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"pertinence" poems
He made sure I knew just how lucky I was to have him But he never hit me He played games with my emotions repeatedly But he never hit me He made sure I didn’t leave the house in a skirt above the knees But he never hit me He knew the words to say to make me feel so small that I could not breathe But he never hit me He tossed me in and out, in and out, until my mind was in an out of control tizzy But he never hit me He messed around on the side late at night while I rested in our bed But he never hit me He made it clear that I wasn’t to go out at night with the girls But he never hit me He told me over and over again just how hard it would be to find anyone else to deal with me But he never hit me He fell asleep safe and sound as I laid in bed trying to catch my breath through tears But he never hit me He needed to have the password to every device, app and account But he never hit me He knew the power he held and used it over my head to weaken me But he never hit me He made jokes at my expense in front of friends and family and we all giggled together instead of cringed But he never hit me He assured me the women he texted were coworkers or colleagues but I could never know what they spoke of But he never hit me He made it clear that my interests and goals were not of pertinence But he never hit me He knew the exact words to say to take my entire day downhill But he never hit me He broke my heart over and over and over again until it was minuscule shreds But he never hit me
0
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 8:06 PM UTC
But He Never Hit Me
He made sure I knew just how lucky I was to have him But he never hit me He played games with my emotions repeatedly But he never hit me He made sure I didn’t leave the house in a skirt above the knees But he never hit me He knew the words to say to make me feel so small that I could not breathe But he never hit me He tossed me in and out, in and out, until my mind was in an out of control tizzy But he never hit me He messed around on the side late at night while I rested in our bed But he never hit me He made it clear that I wasn’t to go out at night with the girls But he never hit me He told me over and over again just how hard it would be to find anyone else to deal with me But he never hit me He fell asleep safe and sound as I laid in bed trying to catch my breath through tears But he never hit me He needed to have the password to every device, app and account But he never hit me He knew the power he held and used it over my head to weaken me But he never hit me He made jokes at my expense in front of friends and family and we all giggled together instead of cringed But he never hit me He assured me the women he texted were coworkers or colleagues but I could never know what they spoke of But he never hit me He made it clear that my interests and goals were not of pertinence But he never hit me He knew the exact words to say to take my entire day downhill But he never hit me He broke my heart over and over and over again until it was minuscule shreds But he never hit me
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32
Which of your Favourites you take to Trust And hoping One of them will fill your Void So Alone, though in Many you Adjust Though their trifle pertinence you carry Those Nerds ahead just consider you Strange Yet Groupies counteract with their own Praise Now who is Correct? They sit at the Lounge Then settle to offer your own Fresh Space That around your College are Ideals formed When Some in Prayer may publish their Book Took you as a Model; And Critics scorned See their Used Lives in a Better Outlook. You just have to Smile; And Happy you did Fan their Frustrations of that Love you hid.
0
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
SONNET TRIBUTE SUNDRY - FOURTY-ONE - TOM DALEY
Time is of the deception of immemorial agreement... People, friends and family will get together time and time again - To discuss what?!? Most of the time, they petulantly boast about their own personal apotheosis - What does this prove? Where are they going with their abrogated thoughts? The people speak with impetuous pertinence and achieve absolutely nothing.... An asundering of cryptic thoughts that fell into oblivion - This is the sole reason why the inauspicious world will disintegrate and become a history book for worlds to come... When time has come to overlap itself . . . The world's clock stops. . . Your heart stops. . . . Time, the inevitable dimension that will carry on with no remorse When we are gone. . . . When I am gone..
0
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 8:59 PM UTC
Time
We look into the damp, dark recesses of our mind to look for finite definition for our actions and expressions. We are looking for a straight line in a work comprised of curved loops. How we don't acknowledge the curved loops' flexibility to everything. We can only see shapes through our narrow minds. Not the abstract dimensionality. The straightening of a curved loop is the destruction of true art. Moving endlessly with infinite pertinence. That no one yet everyone understands.
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Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 12:27 PM UTC
The Meaning of my Poetry
I am a cube in a dark chocolate bar seasoned with a milky white continent of courses collision of cultures chili and chill wind season in overcoats of global ambitions. Born in the barracks of colonial masters who took their women from tribal backwaters of empire. These beauties succeeded in conquering their Masters in the art of warfare in bed and beyond. say what you will I carry the cost of all completion and show the combination of colours on my skin burnt in the sun of these wars and conquests all six of us soldiers. we took his language and her complete abandonment to beauty grew in the night of knowing the white ruled the rainbow and hard liquor while the dark bred the boldness or so. (Mama said) we, as children of different cultures in a potpourri of pertinence got licked, kicked, bruised and burped cooked and laid as chocolates always do. But we grew in mamas wonder of the world at large, while Dad knew all the blends of single malt maidens from the highlands of his birth. as happy children, aware of hard work and toil we rose faster than the fumes of spirits and set about travelling the shores of net profits and university empires instead. Mama laughed when we told her of the worlds and wonders we had conquered and how the colour of our skin spoke for us. Dad knew all about peg measures and pork chops, fork, spoon and gunpowder conquests as hollow as his casks of wine and maturing as slow as his wisdom. Mama only knew the meaning of knowledge with no degrees. God bless them both as they sit around a table in that great place in the beyond and discuss chocolate bars skin and colourful wrapping of all six cubes! I am Anglo-Indian. © Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
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Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
Cube off a chocolate bar!
I am a cube in a dark chocolate bar seasoned with a milky white continent of courses collision of cultures chili and chill wind season in overcoats of global ambitions. Born in the barracks of colonial masters who took their women from tribal backwaters of empire. These beauties succeeded in conquering their Masters in the art of warfare in bed and beyond. say what you will I carry the cost of all completion and show the combination of colours on my skin burnt in the sun of these wars and conquests all six of us soldiers. we took his language and her complete abandonment to beauty grew in the night of knowing the white ruled the rainbow and hard liquor while the dark bred the boldness or so. (Mama said) we, as children of different cultures in a potpourri of pertinence got licked, kicked, bruised and burped cooked and laid as chocolates always do. But we grew in mamas wonder of the world at large, while Dad knew all the blends of single malt maidens from the highlands of his birth. as happy children, aware of hard work and toil we rose faster than the fumes of spirits and set about travelling the shores of net profits and university empires instead. Mama laughed when we told her of the worlds and wonders we had conquered and how the colour of our skin spoke for us. Dad knew all about peg measures and pork chops, fork, spoon and gunpowder conquests as hollow as his casks of wine and maturing as slow as his wisdom. Mama only knew the meaning of knowledge with no degrees. God bless them both as they sit around a table in that great place in the beyond and discuss chocolate bars skin and colourful wrapping of all six cubes! I am Anglo-Indian. © Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
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50
there is a courtyard behind the abandoned hospital. vines crawl up the walls like cancer; like a sickness that cannot be contained. just like my irrational eagerness for pertinence. disconnect my conscious thoughts. make this infection disappear.
0
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
shrink
DARK CIRCLES  under my eyes weary and TIRED looks like i got high in reality ive been ************ with tears in my eyes... your turn my turn? my eyes burn as well The demons of hell have turned my back into furniture each vertebrae is in pain for heavens sake My own wake will be replaced by someone more important and my funeral will be postponed due to rain comth with your *** sith its the way of the conservative so shallow, they may as well be illiterate to human sake the writing on the walls aching for some pertinence everyone sees the destruction, the wretched police enforcing it helpless we die in our filthy wealth until we learn to save our selves luxurious items are wicked in the way of souls as prizes what’s the cost of a couple ***** boys from Africa? just a sheckle over a diamond why not? im buyin it ****** men, Damning all, To Satan. To the Demon Ruler *** siths on tongue and lips drip after drip on the souls of ancestors They watch you rule, oh slavers they watch you drool over riches to you, these beautiful nymphs they're doomed to be ******* they follow your lead and become what you want blame them not for they are a byproduct of your weakness Innocent hypocrites, diluted of all culture vultures infused with stimulants so stifled we cant concentrate on whats important high after high going lower and lower Now we know the new world order our graves have been dug now we shovel the dirt back on ourselves sleeping better than waking up this society is an atom bomb and were all dying from the radiation noise and light pollution is all we know where did the stars go? i need to go find home
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Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
pat tricks rob
DARK CIRCLES  under my eyes weary and TIRED looks like i got high in reality ive been ************ with tears in my eyes... your turn my turn? my eyes burn as well The demons of hell have turned my back into furniture each vertebrae is in pain for heavens sake My own wake will be replaced by someone more important and my funeral will be postponed due to rain comth with your *** sith its the way of the conservative so shallow, they may as well be illiterate to human sake the writing on the walls aching for some pertinence everyone sees the destruction, the wretched police enforcing it helpless we die in our filthy wealth until we learn to save our selves luxurious items are wicked in the way of souls as prizes what’s the cost of a couple ***** boys from Africa? just a sheckle over a diamond why not? im buyin it ****** men, Damning all, To Satan. To the Demon Ruler *** siths on tongue and lips drip after drip on the souls of ancestors They watch you rule, oh slavers they watch you drool over riches to you, these beautiful nymphs they're doomed to be ******* they follow your lead and become what you want blame them not for they are a byproduct of your weakness Innocent hypocrites, diluted of all culture vultures infused with stimulants so stifled we cant concentrate on whats important high after high going lower and lower Now we know the new world order our graves have been dug now we shovel the dirt back on ourselves sleeping better than waking up this society is an atom bomb and were all dying from the radiation noise and light pollution is all we know where did the stars go? i need to go find home
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45
Some, not all, ask for Reference to speak All, but some, frisk for Pertinence to leak Yet in your Portrait such Dignity will seek Adam's Fresh Peel lay bounty for his Eve If I could guess - your best trial for Art Which I suppose should renew their Souls click If such - no doubt - keep your Dimples at heart Then crease your Buttons for Sun-Babes to lick After all, this Journal of Good Repute Offer these Motifs to season the Man Flexed or Fixed - let your Acrobats compute To be at your Prime as Fine as you can. And as I recall, your Tanned Friend deserves A Place in such Spot; Though prone to Conserves.
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Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
SONNET TRIBUTE SUNDRY: CHRIS MEARS - THE MODEL GT
Our memories cannot be put into mediums. There are no photos or videos, No stories to be written, No prime time television episodes; The indescribable, undeniable energy fizzing, Binding you, finding me, winding us, Joined in divinity. Every way I could make Our moments into art, I fall short, full stop - Are we already art? The way you affect my heart? Is it living in the moment? When we're listening or kissing? Missing no other component, No further desires or wishing? All I feel when around your field, Is that I'm drinking up Life; That this is the consciousness I was gifted to feel. And whether or not reality has anything that is actually real, Layer by layer, the truth becomes revealed. It's my observance to every occurrence - The flow of Nature's currents; What, in life, has pertinence. Every interaction with you is marvelous, and of utmost importance. You're the physical form of happiness. And I run into a hindrance, When relaying my senses, To anyone else not witness, To what we feel together in this - Mysterious, beautiful, eternal, immense.
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Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
We Are Art
That for your Mum my Befriend's Flag receive Since those Lines un-called by Red into Four I withdrew that Meaning; And kneel to Reprieve Which divert therehence to Interpret forth Forgive my Dogs. Plain. Simple. Real. Full-Stop Which my Elder Flag deems Responsible For your Touchy Cloud; And Honour begot Which by Pertinence arrest the Constable And to see this - Angel - then hem the Wound Bespoke my Shamed Fears for Activity Promote this Risk; Yet for Friend's Hands must Sound To fizzle these Scars for your Harmony. In turn your Dad's Face; Stamp Legacy you Lamp's Living Oil extend; And extend a-new.
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Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
SONNET TRIBUTE PENANCE: WILLIAM DALEY AND BENJAMIN DALEY - HEART
Am I me Or am I Someone else I am constantly changing Molding into something different Ever evolving and expanding Contracting and contradicting Things about me that used to make sense That don't have pertinence now Ever changing Expanding and knowing Changing and growing Shedding off old coats As new ones are being put back on
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May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
Am I Me
The ordinates concealed in your infinitesimal rationale Insufficiencies portraying vestibules in your feverish attires Every new soul you see makes you feel homeless Dizzying altitudes you feel inside the depth of cavities Indifference on pain and sufferings you crave for And, Hell; you feel inside grandeurs of perspectives Hate; for the dearth of adulation on you Liken Gaia could have never taught you of your frailty Postulation of Karma and de-carnation of meanings made you converted You were on the path of revolt Against, say, cosmos! Every symbolic gestures remind me of your meddlings Penultimate; utter grievance of never ending poignancy The night sky could have never baffled about your existence Palpitation could have never made you shiver But you have cried, Of your loneliness! Say, A tiny fraction of clairvoyance I gave Pulled you down into the puddle of wanderings Instigation of a melody; created the symphony A mere touch; drenched you into the silken lake I spoke for your heart and you praised Then, I gave you love but I got caged How could I have done whatever you wished? Since nobody knows, The culminating dichotomy of your pantheistic ideas, And of a maggot growing inside you Breathless desires governing your feet, And the time falsifying your plutonic ancestry Mosaic glittering over your virtuous self, And the tapestry of vanity covering your abysses Depleting number of Hordes and Tartars fighting for your existence, And devalued meaning of your modern-self All those songs that never could soothe you Teeny panting of your blasphemous heart Multitude of distances you travelled Series of condemnation bouncing between you and me Your fleeting poverty Your affections on materials Like you die the death of pertinence Love shall never please you Nonchalant, over the, Embargo you created on the faith And the game you created on the bliss But you shall never win Since, you are a mere human soul Bless you!!
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Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 7:52 AM UTC
Bless You
The ordinates concealed in your infinitesimal rationale Insufficiencies portraying vestibules in your feverish attires Every new soul you see makes you feel homeless Dizzying altitudes you feel inside the depth of cavities Indifference on pain and sufferings you crave for And, Hell; you feel inside grandeurs of perspectives Hate; for the dearth of adulation on you Liken Gaia could have never taught you of your frailty Postulation of Karma and de-carnation of meanings made you converted You were on the path of revolt Against, say, cosmos! Every symbolic gestures remind me of your meddlings Penultimate; utter grievance of never ending poignancy The night sky could have never baffled about your existence Palpitation could have never made you shiver But you have cried, Of your loneliness! Say, A tiny fraction of clairvoyance I gave Pulled you down into the puddle of wanderings Instigation of a melody; created the symphony A mere touch; drenched you into the silken lake I spoke for your heart and you praised Then, I gave you love but I got caged How could I have done whatever you wished? Since nobody knows, The culminating dichotomy of your pantheistic ideas, And of a maggot growing inside you Breathless desires governing your feet, And the time falsifying your plutonic ancestry Mosaic glittering over your virtuous self, And the tapestry of vanity covering your abysses Depleting number of Hordes and Tartars fighting for your existence, And devalued meaning of your modern-self All those songs that never could soothe you Teeny panting of your blasphemous heart Multitude of distances you travelled Series of condemnation bouncing between you and me Your fleeting poverty Your affections on materials Like you die the death of pertinence Love shall never please you Nonchalant, over the, Embargo you created on the faith And the game you created on the bliss But you shall never win Since, you are a mere human soul Bless you!!
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49
Face to the sky Even if the sun is in my eyes and it's blinding me so that everything I see is in moonbeam white and everyone is just as polite as I want them to be. In reality there is darkness and it seems it's only me, who will give as much as I take thinks promises don't break knows I am headed to the grave and (tries to) make something good of it. Because driving is just like smoking... If we walk can we stop? or at least slow down, and move in blocks instead of miles and across the neighborhood instead of The States. The soot in my lungs never felt so great, anyway. I think my cue was a while ago. Excuse me, I'm coming in late and these excuses stammered are layered. I'm too old to believe prayers are anything but a little self recognition and release. So please, leave me be while I lay on my face and cry to the sky for some semblance of relief. I'm stoic and solidified my mind, a block of ice drifting through glacial tides of callous contempt exempt from empathy- I don't want to relate. Yet even still, I retaliate. Home-grown surgery might do a little good for me a root canal for that weird little machine between my eyebrows I might espouse humanity back into my vocabulary. All in all, the ups and down will fold neatly into an interesting half-page obituary, the sumination of a less-than-elegant sequence of events. I am ever hesitant to repent lest I resent my own penitence for lack of pertinence. C.e.M. 4.21.15 edited 2.9.17
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Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
A little too honest
Dream big, dream always and never look back. Within you lies the power and the emotion. You can demolish all barriers. The powers of the mortal are not containable. Feel the power build from within your soul The essence of your being begins to take control The proficiency to overcome is an indication of strength Inhibitions left behind and kept at arm’s length Remember you are never alone. No individual is alone within a team Teams are those who can strengthen you Those people who empower you to dream and those who you can eternally turn to Friendship can mould a team stronger than you can see From idiosyncrasies arise familiarities Perpetually an ear to listen or impart an idea A form of protection or your very own panacea. Friends can be the joy in your life the comfort in your strife never should you underestimate their potence and never should you diminish their pertinence Your life and theirs are intertwined like a guide dog their for the blind. Patience in each other is a virtue. I’ve got these friends and you do too.
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Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 3:38 AM UTC
The Power of Many
The edge of the lake was leering off the precipice, seamlessly melting into the horizon. Subtle water splashes, those of tossed pebbles, rippled silently into one another. A man sat by the shore of the water, looking almost blankly down the infinite abyss of ethereal, yet ominous, fog and cloud. A murky reflection of the man situated itself as he slowly stood up, revealing itself to be more of an eerie disposition of past experience, rather than an innocent, child-reminiscing parallel. The water itself proposed a forlorn, distorted ambience. As the man stepped, dragging his feet by the coast of the lake water, he noticed a sudden clap of thunder, although rain was absent. Trudging along, he constantly scorns at the infinite landscape. The relatively endless mist levitates as a ghost-like, dreary pertinence over the seemingly blasé man, who still yet walks with contempt. An old, dilapidated pier seems to have spawned in the distance. Closer, and closer, the man plodded. A seemingly transient figure takes place abroad the pier. The figure extends what seem to be arms, in a very caressing manner. In what seems as one last glimpse, the man peers out, all around him. Accepting of his fate, he takes embrace of the transient figure.             The fog clears.
0
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 5:06 AM UTC
Man & Lake