"ous" poems
ta
ppin
g
toe
hip
popot
amus Back
gen
teel-ly lugu
bri ous
eyes
LOOPTHELOOP
as
fathandsbangrag
16.2k
Ik kuddi jida naa mohabbat,
Gum hai. Gum hai, gum hai...
Saad muraadi, soni phabbat,
Guum hai.
Suurat ousdi pariyaan vargi
Seerat di o mariam lagdi,
Hasdi hai taa phul jharade ne
Turdi hai taa gazal hai lagdi.
Lamm-salammi, saru(Saro) de kad di
Umar aje hai marke agg di,
Par naina di gal samajhdi.
Ik kuddi jida naa mohabbat,
Gum hai. Gum hai, gum hai...
Goummeyaan janam janam han hoye
Par lagda jyon kal di gal hai.
Yun lagda jyon ajj di gal hai,
Yun lagda jyon *** di gal hai.
Huney taan mere kol khaddi si
Huney taan mere kol nahi hai
Eh ki chhal hai, eh ki phatkan
Soch meri hairan baddi hai.
Nazar meri har aande jaande
Chehre da rang phol rahi hai,
Ous kuddi nu tol rahi hai.
Saanjh dhale baazaaran de jad,
Moddaan te khushbu ugdi hai.
Vehal, thakaavat, bechaini jad,
Chau raaheyaan te aa juddadi hai.
Rauley lippi tanhai vich
Os kuddi di thudd khaandi hai.
Os kuddi di thudd disdi hai.
Har chhin mennu inyon lagda hai,
Har din mennu inyon lagda hai.
Judde jashan ne bheeddaan vichon,
Juddi mahak de jhurmat vichon,
O mennu aawaaz davegi,
Men ohnu pehchaan lavaanga
O mennu pehchaan lavegi.
Par es raule de hadd vichon
Koi mennu aawaaz na denda
Koi vi mere vall na vehnda.
Par khaure kyun tapala lagda,
Par khaure kyun jhaulla painda,
Har din har ik bheedd juddi chon,
But ohda jyun langh ke jaanda.
Par mennu hi nazar na aunda.
Goum gaya maen os kuddi de
Chehre de vich goummeya rehnda,
Os de gham vich ghullda rehnda,
Os de gham vich khurda jaanda!
Os kuddi nu meri saun hai,
Os kuddi nu apni saun hai,
Os kuddi nu sab di saun hai.
Os kuddi nu jag di saun hai,
Os kuddi nu rab di saun hai,
Je kithe paddhdi sundi hove,
Jyundi ya o mar rahi hove
Ik vaari aa ke mil jaave
Vafa meri nu daag na laave
Nahin taan methon jiya na jaanda
Geet koi likheya na janda!
Ik kudi jida naa muhabat.
Goum hai.
Saad muradi sohni phabbat
Goum hai.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 1:21 AM UTC
.
O
o o
O
O o
O
•fill our beak-
er with un-
told chem-
icals•com-
patible so-
lvents that
fizz... with
bubbles•m-
ix them in to get
the most homogene-
ous of solutions•introdu-
ce heat in the likes of passion
•never a clean reaction, there will
be residue• never right the first time,
failed attempts will be a few......• but once
distilled from undesirable impurity•........then
handle the mixture with utmost sensitivity........•
you'll get a result that can't be bought with money•
because this love in our hearts is the product of
pure chemistry•
.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC
. Beautiful
lOvely
iDeal
prettY
exquisIte
handsoMe
fAir
stunninG
gorgEous
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 5:31 AM UTC
.
****
Carnivor
ous **** Car
nivorous ****
Carnivorous
Carnivorous
Carnivorous
Carnivorous
Carnivorous
Carnivorous
Carnivorous
Carnivorous
Carnivorous
Carnivorous
Carnivorous
Carnivorous
Carnivorous Carnivorous
Carnivorous **** Carnivorous ****
Carnivorous Carnivorous
**** ****
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC
Embrace differs from suffocation
as love differs from hate
in the sense that
your passion of Christ
swings one way
but your compass rose
blooms in both yards
I’d never plant flowers by you.
Comparisons of beauty
pul-chrit-ud-i-n-ous
soil the soil
mark the territory
dog **** couldn’t save you
Bound by situation
a sad plight
out of my hands
not large enough to
cup a sufficient sip
water from the well
I couldn’t fall down
I’ll break the mug
shattered until shards
replace the linoleum floor
walking on eggshells
has never been so easy
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
It is Christmas Eve.
I sit idly, in slight discomfort on this wooden pew.
A glorified bench if you ask me.
I remember being a child, blissful and reverent.
I memorized sacred stanzas of prayer unaware of their meaning,
chanted them with everyone else.
I always thought God had excellent diction.
Now though I am puzzled.
For an American culture so ethnocentric, patronizing rituals in the third world and of other religions as silly;
Their own rituals are quite silly.
Transcending the mystery of creation for a moment now: having figured this a charade for the generational reproduction of virtue and morality inexorably tied up in the Americanization and Assimilation of society, that we might all move in one direction. That we might all create family units, buy houses, white picket fences, watch television on couches with children and consume, consume, consume... I deem it acceptable to be immoral.
Hymnals couldn't be more of a bore to me, prayers are empty.
But the girl three rows up is filling her dress quite nicely.
I wonder if she also is despondent, if her eyes wander.
I take a mental step back and realize how many girls are wearing high drawn dresses.
Are they showing off their flawless legs for the lord? Surely not.
They dressed that way for me.
The three rows up girl looks astray and catches my eye;
for a moment we have found our savior.
I make it a point to kneel next to her for communion,
brazen enough to tell her "That dress is something else."
She blushes and shoots me a seductive smile.
"Yes I'm wrapped up quite well aren't I? Only missing a bow."
Holding the body of Christ,
"That shouldn't be a problem, I'm quite good at unwrapping. These dexterous hands of mine."
Her body shifts to the left, her sinister side against my right.
I watch her take a rather large drink from the blood of Christ, she places her hand over mine as she braces to stand.
Our eyes flicker on again for an instant as she turns.
I'll be finding her.
The golden goblet seeks me next.
Bad wine posing as blood.
Like all these christian's faking it, it's quite suiting.
I wonder if they really believe they are drinking human blood?
And eating human flesh?
******* zombies man.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:12 PM UTC
I’m over Siri-ous,
I’m over-charging,
My screen time is up,
My audio levels are up,
I was watching **** again,
I’m searching stupid things,
I’m not closing all my circles,
I haven’t walked long enough,
I don’t stand at all the right times,
I may be an online shopping ******
I’m spending too much time on Tiktok,
My heart jumps around the wrong guys,
I’m looking at bright screens late at night,
I’m getting too many calories from cocktails,
I’m not taking full advantage of my subscriptions,
I need to upgrade my hardware, software and my attitude.
Mar 11, 2022
Mar 11, 2022 at 11:07 AM UTC
I'd show you the black and white photographs of this allegedly cherubic 1 yr-old....
(sonnet #MMMMMCMXC)
Oh me! How diamonds sparkle in th'exhale
As winds flirt on the lake's clear ***** whence
Blue skies thus mirrored as erst wont, a sense
Of what? half wrestles in me on that scale
Cuz why aren't we together now, to hail
This bounty in each other's arms? Leaves thence
All whispring as their boughs rock, yellow hence
Mocks joy as I see Mum in sheer betrayl.
We used to walk down to the valley, tour
The yard lost in whatever, and I knew
Our time was short. But I don't weep for her
Today as yet, cuz who's distracted to
Effect is also quite obliv'ous. Poor
As saying is: I could wish you were here too.
23Oct16b
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
As we very reluctantly parted, he queried whether he was just another of my whims. Ignorantly, I replied I guessed so, provided we never saw each other again. Erm. Months later the fire is still burning brightly in the absence of any good reason. Interesting eh? Needing a topic as usual, and weary of nature tributes (hahaha, can you believe it?!) I tackled this beloved thread, writing it in the present tense as if from our first days then altering to the present in the second (linked) sonnet.
(sonnet #'s CCCCXLVIII, CCCCXLIX)
You play my heartstrings like a puppeteer
Methinks. Quite deftly pluck and gently twang
To immelod'ous strains whilst I half hang
'Twixt hope and fear, life's balance near
Precar'ous in that cur'ous dance. By mere
Sweet words or grim I'm tossed, a boomerang
That can't be lost to you though ev'ry pang
Estranges reason in this game too dear.
All yours because those unseen chords have caught
My heart that like a harp you seem to use,
As sans my will, in strumming half distraught
Or with such ecstasies, howe'er you choose
You ply, in your winds varied whims 'non fraught,
This hapless leaf. To what end? Just t'amuse?
# II
To what end? Just t'amuse, we tried romance?
Who fell in love? I did. Did you? In vain?
Oh, why'd we play that game? What now remains?
Behold: a live coal, frosted black, whose stance
Seems quite the opposite; wherein the dance
Of Love's hot passion plays anon, aye reigns
Sans you, and any reason. Its refrain
Nigh hopeless, sings your name where none supplants.
Because you knew it would. You told me so.
And while I scoffed, that's how it goes, I see.
Who ******* that hopeful thread, oh sweetness Beau?
'Twas "love at first sight," a rare golden key.
That never quite died but e'er seems to glow.
At least that's how it 'pears in Love's debris.
08Jan12
D67a,b
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 6:00 PM UTC
My life is a canvas all bumpy and plain.
Each time I do something, a strike will be made.
If, for instance, I do something cruel, or bad,
Come darkened, black colors to make me all sad.
But then, if I do something happy or nice,
Then comes the rainbow all lovely and bright.
My life is a canvas all bumpy and brown
Each time I step forward, I take a step down.
It's a wondr'ous burden, these colors of mine.
They oft' make me think of hurt and demise.
I try to withstand it the one way I can:
By topping more on-make others feel bad.
My life is a canvas and as you might see,
Doing more evil puts evil in me.
It roars and it bites more often than not
And my only comfort is a small bright spot.
I call him my comfort, my savior, my Lord.
He saved my dark canvas-he saved the whole world!
My life is a canvas and as you may see:
The evil tries to burn me up and take away the key.
The key-my Lord, my savior is always there for me.
Wheth'r dragons bring me down, or others drown me in the sea.
What will you do with your canvas and all your darkest blots?
I beg you to make room for the little bright spot.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
the hand that rubs my body down
is soft: softly veined &
of a powder-white translucence; transcribed
from dover chalks to run down my
chest, backs of my thighs.
the hand that rubs my body down
curves in sweet musics 'round my soul;
the shrill but beaut'ous rasp of skin
on skin
-- of fingertips tracing strange poetry
along my spine.
the hand that rubs my body down
holds in its palm a sacred oil;
anointing me at midnight hour. muted
bewitchments; burns the candle
down to a nub.
the hand that rubs my body down
calls for christ in attics of sunday
afternoon ... crosses its fingers in
spiteful fits
of piousness.
the hand that rubs my body down
takes the shape of golden scarab;
sets aflame my eyes of beaming azure &
finds in me a willing servant.
the hand that rubs my body down
wakes me at dawn, partnered
with an extension of pinpointed
warmth: the touch of her breath upon my cheek.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 7:41 PM UTC
The line on the sand
A scar on the flat surface
A wound from a knife
Temptingly perfect
The idealist’s barrier
Asking to be crossed
Begging to be crossed
Whispering dark promises
Of god, glory, gold
Seductively calling
“Step across my idealist
There will be reward.”
And the cry goes
Unignored by cur’ous ear
That quickly slips pass
So willingly to
Forget the line they, themselves
Drew not to be toucheded
Then they hide the line
Filling it with their morals
All to prevent shame
they draw a new line
On the morality plain
The old forgotten
This new scratch is soon
Crossed as swiftly as the last.
More soul left behind
Until there’s nothing
Just a dark spot in shadows
On the moon’s dark side
Sep 20, 2010
Sep 20, 2010 at 11:56 AM UTC
Rain-slicked reflections of
the sun's last offerings
disperse within the por-
ous asphalt, inducing
a faint chorus of tire-
spun splashes fading-in
and out behind impa-
tient honks, like waves against
a cargo ship announc-
ing itself to the docks,
"I have arrived! I have
arrived!" The workers, their
jackets waxing iri-
descent limes and oranges,
wave in the freight, crane up
the containers and shout
down the lines through the bay
mist inscribed by currents
of blustering winds, top-
lit by a swarm of head-
lamps, crane lights and high beams
careening through the in-
dustrial din of space,
ensuring no foot fal-
ters and no hand misses
a hold, and the cargo
slowly, but surely, moves
on toward its final des-
tination, and like great
migrations of butter-
flies, birds and whales, that place
is always home, sweet home.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 4:17 AM UTC
meaningful investment, definite impact
genuine compassion, to you I attract
unofficial adoption; like static, cling
nonverbal given, jubilant I now sing
protective walls liquidate, you're in; shell cracked
if anything at all, tender soul distract
short but ever so sweet, fill the gaps exact
gently you hold me; heal and bind broken wing
...if ever I've tasted of love's glor'ous life
trustworthy provider, fix all I've lacked
maybe walk down the aisle, heart intact
constant and watchful, giving hope for a ring
as I on an optimist pendulum swing
tangible, real, felt, believed. love not abstract
...if ever I've tasted of love's glor'ous life
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
The enemy of my enemy
Is not, necessarily, a friend to me.
Sectarian based enmity
In Syria abounds.
Cruise missile strikes certainly
Will be followed by the I.E.D.’s
As surely as boots on the ground
Will result in stone topped
Grassy mounds.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
I hope you notice the expression in my song
Unlike that chiff-chaff over there
I try my best to be mellifluous when I sing
Not like him, not like him
Winter's gone and here we are hee hee
Hee hee
What shall we do now
Come on dear, I think you know
What we should be doing now
I'll sing it, I'll sing it!
You're a brave bird and so beautiful
Just right for me, now do a twirl
Do a twirl !
And I'm the only blackbird in the world
You need
I'll sing it, I'll sing it!
You made it through the arduous
Ar-du-ous winter
Just like me, just like me
Brave bird!
I'll sing it, I'll sing it!
My wife's a lovely brown
She's hiding in the hedge
I love to sing do you?
We built a nest we did, we did!
So don't forget to look the other way
If you should venture over here
It would be such a waste of time
To have to do it all again
This place belongs to me!
My wife is here
We're trying for a family
She laid some lovely eggs
Blue they are, she sits on them to keep them warm
But it's a secret, it's a secret
I'll sing it, I'll sing it!
I hope you notice I try to vary my song
Mix up and blend the notes so as not to bore
And if it sounds like I'm trying to tell you something
Ex-plain something
That's because I truly am
I try to sound interesting
When I sing
Not like him
Mell-if-lu-os-ity is my favourite word
I made it up
I'll sing it, I'll sing it!
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
In a moment of defeat and despair,
we begged, “What will you eat?!”
"Noodles!" She declared.
"Noodles," we agreed, "noodles are fine."
And so noodles upon noodles upon
noodles we’ve tried: noodles boiled,
steamed and fried; strings, tubes and
swirls; noodles shaped like bunnies,
unicorns and dinosaurs; in sauces
and soups, in cheesious goops;
noodles with veggies (until veggies
were banned); noodles with
mushrooms (only from a can);
noodles made of wheat, lentils, rice or
corn - noodles made of everything
noodles could suborn.
Noodles for lunch and for dinner -
noodles again and again and again
- and what then? How many times
can one noodle? How many noodles
until brains begin to spill onto plates
in a braineous-noodle-ous state?
Noodles for breakfast - can’t do it.
Noodles for lunch - can’t get thru it.
Noodles are banned! Noodles are
not welcome near here - never again!
At least not today anyway.
Ok, fine...
NCL August 2019
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 12:25 PM UTC
They say time heals all wounds and quite often I agree/ yet some can tanker ous uneven eternity/ The buffer of shock waves they ebb and rise unceasingly/ The sun rays wind rain earthquakes weather is me, uneasily.
Yay my legs have sea come custom to storm after storm/ I for one have grown weary of water tho running comes easily/
So I retracted an iron heart East seeking warm understanding.
Time is a healer but in a water world all wounds bleed into the ocean/ silence will keep salt off the tongue but will not spare the flesh/ Even with an iron heart held high and to the side we hobble and wobble none the less.
What is truly needed is a seamed shore line/ to rest towards the west, digest the sunsetty passing/ to release my cast iron heart into soft earth/ so that I remember from where I came and observe how much we have changed.
I have feared the setting sun long enough/I will build a bridge from sea solitude to land understanding. We have come a long way through a space time ether. All things are better together and time is a healer.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC
. o
f
hu
man
thin
gs: ma
ny doin
g, thing
s human
are more n
eatly couth i
n Into-Dust co
ats of polite var
nish and their ha
ats hang at precise
their teeth ivory and
the smell of their colo
gne catches back at the
throat wearing finest silk
s (but time, time looks bru
tally through their and prim
shoes and trousers. knees sag
eyes hang instantly
languor w
ears them like cheap perfume and
laughter unsuddenly from nowhere
crisps the cheeks of everywaiting sou
l creeks with soon to be dirt bones and
amongst them sprouts something gener
ous. Less close to nearly dead, and has (l
ike a frond has) demure sturdy waifish. its
timber is clothed in blonde lips and eyes lik
e waking almost never(no like daffodils; yes l
ike more them) only daffodils, they are not so b
right, nor as agile, i think but who knows i was o
nly a boy who, from across the street noticed, a girl
pressed between death,
laughing like a *****
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
Who would be
My perfect man...?
he would need to know who he is,
Whre he stands.
Not too romantic,
I mean, come on, this isn't the titanic.
Would be nice if he's sweet,
And SERIOUSLY neat.
Should love books,
And have good looks.
Has a funny bone
Not some dude who drones.
Has to be like a best friend,
Always there with a hand to lend.
Music should be part of his soul,
And I should be part of his goal.
We cannot be a mistake,
That is something I can never take.
Meant to be, of course,
I want him till....only God knows.
No complaints,
From neither he nor me.
I don't want a saint,
But a man who can lead.
Challenging and adventurous,
Not someone who is ego.....ous.
Not forever gone but not too clingy,
Not forever drawn, not melancholy.
Obligatory to hate me sometimes,
He has to have his own side.
Too many arguments, we're done.
So he's gotta be bold, loving and fun.
Hugs well,
Kisses swell.
Dances badly,
Would he sing? Gladly.
Not afraid to come clean,
Not afraid to let off steam.
Loves the things I do,
But not lie if I make horrible food.
I want a man
Who is not afraid to love me.
Not afraid to laugh.
But never hurt me.
One more thing:
He's gotta think my poetry is **** good.
Or else I'd stab him, stab him I would.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
Coldness lulls my
head
for an eternal
nights slumber. The arrhythmic
thumping of
my chest
dele-
teri
ous
l
y
shortens.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC
This earthly body is incomprehensible. Piles of cells which make muscle, bone and nerv(ous)es. This earthly body too heavy for a spirit--too light to touch the ground. I beg you not to weigh me down.
Please
don't weigh me down. I try in earnest to touch your face, to feel for only a moment sweet flickers of skin on skin, but I grasp right through you.
I felt about a ghost town,
ghosted around; marveled
upon shivers of what I knew
was dead. I walked
so insolently as the living
through fields that whisper
passage and rivers calling out
on moments gripped in sun.
I walked
right through
you. Ghosted around.
Scoffed at fading memories empty
pitying passages long since written down:
I read you like fiction,
ghost town: fancied myself
so solid among your intangible willows.
Ghosting around. Now
come to find seeking skin on mine I
breeze right through you.
I try a second time, a third and
come to find it's I
who's too light for living.
It is I who passes through the solid walls
and wails in caves; it's I
who fade into night irepperable by light.
I who watched the world so arrogantly
as the living
like it would pass before MY eyes. But
here I waver unbreakable in the shaking
shining of many tiny lights.
Ghost am I.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
if i were a boy
to be honest
i would probably do all the things you boys do -
i would **** girls
and take names
being a girl
if i had the same ability you do
i would **** boys
and take names
but i am blessed by my shortcomings
my chubby face
my awkward side profile
my angular nose,
my gender.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC