"milliards" poems - Hello Poetry

Fatima Latima I had wished I had no gift of sight That the worst I could endure is hear you speak And not snapshot the footfall of your gradation You may not be a thief Nor **** daughter of the dayspring But definitely my heart you stole I speak of the daughter of Arabia Aesthetically, she rocks The queen of the pilgrim sands And aeonian desert stones Beyond the hijab Artistically knead with consummate craft Like the relics of Mecca Blest by the prophet’s bones The blessed I see torches Beaming with intelligence Within those mascaras Exquisitely trimmed and vibrant A lulu class botany She fixes a searching gaze As she saunters close And the stride and tread Beats a drum entrancing Soothed in her solacing spell I give in, to her lullaby She halts her perambulation Stands magniloquent and stupefy Like some pop diva magazine pose Or Victorian secret shot A tactical derangement of her gluteals As she rests her palm in its cleft I feel contractions, my dartos muscles The blew of summertime Gently beats her exceptional form Her belt submerge her thigh crevice Cleft by the sundered rift of fleshy fat Built by the dainties and delicacies Seasoned by the finest Arabian chef As her silken dress slithers and gowns Under the breeze bulging and blooming Like a rose blossom or sunflower fore As she bends down To assuage the burlesque The sun specula lilts her sensational Her smile apologetic bids me stillness I am caught staring Guzzling down her scent and Feasting on empty imaginations Of What If that accentuate the mind and Speed a hormone And I pray I sin no more Next time we meet and I see her again For I am but a writer Learning to use my pen and paper And hope you but forgive My linguistic impotence When I make my confession Employing too plain a language When I say thus; Her smile is classical Her walk magical Her beauty celestial Her stride sensational Her religion ethical Her character spotless And that leaves me breathless And forgive if I step on broken toe And try speak of the unspoken Her ****** is sacred Her being a type that dresses up In the milliards of brutes dressing down And shamelessly style it fashion I must see a priest One confession I ought to utter And even vociferate abroad For once I had fallen in love With an Arabian Beautie A ****** of Mecca.

0

Jun 18, 2012

Jun 18, 2012 at 9:12 AM UTC

pat-pakla

Fatima Latima

Fatima Latima I had wished I had no gift of sight That the worst I could endure is hear you speak And not snapshot the footfall of your gradation You may not be a thief Nor **** daughter of the dayspring But definitely my heart you stole I speak of the daughter of Arabia Aesthetically, she rocks The queen of the pilgrim sands And aeonian desert stones Beyond the hijab Artistically knead with consummate craft Like the relics of Mecca Blest by the prophet’s bones The blessed I see torches Beaming with intelligence Within those mascaras Exquisitely trimmed and vibrant A lulu class botany She fixes a searching gaze As she saunters close And the stride and tread Beats a drum entrancing Soothed in her solacing spell I give in, to her lullaby She halts her perambulation Stands magniloquent and stupefy Like some pop diva magazine pose Or Victorian secret shot A tactical derangement of her gluteals As she rests her palm in its cleft I feel contractions, my dartos muscles The blew of summertime Gently beats her exceptional form Her belt submerge her thigh crevice Cleft by the sundered rift of fleshy fat Built by the dainties and delicacies Seasoned by the finest Arabian chef As her silken dress slithers and gowns Under the breeze bulging and blooming Like a rose blossom or sunflower fore As she bends down To assuage the burlesque The sun specula lilts her sensational Her smile apologetic bids me stillness I am caught staring Guzzling down her scent and Feasting on empty imaginations Of What If that accentuate the mind and Speed a hormone And I pray I sin no more Next time we meet and I see her again For I am but a writer Learning to use my pen and paper And hope you but forgive My linguistic impotence When I make my confession Employing too plain a language When I say thus; Her smile is classical Her walk magical Her beauty celestial Her stride sensational Her religion ethical Her character spotless And that leaves me breathless And forgive if I step on broken toe And try speak of the unspoken Her ****** is sacred Her being a type that dresses up In the milliards of brutes dressing down And shamelessly style it fashion I must see a priest One confession I ought to utter And even vociferate abroad For once I had fallen in love With an Arabian Beautie A ****** of Mecca.

80

Adam est fade tellement il est ordinaire La gravite est monotone, elle date d'avant Terre Adam aime tout le monde, haïr est inique La gravite me permet d'attirer, or je n'ai rien d'unique Adam, vous; humains; vous comptez en milliards Gravite, de l'atome a Adam, rien n’échappe a ton radar Adam se sent serein au sein de sa famille La gravite arrange les atomes pesés en harmonie Ève vit Adam et ne trouva rien a lui reprocher Electricité domine toute gravite dans les distances rapprochées Ève trouve l'homme, la stabilité, la nécessaire et suffisante distraction L'electricite se moque des dimensions, seule compte l'attraction Ève, douée du sentiment, cède et concède par peur du changement L'electricite en mariant les atomes force leur rattachement Ève et Adam devinrent un couple, une eve et un adam L'electricite, égalisatrice, meurt sous les yeux de l'éternelle gravite

0

Oct 11, 2015

Oct 11, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC

jalalium

Tout

Adam est fade tellement il est ordinaire La gravite est monotone, elle date d'avant Terre Adam aime tout le monde, haïr est inique La gravite me permet d'attirer, or je n'ai rien d'unique Adam, vous; humains; vous comptez en milliards Gravite, de l'atome a Adam, rien n’échappe a ton radar Adam se sent serein au sein de sa famille La gravite arrange les atomes pesés en harmonie Ève vit Adam et ne trouva rien a lui reprocher Electricité domine toute gravite dans les distances rapprochées Ève trouve l'homme, la stabilité, la nécessaire et suffisante distraction L'electricite se moque des dimensions, seule compte l'attraction Ève, douée du sentiment, cède et concède par peur du changement L'electricite en mariant les atomes force leur rattachement Ève et Adam devinrent un couple, une eve et un adam L'electricite, égalisatrice, meurt sous les yeux de l'éternelle gravite

16

Ils consomment des chiens chauds, hot dogs Aussi Comme vous Mais ils ne mangent pas de chiens Jamais, jamais Ils ne mangent pas de chats Ils ne mangent pas d'animaux de compagnie Jamais, jamais. Les immigrants mangent des sangliers C'est du ‘Griot piqué’ Ils ne mangent pas de lapins Mais ils mangent du ‘Tasso épicé’ Et bien sûr, ils mangent des hot dogs, des chiens chauds. Les Haïtiens mangent et boivent de la Soupe Joumou Dans laquelle nagent des légumes et bien sûr des carottes La cuisine haïtienne Est très, très bonne Les immigrants consomment de bonnes viandes Comme vous. Arrêtez d'être raciste Arrêtez d'être fasciste Vos ancêtres mangeaient des chiens Pas les immigrants, pas les Antillais Et surtout pas les Haïtiens Arrêtez cette haine honteuse Pensez à votre sort Au dernier rendez-vous Les immigrants mangent des cochons frits Comme des milliards d'Américains Qui aiment les tartes aux pommes Arrêtez les mensonges, arrêtez tous les mensonges. P.S. Traduction de ‘They Eat Good Hot Dogs’. Copyright © Octobre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés. Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de nombreux recueils de poésie.

0

Oct 29, 2024

Oct 29, 2024 at 11:35 PM UTC

60Etncelles60

Ils Mangent De Bons Chiens Chauds

Ils consomment des chiens chauds, hot dogs Aussi Comme vous Mais ils ne mangent pas de chiens Jamais, jamais Ils ne mangent pas de chats Ils ne mangent pas d'animaux de compagnie Jamais, jamais. Les immigrants mangent des sangliers C'est du ‘Griot piqué’ Ils ne mangent pas de lapins Mais ils mangent du ‘Tasso épicé’ Et bien sûr, ils mangent des hot dogs, des chiens chauds. Les Haïtiens mangent et boivent de la Soupe Joumou Dans laquelle nagent des légumes et bien sûr des carottes La cuisine haïtienne Est très, très bonne Les immigrants consomment de bonnes viandes Comme vous. Arrêtez d'être raciste Arrêtez d'être fasciste Vos ancêtres mangeaient des chiens Pas les immigrants, pas les Antillais Et surtout pas les Haïtiens Arrêtez cette haine honteuse Pensez à votre sort Au dernier rendez-vous Les immigrants mangent des cochons frits Comme des milliards d'Américains Qui aiment les tartes aux pommes Arrêtez les mensonges, arrêtez tous les mensonges. P.S. Traduction de ‘They Eat Good Hot Dogs’. Copyright © Octobre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés. Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de nombreux recueils de poésie.

34

( An essay poem about two artists souls ) My beloved, my sweet... i fed you with love, i nourished you with my smiles, my countless patience, my sunshine, my passion i nurtured you with nature what you can do to bloom i whispered in your ears those precious words added my own blood to your secrets, our songs became completest absurdic symphonies only you can make me as i am today: a happy creature with free pride free….but with great responsebility myriad of people, with million milliards of interests, most of them had been in distress they came to you and they went again when they came, everyone was stressed and hurt…. as soon as you treated them, in dutch we say you possess green hands, and when they left, they arrived at an entirely brand-new land they had not one pain again on their new grains of sand…. You came from afar behind the swift clouds, i saw you, but i had my doubts you wiped them all away and made that i wanted to stay like in a thousand and one nights…. and as a wonder i the rebel won't go astray anymore at any level…. You made me your owner, though so many travels together, i am still a loner believe me my dear, this pure absurdity believe me, this will last till eternity A sunlit Molenwijk area where once good hearts lived, in the midst of summerheat, one season long to forgive curious odd people were staring at you like you were a killed living art statue it is loveliest to know you are a living ordinary soul who creates, a living everyday man who penetrates sick people's mind your treatments all are oft of a very loving kind precisely on that place and in that precious time many fans trust you and your work is over sublime Molenwijk area is not as before, a crowded place for online games now an arcadia in nostalgic plays and updated games discomfort and nostalgia are now the glowing flames. somehow those sparkling flickerings make me true sad, give me the eternal feelings of constantly rushing ahead Where I reside now with you, my beloved, my sweet is not to compare with Molenwijk's grandest defeat each street here is a treasure of leisure in each corner rests sweet smell of peace in each home resides sweet smell of our own ease peace in all hearts, and peace in our own.... © Sylvia Frances Chan -

0

Oct 18, 2016

Oct 18, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC

sylvia-frances-chan

The Imposssible Truth

( An essay poem about two artists souls ) My beloved, my sweet... i fed you with love, i nourished you with my smiles, my countless patience, my sunshine, my passion i nurtured you with nature what you can do to bloom i whispered in your ears those precious words added my own blood to your secrets, our songs became completest absurdic symphonies only you can make me as i am today: a happy creature with free pride free….but with great responsebility myriad of people, with million milliards of interests, most of them had been in distress they came to you and they went again when they came, everyone was stressed and hurt…. as soon as you treated them, in dutch we say you possess green hands, and when they left, they arrived at an entirely brand-new land they had not one pain again on their new grains of sand…. You came from afar behind the swift clouds, i saw you, but i had my doubts you wiped them all away and made that i wanted to stay like in a thousand and one nights…. and as a wonder i the rebel won't go astray anymore at any level…. You made me your owner, though so many travels together, i am still a loner believe me my dear, this pure absurdity believe me, this will last till eternity A sunlit Molenwijk area where once good hearts lived, in the midst of summerheat, one season long to forgive curious odd people were staring at you like you were a killed living art statue it is loveliest to know you are a living ordinary soul who creates, a living everyday man who penetrates sick people's mind your treatments all are oft of a very loving kind precisely on that place and in that precious time many fans trust you and your work is over sublime Molenwijk area is not as before, a crowded place for online games now an arcadia in nostalgic plays and updated games discomfort and nostalgia are now the glowing flames. somehow those sparkling flickerings make me true sad, give me the eternal feelings of constantly rushing ahead Where I reside now with you, my beloved, my sweet is not to compare with Molenwijk's grandest defeat each street here is a treasure of leisure in each corner rests sweet smell of peace in each home resides sweet smell of our own ease peace in all hearts, and peace in our own.... © Sylvia Frances Chan -

59

Escape from this web There is a spider inside it He watches your movements A spider with a big belly He ate milliards He has too many tiny spiders, But they are subnormal Escape from this web There is a spider inside it ***** blood from you Try to destroy his system Tiny spiders will find you Kidnap you Poison you And **** you There are other webs with Freedom, Democracy, And justice They embrace you, Protect you, Teach you, And employ you Escape from this web The spider cares of your blood Not your development.

0

Feb 3, 2016

Feb 3, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC

boubkar-chelh

Escape from this web there is a spider inside it.

Escape from this web There is a spider inside it He watches your movements A spider with a big belly He ate milliards He has too many tiny spiders, But they are subnormal Escape from this web There is a spider inside it ***** blood from you Try to destroy his system Tiny spiders will find you Kidnap you Poison you And **** you There are other webs with Freedom, Democracy, And justice They embrace you, Protect you, Teach you, And employ you Escape from this web The spider cares of your blood Not your development.

26

Il y a bien huit milliards d'années lumière Huit cents millions de lustres Huit cents mille siècles Huit cents quatre-vingt-huit ans Huit mois Huit jours Huit heures Huit minutes Et huit secondes Nous étions le même corps La même lune mathusalémique En orbite autour de Saturne Puis le grand horloger des Dioscures Dans son grand égarement Nous a déclarés péchés capitaux, Luxure et gourmandise, Et nous a séparés. Tu te souviens ? Désormais tu es Epiméthée, Titan qui réfléchit après coup Et moi Janus, bifrons ou quadrifrons, dieu des portes et des entrées Aux visages qui se dévisagent Et nous continuons sur la même orbite En fer à cheval Toi intérieure, moi extérieure Et inversement Tous les quatre ans Jusqu'à la fin des temps. Si l'on en croit Newton "Deux corps s'attirent en raison directe de leur masse Et en raison inverse du carré de leur distance " Je suis comme toi couvert de cratères Castor, Idas, Lynceus et Phoibe Et chaque seconde me rapproche De tes merveilleuses boursouflures Pollux et Hilairea. Ad libitum nous échangeons nos orbites jumelles Et poursuivons notre ballet gravitationnel Entre cosinus et sinus, Constante et tangente, Exponentielle et dérive, En attendant la mutuelle collision, La chevauchée céleste de nos hypoténuses Sans jamais perdre de vue la donnée mathématique : La primitive de x au carré Vaut un tiers de x au cube A une constante près.

0

Aug 21, 2019

Aug 21, 2019 at 5:52 AM UTC

cyclone-wolfok-baltimore

Ballet gravitationnel

Il y a bien huit milliards d'années lumière Huit cents millions de lustres Huit cents mille siècles Huit cents quatre-vingt-huit ans Huit mois Huit jours Huit heures Huit minutes Et huit secondes Nous étions le même corps La même lune mathusalémique En orbite autour de Saturne Puis le grand horloger des Dioscures Dans son grand égarement Nous a déclarés péchés capitaux, Luxure et gourmandise, Et nous a séparés. Tu te souviens ? Désormais tu es Epiméthée, Titan qui réfléchit après coup Et moi Janus, bifrons ou quadrifrons, dieu des portes et des entrées Aux visages qui se dévisagent Et nous continuons sur la même orbite En fer à cheval Toi intérieure, moi extérieure Et inversement Tous les quatre ans Jusqu'à la fin des temps. Si l'on en croit Newton "Deux corps s'attirent en raison directe de leur masse Et en raison inverse du carré de leur distance " Je suis comme toi couvert de cratères Castor, Idas, Lynceus et Phoibe Et chaque seconde me rapproche De tes merveilleuses boursouflures Pollux et Hilairea. Ad libitum nous échangeons nos orbites jumelles Et poursuivons notre ballet gravitationnel Entre cosinus et sinus, Constante et tangente, Exponentielle et dérive, En attendant la mutuelle collision, La chevauchée céleste de nos hypoténuses Sans jamais perdre de vue la donnée mathématique : La primitive de x au carré Vaut un tiers de x au cube A une constante près.

45

There are millions like me. Though so hard they try, They will never be The example of beautiful style. There are milliards With hollow hopes. Unknown bards, Condemned words. Greet, people Hello, hated, beloved Greet, deep and simple, The 21th century poet.

0

Sep 17, 2016

Sep 17, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC

antonina-dutchak

21th century poet

There are millions like me. Though so hard they try, They will never be The example of beautiful style. There are milliards With hollow hopes. Unknown bards, Condemned words. Greet, people Hello, hated, beloved Greet, deep and simple, The 21th century poet.

12