"mulish" poems - Hello Poetry

From Shisha with Love The room was dark as I entered Like a tangled pipe, I twisted, turned, and stumbled to my seat That’s when I saw her, everything was suddenly bright My eyes struck her creating a spark, she set me alight Her head had all the flavour, her hair the fiery glow Her eyes sweet like double apples, and her mouth mulish like mint She was, so tall, so fine, so slender The combination of cute and **** any man would surrender The path to the glow was clear, I couldn’t let this opportunity pass Every advance I took towards her I inhaled and exhaled a little deeper Like a shooting star in the night, I had to make my wish come true before the star strays I found myself immersed in smoke I had lost my way; where was the star, the glow the blaze? I began coughing and blowing the smoke away, and there she was In my brief moment of vertiginous, the pipe was in another palm The once fresh flavours became harsh, and the fiery flame was now smouldering Like a coal that had lost its grey coat that protected its fragile warmth was now mouldering Take a deep breath and let it go. @BengGeorge

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Sep 28, 2016

Sep 28, 2016 at 5:34 PM UTC

george-mails

From Shisha with Love

From Shisha with Love The room was dark as I entered Like a tangled pipe, I twisted, turned, and stumbled to my seat That’s when I saw her, everything was suddenly bright My eyes struck her creating a spark, she set me alight Her head had all the flavour, her hair the fiery glow Her eyes sweet like double apples, and her mouth mulish like mint She was, so tall, so fine, so slender The combination of cute and **** any man would surrender The path to the glow was clear, I couldn’t let this opportunity pass Every advance I took towards her I inhaled and exhaled a little deeper Like a shooting star in the night, I had to make my wish come true before the star strays I found myself immersed in smoke I had lost my way; where was the star, the glow the blaze? I began coughing and blowing the smoke away, and there she was In my brief moment of vertiginous, the pipe was in another palm The once fresh flavours became harsh, and the fiery flame was now smouldering Like a coal that had lost its grey coat that protected its fragile warmth was now mouldering Take a deep breath and let it go. @BengGeorge

19

Meanings mull within mulish minds Letters like lingering halitosis Words waft with each exhale Sentences, swirling, sliding, sighing Phrases pant per pulmonary systems Tumbling through teeth, Vocabulary resonates outward Into the stagnant air Permanence spills over tongues Word ***** condemnation Speak your life sentence

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Jan 3, 2017

Jan 3, 2017 at 6:19 PM UTC

brighteyes071

Sentencing for Sentences

Meanings mull within mulish minds Letters like lingering halitosis Words waft with each exhale Sentences, swirling, sliding, sighing Phrases pant per pulmonary systems Tumbling through teeth, Vocabulary resonates outward Into the stagnant air Permanence spills over tongues Word ***** condemnation Speak your life sentence

12

Struggles are part of every man's life They come in the form of worries or wives! And once they are done with arguments and strife They know life's over, and they forgot to jive! Miseries come to women as heirs or hubbies The former is chubby, the latter is stubby! Often treated as a slave, a cheap scrubby Now no longer bubbly. She is mostly grubby! Youngsters are blessed - for they are ignorant and mulish They are worried of gadgets, or a spreading blemish. For even when the world is at war and looks bleakish, What keeps them up would be a love, to anguish. Children find solace among friends at school With homework half-done, they're obstinate as mules. Parents are loving, so they are allowed to drool. Even teachers look fools. Life is so cool. Stages of life are - all different, all funny! Some stages look dry. Some stages look sunny. The one thing that links all - the crazy and cunning Its no longer love. Its rather money.

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Nov 18, 2011

Nov 18, 2011 at 7:17 AM UTC

geetha-raj

Timepass!

Struggles are part of every man's life They come in the form of worries or wives! And once they are done with arguments and strife They know life's over, and they forgot to jive! Miseries come to women as heirs or hubbies The former is chubby, the latter is stubby! Often treated as a slave, a cheap scrubby Now no longer bubbly. She is mostly grubby! Youngsters are blessed - for they are ignorant and mulish They are worried of gadgets, or a spreading blemish. For even when the world is at war and looks bleakish, What keeps them up would be a love, to anguish. Children find solace among friends at school With homework half-done, they're obstinate as mules. Parents are loving, so they are allowed to drool. Even teachers look fools. Life is so cool. Stages of life are - all different, all funny! Some stages look dry. Some stages look sunny. The one thing that links all - the crazy and cunning Its no longer love. Its rather money.

20

In fallow field Where corn once grew I chanced upon An old mule shoe I pondered on The many miles The shoe had plod In mulish style In river bed Now dry as bone I came upon A worn millstone Wondered aloud The wagons full Of new milled corn The mule had pulled In old grey barn Within a stall I found these words Carved on the wall *George Washington Once slept here Best **** mule From far and near* ;) r ~ 20Mar14

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Mar 20, 2014

Mar 20, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC

r-2

Fallow Field of Words

In fallow field Where corn once grew I chanced upon An old mule shoe I pondered on The many miles The shoe had plod In mulish style In river bed Now dry as bone I came upon A worn millstone Wondered aloud The wagons full Of new milled corn The mule had pulled In old grey barn Within a stall I found these words Carved on the wall *George Washington Once slept here Best **** mule From far and near* ;) r ~ 20Mar14

26

Those fortunate enough To be living without Anxiety; believe It is like a disease But in reality It is a creature that Thrives in environments Which tickle the senses A pair of noisy heels Can drum up fear in me That clutches to my ears Which rash and mulish force The itch of a shirt tag Consumes my attention Deletes my feeling any Other touch but that pain An acid taste of foul Street side food I received From a pushy hawk Stirs more than nausea Such sensations are Unremarkable to Those anxiety free Cause they don’t live like me Where such surroundings Have a vice grip on the Mentally unstable They cause a pain unseen

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Jul 11, 2012

Jul 11, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC

molly-pendleton

Grip of Anxiety

Those fortunate enough To be living without Anxiety; believe It is like a disease But in reality It is a creature that Thrives in environments Which tickle the senses A pair of noisy heels Can drum up fear in me That clutches to my ears Which rash and mulish force The itch of a shirt tag Consumes my attention Deletes my feeling any Other touch but that pain An acid taste of foul Street side food I received From a pushy hawk Stirs more than nausea Such sensations are Unremarkable to Those anxiety free Cause they don’t live like me Where such surroundings Have a vice grip on the Mentally unstable They cause a pain unseen

28

If the world was a child I'd make it sit in the corner And think about its wicked ways If love was corporeal I'd sew it to my side And bind it forever to me If the Mississippi ran drunk with whiskey I'd become a steamship captain I'd become a riverboat queen If my father was a rock He'd be an impossible Immovable monument To sweet sweat and mulish heads If my blood was honey I'd bake off little pieces of my body And feed it to the men I meet If fear was an end table I would throw out all my coasters Leaving stained bare wood behind If relationships were chemicals I would mix them into medicines And always label them properly If my sister was a dragon She'd blow glass from sand With every breath If the mountains breathed like human beings I'd climb inside their inhales And never come out again If my mother was water She'd flow wild and abandoned Weaving canyons in her path If my bed was a time machine I'd go back to my first kiss And just keep swimming If I was a wolf I would howl and howl and howl Until I drowned out everything else Saying take and eat take and drink do this in remembrance of me

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Mar 27, 2014

Mar 27, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC

holly-salvatore

Hypotheticals

If the world was a child I'd make it sit in the corner And think about its wicked ways If love was corporeal I'd sew it to my side And bind it forever to me If the Mississippi ran drunk with whiskey I'd become a steamship captain I'd become a riverboat queen If my father was a rock He'd be an impossible Immovable monument To sweet sweat and mulish heads If my blood was honey I'd bake off little pieces of my body And feed it to the men I meet If fear was an end table I would throw out all my coasters Leaving stained bare wood behind If relationships were chemicals I would mix them into medicines And always label them properly If my sister was a dragon She'd blow glass from sand With every breath If the mountains breathed like human beings I'd climb inside their inhales And never come out again If my mother was water She'd flow wild and abandoned Weaving canyons in her path If my bed was a time machine I'd go back to my first kiss And just keep swimming If I was a wolf I would howl and howl and howl Until I drowned out everything else Saying take and eat take and drink do this in remembrance of me

38

Navels peel great, but Valencias make more delicious juice, and more and more comparisons come up. On the morning dog walk, as we venture closer to the highway overpass, that whether-or-not feeling comes over. Do we go under? Sure, there is often creepy things there, but the dog seems locked-in, so onward under. I'm not as mulish as the dog and I can tell he smells something. Usually, it is dead, whatever it might be, but sometimes it's not, and that can be worse. It's an orange cloud morning however, and dawn breaks more nicely on the other side, so for the good grace of catching a better glimpse, I'll brave it. Then, of course, there it is, an irksome tableau, morbidly funny though. Next to the airport miniature bottle of Fireball Cinnamon Whisky, is a turned over pigeon with his claws looking as if that bottle had dropped there from his little birdies' ***** feet. I had to giggle, as my stomach turned. Poor dead bird. Things are really bad when pigeon's are offing themselves this way. Debating to take a quick snapshot or not, time lapses, and I see the blood orange sky dripping by. So, oh well, I'll just turn about, and not allow the dog to indulge. He's a tough tug on the leash at this point, fearless little fellow. When I return home, I peel one of those Navels. Its skin and pith roll off nicely, and as I split open the sections with my front teeth, I notice the complexity of it all. Though there are juicy parts of the pulp, around the end, it can get a bit dry and putrid. Tomorrow, I shall have to wake the dog just a bit earlier to get that glimpse of a more red to yellow moment. Something tangerine may tempt.

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Apr 20, 2017

Apr 20, 2017 at 9:45 AM UTC

pj-poesy

Oranges

Navels peel great, but Valencias make more delicious juice, and more and more comparisons come up. On the morning dog walk, as we venture closer to the highway overpass, that whether-or-not feeling comes over. Do we go under? Sure, there is often creepy things there, but the dog seems locked-in, so onward under. I'm not as mulish as the dog and I can tell he smells something. Usually, it is dead, whatever it might be, but sometimes it's not, and that can be worse. It's an orange cloud morning however, and dawn breaks more nicely on the other side, so for the good grace of catching a better glimpse, I'll brave it. Then, of course, there it is, an irksome tableau, morbidly funny though. Next to the airport miniature bottle of Fireball Cinnamon Whisky, is a turned over pigeon with his claws looking as if that bottle had dropped there from his little birdies' ***** feet. I had to giggle, as my stomach turned. Poor dead bird. Things are really bad when pigeon's are offing themselves this way. Debating to take a quick snapshot or not, time lapses, and I see the blood orange sky dripping by. So, oh well, I'll just turn about, and not allow the dog to indulge. He's a tough tug on the leash at this point, fearless little fellow. When I return home, I peel one of those Navels. Its skin and pith roll off nicely, and as I split open the sections with my front teeth, I notice the complexity of it all. Though there are juicy parts of the pulp, around the end, it can get a bit dry and putrid. Tomorrow, I shall have to wake the dog just a bit earlier to get that glimpse of a more red to yellow moment. Something tangerine may tempt.

2

What plays most on his mind is her mulish way and how her stubborn words roll off her scarlet tongue -- She's intractable. When forehead crevasses interrupt her softness like a fog cast over the morning meadow, only love can subdue her argument. She's intractable. There is a mountain of dissent to scale for him to touch her tenderly. Her noisy defiance remains endearing to those untouched by her resilience. To others, she's intractable.

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May 20, 2015

May 20, 2015 at 8:03 PM UTC

william-a-poppen

Intractable

What plays most on his mind is her mulish way and how her stubborn words roll off her scarlet tongue -- She's intractable. When forehead crevasses interrupt her softness like a fog cast over the morning meadow, only love can subdue her argument. She's intractable. There is a mountain of dissent to scale for him to touch her tenderly. Her noisy defiance remains endearing to those untouched by her resilience. To others, she's intractable.

18

This shish is deeper than an ocean, It's harder to harbor but that's all I digest. As Adam took a bite of the apple, They see us through the eye (i) of the apple The world they put in our visualizing sight of mental, Is to own an APPLE while they pull away the real world Using evolution, entertainment & electronics forming fugazi. Presidents in our pockets, these people all dead. As we aimed for the pin point that we won't miss Instead we should missplace jealous, aggression & hate. The more we act upon our emotions we turn to be emotional Vivid devotion holds us tight than tighter. We're that over loaded vessel of pure vivid devotion. These days we have people treating others carelessly Elevating motionless emotions over, metronome & loyalty. As he was moguls, he should have not been mulish & took a bite. A pious way of penalizing sinners would be... Imagine the weight of the universe on our minds & shoulders Falling down into the matter of endlessly space... That's how it would feel like.

0

Jul 9, 2017

Jul 9, 2017 at 6:44 PM UTC

izzyvii-hunnid

Titled "The i"

This shish is deeper than an ocean, It's harder to harbor but that's all I digest. As Adam took a bite of the apple, They see us through the eye (i) of the apple The world they put in our visualizing sight of mental, Is to own an APPLE while they pull away the real world Using evolution, entertainment & electronics forming fugazi. Presidents in our pockets, these people all dead. As we aimed for the pin point that we won't miss Instead we should missplace jealous, aggression & hate. The more we act upon our emotions we turn to be emotional Vivid devotion holds us tight than tighter. We're that over loaded vessel of pure vivid devotion. These days we have people treating others carelessly Elevating motionless emotions over, metronome & loyalty. As he was moguls, he should have not been mulish & took a bite. A pious way of penalizing sinners would be... Imagine the weight of the universe on our minds & shoulders Falling down into the matter of endlessly space... That's how it would feel like.

20

A mulish tread after another, in a constant pace, ****** boring, Indifferent to why, when or where, Scorched by a violent hiss, prompting another tread, another obsolete yard. Oblivious to a world behind a glimpse, were you not too blind to see

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Jan 17, 2016

Jan 17, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC

nuno-a-s-b-soares

chosen path

A mulish tread after another, in a constant pace, ****** boring, Indifferent to why, when or where, Scorched by a violent hiss, prompting another tread, another obsolete yard. Oblivious to a world behind a glimpse, were you not too blind to see

7