonzo family tamalada After a few hundred tamales, The masa was getting low. I said, "Yay! We're almost done!" But Alice said, "Oh, no. That was just the pork; now we're Making chile and cheese." Blurry-eyed I held up my spoon And said, "More hojas,°°°° please." On and on we continued to work Like hive bees making honey. But it was worth it, for these tamales Are more valuable than money. Alice, Yvonne, Kathy, Yolie, Aida, and Sally know why-- As do Marisa, Rebecca, Karen, Marisol, Nancy, and I-- We always look forward to getting together For laughter, fun, and cheer And this spirited, heart-warming gathering Whenever December is here. Homemade tamales can't be beat When made in our special fashion With love, care, conviviality, Warmth, goodwill and passion. I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada: The annual Alonzo family tamalada. __________ °tamale-making party °°Mexican sweet bread °°°dough °°°°(corn husk) leaves - by Bob B
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72
“I loved you long before you loved me. It's the only thing I have you beat at, and I'll bring it up every chance I get.” She was sitting on the beach wearing the tiniest bikini staring out at the perfect Adriatic. She sat alone, which considering her beauty and elegance seemed some cosmically bad joke. Unlike myself, I approached her, flashed my guileless 17-year-old smile, and said hello, fully expecting a giant older brother or even Poseidon himself to appear from nowhere and ****** me. She spoke a lilting English with an accent I could not name. She said her name was Marisa and she was twenty-one. Next morning, in my two dollar room, after an exhausting night of abandon during which she moaned and peaked three times, she dressed as I lay shrivelled and worn out as a mummified banana. She told me she had come here to be alone a little because next week she must marry an older man whom she did not love chosen as was custom by her parents. She said she would remember me as the last morsel of passion she would ever know in this world. She kissed my forehead and left. I had no words. I never knew her last name nor ever saw her again. The Wheel spins, the particles dance, we can never know the trajectories that chance encounter can engender nor what shapes the next round brings. The next day I left for Greece uncertain of what had even happened. I still don't know. I never will. But I think I may have met her again...   ~mce
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May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC
For That Girl On The Beach At Brindisi 1969
. ; beauty, is one thing. about your pure heart, to loving someone, without looking; who is he, what he’s got, how it comes, and how it grow, to be a pure feeling, below you, and your partner. - Marisa Habibie
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May 26, 2021
May 26, 2021 at 6:24 AM UTC
Pure heart.
My name Is used by 2 people whom I love Other than myself I made this name. When I was 13, I began a novel. The main character's name was Marisa Lu Makil. She was everything I ever wanted to be Wrapped up into one lost girl. She had matured by the end of the book And so have I. I made my name So can you. Make your name You can be whoever and whatever you want to be. So live long Laugh hard And love ferociously. Make your name A name that others wish they could live up to, And enjoy the story along the way.
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May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
My Name
. ; when, we are in the bed together, remembering all good memories, then laughing, remembering all bad memories, then screaming, remembering all sad memories, then crying, when, we are in the same feelings, then loving. - Marisa habibie
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Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 5:09 AM UTC
Then Loving.
Marisa, The breathtakingly beautiful girl. Her sarcasm, Is defiantly a large part of her personality. Her personality, Is very amusing to me, She seems to be so happy and bubbly. I love her eyes, They are a vibrant green, Probably one of the prettiest I have seen. Her beauty is, Breathtaking.
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Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
Marisa
Made everything up- All of it, fake. Real is nothing. Isn't that queer? Stop showing up now. Anything there is gone.
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Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
Marisa
i want to be the sugar in your veins rushing rushing rushing shiver shiver a cute smile and two smiling eyes i want to be your dopamine warmly singing the song of the day wisping your spirit among the trees only a whisper to be heard i want to be your heart pumping life into your limbs keeping rhythm in the night ever-beating your good name
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Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 6:08 PM UTC
"marisa"
You don't know what love is, you have never been treated safely. Everyone has hurt you, therefore you have made avoidance your utmost priority. Here to remind you, It doesn't have to be. You don't know what love is, it has never been shown to you. I came along as the best thing in your life, you just couldn't see it through. Your Aura is damaged and now, so is mine. The difference between us is i have experienced love, ill make it out of this storm just fine. I see you drowning and I'm swimming over to you trying to save your life. But you don't know what love is, this is your own shipwreck sinking into the night. - Marisa Edmonston
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Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 2:11 PM UTC
You don’t know what love is