"poeming" poems
Im not a flirt, sure I flirt but I'm not a flirt I just want you to like me although next year you'll go to another high school
I'm not a flirt I just use humor to make you smile
I'm not a flirt I just drop off hints to see if you feel the same
I'm not a flirt I just enjoy poeming about you
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
*the losers,
report me to
the bad poets society,
bad student loans , bad poems
bad boys and girls society
taste, head rearing, daring
elegance, shocking awe,
fk that looks it like be a poeming **** forming,
ah, the teenie weenies millies become white walking whiners
write a poem about the sky,
**never using the word blue black
or grey**
Then, use it to
tell me why the
Paris dead
matter
the most remarkable feature
of the sky is its endlessness,
no matter what the colour of the day be,
for what else can you point to
beside the sea,
that simply visible
has no boundaries?
I will tell you.
see my grieving rage
boundaryless,
for the Paris dead,
and there is no colour,
just one dead blanched black rose
placed upon my chest,
soiling my face,
a visible reminder that
forgetting is
endless, colourless,
rage and revenge
too*
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
It's Been Awhile
since I wrote a love poem.
after all what needs this world
yet another Declaration of Inter-Dependence?
Lazy afternoon, sun kicked out the overcast drizzle,
that made you decide to cook, my heart sizzle.
You bang honey, BBQ sauce, tomato something or other
into one of your own poems, I am a couch potato observer.
Strumming my thoughts, note plucking,
Looking for two or three chords to
Basis-form a shapely container ship
For sharing what I am feeling.
A Dylan-like tune of my own growling,
begins to format, and next,
(you know what's a coming),
start singing my very own verbal song,
Nat-named this lyrical beat,
A Declaration of Inter-Dependence.
If not for you:
I would weep more.
I would weep less,
(so many tears of joy!).
My carousel, horse back riding days,
would be over, ended.
I would never make a bed unasked
(but it gives you so much pleasure).
I would live on Frosted Flakes
and microwaved hot dogs
**I would die w/o ever seeing
someone weep after reading my poetry.**
For that alone...
I declare my whole state of being
being dependent on another's existence.
Ok. All done. Sneak-peeking in the oven
To see what my love is poeming for our
dinner.
You may now move about the inter-dependent cabins of our
heart.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
Why employ an ordinary word
When an extraordinary one
Excels?
Let us wed, let us vow,
Henceforth, let us never
Wish ourselves away plain humbly,
Goodbye.
Let us end our day,
Bid our lovely comings,
The tragedy of our departures
With a gentling
Fare thee well.
In the company of the dawn,
Let us greet the one
Who lies besides us a stirring,
Not with merest hello, morning or
The accursed howareyou,
Replace haste with a deliberate
*Welcome, well comely,
To this newborn day!*
Tho do confess,
That like numerous others
Who have counted the ways,
There is no sweetener substitute for
I love you.
I will n'ere address thy grace
With appellation dissatisfying of "girl"
When woman suits thee best,
With all its attendant glories.
Should we encounter upon the street,
Address me as man,
For of that word I am a fan,
But say it not with routine irrelevance,
But in tones of softest reverence,
For I am not a child or dude,
A sir or sire, a mister mister,
But I am a man.
Our lives are not a game of chance,
Yet chance aplenty do we countenance.
Having stumbled, fallen into a subterranean,
A place where I know thee well
But likely not your face, your visage,
Thy honest name,
Accept these excelsiors as mine
Poeming opening gambit,
My closing statement,
Summary of the that, that has and yet to pass
Between us:
Peace be upon you.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
The doctor probed my eyes
stethoed to feel my lung
had my mouth wide prised
got rolled out my tongue!
He gave it deep long mulls
hmm was all he said
in his grip throbbed my pulse
beating fast afraid!
Hmm he muttered once again
*there’s no problem specific
but for that undefined pain
that you say is making you weak!*
*More apparent is the darned thing
that has really blighted your face
beneath your eyes the black ring
you are counting stars I guess!
May I know what keeps you awake
why you find sleep bothersome
keep tossing on bed till daybreak
pray tell me don’t remain mum!*
Poor doctor how he would ever know
best time for poeming is the night
when crystal dreams in moon glow
pour out from heart with might!
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC