"nit" poems
HIMALAY SE GANGASAGAR TAK DEV MUNI GAN KARATE SWAGAT BIN TERE DARSHAN APURN TIRATH VINATI HAI MA MUKH MOD MAT . NIT SNAN DYAN AARATI, SARASAWATI KI VIDA PUKARATI. MANAV SANG JALCHARO KO BHI TARATI KYO AB SANSE HARATI.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
I cry, I frown, I aggravate, I shout
She laughs, she smiles, she simplifies and rejoices aloud
She is totally different from me
Se lives in me but is always free
When I frighten, she enlighten
with every step she brighten
she is a child in me
full of glee
when I become quiet in sadness
she does all work in quite Madness
what I deceive, is her believe
This bond is what makes us unique
We take different trains from the same station
My every work is a subject to her allegation
our roads don't match, but our destinations do
I don't know why her clumsiness is better than my neatness to
We both are one unit
I am a misfit, she is a nit wit
But, I lack the charisma she has
yet I am learning the way she act as
So what, we take different paths
we reach the same parks
Hurry up, I need to end this poem
to stop her playing from a toy lion...
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 1:55 AM UTC
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin *** help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that *** staw a sow,
Or fricassee *** mak her spew
Wi perfect scunner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro ****** flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.
Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Black hole, please, absorb this!
This horrible image,
This regrettable instance In which
I had lost myself to
Blindness.
Lover, Force me to look at you
And nit into the past that is
A marble statue with claws and teeth
That protrude like swords.
Tell me I can let go
Of the rotted flower petals
Covered in mold and betrayal,
They said they would stay
Beautiful!
Tell me I can rinse the slime
Of false hope from my body
And my intimacies so that
I may be pure for you.
Quicksand, drop this putrid locket
Into your depths and clog the clasp
So that no one will ever see the inside.
Obey Me!
Take my sacrifice, my past and
Everything
Corroded! Tell me
That I am able to forget
And be forgotten!
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
capsized beating purple algorithm
for a heart,
cross-nit aspirations
still taste dirt on my teeth,
the mission creep of eager eyed poets,
carry a briefcase with my levi's --
close cut cigarette encounters,
all brick shantytown of a friendship
them lovelies run on endless,
it's starting to get cold outside.
restless sprites circle our *****
exhaling greek mythopoeics
every sure footed step.
alcoholism echoes in my skin
a depth charge i cannot cut out,
we all have broken thoughts here,
all have blind spots in our stomachs,
they read like a preacher's insecurities:
burly things we warm ourselves with,
the winters sting bitter.
something is wrong with me,
sinkhole of ambition and honey kisses,
all the great thinkers **** themselves,
it's the staunch lack of spotlight,
way the earth drips lackadaisical-like
we just call it a perfect orbit.
shake my hand and feel a goldilocks pulse
anemic shards of a cornered animal,
we cut right
to the bone
here, or so we tell ourselves.
and love is always the answer?
that sure footed toothy angel
so beautiful, it couldn't just be our
churlish blood,
frothing and calming,
frothing and calming,
electrons rise and fall to create light,
they still circle an untapped atrocity
perfectly,
like this, like it must be
god
or something close. something
stopping them from running, free
from bonds ionic or otherwise,
bare feet
beating the pavement until there are
no more stones to throw.
firstborns of the universe,
each star is a setting sun,
blinks staggered,
still grew us up quicker than most,
there is no aphrodisiac like heliocentrism.
them bones cut good
doped up on oxytocin,
those empty thoughts still rattling,
dig sharp -- then nice and numb.
and we cutthroat and glossy,
sharper than ever.
