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I've created a place inside
your favourite pillows there
you don't know your names on it
and that it's yours to declare
you've no idea what id give up
nor know my fear of it
I doubt you feel the same
the deepness I've yet to admit
You somehow control me
In some way it brings me rapture
I cant quite hit the nail on the head
but its something id like to capture
I'm near you from a distance
I remain a ghost in your world
I'd expose it like a peacocks tail
that will one day be unfurled
Unheard of, is this emotion
Unseen is its colour
Without you , life
Would just be duller
Im taller
Because I look to the sky
you're my light
as if you were nigh
Im somber
as if to cry
But my eyes
are only dry
Please try
To forgive me
I should have told you
but I'm not at all gutsy
still I wonder
how it would be
If your love only
had a guarantee
eye say ahhhh Feb 2015
I am mawkish I am sad, I think not of what I've had
And religion makes me sick, it's nothing more than politics
Well the people get confused, no ones right we always lose
Lucky you they've got a noose, I'll take your place if you don't mind
Too dramatic such a shame I should have never played your game
Always winning just my luck I've never ever gave a ****
Now it's over, lucky me, no problems and I am free
Free from tonic and a pill I get drunk and then get ill
On the grass where no one sees and who would ever talk to me
This is a true story
Gaye Oct 2015
I should shut up soon, zip up
My mouth and hack my pen
Maybe I can stay with orange
Ink and licit words spread
All over the place. You bet.
Get me some poison Iago!

Forest and its men; O-M-G-
‘Underdeveloped illiterate pigs’
"Fish! We need development
**** it all, one by one and make-
A main streamers committee"
Get me some poison Iago!

I should soon quit voting
If am ordered to ink my nail for
A caste, a religion or a loser
Maybe I should vote, but
There's a shoot at sight notice.Oops.
Get me some poison Iago!

DIG-IT-ALl? Total babe!
Let’s talk about empowerment
And a survey on farmer’s suicide
But no new-generation
“mushy mushy”, save our culture
Get me some poison Iago!

I should stop eating as well,
Cook books unavailable, animals
Went back to temples (****!)
I really have a bad taste for
Green-lush-healthy-vegetables
Get me some poison Iago!

“Get inside, get inside”
Set an alarm and get inside
“Cover up, cover up”
Never dream an opening up
“Rapists are rapping out there”
Get me some poison Iago!

We are DEMO-crazy! Hell yea!
Where is my salvation?
Killer idea sirji! Killer idea!
“***** tonight?”
“Hang up. Someone’s knocking”
Get me some poison Iago!
PJ Poesy May 2016
}I{
“Sinuhe”

King Khety is blinking madly
Haruspex has left him ominous oracle
Sinuhe is on his return, fugitive no more
Sinuhe brings with him enemy’s daughter
Not prize, Nefru his wife and Libyan lore
Sinuhe from slavery came, poet she did adore

Egyptian tombs do tell in detail
Hieroglyphic tales, this juncture of peril
Khety not King, but Sinuhe’s noble brother
Knows true King come to claim throne
Sinuhe the nobler, knows a life of none other
Than slave sold by Odious, the step-mother

Yes Queen Odious, deep in den of asps
Collected poison venom to undue her marriage
To Sinuhe’s father Merikare, Pharaoh of Moon
Odious’ ghastly act nearly tore Egypt in two
Her derangement sent Sinuhe far across sand dune
Odious took crown, added gilded teeth of baboon

Made her son King, though he did implore
Khety saw insanity and for what, he was in store
Khety remembers his Great Father’s words
“The heart of someone who listens to his temper
Is doomed to follow the stink of camel herds
Better to let heart fly upon sky, as do birds”

Yet by years tormented, Khety became undone
More like his mother and even more sniveling
Than the Odious one, so he did as he was told
Incessant dribbling marked a life for him
He minded his words lest he knew he’d be sold
Mother’s high priest Abhorus was bitter and cold

Sinuhe’s struggles were unknown to King Khety
Years of near starvation and wearisome labor
Made Sinuhe the better man, as he did never forget
Assurances of his noblest Father, Pharaoh Merikare
Virtue ascribed, Sinuhe kept valor in each trial met
Furthermore, his noblest task still to come as of yet



}II{
“Numidian Queen”

Nefru, Numidian Queen to Land of Libya
Recalls young slave Sinuhe’s hostility to captivity
His intelligence overcoming, who once would be King
Of Egypt had not violent arm but ferocious mind
Using wit to overcome adversity and words he did sing
To free his self of internment and all oddity it did bring

Nefru looks upon loyal husband Sinuhe
It is an arduous journey this man has taken
Her commitment be bound now by ivory ring
Loyalty to this man before all forsaken
It is spring, and amongst abundant life come dead things
Fledgling birds first flight failed or so siblings did fling

Now swept into his pilgrimage, Nefru perceives
All adversity Sinuhe did overcome so nobly
To her, he is chukar, partridge of rare plumage
It is to the ground, which this bird be bound
Never reaching sky, low brush be its’ *******
Though its’ song give to her heart an anlage

Freedom from slavery, is Sinuhe’s triumph
Vindication of crown be the mark of new flight
He prays to Horus Behudety, Winged Sun God
Nefru knows of her husband’s will and might
She gifts to him her father’s pinioned golden rod
Scepter of enslaver Mehru, and his feathered shod

It was not of great agreement by Mehru
Should his daughter Nefru marry a slave?
Much less to son of Merikare, an arch enemy
Yet he be so brave, impressions of Sinuhe’s strength
Be made so to change, very nature Sinuhe’s destiny
So much so, Mehru did lament in Merikare’s elegy

So it came to be, a slave marries Queen
Sinuhe and Nefru’s love broke all patterns
Such a love to win hearts of, Gods and Goddess’ unseen
Who rule other worlds and all rings of Saturn
History had never known affection so purely clean
Gatherings from far off fields came to witness such glean



}III{
“Haruspex And Detritus”

Haruspex, soothsayer speaks in half-truths
King Khety believes only small contingent
Be on way to Byblos, presently approaching Qedem
Little does he know, armies of Elephant in tow
Masses of feathered and golden archer’s stem
Blessed by breath of Bat, Goddess and her phlegm

Detritus, Animal Man, hired scout to King Khety
Possesses claws and hair of lion, his home Serengeti
Animal Man’s mane is thrashed in thorns and rubble
Smells of cat ***** but has nose that knows much
Such why Detritus be tolerated, though be much trouble
Haruspex twists tale of tailed man, speaks of him double

Calls him lazy, shiftless, yet Haruspex be cryptic mess
Detritus be banal yes, but true to Khety none the less
Knew his father well, Merikare be his master
It was always Queen Odious, Detritus distrusted
Knowing her demonic betrayal and Egypt’s disaster
She kept him in gypsum cave, scratching alabaster

Kindness had left this Kingdom sometime ago
When Odious and Abhorus overthrew rule
Merikare Moon Pharaoh mummy cry from tomb
Sinuhe ripped from his side by Abhorus
His funeral a very mockery and Detritus’ doom
Haruspex made way from Libya, eyes mucous rheum

Planted by Mehru, Haruspex be sent through desert
King of Libya be wise, sent this oracle as disguise
Not soothsayer at all but spy of opposition
King Mehru knew upon Moon Pharaoh’s death
Peace upon land would not soon come to position
Quickly he sent Haruspex, strangest magician

Detritus knew by the first smell of him
Haruspex came from earth west, not with best
Intentions to natural order of land and sky
And this test of two egos be quite perplexed
With each other and another reason why
This brawny epic riled through years gone by



}IV{
“Ode ‘O’ Odious”

Motioning her battalions, priests and beasts
Evil Queen who overthrow, joins Abhorus’ feast
Beldams be this clergy, **** all about Odious
Snapping of rabbits heads in cacophony of blood
Plunking chalices of malice’s, sacrifices melodious
All in dark chamber halls in depth’s commodious

Stretching of intestine to fine tune harp
Butchers waylay innards with daggers sharp
Mawkish music be Odious’ fame
Concavity’s entrance a perilous scarp
Passers-by enticed by bergamot oil’s flame
Fall to their death to be eaten by dame

Ode ‘O’ Odious, Ode ‘O’ Odious
Drunken mayhap through day and nightcap
She rumpus muck, she ruckus all luck
Ode ‘O’ Odious, Ode ‘O’ Odious
Chambers fill with all matter of bile guck
Bites cobra tails, hooded heads protrude to ****

Death be her power to innocence’s pain
Queen Odious oblivious to her own danger
Seems unstoppable to submissive subjugates
Spinning her terror, cackle calls to maidens
Fem ferocious, how ‘O’ Odious undulates
Casualties collected in long hundredweights

Probity of her high priest be none
Abhorus puppets Odious and will be done
With her second rare blue water lilies run out
The Nile produces this flower of intoxication
Extinction of it is of all certainty, no doubt
Named after her, O Odious flora beguiles lout

Ode ‘O’ Odious, Ode ‘O’ Odious
It is Evil Sorceress and midnight blue flower
Power of it be all in her high flighty head
She misuses its’ tincture to her own final hour
Harvesting it foolishly, nearly till it is dead
And when it is, it will be to all worlds’ dread



}V{
“Oasis In Iaa”

Sinuhe receives word elephants parched
Water need be found, arduous trek campaigned
Nefru never witness such worry, Sinuhe’s face
Ox tail be split to drain nourishment from beasts
No water for miles, no sea birds upon sky to trace
Sinuhe prays, “Montu, God of War find oasis to race!”

Sekhmet, Archer Goddess visits Nefru
Great Lady is besieged by dessert’s spell
Hallucinations bring mirage to Nefru’s sight
Transfixed on dessert’s horizon her eyes
Contingents warriors, bands of archer’s fright
Paths set forth, only to journey by starlit night

At dawn Sinuhe strands his band
Takes his most devoted men of arms
Bhaktu, Parsi, Rhaktu, follow their Lord
Each having faith in man and his wisdom
Eastward they find Syrian tribe in horde
They are welcomed, none need draw sword

Master of Syrian tribe Abu Sefa
Understands who Sinuhe is and was
Orders falconers to find Nefru and throng
Apprises Sinuhe of oasis beyond hummocks
All are soon joined together in wine and song
Oasis found, Iaa, fruited land and lagoon long

Khety is warned of revelry in Iaa
Sends legions Egyptian arms, by order Odious
Anubis, jackal head God given zebra sacrifice
Detritus employed for battle with spears
Copper shields, mediocrity will not suffice
All swords be sharpened by order thrice

Lifeblood battle of Egypt ensues
Sinuhe taken off guard in Iaa,
Elephant screams to be heard for miles
Bhaktu cut down, Rhaktu not found
Parsi’s archers never saw such trials
From lagoons come seething crocodiles



}VI{
Twist Of Fate

Rensi was chosen by Abhorus to speak for Khety
As High Priest, Abhorus did most doling of employs
This proxy Rensi though, be mockery of King
His speech more stammered than Khety’s noise
Grossly disfigured as well, soundings as mice sing
Rensi aware of this, musters all dignity he may bring

Perigee moon at present, o howling now
Hyena laughing at dissertation of Khety’s proxy
Ill ease overcomes this Rensi, an impediment
Speech undone on terrestrial stairs to Memphis
Escalades flora, fauna; monsoons washing sediment
Tefnut, great rain goddess turns world to excrement

This not so illustrious disquisition muted
By torrent winds and torrential liquid compounds
Tefnut’s tears plunk upon all, turning mud blood
Looking out from his great house Khety embroiled
Bares soul to Sobek-Re, Crocodile God; Sun and Crud
Sobek-Re answers prayer, suspending flash flood

In Iaa, as gore of battle ensues, fate lose
As twist of tale find new bemuse and worlds infuse
Detritus sees his lost master Sinuhe encroaching peril
This recognition swells an emotion deep and confuse
Detritus bent in memories flash reacts nobly not feral
With a roar to be heard over all, clamor become sterile

Sounds of battle cease and gaze of majesty
Sinuhe seeing Detritus is overcome by sensibility
Two old beloved friends stare upon each other
Dragging swords behind each move to indemnity
Embrace of each other; secures allegiance another
Sinuhe kisses feet of Detritus; calls him “brother”

As witness to such, all weary legions unite
Moon turn blue, assured sign of Pharaoh Merikare
Mehru’s star battalions federate Moon Pharaoh’s armies
Together as one to Memphis they shall siege Khety
Overthrow Queen Odious and her sinister parties
This mainly being High Priest Abhorus’ autocracies



}VII{
Epitaph Of Detritus

Odious in lair drinks tinctures blue water lilies
Abhorus her advisor suggests only more intoxicants
Khety is shrilling at sight of this deceptive lure
Haruspex makes prophesy of Detritus’ betrayal
Khety sends hunters to trace Animal Man’s spoor
Abhorus finds more legions of archers to procure

Leaving Iaa and moving toward Memphis
Detritus is fitted by Nefru’s maidens new armor
Embroidered with gold, a striped khat is made to adorn
Detritus is humbled by Sinuhe and Nefru’s gifts
His body is perfumed and oiled; his mane then shorn
Beholden to the true King of Egypt, Detritus is sworn

Two men of different lands, both once slaves
Overcome their adversities and rise upon sun
Sinuhe and Detritus’ bond is legitimately noble
Wearing of these worlds bare them new providence
Seemingly this union appears fortuitous global
Keeping steadfast of Abhorus’s archers now mobile

In Sakkara, south of Memphis come tempest
Raining arrows as if raindrops, Sinuhe’s challenge
Detritus’ valor finds reckoning to his last will
Defending Sinuhe, Detritus falls to cumulating
By strength this virtue witnessed, Sinuhe rise still
Throwing down legions of archers, making his ****

Abhorus, Odious, and Khety with no troops left
Surrender to Sinuhe upon his return to Memphis
Odious drinks last vials blue lily tincture, expires
Abhorus struck dead by hand of Khety in resolve
Khety bows to Sinuhe and his Queen as requires
King Sinuhe , Queen Nefru read parchments and fliers

In honor of great Detritus and his noble deeds
Commissioned is greatest sculpture Animal Man
During its’ long construction, most joyful jinks
Song and dance to honor a great warrior true
Each artisan so proud to have heritage to links
Of Animal Man, Detritus, now known as Sphinx
This is my adaptation of The Tale Of Sinuhe. It is the oldest known work of Egyptian literature. This epic poem was written by me with the intent of creating a puppet opera. I hope to collaborate with other poets, musicians, artists and puppeteers to see this come to life. Between each chorus should be arias which embellish the plot and theme. If you may be interested in working on this piece, please let me know via private message. I hope to make it a collaborative work.
Keen Nov 2016
​I had to kiss you,
One last time.
I had to hug you tight,
So tight that I could break you.
I had to sniff your neck,
You smelled so good
That I could doze off to bed.
I had to change me,
I had to;
Because the thought of you hurts me well.
So don't come back to me
Because, we won't never be happy.
We broke up our promises ―
I didn't chased you,
You did the same too.
I had to avoid you,
Seeing you breaks my walls
Into pieces ―
I built it from scratch
But I'm afraid of changing,
Because I've been around you.
10282k16
Daniello Mar 2012
At a party [many people, dressed nice, cocktails
going round] someone I guess awoke to my presence
as if I’d just appeared out of nowhere or something
and asked me [totally circular eyes, spearing pupils]
like this: And what do you do? I looked at him, and I
don’t know what face I made, but what I wanted to
look like was something to this effect, matter-of-factly:
Well, what do you think I do? Obviously, I simply
try to avoid, day by day,
a wretchedly hopeless case of dismal ennui.
I try to endure, as stoically I can, the
inner doggerel convulsions
and mawkish throes educed by the
realization of transcendental insignificance
(or, otherwise: paradoxically substantial nothingness)
that imbues all hope of Elysian ecstasy and
reduces it to but the terrifyingly
ineluctable fact that we are essentially
impotent holograms functioning by the fixed fractal geometry
of a dynamic and chaotic, kaleidomosaic-like reality,
which, as eternally self-transforming and
forever utterly inconceivable,
is devoid of any certainty, absolute truth
and, most of all, compassion.
Furthermore, when I look at you, I see a deaf-mute
reflection of a reflection of myself, and
to be morbidly honest, I don’t
know what I can tell you that would
make any difference to the fact that, freely or
not, we are both, you and I, just passing
through our lonely, fathomless, patterned
deserts, blinded and lured by the Fata
Morgana of our sadly sublimated
consciousnesses, due to which, undulating up ahead
of us in a chimerical haze, we are
conditioned to think, fatuously, that we know,
or that it’s possible even to know, that
it means something to love or not to love, that it
matters at all whether we are alone or
not, and that, at the point of death, there will be
something, somewhere, that will condense
somehow out of this
nauseatingly numinous fog and, like a deserved,
blissful wash of our “souls”—like a salvation!—
will come to justify the inanities
and insanities of our mundane life as just the
confusing buildup to a final and triumphantly
epiphanic crystallization in which, at last,
we will truly understand, unquestionably, the meaning of I,
the meaning of you, the meaning of truth,
and the meaning of meaning—I mean, honestly sir.
What do you do?
That’s what I hope my face looked like, but I guess it
must’ve looked like something else, or maybe I said
something, because the man just raised both his brows
[his left one slightly more than his right] and stared
me down in mocked awe, on the verge of superciliousness.
His eyes slowly receded like a tide imperceptibly towards
the back of his skull, his lips pursed, parched, and pitying.
Then he nodded complaisantly, too energetically, saying:
Oh, how interesting! Did you always see yourself getting
into something like that? Mmhmm. Hmm! [and so forth]
And how do you like that? Mmhmm. [and so forth] And
the pay? Mmhmm [etcetera]. After I’d finished answering
some of his questions, I said: If you’ll excuse me, I just saw
a friend of mine, I really should go and say hi, but what a
pleasure it was to talk to you, sir. Take care!
And I excused myself.
K Balachandran Mar 2014
Meeting up with the dragon
was a page
out of an intergalactic adventure;
shaking hands with
doppelganger, it was.
He insisted that he is
still a mythical animal
just don't exist in real,
he was so apologetic
to the point of being mawkish,
"Don't want to mislead any one
to somewhere, let's be scientific
to think, you took such pains
to make this meeting happen,
which is not the case in real,
                                    do you see me well?
He was  in panic, it seemed,
took him in confidence and
made him stay put.
"What's real is a long debate
don't think I am real,
material world could
easily proved an illusion
matter in to energy and reverse
is the story we see here
quantum mechanics will
end all your qualms
everything is in a state of flux
even the scientists are,
sometimes they see black holes
and suddenly they think otherwise,
so the universe is not even
a handful of dust, it's energy
playing fancy dress..."
The dragon looked crust fallen,
"you should have met a dinosaur instead
at least they EXISTED,and  Phew, what a variety
much more than a myth, which I am"
"Don't be apologetic, grand father's gift
grandma must have used her fun of imagination
to beget you and raise to such level of popularity
dragon or meerkat, all are fun,  like human,
when none exists, but happily present
in mind and on these  vast spaces our eyes see,
waiting to transform in to quanta of energy
when time summons, and God play dice.
J M Oct 2017
So how can this make anything easier
Under country night sky’s brightly lit
Digital fire burns through the skin
And all that’s left is hollow bones, empty soul
Found a way to casually converse this illusion
Hoping for a place to make it through the night
Dance away, fall into a rustic hurricane
Never able to proceed, much obliged company
Shell of ourselves as I ache for this bar room fix
Its easy when the clouds have broken from the wind
These meager minds keep sleep a luxury
How do we move through these chemical days?
Keep a promise, keep the shadows at bay
Wash the courtyard, clean the masquerade
As these trucks pull up for blue collar hands
Those drinks need pouring, those heads need care
Shell of ourselves as I ache for this bar room fix
Its easy when the clouds have broken from the wind
Its easy when the distance between settles in
And when the dreary mornings speak uncertainty
Ready fuels and coffee made to play
All for not, the sun still shines away
Speculation masks an exchange for another day
Danielle Oct 2022
I am at a crescendo of this mercurially
fervent woe, maimed by the visage of
smoke and mirrors;
"a death in chrysalis is to live once again."

Draping into the worn out disheveled
silk, beautifully withered
lulled by the sound of riverbanks
as if it's pacifying the feral.

A star-lit eyes deluged with bliss
rose with thorn-teared flesh
overwhelmed by a mawkish melancholia. Although we were haunted by our old love, it will never be the same.
CastorPolydeuces Nov 2016
i see love and light and cringe
at its generic quality, all the same
all beautiful and endearing and encouraging
and i can't help but feel the cynic in me laughing
at the mawkish displays and efforts
and at my own generic skepticism

just one charming quality of my
self deprecating form of narcissism
just writing out of boredom, too tired to put forth much effort, but too bored to leave it be.
ORLA Dec 2012
I wrote you love letters out of the syrupy innocence of my childish heart,
Mawkish hopes for a future of sweaty handholding and feather-lipped kisses.
More mother than lover, I lived to shield you from the bigger laughing kids,
Because I thought that love was one short ride on the pegs of your homemade bike,
And one dance under purple glowsticks hanging from the cheap drop ceiling,
And, in the stairwell that smelled like paint and old socks, I told you so.
Turned out I wasted my one second wish on the bunny in the moon:
You woke me up with the hollow chill of sudden mere acquaintanceship,
And now you're chasing some blond girl while I'm standing in a corner, busy growing up.
To somebody that I used to know . . .
At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time,
     When you set your fancies free,
Will they pass to where—by death, fools think, imprisoned—
Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you loved so,
                    —Pity me?
Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!
     What had I on earth to do
With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?
Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel
                    —Being—who?

One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,
     Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
                    Sleep to wake.

No, at noonday in the bustle of man’s work-time
     Greet the unseen with a cheer!
Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,
“Strive and thrive!” cry, “Speed—fight on, fare ever
                    There as here!”
David R Sep 2022
the nation's pride in graceful wave
delivered 'fore the thousands
the millions as they roared 'n raved
in worship smiles that roused them

from those ever graceful lips
kissed by Jove 'n Venus
that spoke the majesty of queenship
of love above sweet Eros

the smile that shone out from her eyes
with sincerity none could hide
of interest and intelligence wise
up welled from deep inside

no mawkish sentimentality
nor false, nor common rot,
her smile bespoke reality
a truth that G-d begot

Fare thee well, O gracious Queen,
never from nation forgot,
Farewell in flight to Heaven's Sheen,
To bind Celestial Knot
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge
#mawkish
our esteemed Queen Elizabeth II my she rest in Peace
Sydney Queen Apr 2015
I’m doing it again.
I’m getting mawkish,
from loving something without knowing why,
loving something so mammoth,
loving it so grandly,
that I don't even know where to put my heart down.
Ah, there it is.
You’re getting so much closer
to what your eyes remind me of.
That indefinite cavity,
that sweeping emotion of your piano teeth,
that bewitching graze of your pomegranate hands.
I almost can't bear to look at you.
The world is humming around your existence.
Shivering, trembling,
earthshaker, sunbringer.
You are frighteningly alive.
Nothing is the truth until you get your hands on it.
There is a careful and loving precision
to the way I glimpse at you.
Darling,
we’ve developed this habit
of closing wounds
but never cleaning them.
I don't recommend trying to make sense of this. I couldn't even do that myself.
CM Rice Dec 2013
This seems a playful satire on the mighty Saltire
prewritten amidst a highland lowland silence.
In the hand of the wise-to Queen, or St. Andrew,
eternally akin to this 4-piece jigsaw'd island.
The actors publicly casted, professional amateurs,
notably despised an' yet a country's finest.

The setting old an' knew, new an' known, with
a neglected audience primed for mass evasion.
An' piecemeal parliaments, scrolls nor parchments,
have no place in this covert-of-sorts invasion.
For the stage be set with indebted goodwill,
through empty words in empty declarations.

The plot is thickening quick to a household broth,
of misdirection, miseducation an' artificial lie.
That binds the truth as if truth could be told,
of national strength safe in obvious disguise.
Common wealth paid for by the oblivious poor
man's pocket, pulling loose a threadbare tie.

Nae t'shakespeare'd lines, no to broken records,
No to smug derision of the true an' earnest,
Yes to insincerities that make you sober or worse,
that shine up their last of royal seal varnish.
No to sticky-finger-printed brass doorknobs,
of which for Scots to knuckle down an' burnish.

No to pious voices calling to brothers in arms,
leave this pound of flesh in vacuous debate.
Yes to monopolies of endless fields an' wind,
an' guards sat on a wall which have no gate.
Alas freedom remembered, stamped an' framed,
was never a win but loss to sovereign'd hate.

Left to aged members of past an' proven fable,
to cry the Nae's an' Yay's of a borrowed tongue,
to the masses still confused, still right thinking,
of who to believe an' who to defile. Now hung
out to dry the many years of engineered deflation,
left alone with answers still evolving, still young.

A year from now a collusive conclusion made,
to this ending – the poet an' playwrights success.
Devolving the ever-changing, deceptive blurbs,
to inveigh a reasoned No with a passionate Yes.
Leaves me mawkish for my country as it devolves,
An' I the fraternal gambler with only a flighty guess.

Recognise your flesh. Recognise the life you have.
Recognise the absurd use of this bargaining chip.
Social norms which press you heavy, all the time,
be they Catholic, Protestant, Tory, Liberal or hip,
Recognise you can discard them, this very moment,
An' become a leader of this Clydebank anchored ship.

Let no acid be sprayed unless to sting open the eyes
of the blind. Let no more our words become unseen.
Let no more the voices of hatred speak. An' so leave  
conflict where it belongs, for crowing minds to preen,
In the past for histrionics. No more of them an' us.
Step into freedom. Free, as you always have been.
Scotland is due to vote on its independence next year. Rather divisive decision to be making seeing as they have always had their independence in my eyes. For Tom McGrath (Credits go to him for the final 2 stanzas)
CastorPolydeuces Oct 2016
Oh honey, you'll be fine
divine and holding out hope
an angel with no god, no home.
Oh babe your ignorance
looks so good on you
stay steeped in wholesome lies
safe from dreadful truth.
Oh sweetheart, your dumb
******* head is so perfect,
so rottenly pure, its mawkish
scent brings me to my knees.
idk, as usual.
Unusually
in a pub
a mid-July evening

clutching a Coke
the tangled strings
of conversation

peppered across the room
and loitering about
for faces

I haven’t seen
in perhaps four years
to breathe

through the door
to begin
that mawkish process

of reminiscing
over protracted days
in carpeted classrooms

naturally chat
about the lukewarm now
present partners

jobs if we have one
and upon arrival I speak little
letting the cool

surf of familiar voices
refresh me
as some mysterious

but quite delicious drink
and there is laughter
delicate chatter

before we disperse
like youthful bees
to our own slices

of existence
separate but always
aware of what was
Written: December 2015.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time, regarding a school reunion I attended in July 2015, at a pub named 'Oliver Twist.' All feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook home page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP at some point in the near future.
Dim Apr 2018
to stay young in your heart you first should have one
and you better fill it up with some love
just a bit
because love is the secret ingredient
the pursuit of justice without love makes you cruel
the pursuit of truth without love makes you a heckler
the pursuit of god without love makes you a bigot
the pursuit of beauty without love makes you Humbert Humbert
power without love makes you a tyrant
honor without love makes you arrogant
wit without love makes you cunning
work without love makes you tired
care without love makes you brusque
talk without love makes you annoying
seriousness without love makes you boring
tenderness without love makes you mawkish
friendliness without love makes you fake
so
you better spice things up with some love
just a bit
K Balachandran Nov 2018
Trickster drizzle peters,
Expectant trees are mawkish;
Rain’s failed sweet promise!
neth jones Oct 2019
genial words like ‘Trickle’
and butter words like ‘****’
runny
cussing out a flow

walk with a tremble
the street is charged
a fear-ish plush ug
the top of your spine
and the back of throat
feel awful and close
...but it’s just a feeling
and ‘words’ are simply ‘words’
one day,
when I win the lottery
I'm going to pay off my
overdue library book debt
and then I'm going to take
my lady out for a drink
in a different country,
just because I can.
as a poet and a poor player of instruments,
a drunk and a breadwinner
as a father of two and
a husband to be,
a ****** of horror flicks and
a collector of vinyl,
a surfer of televisions and sidewalks
(or at least I once was)
and a lover of foods.
this bearded wonder....
his mind is split in two,
there's a difference between
what formulates in my brain to
my mouth
and my brain to my hand.
how I write is not how I speak,
the wires in my gray matter get
twisted up and so does tongue
as my mouth fills with spittle, but
with a little thought and time
my medulla oblongata glues
together words of sophistication
into articulate sentences.
I'm an uneducated man,
just very meticulous with
the absenteeism of rationality
that humanity has to offer.
working a dead end job
as a fluffer for the aristocratic
industrialists
in this mundane life
of mediocrity,
mutually exclusive and
mentally exhausted with
the surroundings of
ignoramus cohorts.
screaming on the inside
for an ounce of stimulation
where my subconscious
can find no purchase,
channeling outlets through
hieroglyphics on a portable
handheld typewriter.
a hundred or even a thousand
publishers could viciously attack
my passion with the onslaught
of a hundred or a even thousand
compositions of rejection, but yet....
I'm still here.
reinvigorating myself through the
slough of privation and trudge
through the days of menial work
in search of surreal reinvention.
far from where I want to be,
in life and location,
prancing down the paths less traveled,
breaking every barrier put up,
carrying mawkish moppets
on each shoulder,
becoming the ultimate
goal achieving marauder.
but until then....
one day,
when I win the lottery
I'm going to pay off my
overdue library book debt
and then I'm going to take
my lady out for a drink
in a different country,
just because.....I can.
Brenten Hargrove Feb 2012
i dont think i will ever forget
How quickly she came running
She was always such a little whirlwind
Unable to justify this brutality
I watch the red kites fly in the sky
When will they fall again to give me this message
Give me one more meaning and one more word to say
But wait...
There he goes waiting again
I'll never let him overthink sorrow
with his golden kite in hand it falls from the auburn scorched sky
He never moves an inch and in this setting sun i will never find my spirit
There she is again running
will she ever learn that
When i say goodbye its meaningless
How quickly will i forget
Regardless of how high the mawkish red kites fly
there will always be
a never ending search for my spirit in a mid summers sky
Mark Crane May 2016
Illuminated goddess of the radiant night
Bath me gently in your soothing pale light
Brighten the dark erode the vile spawn
Dazzlingly resplendent against the morrow's dawn

Shining face perched in quiescent splendor over land and ocean
Endowed with the power to invoke a tide of emotion
Now lunation has arrived I grow mawkish and pale
Retire my celestial love behind your dark diamonded veil

Led through the hard black night by loneliness's callused clutch
Ensanguined dreams, imprisoned here within society's hutch
To be once again cradled amidst your luminary embrace
Is this lugubrious hearts only true appetence and grace
Anais Vionet Sep 2022
I’m learning a lot, dating Peter. For instance, I have a whole new awareness of how clueless older Americans, like people in their mid-twenties, are about things in the modern world.

I think Peter’s learning things too. Like the other night, I was 30 minutes late because I was gluing little, glittering rhinestones to my eyebrows. Was he mad? Yes, we had a little drama, but that’s just because he hasn’t learned to respect my lifestyle choices.

“Don’t be mawkish Peter,” I softly advised him, while fixing the caller of his shirt, “look, let's just pretend that we squabbled over this, and I won?” I suggested, helpfully. “It’ll save us time and WOW, we’re running late, OK? Seeing some small, lingering irritation, I promised, “We can still makeup later.”

The rhinestones looked spectacular, I got a LOT of compliments and in the end, I think he liked them. You know, sometimes I’ll catch him looking at me, like the moon or something, like I’m out of reach.

Guys are so.. (searching for a word).
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Mawkish: exaggeratedly or childishly over-emotional.
Rinav May 2018
You
In a world of green,
Of white, of blue, of dream
There lies a young white girl
With young white thoughts

Realization of her world
Such simplistic pleasures
With yellow thoughts,
and simplistic measures

A little too innocent
A little too pale
Well delicate in thoughts
Silk woven like a delicate sail

Her thoughts swayed
Her thoughts swollen
Some selfish,
Some lovely,and some sullen

In a world
Of colorless visions
Her bright mind
And dreams, lie pretty

Abused in simplicity,
Artless and mawkish
The world sways her thoughts
In manners mistaught

In a world of green,
Of white, of blue, of dream
There lies a young artless girl
With young artless thoughts

The world dims her thoughts
Her pretty yellow,
Young and mellow
Compassion filled thoughts

Her bright red heart is stolen by one,
And then another,
and another,
Yet her thoughts remain to speak of yellow

Thoughts of blue,
of green, start to fill
A void in her life unfulfilled
Yet her pretty yellow thoughts persist

Pleasant in her mannerisms,
Simplistic in her artlessness,
A world of green, of blue,
of darkness, fills her innocence

Smile she tries,
Cry she pries
Her pretty yellow,
Yellow artlessness, fades

Hurt, she wallows
Beneath the swallows
Soon the darkness rises around
And her thoughts grow dimmer

Within hours, in sight is a farmer
Whose words reflect the waters of the world
In finality he speaks, with no sorrow
"The pretty yellow lights seem have no morrow!"

In a world of green,
Of white, of blue, of dream
There lies a young headless girl
With young headless thoughts
Eunice Amor Oh Dec 2014
it was a saturday night when i promised myself never to fall again because i knew it would only leave me scathed to the bone and lost in the desolated world that i had unnecessarily created in the past. i had come to the realisation that there was an inevitable slough of despond, waiting to pull me mercilessly into the black hole that i knew held a despicable love that i would refuse to ignore if i did not steer clear. though, steering clear was never my forte. instead, diving idiotically into cold waters without caution was where my roots stayed, in love with the fray of things. lost in my welter of thoughts, my little pandemonium, i dreamt of you and slowly tried to fathom how we ended. was it the loss of attraction, transient chemistry or the indubitable end that had already been set in stone? because all my life, i had tried so desperately to search for nonexistent formulas for why things ended, only to accept the fact that every thing was made to be ephemeral. stop, stop, just stop! my mind never failed to repeat, yet my heart failed to comply; my stream of consciousness always led back to you. i felt alone, pathetic, mawkish even, as i dialled your number with the dignity i no longer possessed. with each ring, i tried to stop the shivers down my spine that felt like a terrible ague, knowing that you had already given up on me, on us, and wanted nothing to do with me. you were obdurate on your decision, happy to move on.

but as for me? i remain that hideous book you indifferently hide on your shelf, in the shadows of your newfound lover.


(( yet, even now, that saturday night repeats itself every single day, the vicious cycle of an ancient spiel that i cannot seem to let go, because the thought of you coming back still remains, engrained into whatever pieces of my heart i have left. ))
Jay Bryant Mar 2013
Our shadows kiss, but our lips remain distant
When I feel the warmth of her touch
Her hands dismiss the mist,
Shrouded around my visions
When her breathe brushes against my skin
I sense she’s ordained the light to come in
I’ve become mawkish, susceptible to her voice.
Her pitch, her tone, my chocolate Goddess
The legends had foretold
I lack the ability to sense the severity of the things to unfold
I’ve come to know my stomach is weak, when she speaks
When she abandons me, the light retreats
I drink to subdue these physical pangs
Shipwrecked, but only in my brain
Our shadows kiss in the darkness each day
Marrion Kiprop Sep 2016
On one evening grey,
A cold spring sunset
Stood one,
By the roadside
Off the bright shadows
Of the dimming half-light
Oblivious
Of what was to come.
He glanced forth
And there she was
Strutting in stout mellow
As she willowed
Towards the crude darkness.
‘Hello’, he shouted
In a mawkish tone
And to many a surprise
She paused.
He hesitantly approached her heels
Trying to keep it cool
And for about a minute half
Of obscure reticence
They sauntered, tongue-tied
Side by side
Into the drear blues.
Galbraith Frase Jul 2018
Petite, pixie tangerine
As mawkish as the taste of something saccharine
Ludicrous, gawky pair of vague hoops
Forbidden with the cheapest boos

Body's wrapped in a fiery Mongolian coat
Personality-shelves loaded with gloat
She is made of silver and gold
Though in three hundred and sixty-five days,
She had lost courage, had lost hope

The juvenile decided to go red in rust
Like her heart, her blood, her wrath, and her pampers
She puffily cries for help and for the pity,
For the exposed and the logical ******,
Thereby, her cheekbones bulged inhumanely,
Stock-still, specked with a festoon of Simper

Such an extravagant trailblazer
A Sangria wine in hand and a fruit ****
With a similar gleam of her deep, raspberry gloss
And the way her chapped lips touched the rim,
It's not as fascinating as it seems,
Because she knows on her part that her heart is lost
I am simply in love with red. I love you all.
CastorPolydeuces Jan 2017
I spent years spinning straw into gold,
weaving a cast to make myself whole
to guard and heal these once brittle bones
but you make me feel stupid and soft and squishy
and sappy and mawkish and awkward and pretty
like a vapid princess in my black tower
you, dumb prince were meant for the living
but stubborn and young and without misgiving
you fell from the light and the grace of the gods
to be with a girl with many facades.
couple years old, slightly revised.
this Democratic Party affiliated member i.e.
   considered (with an eye blink)
   positing the following blurb
   for a very short while

asper the "FAKE" trumpeting
   oaf fish shill offal
   continuous, indecorous,
   and poisonous barbs doth re vile

me, an anonymous middle aged
   concerned citizen at thee...reptile
no...no...that, would
   unfairly debase creatures such as
   snakes, lizards, turtles, or alligators, 

   whose aggressive acceptable modes, 
   one expects tubby non servile
thus in my mind hiss non diss incriminating
   cruel, fiendish, gallingly jawboning
   mawkish philistine (YES, I
   MEAN YOU DONALD Quisling TRUMP)

   figuratively roasting
   respectable people analogous
   to rake them over hot coals
   then, burn them at the stake,
   which witch trial characters assassination

   with point blank expletives
   found an introspective chap (yours truly)
   responds to broadcast
   unflattering sentiments,
   albeit swiftly tailored harried, yup,
   yar...obnoxious fulminations rile,

said brief explanation motive enough
   (occurred within a split second)
   after gleaning most recent denigrating,
   hurtful, lambasting puerile

verbal and/ or twittering outbursts
   (MOST DEFINITELY) unstatesmanlike
at least to me: a circumspect enlightened
   genteel individual kind nattering
nabob of nativity, who feels alarmed

   at venal wickedness by thee ->
   President Trump spluttering, smoldering,
   slandering gallimaufry
predicated predictable awfully banal,

   cringeworthy diurnal,
   and fiercely hurt locker ful invective bile
perhaps indicative of dementia praecox
   or smother mental illness,
   ye would immediately refute,
   and be in din aisle.
Onoma May 2017
So here's the mature
expression of a catch
flopping on deck.
Who could bear the
promise of more, from
where this one came?
Grin, multitudinous and
mawkish--an ungraspable
slick silver verse stuck to
puckering lips.
A face grown flat, by roles
played in common waves,
eyes placed for scanning
both sides of the sea.
You've even succeeded in
making Jesus seem fishy.

— The End —