"observant" poems
: 'Its Holiday season'
Here are lists of things you need teach your child
at early age.
.
1: Warn your girl child never to sit on anyone's
laps no matter the situation including uncles.
.
2: Avoid getting dressed in front of your child
once ***** is 2years old.
Learn to excuse yourself.
.
3: If you have to hire a house-help, please kindly
take them for *** screening to determine their
*** status, properly interview them and make up
your mind to
treat them well.
.
4: Never allow any adult refer to your new born
as 'my wife' or 'my husband'.
.
5: Never tempt your husband with your younger
sister. (Else he'd say its her's and the devil's
fault)
.
6: Whenever your child goes out to play with
friends, make sure you look for a way to find out
what kind of play they played
together because young people now sexually
abuse themselves.
.
7: Never force your child to visit any adult he or
she is not comfortable with and also be
observant if your child becomes too fond of a
particular adult.
.
8: Once a very lively child suddenly becomes
withdrawn you might need to patiently ask alot of
questions from your child. If you don't teach your
children
about *** the society will teach them the wrong
values.
.
9: It is always advisable you go through any new
Material like cartoons you just bought for them
before they start seeing it, you may Blue Movie
themselves.
.
10: Teach your 3 year old how to wash their
private parts properly and warn them never to
allow anyone touch those areas and that includes
you (remember, charity begins at home and with
you)
11: Once your child complains about a particular
person, don't keep quiet about it Take up the
case and show them you can
defend them always.
.
Then make sure they embraces God.
The bible said 'Train up a child in the way he
should go, And when he is old he will not depart
from it.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 7:00 AM UTC
so i get this idea sometimes
that you enjoy being coy
when it comes to me
to conjure momentary spectacle
& make me wonder
if you paint catharsis
on the doors of a home
you've never lived in
as a memory of our first night together
because i do, i remember you
beaming white on blue
speaking softer than any storm
i ever knew, i often think that maybe
you live that night in your mind
when your pillow is cold
& you can't sleep, it makes me wonder
if you do as i do, and rewrite three years fictionally beginning with a kiss somewhere
maybe a balcony or a quiet car
on the sand or in a sunlit grove close to your home but always a familiar scar on the maps we know we know by heart
i wonder if sometimes
the idea of me loving you is too real
and if it teems under your tongue
to stay observant but distantly intrigued
if by this distance you think it safe
to get a dog and pass time
on the couch with a journal & some wine
what i really wanna know is if your fingernails ever wish to have my skin under them
or if they would boast
about winning a war with my headboard
i wonder if you can imagine me
meeting your parents in your apartment & shaking your fathers hand
as a first of many calloused palm readings
and if you know that i trembled before them
how insignificant i had felt
to not know their daughter
in the way i had envisioned
how i picture such poignant moments
so tangibly sharp that sometimes
i replace my memories with little stories
i tell myself that i can't count on two hands
the number of times i've seen you
& that i don't feel like a crater
when i recollect our collisions
i want to know if you still find madness
in the words that have always been about you
i wanna know if your imagination of me
looks more like an anniversary or an obituary
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC
Dear Brianna Evelyn Heins,
Stop Spanx sitting me, I’m old enough to take shape of my own.
Sincerely,
You’re Hips
P.S.
Stop convincing the lips to call me flab-u-lous!
I have my own name.
Stop knocking the knuckles to bone
To hear that hollow hound sound, now don’t use me in your measurement references, I want to live a day
Without spinning round the bouncy bands of your operation game
I’ve seen tweezers fall out of your eyes, to plummet under my moon shone complexion
Please keep in mind the brain is a liar.
And well, I have no twins; your pessimistic ways don’t acknowledge my individuality
The color of shame is not moving, while your red majestic
beast hair torturously tickles my clear space of face.
Brianna,
The brain is a liar!