walk outside
smoke a cigarette
know how much you love her,
look at the stars --
it's ******* beautiful isn't it
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
I say "I'm just tired"
Because I can't tell you
I can't tell you how I just want to cry
All the time
Because sometimes I feel so hopeless
Because sometimes I feel so different
Because I'm strange and left out and rejected
I can't tell you how my heart is broken
That the most beautiful boy I've ever known doesn't want me
Because I can't tell you what I did
Because I don't want you to see the ugly inside of me
I can't tell you how I hate my body
That I nit-pick and try to perfect it every second of every day
Because I feel trapped in this physical shell
Because I just want to be beautiful
I can't tell you how ashamed and alone I feel
Because I'm different
Because I'm an oddball and I don't fit in with any of my many groups
Because I'm never good enough, never bad enough
Because I'm never enough
I can't tell you any of this
Because I don't think you really want to hear it
Because I don't want to burden you
Because I know I'm being stupid
Because I feel too insecure to tell anyone anything
Because I don't trust people anymore
Because you'll just hurt me
I can't tell you any of this
So instead I'll say,
"Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired."
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
A square, white, four bedroom, one bath country home
With fourteen kids, parents and much family love
We didn’t have abundance: fiscally poor
But we had each other: banked on our family
We shared our victories and or trying pain
We were a modest Scottish Catholic Clan
Isolated, we were not to our immediate clan
Our uncle’s lived within a trot, fifteen in his home
We kids worked and played on the farm without pain
It was an adventurous labor of extended family love
We worked, laughed, cried, and played as a family
In the early years, we young ones were anything but poor
However, in grammar school, we learned the meaning of poor
And materialism and envy, outside our cloistered clan
But together we lived and loved as a close nit family
Sure we had disagreements, not material goods, but a solid home
White paint peeled on the outside, yet inside was painted love
Still, there were poverty jokes, ridicule and masked pain
Every family has strife, baggage, and superfluous pain
Our parents didn’t drink; we had faith, yet fiscally poor
Ole Dad plumbed toilets; Mom slaved in the house, both with love
So we wouldn’t trade riches for our impoverished meager clan
Summer berries to pick, winter sledding, spring kites, and forever home
Kickball games, splashing in ponds, nature hikes and family
We were not taught to show emotions, hug, not an “I love you family,”
Albeit, an honest, polite, and proud Scottish Clan
The old house was eternally warm; it was our forever home
Until 1999. Dad passed from cancer still money poor
Yet rich in the knowledge of family and that his true pain
Was never saying that word; on his deathbed he whispered “Love”
Though our patriarch was laid to rest, we rose with the word “Love”
Eventually, the house was sold, but always one huge family
Mom spends her days in a retirement home remembering her clan
As time passes and memories fades, it lessens the pain
Of the loss of a noble father, economically poor
Yet with a strong work ethic, church, and love, built a home
Fourteen children now forged fourteen homes on love
Many, still, financially poor, but rich in forever family
Correcting mistakes that caused pain, while perpetuating our clan
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
Each earnest and every chosen
Nit-picked word ready
To carefully clasp cautious ears
And carve out a particular path
This persuasion, both cruel and great
To bend a mind and heart ,
And push it down your choice of fate,
Entrance, enthrall, enhance, abate,
Convince you, and sell you
And a signed, written, and binding
contract controlling you, make
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 8:55 PM UTC
Like continents moving the skin off from over me , slowly..
deliberately with great force on the rest of my being ,
each aspect of myself emerges anew
from the cocoon like first layer of childhood ,
i see myself spiral from the snakeskin left on the floor
a forge is in it’s place
of molten liquid energy running along my meridians.
Serenading every judgement of another character with love shine ,
fresh from the gardens of mine
that bathe
by the sea air
in my root chakra layer... mingles ,
with the heart echo arrow
i send it with.
Known; that the judgements of others are a side product of judgement of self.
Be it , through the eyes of a hopeful parent or a tired teacher , a pig or a nit.... an angel or specter himself -
None equal as true, to the eyes i see through
on the matter my being is composed of.
Integrating stillness in my vivacious bones , conscious movements flow , stabilizing the unknown into the known , materializing the un-materialized subconscious realm.
Moving through visible reality shifts and mind rifts , exploring
the astral world around me
whilst moving through physical boundaries of borders
Developing organs in my subtle body .
Manifesting my foundations for stamina.
What a joy it is to live from the heart.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
You make it in your mess-tin by the brazier's rosy gleam;
You watch it cloud, then settle amber clear;
You lift it with your bay'nit, and you sniff the fragrant steam;
The very breath of it is ripe with cheer.
You're awful cold and ***** and a-cursin' of your lot;
You scoff the blushin' 'alf of it, so rich and rippin' 'ot;
It bucks you up like anythink, just seems to touch the spot:
God bless the man that first discovered Tea!
Since I came out to fight in France, which ain't the other day,
I think I've drunk enough to float a barge;
All kinds of fancy foreign dope, from caffy and doo lay,
To *** they serves you out before a charge.
In back rooms of estaminays I've gurgled pints of cham;
I've swilled down mugs of cider till I've felt a bloomin' dam;
But 'struth! they all ain't in it with the vintage of Assam:
God bless the man that first invented Tea!
I think them lazy lumps o' gods wot kips on asphodel
Swigs nectar that's a flavour of Oolong;
I only wish them sons o' guns a-grillin' down in 'ell
Could 'ave their daily ration of Suchong.
Hurrah! I'm off to battle, which is 'ell and 'eaven too;
And if I don't give some poor bloke a sexton's job to do,
To-night, by Fritz's campfire, won't I 'ave a gorgeous brew
(For fightin' mustn't interfere with Tea).
To-night we'll all be tellin' of the Boches that we slew,
As we drink the giddy victory in Tea.
2.2k
I am in a *********
I know what you’re thinking
‘Really? You? Standards must be sinking’
But you see
My lovers guard me, they are my protection
On my left is Anxiety
And on my right is Depression
They both think I am…smoking hot
Like I am something worth fighting over
Both claiming my thoughts as belonging to them each
As though everything I learn is all what they teach
Depression likes to mess with my body as well as my thoughts
Running its sharp and callous hands over the flesh of my limbs believing I get pleasure from its touch
While Anxiety gnaws at my wrists like a rubber band ping, ping, pinging
As though I don’t have better things to do like living.
Three is a crowd
And we have tried breaking up
But Anxiety is clingy
And even when I change the locks it still manages to nit-pick its way back inside
Depression is so addictive and likes to hug
Wraps its arms around me and even when I cover my ears
I still hear it whisper it look what you’ve done
D and A are similar in ways
They both like to put me down, tell me I’m not good enough
And then hold me until I believe they have me picked me up
And saved me from killing this part of the trilogy
I am the last part
I am so far unwritten
The last piece of the puzzle
That makes up the picture
Of a self-destructive girl
In the midst of something she can’t understand
She has a nice smile though and a good heart
But the lovers are not attracted to that
Though they don’t mind ripping them apart
Until her lips are too battered to smile anymore
The ***** that once pumped double time is so unsure
Of itself it finds it difficult to even try
You know what, **** it
I can do this
I will break up with them
They have done this to hundreds of people before
And they’ll do it again
This is not right
This is not how I should be treated
I am a strong independent woman
I will not be defeated.
To Anxiety and Depression, you’re not getting custody
Not of this mind and not of this body
I am not letting you through the gate anymore
I will buy stronger locks
And not let you in even if you politely knock
There is no home here for you
You go hand in hand
Like young naïve lovers
Straggling for attention
Even under the covers
I will not call you again
We once were lovers but you were never my friends.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
i guess i need more mentally disturbed
friends.
i’m feeling lately like the scab that’s been picked off,
forgotten, dried up, designating.
people don’t understand when i say my heart feels like it will
explode out of my lungs, throughmythroat and get caught between
myteeth.
my anxieties need a **** buddy, because making eye contact
is even too
much. and i wish i could stop assuming the worst.
"jesus, you worry too much"
i can’t help that i find the flaws, the nit picky things,
the traits that i want to squish like
blueberries.
i can’t help that when i sit alone in my car,
i think too often of swerving into highways and wondering what a deer
sees before it
dies.
that’s why i don’t talk about this, i never can anyway,
they swell and sit upon my tongue like when you ate that pepper whole
and all i tasted was flames.
my anxieties and i are the kind of friends where we speak nicely
and are all smiles in front of one another,
but as soon as we turn around,
all we say is venom.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
Great people die,
Just like you and I.
We all came the same,
Naked, with a brain;
Walked, then talked,
We're all the same,
But great ones do it
With their brain.
Size doesn't matter.
You can be a pea brain,
Or a nit wit:
Why, if someone says,
You've half a brain;
That shouldn't be
Cause for shame.
You never know
Who's got half a brain:
It's been proven,
Sometimes half
Is greater than the whole.
Use what you got,
Live your fullest.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
The Twins they resemble
They are the same being
One's a little taller
The other's shorter, but equally deceiving
They are the same
In action, poise, and tone
Together they stand
Together they are at home
They nit and pick
Every little thing
They badger and belittle
Together they sing
One stands ahead
While the other is not
But together they stand equal
Or so they think in their thoughts
As they look down below
From their hierarch self made
They're blind to the mutiny
That dances above their graves
These twins they laugh
But we plot in the dark
The smell of their death
Will be ignited by the smallest spark
These twins will be separate
One day come soon
They will look for the other
Not knowing what to do
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 2:55 AM UTC
as black as night
as white as snow
as big as a aeroplane
as small as a nit
as hot as the sun
as cold as the fridge
as tall as a giraffe
as short as a koala
as fast as a fox
as slow as a slug
thin as paper
fat as an elephant
soft as a carpet
hard as iron
as intreasting as a lion
as boring as math
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
Publicly, in a place where language and liberty are
held by egotists, teach the limits of minutes.
Remind the esteemed that speed
is a fool for popular belief.
Twelve months, twelve jurors, twelve perhaps.
Trees have grown in sadder conditions.
If you want the confidence of indifference,
then amaze nature with offensive styles and time with substance.
Paranoia is perfect in a nit-pick of cages.
Birds and children depend on the weather -- the size of
your plate is positive protection from detection.
Man is born trumpeted by eliminations,
so provoke the simple and the neccesary.
Wisely, allow falls to perfect your aim
and let submission be it's own masterpiece.
Devote yourself to purpose and exacting hope.
Increase living with boyhood wonder,
and always love -- transform.
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
His scent
lingered
and so did I
I drew him in
a pheromone high
Feeling things
I'd never felt
I was high as ever
off the way that he smelt
Like labor
a nit and grit flavor
just strong enough to savor
with a hint
of old leather
there is no smell better
feeling the scent (sent)
like a love laced letter
his smell gets me high
always makes me feel better
A pheromone high
I can't deny
as long as it lingers
so will I
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
It's needless to say that if the needle needs found then you will find it,
Knowing you need it to make a cozy blanket, no needle you can't nit.
Needles is main tool needed to make what will keep you secure and warm,
Everyone needs a comfort blanket especially if there is a predicted storm.
So You dive straight into that hay stack to find your knitting needle head first,
Making sure you come out with it, proving to all that you had lifted the curse.
Because to loose your knitting needle in a hay stack would truly be a curse,
There's nothing worst, loosing something you need unless your senses burst.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
.
****
**** *****
Wiener Pecker U
nit ***** Piece T
ool Thing Shaft
Member Doink
er ***** Cack C
hour Chub Pud
******* Wanki
W a n g D ing
a ling Ding Don
g Kielbasa Brat
worst Meat Pop
sicle Meat ther
mometer Bolog
ny pony Salami
Sausage Tube
steak ****** P
orkSword Nood
le Banana Corn
dog Magic wan
d Staff Divine R
od Love muscle
Third leg Tonsi
l tickler Power
drill Jack hamm
er Wedding tac
kle Bat Club Rod
Pole Joystick Ja
ck-in-the-box S
kin flute D-trai
n Mr . Happy B
a ld - headed yo
gurt slinger Lon
g **** Silver Ji
my Johnson Kn
ob Captain Win
ky One eyed W
illy One eyed M
onster Peter On
e eyed trouser
snake The Sala
mander Horse
**** Lincoln lo
g Tootsie Roll F
Lesh trombone
Meat stick Meat
whistle Dobber
Wanger Woody
Shake weight T
iffy Frank and
the beans Ch o
a d t h e dirty
wise man *****
Harry nut cann
on Flesh flute
Satan's clarinet
Sexophone Th e Mayflower ( on
account of all the Puritans who came
on it ) The Wea p o n of A s s
destruction junk mail
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
It's in my head
Come on
Use your belt
Oh please
Can't think straight
Help me
Let's make a trade
Get some rope
Get some knives
Get some sticks
You may *****
Feel me thrive
On your licks
Take me
Break me
Hit me
Nit me
And reverse
**** me
**** me
Choke me
Soak me
In your lust
Feb 16, 2020
Feb 16, 2020 at 11:15 AM UTC
Why must you tear me down
Who cares if I am not perfect
Perfect is boring
why must you tear me down
throwin insults at me
when I'm trying to be strong
Why must you tear me down
Nit picking my appearance
when I finally feel beautiful
Why must you tear me down
I thought we were friends
or at least on good terms
Why must you tear me down
What did I do to deserve this?
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
No...more...bickerin,
your eyes flickering you're nickering
your nit pickin' lost it quick as the Dickens
My tracks a hell of a kickin'
you're just the next feckin victim,
of the flow bound Hurricane of sense and rhythm,
The Sensemilla Sensei Kempei of verbal Kempo's home,
Like Alladin and Saladin mixed with a Party Boobytrap a Paladin of Palindrome...
The Storm rider glider blasts you through the other side of the Thunderdome
My - Spitfire drips Ire as ********* ***** fire Surprise in your eyes quick blast from the past from a .50 Cal Microphone-
Fiend in me soul under control you failed your roll,
will check failed-I check wills,its a Checkmate mate you-best quill your will and will to build some soul
Its a dill of pickle you're in - you're a nickle worth of Nickleback stickleback sticklebricking best Lego
I let go last, I'm the Legolas of the fast pass in the underpass stick you fast now you're stuck fast I buck fast at your glass of Buckfast
the Truculent, ever vigilant-words are Succulent got you diggin' in
diggin' out a liddle bit of Lidl in a stolen digger,move quicker stop the friggin' in the riggin' little Pigpen Pigeons time to drop the bridge in...
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
I found a cure for head lice and nits,
This'll really thrill you to bits,
Pour coca-cola on infested heads,
Happy hoppies shall soon be dead,
But don't give the cola to your kids,
They'll all get intestinal nits!
To all the parents and teachers of kids,
Happy hoppies cured, no more nits!
Now didn't that thrill you to bits?
A verse written by Navajo the Nit!
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 12:32 AM UTC
Full-time job
As a part-time lover
A fool fueled
By the feuds
That burns like the passion
Of a manic mad man
That manages to unmask
Conspiracies
Of secrecy
All the while
Spiraling
In delusion
Self-persecution
Trading sanity
For a truth
With no proof
Spewing his views
Over youtube
While you tune in
To a frequency
That frequently
Misses the point
The bigger picture
Is hard to see
When nit-pickers
Like I
Scrutinize the details
Then tell whats missing
With the audacity
Of a man with the capacity
To think critically
I mimic cynic critics
Then complain
When my views
Are challenged
Im challenged
Mentally
My retardation
Will eventually
Get the best of me
Hopefully
Before the worst of me
Becomes
The norm
This poem
Seems scatterbrained
Because my metaphors
Rarely connect
In the way
The reader
Is supposed to incept
I'd accept my defeat
In my attempt
TO prove my point
Except
I hate showing
What you'd expect
So as our dwindles
To the sound
Of my favorite instrumental
As I write about
Myself
Hopefully
You'll see the bigger picture
Unlike me
... I just realized
I forgot to put love
Before the word dwindle
In the last stanza
And ****** up this constantly
Rhyming poem
To point out
The small details
And as a final
Desperate attempt
To redeem myself
I'll selfishly
Forget you again
And end
On a note
As a notice
That reconnects my first thought
Of how
Unbalanced my time is devoted
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 3:40 AM UTC