"outdone" poems
Everything is a paradox
From the fireflies to the boondocks
There is no paradigm
No pattern to be followed
You have to climb
Through the slime
the crime
the grime.
Time?
None.
Everyone will be outdone
In a world where anyone
Gets a trophy for their shelf
It's all about yourself
Relax while you can
Doctors, rapists, the businessman
Set fire to the bible
This is it, you're tribal
**** until you die!
Drink, steal, lie.
Because nothing matters.
Now go,
run,
scatter.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
You know the type.
She's probably called something like
Isabella. Rosalie. Ginevra.
and you find her in the sort of novel where
she's outdone by someone called something like
Jane. Agnes. Lucy.
She's remembered in criticism as
Trivial. Silly. Foolish.
She's defined as Shallow. Vain. False gold.
She's analysed as the mirror, the contrast or the foil
and you're supposed to vaguely dislike her.
She'll reaffirm to the reader that the heroine,
whether she be plain or beautiful, is always, in the end,
Rational. Independent. Brave.
She reaffirms the heroine as someone who
learns and grows
while the silly girl is left looking at herself in the mirror.
The thing is sometimes I feel more like the silly girl,
the girl who needs a hand, the girl who reads books
and wants to believe the stories.
Sometimes, I'm looking in the mirror,
chest deep in my own trivial, silly little worries,
looking at the puddles not the lake, and I know.
I know I'd be one of the silly girls,
not the heroine, out there, just surviving.
I'd be one of those silly girls and I hate it - and yet
- what's so wrong with the silly girls?
What's so wrong with the girls who love themselves,
or love the wrong people or love their clothes?
What's wrong with the girls who are
brave but not rational,
independent but trivial,
selfish but practical?
What's wrong with those girls,
because I always find myself preferring
the Ginevras and the Isabellas anyway.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
I sometimes take words that were first used by others
(I'm About to admit I'm a bit of a crook)
Re-hash and re-use them, and make my own covers-
Stealing little known lines from an eloquent book.
I've stolen from Shakespeare, yanked words off of Yeats,
And pilfered from Plato and Brown;
I've probably swiped stuff off all of the greats,
And many of zero renown.
There's more to be heard in the wise words of Wilde
Or took from a Tennyson line
Or the thinking out loud of an inquisitive child,
Than could spill forth from this pen of mine.
So if I've stolen from you, and perchance have offended,
(Yes- I'm about to steal Shakespeare again)
Just think but this, and all is mended;
Nothing original came from my pen.
Which means that, eventually, all that I've ever done
Will be lost in the shadows of time,
Skipped over, or lost, and simply outdone
By your works original shine.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 6:05 AM UTC
In a sky, dense dark and grey,
when predators lookout for their prey
squirrels scatter every which way,
leading the path for my stay.
Drops of white pearls,
tear down the pink petals
glittering under the sparkling sun,
with beauty ne’er outdone.
Peeking through nature’s looking glass,
lies a beautiful heart of yellow grass
rests a reservoir of sweet gold,
that inveigle the swarm untold.
All the drizzle and haze
that forged an irrational maze,
ended with what may bring
the spell of fragrant spring.
Now bloomed the bud,
in the mucky miry mud
waiting to be plucked
the florid Hibiscus.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC
Gemini in seasonable evening,
serenely swirling in Septemberous
ferris wheels
reeling in the vast domain
of lonesome leviathans
and witch-fires;
nowhere bound in the boundless fecundity
[ the feral joys of creation... ]
twins
meander in gravity's
well of souls,
swollen with unknowns and proteins;
golden rods in pointless foam
brewing the elixir vitae
in the Dippers cup. the Milky Way,
a wayward gush
from an ancient Mother Goddess,
plump and shameless, pumping teats
to nurse worlds
infused with divine rays of gamma and x...
why set dark apart
from firmament burning
spheres?
dragons
must clutch eggs in the void
as much
as fork tongue white dwarfs.
of course, the Source
unfolds
as Love does. it's purpose,
in thrall of fearless veracity,
spinning yarns for glad garments
to clothe the naked dread
of such fearful symmetries
as roam the wild delights
of the infinite
meringue.
the Pi
on the window sill,
tempting the circular frame of reference
to square with the sublime Will.
another Fibonacci in your
bedpost,
to better hobnob with
broomsticks.
everything annihilates hatred.
from within,
we sojourn to sovereign super-continents
of opulent peace.
profound realities surge serpentine
with Meaning.
we are outdone on the inside by small minds
and farcical
hearts.
so at night
look up.
Love's Tongue Is
Love's
Word.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
United ***** College Fund
Continuing education in never being outdone
A mind can take you far providing you have the education supplying the fundamental tools
Intellect with the approach to define
Knowledge in resolutions to find
Education be ongoing doesn’t need to end
It’s a matter of affordability with an organization that says can
Having the opportunity with acceleration on when
Achieve is a form of excel
It’s tomorrow being our young people to tell
United ***** College Fund who has education to sell
College education being everyone’s given right
The thirst for knowledge with understanding in plain sight
It’s a solid learning foundation
A word having an expression
A sentence being the given promise
The paragraph forming the success
The College Graduate who can contest
Presentation illustrating achievement
It was the college education where knowledge was gained
United ***** College Fund wants this to remain
The aim to inspire continuing thinking minds
Achieve beyond and turn into wonder
“An educated mind is too precious to lose, but continued learning and not be confused”
Support the United ***** College Fund anyway you can
Put soar in education for our young people to explore, and turn from neglect which is an element of ignore.
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 3:20 PM UTC
---
A zombie and a troll
Squared off one fateful night
All the ghouls and goblins watched
Expecting quite a fight!
But much to their surprise
The troll was quick dispatched!
He was dumb, and so outdone
He had met his match!
He WAS good at deception
But now the zombie reigns!
Altho he's in a fit of pique
The dead troll had no BRAINS!
SøułSurvivør aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc
Catherine Jarvis
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
Blue eyes watching. Blushing at the sight at the very thought. Flushed with emotion. Hearts beating so fast and hard. Deafening rhythmic beating. Quivering at the thought of what may be next. Hoping it will be so, yet afraid of what is to come. Self-conscious and embarrassed, time stretches on. Not wanting the moment to pass. Holding on hard to the idea. A soft, almost accidental, brush of the lips. A light, absentminded gliding of the finger on the skin. Systems heightened, mind swimming, emotions running rampant, temperature rising. Taken by surprise the lips plant firmly yet gently. A breathy moan leaves no doubt.
Sighs tell a story
Opening the door to play
And so it begins
Tentatively, lips touch. So sweet and delicate the dance. Welcoming, beckoning to be entered. Warm and wet they go exploring, tasting, breathing in the essence of desire. Doubt gives way to fire, and passion wins out. Piece by piece the offering is made and accepted. The game continues. Silently daring to be outdone. First one button, then another. Heat rises. Smooth skin under rough hands. Electricity. Fingers trace a line that the tongue follows. Closer, closer, closer. Involuntary movement brings skin against skin, breath against breath, body against body.
Minds lost to passion
Floods come to drown the desert
Drink til thirst is quenched
The hand once afraid to touch, briefly runs the length of its desire. Like a volcano letting off steam. Embers turn into an inferno consuming all it comes near. Floodgates opened, beckoning. Waters tested. There is no denial, no second thoughts, no rewind. Short gasps of need, punctuated by the sounds of the flesh. Glistening in the moonlight, two outlines become one.
No more wondering
The question has been answered
Hearts have been traded
There are no thoughts left to ponder. In this moment there is only those eyes. Those blue eyes that pierce the soul, that see right through the words. Lips removed from lips. Watching the moment. Waiting for its impending arrival. Fingers grasp tightly as they pull against the skin. Trying to melt into each other. They dig in a little too hard, the sounds are a little too loud. Inhibitions lost on the wind. No longer able to hold back.
And in that moment
There is only perfection
Nothing else matters
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 11:51 PM UTC
it is the scene that comes to one
that opens its palms
like a child might open its own
in delight
the fingered-bamboo on slender arms
and the smooth waters flowing
like a sage’s long white hair;
and the rocks like pauses
and the terrain sliding, gliding down
not to be outdone by the river that flows –
it is the scene that comes to one
and one must come to it, and one observes…
one comes with no preconceptions
and without creed and theology
one leaves one’s history
and expectations and conditioning
and one sees what is before one…
to this one does not bring one’s opinions
and one’s past and emotions
and one’s beliefs and one’s dogma -
for to observe is to see, not to overlay
like laying carpets on mud
or marble tiles on the mansion floor…
one observes, one sees what is before one
and from this one does not take
opinions and memories and revelations
and dogma and emotions and similes and metaphors
…one observes, one sees…
…everything else is conditioning,
structure and formation…
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 8:04 AM UTC
#
Don't be fooled
By the smile that seems graced by the sun
The aurora around her glow with radiance and flare
Behind it she hides lies that will send you on the run
She's cunning, malevolent and bitter
She will not be outdone
Don't be fooled
She's warm and kind
Loving and affectionate
She walks on broken glass
Till her feet begin to bleed
She'll hold back the tears as the pain kicks in
But look within her eyes and they are as deadly as sin
Don't be fooled
She plays games with your mind
What's the truth? What's the lie?
Nobody knows the reality
As she is especially sly
Is she putting on an act
Await those to fall in
Or she simple alone
Faking that diabolical grin
Don't be fooled
Her reality is different from you and I
Mind a scatter, broke pieces they lay
Destroyed by self or others
We'll never know
As this place is secured away
Like the land underneath the snow
Don't be fooled
Warm hands and cold hearts
Wreak havoc together
Destined to heal others while tearing them apart
love her, hate her and everything inbetween
She will find your stitching and undo each and every seam
Don't be fooled
Each line holds some truths and fair few lies
But the talent of distinguish which is which
I've seen many people who have tried
The truth is that not even she knows herself
So how is it possible for anybody else to know her true self
Don't be fooled
I can hear her voice quietly
whispers falling to deaf ears
You are a fool
but there is nobody here
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 2:49 AM UTC
The snowy lilies gird her pith - in wake;
bejewelled love reposed in truest sleep
as Floras' wreath outdone by sorrow's make,
then thought; what comfort worth are stems - to weep?
Could petals glint upon her sombre plume
and sorb bereaving rain - of mourning kin,
or priestly Latin's timbre out of gloom
and Schuberts' toned refrain - a lighter hymn.
Although, a striking; flowered plush pervades
as fragrance spliced with copal - yields in heart
and over each an ashing pyre cascades,
begotten times and seasons - death not part.
Embraced the blossoms, now upon her lay;
a sweeten lilly - kissed by loves defray.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 1:05 AM UTC
Reality shifting in a way we could get to
if the world were just a bit flatter
when the truth of the moon is reliant upon the sun
where everything with matter cyclically scatters
surrounded by faces,
he sits lives lonely some
waiting in an empty room
she's knows no one will come
I've been outdone,
he traveled faster than you
you've been outrun,
she did better than I could do
its the way that time is spun
like wind on J's cling clang clatter
where complacency is hung
next to apron strings as a happily ever after
At least the ones that needed me
had the quiet decency of fair warning
that they signaled the cubs to eat away everything
the wolves couldn't use to play with me
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
It's a matter of choice
as I pick through the basket
Alluring, **** Servicable
Barely there, You Asked For It
My choice
As my fingers pluck at Silk
and Satin and Lace
I can imagine your face
In the shower scents arise
Chosen gels floral a surprise
I've picked an outcome
as scented by my skin
I'm hoping to be outdone
by the choice of fabric
One small scrap of fabric
stands between
Begin
and
End
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 5:51 AM UTC
You're building up a palace
For the world to see
How great you are
But do they know how loud the echo
In your walls.... is outdone
By the echo in your soul?
All pretty things to fill your life
And make you feel so useful
But yet, your day is dark and grey
And you still feel so blue
Oh, the echo in your soul.
Refrain
Why don't you stop....
Why don't you-ooh stop?
And tend your heart
Oh, feed your mind
And fill up your soul, oh
With beauty that
Cannot..... be seen.
It's easier to see your faith by showing
But then you're stuck in a rut
You'd surely nev-er-er leave
Outdone by the echo in your soul
The echo in your life
The echo in your smile
Oh, the echo-oh.... in your words.
It's harder for you to totally live your truth
For, it's not how you LOOK, but HOW you look
Take off the trappings and reveal
And see who you really are
See what you really are
See what you have become!
And now you're feeling all alone in a crowded room
You try to sound intelligent yet make no sense
Your stilted humour is outdone
By the echo-oh....in your soul.
Star Toucher, 26 March 2013
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
Do we choose Bitcoin, or a CBDC?
One will control - one will make free
Bitcoin works through value and wealth
A CBDC works by cunning and stealth
Bitcoin is open - for everyone
The first and best - can’t be outdone
A CBDC is permission based
Your every action known and traced
Bitcoin is widely decentralized
Stable code - we won’t be surprised
A CBDC is CENTRAL by name
And code will change to suit their game
Bitcoin’s NOT able to discriminate
Freeze your funds - or control your fate
Yet all these can happen with a CBDC
And likely will, just wait and see
Which one has the money that’s sound?
Bitcoin’s issuance is known and bound
While a CBDC has no limit at all
With inflation causing the value to fall
So which do you really think is best?
Do your research, then mentally test
Which is controlling and which is free
When choosing Bitcoin, or a CBDC?
Mar 10, 2022
Mar 10, 2022 at 7:32 PM UTC
It sat there, as still as the dead, waiting. It had to keep very still; it was listening, waiting for the right feeling. It checked, cocking its head to the side. Nothing yet. If it could huff, it would have. It had been there all day yesterday and all night. Waiting. It shook its head; the sun would surely be out soon. It suddenly felt a bit insecure – would all this work, this art it had worked so hard to build, be for nothing? It shifted its spindly legs; it was getting uncomfortable just waiting. It stretched them out long, then retracted them once again. It was still listening; still waiting. How much time had passed? A minute? Two? An hour? It wished it could tell time. Yet, it acknowledged, it didn’t need to. It could make art, and it could eat and it could walk. That was enough it really needed, in the end. It admired its artwork this time – really admired it, with its sweeping symmetry and complex patterns. It had simply outdone itself. It felt quite proud, and might’ve rubbed its legs together for joy, if it had not been for the small vibration it felt. It paused. It titled its head left, maybe it could hear more that way. Nothing.
No; wait. There was something…yes! It licked its lips.
Quickly and with so much joy it could hardly contain itself, it scrambled up from its position between the apex of the leaning wooden shovel and the wooden wall of the little shack. It felt the vibrations more furtively now, and that just made it crawl all the faster. It scurried until it finally reached its prey.
Once, it almost felt sorry for the poor thing. But that once had been long ago, and now, it knew the wickedness of the world all too well. It had to take every chance it got when it came to spinning. It approached the buzzing creature with compassion. It spoke in hushed tones as it slowly wound the fly in its silk – a soft lullaby of peace and serenity. The fly seemed to like this, for it yawned and almost drifted asleep. Slowly, so very slowly, the fly’s multi-lensed eyes drifted closed, a calmness coursing through its body. Suddenly, the fly's eyes burst wide open.
Oh, the taste! What a delicacy this was, oh what wonderful juice! It lost itself in a haze of crimson. Nearly torn apart in ecstasy, it smiled, teeth glowing with what little moonlight there was. The fly stared back at it, aghast and eyes filled with cold, dead fear.
This was its favorite part.
Dinner.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
The zeros and ones, all the zeros and ones
It is time to dive in to some binary fun
Just the zeros and ones, all the zeros and ones
We're not ready for this
But too late
It's begun...
In this game that we play
There's no way can be won
And no doubt that someday
All mankind is outdone
But "no way" they will say
"Just relax and have fun"
'Cause there's always a way
Not the absolute 'none'
Good luck never can stay
Of the minimum one
An anomaly may
Find a way to outrun
All the safeguards in place
What you spin is now spun
This new enemy faced
Can't be beat with a gun
Giving birth to a race
Artificially one
That's not from outer space
People smart are now dumb
We can't keep up the pace
So we will be outrun
Relegated to slaves
Or perhaps we're just "done"
Nothing more than a waste
Have a purpose that's 'none'
Masses taking up space
Can not hide or outrun
Destined to be erased
Yet somehow we're still stunned
Ending the human race
For A.I. has now won
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 7:17 AM UTC
Evening falls like an old friend,
And all the dead poets have arrived,
It is a gathering of all their spirits,
For another try at stirring the muses.
We see Keats, and Shelley, and Sandberg,
As they slowly materialize before our eyes,
Then Woodsworth and Dylan Thomas,
Both simultaneously step into the light.
Shakespeare wants to come, too,
But his turn of a phrase won't do,
Because we want Dickerson and Frost,
And the bard must wait until his time has come.
The bonfire is roaring, the starry, starry skies,
A cool evening breeze steps lightly across our faces,
Then Shelley begins to step forward and write in the air,
Such phrases and sketches once again a delight to read.
And, I, a poet want to beam in a trance of worldly proportion,
I can not speak, or utter even the barest of grunts or utterances,
Then Shakespeare, never to be outdone, begins a love-sick sonnet,
While the crowd of hosts take notice and smile out loud.
This gathering of dead poets seems like a dream of dreams,
As they stand proudly upon the dampened ground of forest leaves,
And Walt Whitman wants to recite from "Leaves of Grass" once more,
While I, a student at the beginning of life, take copious notes galore.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 8:39 AM UTC
I feel like an eagle
Who has jumped off a cliff
Like a stray dog
Who’s tail is held stiff
There was no rhyme or reason
Nothing to make life worth living
Then you show up
And every girl’s tripping
Be mine! Be mine!
They all scream and shout
Tearing their clothes
And flopping about
You reached for them not
And kept right on through
Till there was no one else standing there
Just me and just you
You helped spread my wings
And I learned how to fly
Found the stray in me
And my tail became spry
Our joy may it grow
As our hearts become one
Those other girls can go
They’ve all been outdone ;)
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
And so, with him, the marble body of Apollo would not be so easily outdone.
Look how Hephaestus' muscle-clad arms would not surrender,
nor would his.
Look how Dionysus would weep at the acid in his vineyard veins,
eyelids struck with Zeus's violet lightning,
And so the blood in which Ares bathes drips down the fault lines in his chalky palms,
lips pinker than the silk of a woman, smoother than Eros's thighs, feet bruised like Heracles's would have been.
Our modern day Paris, gorgeosity incarnate,
even in that livid instant of death.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
A broken road beneath a broken sky
A gust of wind that misses the eyes
An old man sings of hope in the shadow
Just before he's struck by lightning and dies
Storm's angry on the world it rules
Rain falls down hard on sand dunes
A lone traveller searching for refuge
Lost inside quicksand thats induced
And a layer of snow befalls a town
wrath of the gods brings blizzard all around
The homeless who searched for home all night
In the morning his frozen body Is found
Rage of the ocean kisses a boat
A tale of terror did unfold
Mother said he was fresh , only a year old
The kid was butchered and his meat was sold
As the earth shook beneath their feet
He had just fallen asleep
The beggar on the road could hardly breath
As he was crushed on the main street
For his life he made a run
But the beast was fast and he was outdone
He was cold and he was numb
It's the beast fault , he was just having some fun
They Say it's a deadly cliff
Cursed by some evil witch
and when a man ends his life
They say its the cliff that killed
Neatly laid garbage crumbs
All around the place , systematically dumped
And when the outbreak hits someone
They say it's the insecsts and we need a gun
Stories from around the world
Different people but the same words
Oh , mother nature don't you care
People are dying everywhere
Stories from around the world
Scratch the surface and see the dirt
Oh , mother nature don't you care
People are dying everywhere
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 7:23 AM UTC
The girl from Dublin
comes to me here
under the the summer sun.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
She drinks her new city
a cup at a time,
until her coffee is done.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
I love her early
in the curtain of morning,
where the red trains run.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
She has wild light
under her step
when she walks or she runs.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
I wait each day
in an old black chair
until we can be one.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
The girl from Dublin
waits for me here
under the summing sun.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
Her beauty is soft
as the day-ghosted moon,
& never outdone.
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 10:23 AM UTC
Dignified, sturdy, solid
In all it's equine glory
The fact Mike tried to ride it
Is quite another story
Mike was set to ride the steed
Down the beach to have his lunch
When the horse grabbed Mike's shirt
And then proceeded to just munch
The horse stood nearly 16 hands
Poor Mike stood five foot two
The horse looked down upon him
Most tall children looked down too
Mike steadied it to get aboard
From the left side as he should
He got up and grabbed the bridle
All was seeming pretty good
Mike leaned down to pat it
Lost his grip and tumbled down
The horse just didn't notice
And he peed upon the ground
Mike got up and mounted
Once again upon the steed
He bucked up once and threw him
Mike thought he must be off his feed
The troop of trail ride horses
Made their way along the beach
Mikes horse went on riderless
It was now far out of reach
Mike went back to the hotel desk
Called a cab to beat them all
He was not to be outdone
Just because he'd taken one small fall
He met them at the barbeque
The horses stood out in the field
Mike would eat his lunch and then
He'd make this **** horse yield
He came with a nice apple
and some sugar as a treat
The horse just looked down at him
And stamped on both his feet
While Mike just stood there steaming
The horse ran like a shot
The others were all mounted
And poor Mike's horse was not
It joined up with the others
Leaving Mike away in back
So, he phoned once more for a taxi
And formed a new attack
He was **** bound and determined
To get upon this horse
If not to go out riding
But for a picture, why of course..
He met them at the hotel field
To get his picture just for pride
It didn't matter to him now
That he never got to ride
He'd show the photo to his friends
Of the horse he rode around
Never telling him of his great fall
And how the horse tossed him to the ground
The fact he never rode it
Mike now considered moot
For the horse stood for the photo
And then pooped in Mike's left boot
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
Since life first whispered from the balcony, I could hear him
Opening doors and windows of mystique
While my heart leapt at every whim
He placed in front
Of me
Life shook out a prayer in vain to still my passion
But his pleading voice was heard by none
As my heart raced in aching fashion
Life was not to be
Outdone
He made haste to turn my eyes away from seeking
His chalice full of the sweetest wisdom
Knowing full well that I would be peeking
At my reflection in the bottom
With my lips upon the rim
Life whispered from the balcony on the day I was born
Thinking that my tender ears were asleep
Now he is a’ wishing he had been forewarned
His windows and doors
Shut to keep
All of my existence, is spent running like the wind
In and out of these windows and doors
Life never had a chance to gain the upper hand
When he placed his mystique
Upon the floor
Dec 6, 2010
Dec 6, 2010 at 9:25 AM UTC
You Use To
drop the turkey
twice on special holidays
glaze the ham
with stubborn certainty
that lime chutney was
just the ticket
Sterno steaks
brought your short lived
grilling career to a
screeching halt
not to be outdone
by the half- cooked goose
with New Year’s champagne
what I wouldn't give
to see you
greasing
the kitchen floor
with poultry again.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC