"phelps" poems
The root
Of ambition
Is ambivalent
There's no “one cause”
No one causes
A man
To make life decisions
In a day
It takes
Much more
For
A man to be successful
And real
With his inner-self
Accepting
The cards dealt
With the stamina
To play through
Exercising his will
With the feel
Lingering in every pore
Unsure
Of obstacles ahead
Headstrong
Through barricades
Bearing the bruises
Trampling
Over your own
Feet
Defeat
Seen in battle
But the war’s on
And the war zone
Isn’t limited
To a few
Years
Like ages 19-22
Whose to do
Worse
Who has more
Money
CARS
Clothes
And hoes
And whose vision
Is so small
To tack them
with success
All in all
And attack those
Who lack the
Wills
To move forward
And ignorantly
Attach it
With a phenomena
Of
Your unknowing
Root of ambition
Can spread
Like weeds
And weeds
Can **** ambition
Or spread
Like seeds
How many men
Dive
Head first under the influence
Or rise above
High
From the same drug
Barack Obama
Michael Phelps
William Shakespeare
Bill Clinton
Lebron James
Pablo Picasso
The Beatles
Jay-Z
Bob Marley
Conan O’Brien
Dr Francis Crick. (Nobel Prize Winner)
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Salvador Dali
Victor Hugo
Kareem Abdul-Jabar
Snoop Dogg
Dr. Dre
Stephen King
Just to name a few
Maybe
Just maybe
It has nothing to do
With success
Or you.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 1:11 AM UTC
Written by: David & Sherri Phelps
She was like the roses in the garden,
a timeless work of art in crimson shade.
But like each bud that opens up to wither,
her perfume ebbs away, her scarlet color fades.
He was like wildflowers in the springtime.
He never cared too much about where he grew,
his time was brief, but filled with vibrant passion.
Then he rode a breeze away,
as wild flowers often do.
And I remember,
I remember,
I remember, cause I still have days
their fragrance drifts to me on Jordan's tide.
So I won't forget,
I won't forget their never gone their just
blooming on the other side.
She was like a daisy in the meadow,
a welcome smile that's shared between two friends.
Kisses hugs and laughter were her petals,
and she have them all away,
until her seasons end.
And I remember,
I remember,
I remember, cause I still have days
their fragrance drifts to me on Jordan's tide.
So I won't forget,
I won't forget their never gone their just
blooming on the other side.
One day I will see, in that garden fair,
those who wait for me over there.
I remember,
I remember,
I remember, cause I still have days
their fragrance drifts to me on Jordan's tide.
So I won't forget,
I won't forget their never gone their just
blooming on the other side.
Blooming on the other side.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
i smoke cigarettees too **** much.
this is how you know nothing original will be said in this poem.
i use cigarettes as a social crutch.
i don't know about you
but when i'm in the mood to be honest
i'll tell you
i smoke cigarettes because
i want to be 'cool'.
because let's be honest:
i can't think of
a poet
a musician
an actor
an olympic swimmer
a hockey player
a president
a priest
a ****
a serial killer
or a psychiatrist
that's worth mentioning
that did not smoke
yes, i know you can
and go ahead,
but let me first
make a point instead
let me be honest,
if i can smoke a cigarette
and maybe be alone for
5.75 minutes
then maybe
a thought will occur to me
something outside this ******** world
and it will be good enough to write down,
just maybe.
let me be honest
i don't need you
with your judgemental eyes
and your cursory glances
walk away from me
at a party
i don't miss you
i am with her.
i garauntee if you asked
Whitman
Hemmingway
Freud
Phelps
Obama
about their actual relationship with smoking tobacco
they would have similiar descriptions.
but go ahead, tell me
about the hazardous effects of cigarettes
let's talk about the cancer
and the tar
and the disgusting phlem
that i will constantly have to eject
from my throat-hole
when i'm fifty.
go ahead, tell me about
******* people over
and ripping their minds out
and the sickness
and the disease
and how it's all so wrong.
it's as amusing to me as it is to you.
Mcdonald's will **** you.
Pall Mall will **** me.
Nov 5, 2011
Nov 5, 2011 at 12:34 AM UTC
Hi, you have reached the voicemail box of Syreena Phelps. I am either working, sleeping, or too depressed to answer the phone. Leave your name, number, and a reason for me to live, and I'll get back to you as soon as I am mentally able. Thanks!
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 2:48 PM UTC
Libera me, Domine,
de morte aeterna
in die illa tremenda
quando coeli movendi sunt et terra
dum veneris judicare
saeculum per ignem.
Tremens factus sum
ego et timeo,
dum discussion venerit atque venture ira:
quando coeli movendi sunt et terra.
November 21, 1976. 11:00 P.M.
With nothing
he packs his suitcase, turns
to his own personal prophet
and watches and waits
and waits, he will wait
for an hour.
And finally
the prophet speaks
in monotone, three short syllables.
He opens the door, careful
not to wake dad.
Turning the corner,
the suitcase jars the door ajar.
A stirring from upstairs.
Remembering the face of madness
behind the pulpit
behind the door,
he races out, fearful
of footsteps drawing louder
and with them, promises
of pain.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
Good morning, good afternoon
Dear teacher I wish to see you soon,
You are like the shine of a star,
You are like a lemon but never sour,
You are bright with a unique spark,
Without you everything is dark,
Without your sunshine and your helps,
There wouldn't even be Michael phelps ,
In you there rests a soul,
Hot and cozy like a delicious soup bowl,
Your scolding is a clue of care,
You aren't partial but are totally fair,
You are better than superman,
You are a youth he's a gran,
Dear teacher love you most,
For you with respect I raise a toast.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
Bills bills and more bills!!! Can I escape this liquidic abyss riddled with electrical flows that strangled my woes?
Californicating in high gas prices and rent that drives me deeper into saving my soul rather than my account...
These prices strike louder and brighter than Zeus' thunderbolt, like Greek gods can only be summoned at the shear sight of monetary value, leaving an impression greater than Mother Goose...
Sell my assets or sell my soul..? I struggle to comprehend what will consume the consumer only to pretend...
Tesla couldn't fight the good fight Edison tried to contend...
Yet I remain firm, like the Rock of Jabralter I stand proud between two islands...of insanity and genius, yet the two intertwine so elequently...
Am I oblivious to pretentiousness...? Or caught in the net of Poisiden...helpless, flapping so daintily....
The world eyes are green, yet I see blue...
Filled with innocence and bliss so true...
Bartender, allow me to take a dive in your shots filled with sympathy and obliviously pain triangles can't slew...
On a parallel of happiness and plains of joy, certain dimension can't destroy...
I continue to swim in debt like Phelps, no coy.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 4:30 AM UTC
Like the portrait by John Singer Sargent,
of two helplessly hopelessly wedded souls.
The portrait was dim, even in 1897.
The couple grimly seeking searching reaching towards heaven,
timeless romantic.
Mr. and Mrs. Isaac Newton Phelps, who are you?
Starring through a century of fading oils, all my emotions become,
revoked. I sit and stare in repose.
What's left but to stoke the flame; the burning desire, love, and addiction.
Mr. Sargent did you understand my affliction?
Lest I travel back to the Rocky Mountains, those billowing rocks so beautifully captured by your contemporaries, by Albert Bierstadt.
I am a lost wandering critic, traveling through time using paint as my medium, to form these rhymes.
Ridding myself of a life that has become full of all things labeled tedium.
From the French to the Austrian to the English to the American, a new world unfurls.
All cultures aiming to capture the intrinsically fleeting moments of life, nature, and the beautiful, as they curl.
In and out, a dance of colors, a pageantry of light yet again is unfurled.
Only then does my soul feel full and bright.
The fog clears as my headlights part the mist, and I realize, as these masters before me, I do have something to offer...
Love!
Forgiveness!
Hope!
...for a new tomorrow...
*A new heaven.
A new Earth.*
Today
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
Agitation, despair and its winged variations, you name it
all repressed but still rise to test me
What is my recourse?
I tread lightly on this Escheresque concourse
It’s repeated often, I know
but the pen and keys are my most cathartic release
they’re magma to emerging flames
they’re sedatives for demons and angels alike
that reside on corners of this clavicle
How many steps could you take through my lens, my concave mirror?
Have you felt what I felt?
The brimming, cerebral cauldron bursting, putting volcanic geysers to shame
the questions outnumbering seconds spent since Earth’s nativity
the emotions ripping a rift through which rationality deep dives
it becomes Phelps in unknown depths
your body becomes both a Vatican and a Colosseum,
place of worship and place of war
and you walk the tightropes your vocal chords have morphed into
careful to seem like another replica, don’t wanna upset the blades they all balance on
don’t wanna scare the rest hollow, no,
best to follow and best to follow the regimen:
coffee beans and spice of delusion in the hazelnut syrup,
sip slow
follow the same cycle because change is a cocoon and cocoons ache like the past
keep on pretending to love the workplace
love the norms held over you
puppet strings bring warmth after all
in this solitary world cold as winter missile silos
and just as destructive
So I ask again, have you felt what I felt?
Do the few days in utopia offset the majority on rodent wheels?
Have you risen so high, to satellite peaks, to the best you’ve ever been
only to have the worst waiting on the coin’s parallel?
We flip like saltwater fins and backstroke till a back is left broke
I’m learning to discard hope but breathe in the alternative
I believe in better days, I will carve them from local stone
and build a home upon their surfaces
I now know paradise is a set of blueprints
happiness is no state of mind, it’s a direction to me
you may not notice when you arrive
but you keep going
and that’s the beauty of it
you let it be the wind
It’ll find you on your journey
Tell me again,
have you felt what I felt?
Dec 7, 2021
Dec 7, 2021 at 12:05 PM UTC
Seven slugs ******* beer
from a bowl in their garden of Eden
rocking out to Miley Cyrus.
XM top 20 on 20
radio and gardening and slugs
swim like Phelps
but opposite
like life rafts
shriveling drunks
contorted and slimy
old school nickelodeon
green slime on your head
washing off in water
crossing bridges
entering temples
where the **** is the shrine of the silver monkey?
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:12 PM UTC
If I’ve ever known truth it just chaffed at the neck
I’ve been suffering all the symptoms of a lack of respect
So I must reflect then deflect all the gloomy flecks I see
Then reflect again on the lifestyle,
Of the wild life inside the childish side of me
All in effort to be free
Not free falling
Not roaming from a new ideal, to new ideal like a new calling
I 'd rather have a grand New Deal like Mr. Roosevelt's
And swim easily in this sea of changes like Michael Phelps
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 9:49 PM UTC
There I was
Drunk on the move
talkin' it up
gettin into my groove
and along they came
four seasons in all
but who I met first
I can't seem to recall
summer was sweet
fall and winter were chill
but not until spring came
did I feel the thrill
we talked for awhile
she told me "wait here"
so that's where I sat
alone with my beer
it's all up to chance now
I can't do a thing
I could just be sitting here
waiting for spring
but shortly I saw her
come in through the door
stepping over a pirate
and "Micheal Phelps" on the floor
she sat with me there
I'd not waited in vain
I hope that this girl
lets me see her again
But a glassy eyed vampire
burst in wearing flip-flops
and said to the crowd
"better split, its the cops!"
and split we all did
had to make wing
now she's gone again
and I'm waiting for spring
days later on campus
I saw her once more
no costume or liquor
feet firm on the floor
we laughed for awhile
but she had to split
I asked all cool
and she gave me her digits
we kicked it again
now I wait for the ring
and once more I find myself
waiting for spring
Dec 21, 2009
Dec 21, 2009 at 8:41 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
You Soul is somewhere else,
Swimming across seas to find you like Michael Phelps,
Of course I need no help,
I see no differences in color or wealth,
The milky way has you,
no texting from night to day,
I'm sitting right next to you,
I need to clarify,
do I really need to ask
when your memories are gone in a flash,
so far gone,
and your feet gets colder,
Can't believe that you are,
Disconnected,
Highly Neglected,
Souly disrespected,
I can feel your presence,
But you should be here....
....not in the sky.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
and sore and explode
and heavy load
and I make it into a powerpoint
and I look at a zillion lol cats
and how to make a perfect flip turn
and Michael Phelps perfect stroke and whale length body
and sweat seeps into the couch
and it is still not done
my work is not done
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
Exercise like Billy Blanks
Then punch it like Anthony Joshua
Meander like Lionel Messi
Drive it like Chrisriano Ronaldo
Play around like Neymar da Silver Santos
Swim a d swim like Michael Phelps
Whatever you do?
Never loose your mojo like Zlatan Ibrahimovic
Eyes on the ball like Serena Williams
Hit it hard like Rafael Nadal
Or do you prefer Tiger woods?
Until you hear her sing like Beyonce Giselle Knowles
Twerk like Cardi B
Don't stop cruising like Michael Shumacher
Except you are in a hurry to meet your ancestors
No need for aphrodisiacs
When you have natural smoothies
Above is how to keep her
Repeat these lines over again
And she'll love you forever
Feb 21, 2020
Feb 21, 2020 at 4:06 PM UTC
I swear to God, he's got webbed hands and feet
treating water, like an otter would, very fast and fleet
I swear to God, the man's got gills and fins
speeding through the water, could be scales, not skin
The most decorated Olympian, that we may ever know
down the lane to history, and into the books, he flows
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
Silence said so much, a roaring din, a cacophony of nothing. It's point deliverd with expert precision. Fire in a void, snow in sunshine all improbable none impossible, all imposition. Yet predisposed in every aspect. Then came sound. Quiet at first, then loud hollow and empty. Emotionless and final.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
AB:
So when the last time did you get a call from him,
He must really want you in his follows that Requiem,
I can it make better , if you wanna talk,
If anything I wanna be one you should stalk
Invading all my privacy,
And telling me you love me,
Erase,
The facts,
Clarity,
And lucid memory.
K:
It has been a while since he sang poetry into my heart,
I knew he would be the end of me, from the start,
Enraptured in desire for his love alone,
Waiting all night by the silent phone,
Could I find in you, the comforting voice I need,
Find the flourishing flower of love's rooted seed,
Rewind,
The heartache,
Regret,
And infatuated greed.
AB:
Silence always says a thousand words,
Painted a picture with your sentences when they occur,
You gotta get in the line or despare like everybody else,
No skips , no hold your place, you won't have any help,
Illusions of having wealth,
I plan to see you I can't help myself,
I never got down, on my knees for you,
I'm swimming for your love like Michael Phelps,
Will we fall in love ? The time will tell,
Calling you on the phone with volume excelled.
K:
I hear what your meaning aloud an clear,
Gotta live my life bold with nothing to fear,
Pining over a fool, not worth holding my breath for,
You walked into my life, I kicked him out the door,
Now I want you to understand what I am saying,
No need to swim for my love,
Or getting down on your knees praying,
All I need is a little of your affection,
and a little of your time,
To know if we come together,
like rhythm and rhyme,
Whatever the future holds,
the two of us will find.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
I never learned how to swim,
And now I'm drowning in my thoughts.
My ears are full of water,
My side is cramping up.
The goggles you gave me are foggy
And my lungs are shriveling up.
I feel the water in my brain,
Swirling around my thoughts.
One moment I think you love me,
The next, you love me not.
And maybe if I learned to swim,
Maybe things would've worked out.
But I guess we'll never know,
My mind is now full of doubt.
But even great swimmers
Sometimes need help.
That's why there's lifeguards at the Olympics
Alongside Michael Phelps.
But I never learned how to swim,
And I'm drowning in my own thoughts.
But you said you would teach me,
It's too late, I'm seeing dark spots.
So let me sink to the bottom of the pool,
Where swimmings not important anyhow.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 10:56 PM UTC
When juiced a spore sized embryo, early in utero; fetus
evinces atavistic miniaturization,
where nascent differentiation wrought
physical resemblance to - seek reachers,
sans Tarzan and Jane forebears,
or exemplification of religious embodiments writ upon taut
lee helical real to reel strung nano deoxyribonucleic acid,
where dome min ant
ander recessive traits pop sic cull, and/or mom genes sought
took comb hing gull, where foxy fiery hander chrome hat tick
microscopic threads ineluctably
hired bot to weave warp and woof for naught
heard interpretive soundcloud issue onomatopoetic beat,
whether as:
the Marseillaise, muezzin, or reveille blown in the wind
by alimentary mechanic, *** killed in all manner of ought
tow mobile craftsmanship, which possibly inflated and made pregnant,
when one seem n
thrashes within timed zona pellucida drawbridge,
hooping an ova to snag,
though odds stacked against the most basic cell fish competition fought
in the **** z of evolutionary biology informing **** sapiens
one errant or defiant game gamete perhaps hinting a gamine
tubby wonderfully woven with wisps viz The Idler Wheel Is Wiser
than the Driver of the ***** and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More than Ropes Will Ever Do a ha at last that renegade oocyte
nabbed, analogously the Michael Phelps re: among the flagellated
madding crowdsource qua squirming sperm-faction caught
thence the commencement when trappings for a newborn bought
years later reviewing prenatal sonograms with grown son or daughter
pointing out how ***** editorialized, epitomized, and exemplified
in miniature (no bigger than any letter of the alphabet),
and closely resembled many creatures extant throughout the briny deep
such as an amphibian, reptile or Argonaut.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 8:24 PM UTC
She started to walk faster without realizing she was trying to catch up to him
At that moment she lessened her pace but didn't fall too short of his steps
She walked behind him with a safe but still dangerously close distance
He wore the limited edition Olympic head phones on
The ones she bought him for his birthday just last year
He always liked to think of himself has the next Michael Phelps
He could have been had he not doubted himself so much
She knew he was listening to his own rap music that he wrote
He was arrogant like that
He always liked to think of himself has a musical artist
He could have had he not doubted himself so much
Mildly, she hoped the noise ringing through his ears was about her and not the disaster he's been seeing recently
This story would get more interesting if he had turned around to notice her
Ultimately she knew he wouldn't
And he didn't.
He walked out the door, and she, not too far behind, did the same
He ran through the rain to his car and she walked slowly through the rain, in the opposite direction to hers.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
Invisible chain
Trapped by the hand that feeds me
Weighing me down, slowly pushing the life out of me
Everyday a new chance to leave it all
But I chose to endure and thrive
To break and earn my release from the chains that hold us down
Sink or swim we pick one everyday
I'm not Michael Phelps, but I sure do earn my gold everyday
I take a 9-iron to my problems everyday knock em out the park
Never a straight shot or a hole in one
Always a challenge not so much fun
We have our moment with the hand that feeds us
Let's hope it's not more than we can chew
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
They say im a bad guy
For noticing all lies
They got us fooled
With fake wise
Open up your eyes
Youll see the sunrise
Shaft of light
For your mind
Shadows of times
Reflectin' off your moves
Which proves
This aint what ya body
Should be used to
News crews breakin' fuse
Open the breaker box
N you'll see all the plots
Darkness works best at opposites
Earth is a mirror of hell
Trapped in a jail
Cell with no bail
When will we yell
Out for a help
Too many swimming in pawns
Like mike phelps
Trying to achieve a
Gold medal
Only to settle
With a broken wing
As the skies sing
A beautiful melody
But we tuned out
Natures sound cuz we
Penitentiary bound
By these evil spirits
Who worship the ground
Moloch to Bohemian
Grove owls appearin on death tolls
Read the scrolls
On tv watch them expose and scold
A world of perfection
But wheni see reality
I see imperfection
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 11:30 PM UTC