I know you are told you’re observant;
The deception is grand
Stop pretending you know me
Let me dance dizzy
with the calves
Like coming out of the closet
I’m showing you I’ll never be straight
but brains whisper “weep, weep, weepweepweep”
at the sight of the salt soaked, taffy stretched skin
the brain sends me signals, but I beg for the heart to seep in
Please listen up
rarely do I talk,
for you think words are merely a sound
but the profoundness hasn’t shaken
I know you must feel my urges like
I’m on tonight and my hips don’t lie
beauty may lay in the fragile way I sway
said I’m below
But to hell with you
because this bridge can be crossed
but embers fly in you eyes
and the brain is a liar
a family member I wholeheartedly despise.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC
Let me know
What was that
That made you
To choose him/her
She/He replied
Leave it, or listen
***** is the future
Nothing more
Being an observant and a traveller of examined life I come to this conclusion. Tragedy does not happen, from the very beginning It is "Us" who pave the path within. With the unawareness we focus to travel to the destination where we don't belong. Throughout the journey we keep on dreaming with a hope of a good day making us vulnerable to the threshold, when even a single undesired word, few seconds delay, lyrics of the background music could unexpectedly break us.
Trust me we all are fragile.
Let it be simple, if we are watering the leaves of the plant and hope to grow, we get the result what we have to accept. Sometime mishaps happens, we are the culprit. How dare we expect to water the roots of the plant in neighbor's terrace and wish for the fruit to be ours.
We may smell the fragrance if the kind breeze blow towards our side.
Even we may always get the fragrance if we follow the direction of the wind.
The choice is ours.
Does it worth?
Will we be happy?
Can we hide the pain?
Always
The choice is all ours.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
Mike and I were best of friends
and we drank together
and walked home together
And we’d walk along the railway tracks
and Mike
was always the more observant of us two
Yes, I always looked up to him
He’d be first to point out any irregularities
and so he’d say:
*“There sure are a lot of steps
along the way”*
And I’d concur
and I’d say:
*“Yes, Mike…
And the problem is
the ****** handrails
are so low down”*
And you know what
Mike is gone
and I still walk back
along the railway tracks
and the ****** idiots in charge of the railway
after all these years
they still put a lot of steps all the way
and worse –
they still put those ****** handrails
so low down…
Some people never learn;
they never change
I shout these things aloud
And I look up to Mike as I say these things
as I walk alone
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 4:44 PM UTC
Puissant piquant and predatory
And observant from afar
He looks down on your slumber
Like a door that's left ajar
Plying with his manly vice
A reckless male visage
A rogue of masculine device
Seeks entrance to your mind
He saunters with a swagger
A macho savvy moxie
To personify virility's incarnate
His dream zone's metier
He sifts your ****** entourage
In search of sprawls recumbence
To tantalize climactic fervor
With lambent photic scenes
Grasping at your revelries
He spies the wanton lust
With swanky strut appealing
Your primal urge to sate
He leaves undone resistance
With innate resilience seized
The lavish wayward implications
Of unrequited livid deeds
Like passion's lurid lecheries
An insatiable torrid sooth
You wrestle with his adamance
Your carnal ecstasies revealed
You pounce on his exsertion
You splay your agile form
wriggling like a supple nymph
You accept his blatant storm
You writhe in your abandon
In a euphoric supplication
His machismo ****** enveloping
Your wildest latent needs
With no regrets or reticence
you awaken from this dream
To find yourself alone again
Like it had never been
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
Small and observant,
this girl child already loves her solitude.
Dark eyes taking in everything for much later,
long hair a little mussed-up, tumbling over feet pyjamas,
she stands quietly in the doorway of her little bedroom.
Across old parquet floors, into spare white rooms
she gazes at the grown-ups in their party clothes,
secretly planning that someday she will be one of them.
Plain white origami birds, suspended from the high
vintage ceilings, hand-made from her poet-mother's
typing paper, are the only decorations.
The soft, indirect lighting, all invented by her father
out of simple things, creates a perfect visual tone.
This quiet inventor has also chosen jazz he loves
to animate the evening for his friends.
These grown-ups in their party clothes,
yellows, greens and reds, puffy skirts, stiletto heels,
men in simple suits, white shirts, thin black ties,
talented painters, holocaust survivors, intellectuals,
talking, laughing, smoking too much, martini glasses in hand.
What stayed with her most was the music, and the way
it brought the whole world right to her.
Jazz from here in her native city,
Soft, sultry Bossa Nova that her soul knew even better.
Only some of what she saw that night became the life she chose.
The intimacy of observing, of silently forming words around
what she saw, talking and laughing with friends,
loving passionately, getting scorched to the bone,
and the music, the music....
The music would always stay with her, leading her across
wide expanses of this beautiful old world
to the parts of it that she would someday taste, and see.
Her life would become the stretching wide open of her heart.
To love it all, to write about it all.
to give this back, someday,
to the music, and to this big, beautiful old world.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
Pour one under the table for those who walk outside. In memory of Spalding Gray, for what he meant to me...
Thanks, “Spuddy”, for sharing your inner life. Thanks for having the courage to bring so many troubles into the light. You laughed at your troubles and allowed us a way to laugh at our own. You put a voice to carrying an unbearable shyness or an excess of fear along with us as we go through life. You strived to care when caring was out of fashion and in short supply. Thanks for reminding us that life is the journey, and not only the destination. You wrote a book. You played a minor role in a feature film. Those were some of your destinations. When you shared your journey, you did it with humor, humility, and with love. Thanks for reminding me that storytelling is all around us. Thanks for reminding me that it need not be complex. You were merely observant during your journey, and you shared it through the lens of your own perception.
I learned this January that life became unbearable for you. If only we, your audience, could have comforted you or somehow stemmed the river; the flood that carried you to leave so early. I would like to believe that, once you died, you might be able to hear our collective voice. I imagine that you are able to see the people affected by your work, some inspired thus to create works of their own; tell their own awkward stories, sharing them as you shared yours. I am far back in the line, and I eventually arrive at your table. You flip a page in your spiral-bound notebook and take a sip of water before glancing up inquiringly. I only have one thing to say, really. “Thanks, Spalding. Thanks for sharing”.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
Determined petals
Pierce the snow,
Refusing to wait.
Shades of violet,
Red, then yellow;
Mocking folded crepe paper,
On white marble floors
Advancing to overtake the scene;
An insurgent force,
So lithe, so pure.
Conquering in swaths,
With delicate bravado,
As if to challenge
The old mans icy grip,
While placating senses
Of the observant few;
Such a display
Of resistance,
To winter's rule
Now, slowly waning;
As the moments nigh,
But will return once again,
To defy a February's
Cruelty.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
Distant, Detached, Unfriendly, Unapproachable, Unsympathetic, Withdrawn, Antisocial....
I keep my distance for fear of being hurt by those I let my walls down for.
I am detached from worldly possessions because they cause pain when lost.
I am unfriendly due to my inability to smile through the bad times.
I am unapproachable to those with judging eyes.
I am unsympathetic to those that have their needs met.
I am withdrawn so that no one can see my past.
I am antisocial due to my observant nature
I am aloof
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 2:39 AM UTC
Hypermart.
News on air.
Boondoggles,
owl ogles,
ongoing.
Jaywalking.
Reverse gear.
Biting into ginger.
Hindsight: familiar.
Slow down,
observant mirror.
Heartwringing.
Twigs
flying in a whirl.
Coiled up cord;
Snakes from the past.
Boondocks,
hornswoggling,
heartwarming.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
A.
a child hears fairrie wings
amidst a damp forest, the meerkat
morning is peering over
the womb of night
is emerald - within the dawn :
a spectral spark
nature
B.
harmonious pristine in essence
imagination staves a longing
a lifetime, unseen to the human eye
moss, fern, gully green
grace immortal, golden, true
meerkat's observant utter innocence
sunlight now settles over day
clay is the sky, clay is the earth
clay is time .. spirits spiral out
into twilight, soft as electric rain
steaming, luminous pond water
let go
C.
that dream,
the most youthful childhood
by the light of the moon
dreamt, and dreamt a little harder,
a went on to grow up ..
..and dreamt
-of a far away lagoon
where meerkat looks on
as undiscovered as imagined
maybe real
on another planet, -in another galaxy
as real as hearing a flying fairrie's
wings sing.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
"...Let the pines grow out of my skin.
Winds howl in my mouth..."
--James A. Ciletti.
Let the cylinders be there to connect the lonely,
grating bones, above the level of the rational
falls of water and the pictures, so inspired that
They like to appear on stage to whistle as vapors
rising through the spout. The moon is smiling
down upon the frost of the equation. Perhaps,
no animal has been hopping through pristine
squares of frozen falling, remembering
the singular match, the leaf leaving.
{ [ d _ ind del d j e ( m ) ] / ( d e ) } =
min y ( N , Z ) d t - C .
Coldness was like the presence and solutions
to incredible problems, growing worse, while
others, watching, stood, silently observant,
hoping to help, but the springs in the agreements
were the assistance for the splashing colors,
anticipated and arriving as a series of blades
removing lovely, warm weather.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
I was a child,
and you, an injured swan,
resting by the lake I skipped stones on.
My parents didn't notice when I took you in.
Children don't have much,
but I thought that all I had was enough
To heal you.
So, under the cover of night,
I wrapped my sleeves around your wounds
And you wrapped your wings over mine.
But everyone knows that mere children
Cannot care for a living being
All by themselves -
All by myself.
And my tiny room was nothing
Compared to the skies and lakes
That you loved.
They say children are observant -
at least I saw your sadness,
so I took you
Back
To the lake where we first met
and there I told you
To fly.
I was a child,
and you, a graceful swan,
soaring from the lake I skipped stones on.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
You lied to me i saw right through it
You lied to me I was even able to prove it
You think I'm stupid? That im ignorant and dont pick up the clues?
Well now take a look at who's the fool
I'm observant and I'm smart
Don't try to fool me *** don't even start
Oh you girls think you're smarter than me huh?
Go ahead call me stupid
Tell me I don't know what I'm doing
Tear me down in front of everyone
Make me cry and want to run
Well guess what
The teacher heard what you were saying
He held up my paper said "Kellie great job"
When he held up yours he yelled at you
He got mad because he couldn't even read it
And you're the star straight A student
So tell me im stupid rip me up and break me down
I don't care if you make me frown
I'm not stupid I'm intelligent in my own way
I know its true regardless what y'all say
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
People call me observant.
That's not particularly true.
I'm not more observant than any
other human being. People are just so
easy to read -
We bleed emotions even in the way we drink our coffee.
No one seems to notice though, because they're all
too busy drinking their own ****
coffee.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
A poet writes
about truths,
what is, and what is not...
a poet writes about nature,
people....the sun, moon and stars,
a poet dares to feel...to see the whole world...
A poet writes...
to vent his/her own shares of joy
of agony...and aches...miseries...afflictions
as well as those of the others'
a poet reads...sees through someone else's eyes,
face...words...voice...and actions...
A poet writes,
to euphemize the sharp truths and facts in life
make them less painful to the ears
to at least, soften the pointed edges of every trial...to hurt less
to pad the impact of a fall...from frustration and despair
and, through words...encourage one...to rise...when fallen...
A poet writes
to cite reasons...so a hurting one would believe again
have faith in life...in love...again
to reach out...to those who have gone far, in the dark
and take them back to the fold ...of the bright side...
A poet writes...
to tell the woes of those oppressed
the world over
those tortured...violated...and killed
of children abused
their future stolen away from them...
A poet writes
of how nature has been exploited...and maltreated
how human beings
would one day disappear,
how nature...would be around.......no matter what...
A poet is sensitive
observant
and vigilant...
A poet is compelled to see and tell all truths...
truths of yesterday...those that are here now...happening
and those of tomorrow.....and beyond...
All these,
A poet must write...
...nothing more
...and nothing less...
Sally
Copyright January 3, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[(())]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
The battle is upon us
We can finally put ourselves to the test
Memories of the past still haunt us
We fight for freedom so that our minds can rest
Easy knowing that we took a stand
Against twisted beasts of human form
I hold my blade in a trembling hand
I'm ready to weather this mighty storm
*I thought i was a man ready to protect
but now i can't even stand *****
watching my team mates feet and necks
be crushed by these mountains of dreck.
I have't even started combat but i am seeing the light
now here one comes what is the point of putting up a fight?*
Most of us won't see tomorrow
Why is Armin so frightened?
Is he just going to stand there
And get eaten by a titan?
I need to protect him
He's one of the last things I've got
And I can't let a monster dissect him
My targets locked
I'm going in for the nape
This wretched creature
Will never escape
*Without being able to solve this place's puzzle
I will my life will end by being guzzled
By a ******* belligerent beast
Only looking for its next feast
How could we have a king when these monstrosities rule this domain
Our society might all as well burst like there's a flame over propane
It is a fitting end for this monarch's curious servent
being killed by the real king for being too observant
Hey I am a king too I guess... of cowards, my friend's blood is my moat
And their pieces of the mangled bodies will be my mink coat
Now I am slipping down this demons throat, it doesn't matter who I am
***** this... Wait what is this grabbing my hand?*
I won't let him go
What lies beyond these walls?
We've always wanted to know.
How could he surrender to fear?
The look in his eyes
We can't die here.
I'll trade my life to keep his going
As I slip into the belly of the beast
My sense of urgency is growing
All I see are the bodies of comrades who have tasted defeat
The light is fading
Why is existence so bleak?
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
*I am someone who
sometimes doesn't
really care much
of what's happening
around him
yet i am
a careful observant
who just
Kept silent.*
© 2017
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
There might have been a time
When I wasn’t full of fear so topped off
Like a gassy sombrero
like a burrito left in the
Sun to bake and there might have
Been a
Time
When I hadn’t yet eaten a burrito
landlocked
In New England, locked in a small state of
Fear and knowing that knowing
just isn’t
Enough.
There might have
Been
A time when luxury was a nickel
apiece paperback
Book at the Unitarian Church fall sale
to raise funds for
Their roof.
To raise their
Roof.
And there
Might
Have been a joy in my spark
Plugs,
A joy
In my canter
A Joy in
My legs that preceded my
Fears.
There might
Have
Been a time:
When I would pick one of the seven records we owned
And delicately put it on the turntable, thinking I will
Have my own money and
buy my own music.
When I idly lift the leaded paint
from the 200 year old wood
And scratch it to smell its sweet aroma.
And put my hand on the glass pane
Think hard enough and open your eyes and it will be
1838 again.
Oh where are the people?
Oh where
when there might have been a time
Did I not see who they are?
Or they did not register.
I must have watched them everyday
Observant
so keen to be seen
Is it possible to feel so much
for feeling so little?
Or did I feel gulfs of embrace
that were not there?
I wanted and I desired and I dug.
I craved and thought and speculated
and clung.
And there might have
Been
A time when I roared on my Schwinn down the long empty
Roads of my town.
Invoking our gods.
Invoking my claims.
There was a time when I stuttered with
Compassion and could
feel a touch observed
There was a time:
Across the street in a
lit house at dusk.
Their curtains are open, their lights are on.
Oh, the sun has settled down
There is that time, golden, when I
Look into your kitchen, and the wallpaper is
Blue and harvest gold with small pictures of oil lamps on
Them and your walls are mustard gold.
Your plates are unbreakable
I see them lustre in the
Overhead light, fashioned like a wagon wheel.
Guns ablazin’.
Trails awash.
There might be a time when I can slip back
Into your kitchen
lick the plates and then
Run my fingers over
the wall paper.
Tracing the outline of the oil
lamps imprinted.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 7:19 AM UTC
Brothers!
And some sisters too...
It’s time!
It’s time to step forward
And proclaim to the people
We love ***
We adore ***
Don’t be offended
It’s just a compliment...
I’m an *** man
That’s who I am
***** shorts are like Spidey Senses
Yoga Pants are letting people know what you haved
Sundress Season makes me incoherent
I don’t give a ****
So many, so little time
If you got a big one, you're considered a dime
I’m not a rapper
But I can rhyme
Some call me perverted
I call me observant
Is that a big crime?
When I stand behind her
And she grinds on me at the time
Don’t trip
Y’all do it too
Some chicks act like it’s a big taboo
It’s really not
It's because you’re hot
Whoops
I forgot, they get told that nonstop
But that *** though
Make it bounce
I want to tap it
So juicy
So bubbly
So yummy
On top of that, literally she’s a beauty.
Put your hands up like Billy Gunn
If you’re like me
It’s time
To step forward and say
I am an *** man
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC
When the walls started closing in
and my brain turned to syrup
I slid down into a stupor
My mother makes me strawberry/mango Italian soda
the sluggishness liquefies
my brain becomes active
the bubbles floating my thoughts to the top.
When my vision is narrowed
and the fire is lit within
burning the inside's out
pass me some of that pop
and its the little things that matter
Observant servant to the soul
Not even owning your own body
glitch glitch glitch
all over my face
can't say a word without a fight
stuck in my head, can't get out
Maybe if I keep talking the words
will sometimes maybe came come from my mouth
My thoughts suffocating me
My head aches
Please please no more
I want to step out
looking outside the bagel shop
calmed my mind
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 3:28 AM UTC
There's some sort of magic between the eyes of a resting jaguar. Their languid yawn, opening the gaping maw that lies between their strong teeth, more energetic than their tired paws.
Still and regal, wearing muscles like fine silks, their fur like that final kingly cape and their ears their crown.
A zoo jaguar once met my eyes and in a deadlocked stare, saw the camera in my hands, and turned his head to pose. A prince always knows when to please his peasantry. As a pleased peasant, I snapped pictures and nearly cried at his serene posture behind a wall of glass. There was some sort of uncharted beauty in the way he spoke without words oversaturating his meanings. It was a way I wished to speak. He was a comrade behind glass, silent yet observant and knowing. Though my head might be a good fit for a maw, I nearly wanted to keep him close company.
The dark spots that adorn his body are the only betrayers of the fierce undertones of his monarchy. Well, except for the teeth, of course.
Though I try to unlock my gaze and detach from the gossamer threads that were beginning to tie, the jaguar eyes and jaguar prince incessantly seep into my brain, for when I close my eyes all I can see is theirs staring back at me. All I want is just one hand, a single touch, a gift to feel their crowns and robes, to experience the powerful royalty beneath their quiet eyes, even if being taken by their maw may end up being the price.
My affection becomes jarred by the human hand jostling my wrist, and I blink for the first time since seeing the posing feline prince. My head turns, trance averted, and I'm looked at with perplexion as my body has sidled up to the glass, and the Jaguar, now alert, is swinging its tail and staring in wonderment at me.
My eyes magnetize back to their rightful place, his green eyes on my green eyes, and I wonder what lives we would live like if I could see into his mind and know what's he's like. Perhaps we would be friends, or family, or hunters, or partners, in that other life.
Or, perhaps he'd want to eat me nonetheless.
One more camera shot of my jaguar prince, and a silent nod as he situates himself back to his pose. Restful, regal, serene. Turning away, I feel myself leave a part of me that always stays with him and taking that part of him that stays with me.
Every wild eye does, and our secret we will keep.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 10:53 AM UTC
You dark in light so shine bright
let your heart lead you
let go of your worries
be proud of who you are for who you are
live life in happiness
feel the joy and magic around you
step forward and be yourself
be happy when your sad
be strong when your weak
be exited rather than worried
be observant rather than annoyed
you will reach the top of all your thoughts and dreams
know there is nothing that will ever stop you from finding out who you are.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC