"notified" poems
Challenges and competition notified.
Every step codified.
Tears and sweat pacified.
Achievements and advancement glorified.
Regression and depression terrified.
Muscles and struggle verified.
Foes and conspirators mortified.
Plans of progress and purpose sanctified.
Grace and the Goodness of God testified.
Sweet pleasures of life.
Trials, Torment and Torture.
Eulogies and Elegies of visible characters.
Promising and decisive.
No conflicts, No dilemma.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
April doesnt hurt here
Like it does in New England
The ground
Vast and brown
Surrounds dry towns
Located in the dust
Of the coming locust
Live for survival, not for 'kicks'
Be a bangtail describer,
like of shrouded traveler
in Textile tenement & the birds fighting in yr ears-like Burroughs exact to describe & gettin $
The Angry Hunger
(hunger is anger)
who fears the
hungry feareth
the angry)
And so I came home
To Golden far away
Twas on the horizon
Every blessed day
As we rolled And we rolled
From Donner tragic Pass
Thru April in Nevada And out Salt City Way Into the dry Nebraskas And sad Wyomings Where young girls And pretty lover boys
With Mickey Mantle eyes
Wander under moons
Sawing in lost cradle
And Judge O Fasterc
Passes whiggling by To ask of young love: ,,Was it the same wind Of April Plains eve that ruffled the dress
Of my lost love
Louanna
In the Western
Far off night
Lost as the whistle
Of the passing Train
Everywhere West
Roams moaning
The deep basso
- Vom! Vom!
- Was it the same love
Notified my bones As mortify yrs now
Children of the soft
Wyoming April night?
Couldna been!
But was! But was!'
And on the prairie
The wildflower blows
In the night For bees & birds And sleeping hidden Animals of life.
The Chicago
Spitters in the spotty street
Cheap beans, loop, Girls made eyes at me And I had 35 Cents in my jeans -
Then Toledo
Springtime starry
Lover night Of hot rod boys And cool girls A wandering
A wandering
In search of April pain A plash of rain
Will not dispel This fumigatin hell Of lover lane This park of roses Blue as bees
In former airy poses
In aerial O Way hoses
No tamarand And figancine Can the musterand Be less kind
Sol -
Sol -
Bring forth yr Ah Sunflower - Ah me Montana
Phosphorescent Rose
And bridge in
fairly land
I'd understand it all -
11.1k
"After mysteries am I, mysterious men too"
together when we slipped away from others
she told me with a grin, evidently hysterical,
it gripped me, for some unknown reason.
"More in to mysteries than anything else"
I gently notified to her my intentions
"I've never been able to **** a male ****** ever"
She indicated the area of her present curiosity
but isn't it strange,that she sounded wistful?
If I heard her right,she mentioned repeatedly
about,"The Third Brest,"as if she has a mystery
for me in store.When buried deep around my *******
her teeth transmitted a hunger, and I felt it:
what exactly a mother feels suckling her baby
her heart beat went out of control,I could see
the pangs of child that has never been fed
from her mother's breast, or fondled by her
And the mysterious part of the game
she saved for me was finally unveiled,
my expectant eyes
saw a chest devoid of any kind of swell, except
the memories of the two full ones taken away
mercilessly by decease.I saw blood in her tears.
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 6:49 AM UTC
Lettuce is love, lettuce is life.
You walked up to McDonald's and ordered a mcdouble
I was behind you in line, looking for some trouble
I said, "excuse me sir, you know mcdoubles don't have lettuce, right?"
He said, "yes, but I can't eat lettuce at this time of night"
I was getting angry at this point, not gonna lie
I was like, "come on buddy give it a try"
He started backing away, a little intimidated
The farther away he went, the more I felt the hatred
How can he not want lettuce?
This dude's real close to getting fought
The cashier interrupted my thought
"I can get who's next in line"
I said, "cool, I'll take a McChicken, it's a bite of heaven
Actually I take that back, I want eleven"
You already know i didn't buy them for the chicken
I bought them for the lettuce, it's tasty finger lickin'
The cashier says "is that all I can get you tonight?"
I turned back to her said "naw, gimme a medium Sprite"
Got my drink and my McChickens, then tried find this guy to fight
He's at a table munching on his mcdouble by himself
I caught him looking enviously at my McChicken, lettuce spewing out health
I sat down at the booth beside him
Told him how I despise him
For not getting lettuce, how could one be so arrogant?
I threw a punch to his face hard enough to leave a dent
He yelled out in pain, tryna run away
The cashier notified me that the police were on their way
My fate was inevitable, but I did it for lettuce
It's been 3 years now, been locked up ever since
Lettuce makes me happier than ever, it's my only friend
My favorite thing in the world, nothing and no one can contend
Moral of this story: get lettuce on your sandwich,
Unless you wanna go to mcdonalds and end up with a bandage
I can finally conclude, after this long strife
Lettuce is love, lettuce is life.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 10:54 PM UTC
3
“Sic transit gloria mundi,”
“How doth the busy bee,”
“Dum vivimus vivamus,”
I stay mine enemy!
Oh “veni, vidi, vici!”
Oh caput cap-a-pie!
And oh “memento mori”
When I am far from thee!
Hurrah for Peter Parley!
Hurrah for Daniel Boone!
Three cheers, sir, for the gentleman
Who first observed the moon!
Peter, put up the sunshine;
Patti, arrange the stars;
Tell Luna, tea is waiting,
And call your brother Mars!
Put down the apple, Adam,
And come away with me,
So shalt thou have a pippin
From off my father’s tree!
I climb the “Hill of Science,”
I “view the landscape o’er;”
Such transcendental prospect,
I ne’er beheld before!
Unto the Legislature
My country bids me go;
I’ll take my india rubbers,
In case the wind should blow!
During my education,
It was announced to me
That gravitation, stumbling,
Fell from an apple tree!
The earth upon an axis
Was once supposed to turn,
By way of a gymnastic
In honor of the sun!
It was the brave Columbus,
A sailing o’er the tide,
Who notified the nations
Of where I would reside!
Mortality is fatal—
Gentility is fine,
Rascality, heroic,
Insolvency, sublime!
Our Fathers being weary,
Laid down on Bunker Hill;
And tho’ full many a morning,
Yet they are sleeping still,—
The trumpet, sir, shall wake them,
In dreams I see them rise,
Each with a solemn musket
A marching to the skies!
A coward will remain, Sir,
Until the fight is done;
But an immortal hero
Will take his hat, and run!
Good bye, Sir, I am going;
My country calleth me;
Allow me, Sir, at parting,
To wipe my weeping e’e.
In token of our friendship
Accept this “Bonnie Doon,”
And when the hand that plucked it
Hath passed beyond the moon,
The memory of my ashes
Will consolation be;
Then, farewell, Tuscarora,
And farewell, Sir, to thee!
2.6k
kleptomaniac wearing thin
boots of ice and maggot flesh,
young in mind and old in body,
young in mind and old in *****
old in mind and young in *****
-body.. no boddhisatva, just a
***** to the whistle. not so much
as if a choice, only something notified
on the newsfeed amongst a horde of
cleavage photographed by paid
professionals as breast-feeding has
no sex-appeal. whoever I think I am,
thank you.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
Rolling over.
Pressing the home button on my phone
Awaiting a screen telling me of those notifications I missed during my slumber.
The time is 7:19, and there are no notifications.
I only anticipated one, from you.
Although the number isn't even saved, it's committed to my memory, but left anonymous to those that may try to find out.
I left you notifications, two, but neither were returned.
Back to this again.
He always had these random days where he'd disappear from me without a reason, and when I'd ask he'd offer a half *** apology that I could've lived without.
I never wanted to live without him however.
Oddly enough, he always asked why.
He wondered what kept me around through the half *** apologies and You have done what you had to do to get what you want, and it's almost yours.notification-less screens I always was mocked by.
I guess my love, but who was I kidding.
Maybe it was fear of being alone, sexually frustrated, unwanted. But I was those things even with his notifications, his apologies.
My mind is always in this reassuring "it'll all get better soon, and it'll be just like summer again."
Summer is here though, and he's not.
So what keeps me around?
It's 9:24 and I couldn't tell you.
I can only tell the time on this notification-less screen, never notified of where I went wrong.
Then my phone rings at 11:21.
In those seven minutes and 21 seconds the cycle begins again.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
The ship(notified) lost
leisurely drifts over waves
westwards, "Unhurried hereafter"
is the slogan written on it's mast
it would seem to an onlooker.
A net is cast wide,
to catch as much fish
as the tired crew now needs.
Each furious wave
that rushes towards the ship
changes tack, proclaims
a frothy message of peace.
No more communication exchanges
causing disturbances, no hurry any more.
None waits for the lost ship,
in any distant shore, with a binocular,
or spanning a Radar, uneasily .
The crew had already forgotten
every mission undertaken before.
It has no schedule, deadlines, plan
the ship feels more buyout than ever before
,just floats along, as if it's a tranquil thought,
towards the direction where
the purple sun prepares to set dramatically.
Accompanied by two astonished whales,
sailing along like two mates, the ship,
now a lone wolf,with a hidden yearning
has become more alive, once declared lost.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
My cousin Diamond Johnson just received this email for posting a poem about her boyfriend Josh who isn't on this site.
*Silent screams 10 hours ago
Hello, so I'm not sure if you have a serious mental problem
or if you're just flat out ********
but, Josh has never loved any other girl besides me and he will never love another, and the same goes for me as well.
We have had a mutual love affair for a year, and I don't appreciate you writing creepy poems about my boyfriend and making up fake "love" stories
If you pursue or try to have any further contact with him, so much as a message or a text or anything.
the police will be notified and I will pay every last cent I have to have them track you down and find you, and that is a promise
Now get a life, and stop trying to interfere in mine.*
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
Uncle Mike was heading south
To Jamaica he would head
With the amount of hair that poor Mike had
He could only have one dread
A conference for his workplace
A nice resort and lots of sun
Mike was set to go an party
He would work and have some fun
But if you've read my other poems
Mike is not ...well, tuned in
You see his trip was almost over
Before it even did begin
The day that he was leaving
Mike was notified by mail
He needed a new photograph
For his ID card....no fail!!!!
He was already at his hotel
When the notice came to say
You must send us a photo
Or you can't come here to play
He bought himself a camera
A poloraid and then
He tried to take a picture in his room
A true multitasker among men
He put the camera on the hutch
Bent a hanger down to length
And then he tried to push the button
but, the hanger didn't have the strength
He knocked the camera all about
Taking pictures of the walls,
One picture of the tv set
And four photos of his *****
This would be a no go
He had to ask someone instead
How do you ask a stranger
Take my photo on my bed?
He made the plane to Kingston
Found the hotel, settled in
Now, Mike was in Jamaica
And the real fun would begin
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
The black dog is on my doorstep, he insists that he needs a drink.
Footprints are already impounded on all followed pavements.
The cake is poisoned with the stories of the greater mans word.
Eat it and your fate is within their wrist flicking reach.
End results and the finishings of situations
Are already determined beyond personal effect.
How many men are in your army? How many would have my back?
There is a man on a chair holding the club of master dimensions
I can see how he wants to play with my intents.
They force the doors shut blocking a sky that is taught to be blue
So we miss that it was turning green through foreign effects.
The black dog is on the doorstep, he insists that he needs some help
I stand on the zipline, looking over the city and the laid out maps.
If I was to say the sky was blue,
My hand you would shake and praise intellect.
If the same sky was deemed to be green,
Soldiers would be notified to create laws to control the insanity paradox.
The same man on the chair, dictates with a definitive howl,
I can see there is no room for small whistles or whispers.
The slammed door will not open despite my best efforts.
There is no way when there is one of me pushing one way and ten men pushing back.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
-- Wish You Were Here -- standard postcard greeting
-- Poems aren't postcards to send home -- Anne Sexton
Dear friends, dear friends at home, resent
No pagan rite nor chance event
We've failed to photograph for you
With technicolor flair in the true
Late Tourist Style. Be satisfied
You're there, not here in Circe's herd
Or dodging stones some Giant's hurled
Or fending Triton's tempest blasts
Or lashed, like me, to a shattered mast
As tempting taunts roll down the tide.
When night winds grind the wheel of sleep
Consider Cyclops, counting sheep;
When home-fires cool, just think of us
Attending smokes more perilous!
Home-bound friends, be notified:
This holiday's a Trojan Horse.
The wine's gone bad. The weather's worse.
So mark our fates by this palsied hand:
*Have sacrificed most every man.
Now homeward-bound. Still terrified.*
Sep 10, 2011
Sep 10, 2011 at 5:47 PM UTC
Fingers point in to seal what
allows waves to enter. It happens
naturally, attempting to
keep out a
sound linked to a dream.
Each day more deferred.
Singing along does
nothing but intensify it,
leaving my throat dry.
Eyes wander up
to the sky like
it has the answer. A
desire the size of a raisin.
hidden deep with in
bleakness; the
noise blinded by the sun.
Inside cues are unheard or
overlooked; left to fester.
Tunes once vibrant like
fireflies illuminating a
black field create a sore
unrecognized. Oblivious and
ignorant. Then
is what I run
away from; yet it does
not make the hum disappear; it
only dissolves the stink
to an unnoticeable hint like
bread rotten.
My core once full of meat.
