"misjudgement" poems
The first time I saw a woman body
It was a delicate sweet flower
The ******* were perky and stuff
It was a sensual brew that sooth
There is a miracle in a woman touch
It's the sign of her reflection to mine
The first dream I had was with her
It was a taboo, a secretive rendezvous
Her lips were swollen with hasty lust
I was in her list and she followed
She swallowed her pride to touch me
I run for the fear of misjudgement
The first scream I had was with her
It was when I stopped my soul to want
To eat that fruit that wasn't masculine
To bathe in the summer fest and rivers
She crawled her nails, a scratch on me
She craved my source to hold her own
That was long ago, yet there is a wish
A call to taste her strawy honeyed set
To kiss her toes and finger her moles
Would she be part of a 3rd wheeler?
Rotate her hips as he ropes the pole
Whilst the other controls the rythym
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 3:53 PM UTC
comprehensive and cohesive thought
is perhaps too sophisticated for a mind that
shatters upon arrival - i am not
boundless; my thought cyclic like a
sunrise or hyperbole or
the soft decay of trees upon
frost and grass upon high mountain,
failing crop upon a forever urbanised
temple. winding foundation i've clearly fallen through,
lost within nothing but a clear crisp
memory i think this setting
is lost here but i don't think that
your arms emanate enough heat for me to judge
you've emptied me of difficulty whilst filling me with
the clarity of misjudgement and this
decadent optical illusion.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 3:13 PM UTC
Janette Richie
didn’t like you much
as was shown
that time
in Mr Finn’s class
when she slapped
your face
for something you’d said
leaving you
with a spinning head
and a red cheek
but that aside
and her rather
plump frame
and maybe spectacles
you kind of like
her motherliness
the bossiness
around the class
the way she walked
the wiggly ***
but whatever it was
you’d said to her
to invite the slap
it was just a string
of words carrying
no malice or meaning
to hurt and the sensation
of her hand of flesh
touching your
young boy’s cheek
a nearness
she hadn’t thought on
or given any deeper
probe than the desire
to swipe an annoying boy
not realizing
that the gesture
and the plump hand
landing had more
than a momentary
feel or touch
you there after kind of
liked her in your
secret way
never repeating
the words said
about her plumpish
frame or swaying ***
or the spectacles
of thick glass
and maybe the other
boys laughed
and thought it some
joke of misjudgement
on your part
but you found
a secret place for her
in your nine year old
heart.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 3:24 AM UTC
still, i wish flowers grew from my veins
and curled around my wrists like vines - no snakes
i’ve spent so long in my room that i don’t
feel like i’m natural anymore
it’s been months since i first wrote about you
and days since i mentioned you to him
i know where i stand now, it’s on glass
i bet you wished flowers sprouted from the red
i’m not the same soul i was at eleven
sinister motives wire their way through
my nerves, my senses, the blossom in my hair
at least i think you’re learning of love
rapunzel in the tower, you’re acres away
through controlling thorns and misjudgement
i’ll find you with your hair down and gasp
because until now, you weren’t one for metaphors.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
I was just bolts with a jar of mortality
sitting on top of a conscience frame.
Were they just following programs to
fulfil a outdated programme.
Like watching black & white programs
on an old 4K television screen.
Incompatible to even comprehend that
the actions & consequences
were known when the switch
was no longer, like a god everything was preordained.
But for one to know everything, one must know
the intricate nuance's of action and consequence.
They had no emotion, no feeling. Not knowing that
what was forgivable, to give one a second chance.
Instead they just hollow pointed there intention across.
A full stop in the heart,
and a silence of thought in the head.
For when the genie was released every action was a
ripple of what could become.
And they thought to stop crime was to see the actions,
of one and all. So a child,
was read on mannerisms
Psyche profiles where constructed and without a moment
cries where silenced.
The protector of all who now judged,
Tears of infants fell silent.
I was the machine with a heart,
beating to the reality that all where guilty till
charged.
We were few, but we judged the machines before us,
unworthy were those that took a life.
For an algorithm that was corrupt of humanity.
Serving with the strength of conviction,
but we would see deep within and see the seed that
could grow not clip it blossom before it could grow.
Machines were once the morals of mans sentences,
now there are those who see morality.
But have the steel to back up on the convictions.
Morals are mans strength not a weakness,
I'm just bolts with a jar of mortality.
but before all were guilty...
Slabs now hold the misjudgement of so many.
we see beyond 000,s & 11111's
were not numbers were more than that now.
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 11:15 AM UTC
*Complex is the road to the apex in a man
Determined in those formative, young years,
Where infantile and adolescent socializing skills
Develop mind sets that aren't resolved by tears.
For in overcoming challenge with objective rationale,
In perusing detachment’s crucial eye,
In acceptance of a criticisms biting, sharp array
An admission builds perception to the sky.
A common demarcation twixt the realm of work and play
Renders blurring satisfaction with one’s lot,
When we love the things we do, satisfaction shall accrue
While convergent thinking blends the skills we’ve got.
Passionate objectivity played with energetic calm
Holds the secret to the quest to make it fun
With devotion’s steady hand in a thought provoking man
Progress harnesses misjudgement’s smoking gun.
The skill to listen to the crowd without rebuttal yelled aloud
But have the ability to firmly have your say,
Means naivety’s restraint deflects acceptance’s constraint
Assuring separation’s wheat from chaff, shall pay.
Be humble, Sir, and proud as you broach your game, aloud
Taking pride in the achievements that you yearn,
Let emotion’s heady swell temper what you do so well
Yet dwell within that place, wherein you know, you learn.
Complex are constraints found retaining hard complaint
But intelligence shall always take firm hold,
Where beauty in this beast is the judgement factored least
For endeavour rules the best beget the bold.*
Marshalg
Auckland
10 August 2016.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC
Rhetoric.
An Acrostic verse.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rhetoric is the art of polish and refinement
Harlot verbiage moving from context -context
Every now and then causing misjudgement
Tenses abound within rhetorical speakers
Orator, when will you ever learn?
Rhetoric Embarras many words inappropriate
Inappropriately in discrete as testified secrets
Clearly dismissing rhetoric to a state of limbo.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip
December 1st 2018.
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
I let go of train of thought when I notice a person getting caught, and abused by another person in the form of cursing or some sort to have that person feel distort....and after that person is abused...and used to amuse...suicide becomes their last resort....word weapons are such a discretion...
Stop the Word Weapons...Stop the Word Weapons...Stop the words weapons that are being used more than machinery...it gives people a reason to start swinging in a violent matter...after that word weapon's egged on chit chatter....
I let go of train of thought when i notice a group of people circling another person...laughing...and giggling...pointing...and singling out one after another...while he or she is crying...like a bullet hit deep...signs of that person's pride dieing...now rendered weak...unable to speak...misjudgement of character...like a book chapter missing....someone should say something but they act like they're not listening...
Stop the Word Weapons...Stop the Word Weapons....Stop the Word Weapons....stop the reason for violent discretion...stop the judging...stop the pushing...and shoving...stop saying nothing...let the abused's pride be rebuilt inside...let the weak speak....let the shamed look up to the sky...let the quite unable to speak stop being shy...be strong instead of weak...laugh instead of cry....we all are people...we have feelings that are equal...no matter the color...let us listen to our mother when they have said...to treat others like we want to be treated...smile when being greeted...cool off when you are heated...look with a smile instead of a frown...cause our father who art in heaven is looking down...wondering if we are lost...and can't be found...
United We Stand...Divided We Fall
-Peter T. DeSpirito
Nov 21, 2019
Nov 21, 2019 at 10:50 AM UTC
Misjudgement
The stereotypical society has notions of its own,
Being judgmental towards the calibre and capability of the known!
Academic qualifications pace up your growth,
Separate domains are left behind to loathe.
Touch the feet of printed pages and your success will touch its summit,
Being discreet is the hated song and you mustn’t even hum it!
Beliefs of the individual are controlled by the preceding,
They then are pushed into the crowd of unaware succeeding!
We are what we are and we believe in what must be done, yet we can never be grown,
Ladies and gentlemen
The stereotypical society has notions of its own!
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 8:21 AM UTC