I marched to the beat or
maybe it formed a crust
around all thoughts and
notified me when sugar
oozed out over
the brim of my truth. Like
examples before I fall prey to a
slide syrupy
and sweet
pulling me away. Maybe
I am scared it
will be just
perfect. Skin sags
as time passes like
light wind, unfelt; a
sensation soul heavy
fumbling to un-load.
Yesterday I began to listen or
correctly hear what does
exist confined. It
is looking to explode.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
A man rightly called an Oxymoron
Now is angry, now sad, now happy on
The same thing – he takes piton
To handle us – later I knew ******
Anurag is my principal, a true merman
Treats all equally – good or bad of John.
Tried to understand when called upon.
Talking to him is like dealing with silicon.
Full of respect and encouragement shown
For anybody if needed; angry on python
Trying hit him at back. Never confused on
Any topic, asks if not notified – an Amazon
Of Maths flows from him – my Hero, my trigon.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 7:51 AM UTC
An Ontario man and his two children have turned up safe after getting lost in the woods on their way to an Alberta wedding.
RCMP Const. Jason Curtis says David Hill, 33, along with daughter Sierra Hill, 10, and son Riley, 8, set off from Edmonton International Airport on Saturday morning.
They were destined for a family wedding in Hinton, a couple hours drive west of the city, that was scheduled for 11 a.m.
Family members got a call Saturday afternoon from one of the children in the car that they apparently got off the highway and were lost in a wooded area.
The phone then cut out and Curtis says the family spent the night in their rental car before finding someone Sunday morning who directed them back to the highway.
He says he doesn't know why the Hills left the highway.
And exactly where were they?
"I don't know if they're entirely sure of that,'' Curtis said.
RCMP said a ping from the cell phone placed them in the area of Obed, Alberta, which is between Edson and Hinton.
Police said they launched a full search for the family out of concern for the ages of the children and for the fact that some of the group suffered from medical conditions.
Curtis said that after getting directions out, the family notified their relatives and police.
"It couldn't be a better outcome. Everyone's safe and sound. And we're just very happy,'' Curtis said.
"The people are moving onto their family event, though they might have missed the wedding.''
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
1431
poems in ye old inbox,
genteel knocking,
whispering thru stolid front door
love me a little lot,
little lot, love me?
this is not mere work product,
collegial-laid upon me for gentle shared, for pre-review,
Nottingham Forest arrowed, bow shaped
pithy comments,
these are the holy-of-the-holies
attention-me-crystal-cries,
prayers, wry observations, nature collations,
me and thee adorations, heart rendering
screams of need,
these are the moments in your life
raw-roughened gifted or threaded smooth cursed,
but tendered unto my caring.
(an aside:
perhaps you understand better now
why woman-in-the-moon imagery,
red bowed, grapefruit tasting hearts,
all the lovelies, word shape shifts a/k/a
Imagery
language delights!
but time-using, confusingly confuses,
and has been erased from my own poetry frame)
gnawing doubt me routs,
god gave me humans,
and gave them speech,
to bring me
closer to him
thru them.
somewhere in those 1431 essays of labor,
dashed off, handcrafted, pithy or poor,
just might be the one
justification for my opening my eyes
this poetry someday Sunday sun-day.
put the cofe on
(saving letters, saving time,
deleting unnecessary e's
from my life till when I am dying on
all-on-that desperate
e-n-ee-dy day).
loaded my shotgun heart with
loves and likes,
yellow thunderbolt bullets firing,
and considered yourself
notified
I'm a-coming over,
shoes on the cofe table,
breaking taboo's
gonna read 1431
and when dining done,
gonna pay attention to my muse,
my woman, cause she is the
original e,
that provides the raw materials,
in ye old nat-box,
that lets me love ever one of them,
she is the e
in me
and me will be in you,
starting now.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 6:57 AM UTC
They stood proudly above the tall horizon.
Strong gusts of wind were second nature to them.
But when targeted, they didn’t stand a chance.
Cries for help erupted from their windows
And smoke billowed gray and thick
Higher and higher into the stratosphere.
While death cascades one atop another,
Life continues in my fourth grade classroom.
I tried to understand what there was the learn
Beyond multiplication tables
And long division – from the previous year
When suddenly the class erupted into
Stark silence
As authority notified the uninformed youth.
“Go home,” they said.
And home I did go
In fear that the smoke would follow me,
Sinking its claws into my skin.
That fear was not for naught.
It follows me to this day.
A decade of dark, deadly destruction
Carelessly cutting at the very veins that keep me alive.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
Love to write poem every night,
Poets have a wide heart,
In poetry, they cried,
It's another way to justified.
It makes them feel satisfied,
Every poem that they write,
It makes the readers inspired,
Every emotion they have inside,
In their poem, they applied
A poet can die but their poem will still be notified.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 9:37 PM UTC
“but you Nat,
are a grown *** Hebrew man
so I shall not attempt
to advise you to do otherwise.”
<>
been notified, identified, blessed and cursed, alotta of different ways,
but late at night, arrives a new coronation forthright,
about my all grownup ageist stay-tus & my ancient birthright
and I’m-athinking that as compliments go, that’s quite a
right-on complementary to my actuality, so not bad, tho
all-I’d-add is maybe, old school fool too, & do appreciate
that this observation comes with added cherry on top,
I’m finally old enough to make it ok to make mistakes,
and a hardy thanks that the words hard and lard din’t appear
when mentioning my cheekiest feature...
10:28pm nyc
in downtown lockdown
Apr 27, 2020
Apr 27, 2020 at 10:30 PM UTC
“Dear Lab,” started the angrily worded poem,
“We’ve put up with shenanigans and outrage and prats
And unfair bannings from you little rats.
We put up with no codes (quote) for our protection
And through it all you maintained our affection.
Now along you slither with your fancy new forum
And ask our opinion - just to maintain decorum -
but of our gentle requests: you deplore ‘em
Then leave all the mess to the red coated quorum.
pfft - Lab notified."
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 2:48 PM UTC
Can you still whisper my voice inside your head
Are you still aware of my tears,
my fears?
My aches and my nightmares.
Please Don't forget.
Remember hat I held your hand when you tried to run away
I gave you hope when everyone else gave you hate
Love was confused with lust.
Or was I too dumb to notice that
Somewhere along the way, you recognized my flaws and
thought I wasn't good enough.
But in case you weren't notified, I gave my all
while you cheated.
While you lied.
I carried us up
You tried sinking us down.
Baby,I made it. I'm alive.
Sorry to hear that you stayed under water
in your tank of
stagnation, and false hope.
Deferred love, my mind has forgotten,
But my heart has not
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:49 AM UTC
No more the need to be notified
Presidential or otherwise seen
here on my phone, in groups or alone
like a poxy that drones, on my spleen
Over-informed and glossed over
too much information and such
handing me crap, what's up with that?
I think it's overly
much
I get it from FEMA and locals
problems close to my home
keeping it relevant, focused
like pictures made bad
Kodachrome
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
The story opens surrounding a Greyhound bus
But the dialog illustrating must
It was a normal day at the Greyhound lot
But somewhere not far away some thieves were planning a plot
The thieves were planning to rob the Shining Light Jewelry Shop on Solid Hands Blvd
But they were going to use a Greyhound bus being there getaway
No one would suspect a Hound bus going astray
So the Robbers entered the Jewelry store with masks over their face
It was a matter of precaution so no one could trace
The Thieves quickly and moved swiftly out of the Jewelry store and onto the Hound bus
It was a perfect crime with the bus being the thieves plus
However, the Greyhound Company notified the Police that one of there
Buses was stolen from the lot
The Hound bus was now cruising on I-95 of the New Jersey Turnpike heading for Philly
That might sound silly, but the heat was on in New York and New Jersey
The Police were in hot pursue
The Hound Bus was maneuvering in and out of the Turnpike lanes
Yet, the bus was speeding at 80 miles per hour
The chase was on and it was long
The Hound bus being the fastest dog on wheels, but became the subject of ordeal
But the ordeal was for real
A chase that went on for hour after hour
A Road block was at a stretch of the New Jersey Turnpike
But the Hound bus barreled through
However, the Hound Bus had to be stopped before it reaches Pennsylvania lines
The chase was still on, and Helicopters were flying high and being on alert
Suddenly, Gunshots rang out
There was plenty of commotion on the highway being out and about
But somewhere this Hound Bus chase had to end
However, it wasn’t until when
The Thieves had been driving so fast
The Hound Bus was now running out of gas
The Police were able to move in
The Thieves were arrested and out done
The Hound bus was returned and another one of my stories being among.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 12:14 PM UTC
I cannot pry apart
what makes your name
give a little pulsate to my tiny heart
Was it the same touch
And gust of breath—
That mortified my bones
as yours notified in mine
Of the soft
November’s day eve
Wet ankles against the
frost heave
A wanted savour for your lips
and a gentle
trace of fingertips
And the warmth of you
transcended
and blended
into me.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC