"precedes" poems
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
But it won’t reveal my inner mystery
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.
My Latina nature sometimes precedes my personality
People try to tell me who I am and they whisper, “I bet she…”
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
He says, “I know about you Latin girls…” but the only one who can enlighten me about me, is me.
To them I’m nothing more than another Jenny from the Block, but I’m not here to entertain you, let me educate you
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.
My curls exude confidence, beauty, and *** appeal; they keep secrets, create dreams, and remind me how bright I expect my future to be
My hair does define me. But not as you define it, as I do. I am everything I believe my hair means
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
Latinas are fierce, they are fire, and they are dangerous. Maybe we’re that way because you won’t let us be.
Can I just be me? Why do I have to be the person you want me to be?
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.
I’m tired of society’s shackles, so I ignore what society expects me to be
I love my curls, I love them when they’re frizzy, unkempt, and unruly. My curls are me.
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.
~Karina
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
*The smell of rain precedes the storm
that looms out in the west.
The sound of distant thunder
causes racing in my chest.*
*The temperature begins to drop
as I begin to flee
Seeking shelter from the storm
beneath a lonely tree.*
*I cower there, although I know
this haven's a mistake.
I know this is a lightning rod
but that's the chance I take.*
*The clouds, like battlements,
now, tower overhead
Ominous...majestic...and
they fill my heart with dread.*
*Drops of rain begin to fall
and plop among the leaves
Followed my the icy hail
that toward my shelter weaves.*
*A branch has fallen near my crouch
and nearly I am crushed.
My choice to wait beneath the tree
now seems a little rushed.*
*I stumble out into the storm.
The rain is driving hard.
Lightning strikes the tree I'd left.
The trunk is black and charred.*
*How foolish was my little hike
in spite of warnings thus.
Stay at home when storms approach
or next time...take the bus*
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 11:03 PM UTC
Without Nothing there cannot be Something.
Non-Existence precedes Existence.
No Dark means no Light.
No cold no hot, no soft no hard, no death no life.
Up and down, left and right, East and West.
Calm then storm, stillness then action,
Heavy and light.
Chaos and Order.
The finite and the infinite.
All compare.
All are Relative.
Without Something there is no Nothing.
Without Light no Dark.
No Good no Bad.
No Knowledge no Mystery.
No Mystery no Knowledge.
All Relative.
Paul Butters
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 6:22 AM UTC
Not against the peaks of protest, these aurulent banners and jasperated jaspe so so jargoon! It's like I was suddenly alive, beat-stretched out of winter neige and into the pancosmic blisses of bright and ebullient spring, plugged with an agromania to abide this new formidable friend in the aeviternal beauty of she and I togetherness. Never to spill a morsel of a minute away from us again, upon the newly conjured spirits unto us both. To be amidst a cynosure of such affiation, to be in the temperate or tropical gardens whispering about our mutual love for flowers nad lists. This that precedes us, bright colliding auras in this newfound numinous kindling of us two. Watching it, making it happen- it unfolding before me made me naseaus with excitement, dithering what our next move out to be. I just wanted to kiss her face, her cheeks, put our hands together so quickly, just to let our amorous fug fill the room with silver albuminious smoke from our breaths. Miles below this, round the Earth to other places, there are the fixtures of bright and corybantic life commoved by other nations and other poised people of the light, that I should not be idle in my desires to usher myself into this grand and briguing introduction. So she said, we will play the question game, the inquiry game, we will state the mark, draw upon deep and fantastical recall, bring from our minds the most immense truths and share them, no matter now feral, or caustic, or melancholy- they will be shared until we explode with each other, our intrigues wrapped in our perfervid and amatory excitedness for one another. Too vast with wonder to be afraid of- am I such a fiend for such resplendence. That we could be vitrified in eternity in a veil of fulgurite. So at this nightfall, this acronychal of bloviating bliss, to write and wonder, incessantly in the finest of provincial matters to settle this garden where Thetis lives to be of her, two philocalists in verdant pasture, heaped with matters of the pen and the palm, in the droves of this beautiful advesperating eve- where first I wrote to you, and then I wrote you back.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
This is the day
when we get up late
we sleep even after the sun is up
when we dont have to run through the morning hours,
when we have a leisurely tea and
sometimes even skip our breakfast
to have a brunch
This is the day
when we read the newspapers line by line,
or glance through the classified column,
tune to the news channels to get a glimpse of news..
This is the day
when we clean our vehicles
when we clean our homes..
when we have an afternoon nap
This is the day
which goes so fast..
It is over before we realize
Where time runs so fast ..
This is the day
When the kitchen switches to a more active zone
When the kids sleep till they want..
when the plants in the house get some new life
This is also the day
Which precedes the weak to follow
Which crawls till the Saturday next..
The end of a week as well as the beginning...
This is Sunday...
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 3:33 AM UTC
To the exotic fisherman
who may stare at
the silver-scaled fish
in wonder--
this shall be your new catch.
With souls like nets,
and pure-blue eggs that hatch
new ideas in a flash!
Savor this fish as
it flicks its tail in a splash
to return home to sinkship hollows.
For you detect no
like creature
precedes or follows.
Apr 6, 2010
Apr 6, 2010 at 6:44 PM UTC
The morning mists still haunt the stony street;
The northern summer air is shrill and cold;
And lo, the Hospital, grey, quiet, old,
Where Life and Death like friendly chafferers meet.
Thro' the loud spaciousness and draughty gloom
A small, strange child--so aged yet so young!--
Her little arm besplinted and beslung,
Precedes me gravely to the waiting-room.
I limp behind, my confidence all gone.
The grey-haired soldier-porter waves me on,
And on I crawl, and still my spirits fail:
A tragic meanness seems so to environ
These corridors and stairs of stone and iron,
Cold, naked, clean--half-workhouse and half-jail.
3.3k
Why the ****
is seemingly everyone
so ******* slutty?
What the **** happened
to maintenance
of Integrity?
******
for the right words
or for the right look
or the right price
or the right Music
or the *right *****
the most important motivation to many
seems to be *Instant ******* Gratification*:
Please.
Such folly is childish:
Males and Females alike
seem to be equally Hedonistic
and selfishly manipulative:
What dissolute, reckless, selfish
Depravity of Sanctity
hath seized our Minds
with such wrathful, gluttonous, vain, lustful, and self-destructive
Epicureanism?
It seems to me
a Mind of Displeasure
recklessly seeks Indulgence,
and thus encounters overindulgence,
which then leads to overstimulation,
which in turn leads to depreciation,
which then manifests itself
as Debauchery.
Reputation
precedes you;
it follows you
as your social Wake;
Reputation
is the Name
for the Ripples
cast by One's actions;
Sometimes it is mere gossip,
rooted in vile, childish Spite;
but most times,
it seems karmic as ****
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is your thoughts, my upset energies, and nightly turbulence.
Sleep provokes night and life and darkness prevailing in us.
When we wake up we are gone as our night precedes dawn
It is always the other way, bottom up and spaces spread.
At times we hear the police van’s shrieks, in night’s iron grill.
I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is not always the stick beating the road in rhythmic silence
And olive-green overcoat with flapped pockets and heavy boots
And six months old large-sized memories of a Himalayan home
With black-lined large dove’s eyes flitting among coal fires
Their smoke towering over the pines in snow-bound peaks.
I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is the turbulence we are speaking of, in the foggy sea we are
Or on the peaks where everything is bound in fuzzy snow
At the mountain passes where vehicles duly pass oiled by hot tea
Or in the mist-filled airports where aircrafts do not take off
Of politicians who decide mankind’s future in the apocalypse.
I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is my dreams as they were and the neighbor’s dreams
In the straw-roof, in the banyan trees with glints in their eyes
And much fine-powdered dust on their thick –coated leaves,
In lonely watchmen’s houses on the bleak stony spaces
And lonely watchmen keeping vigilant eyes on boulders
Strewn in brown spaces and scraggy bushes with strange lizards.
I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is the towering tombs and the trees that enveloped them
The children playing cricket in flying bats and stone stumps
Outside the vaults where kings and queens lay dead for ages
Their cold breath felt on the broken glass of Time’s windows.
I ask that you, I and women play a game of kabaddi in the trees
When it is still not dark enough in the minarets in the west
And children are still hitting ***** visible in the green of the trees.
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 15, 2010 at 3:33 AM UTC
We live in a society were the physical world shadows the metaphysical.
We live in a society were money precedes life.
Students are broke(n) like the loans that imprison them.
Death and taxes are inevitable, but it seems that taxes are more of a threat then death itself.
The greenback alludes us into becoming vicious consumers praying on the wealth of others.
We live in a society turned upside down. Broke(n).
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
such a precious child
with the freshest smile
i'll walk miles through the storm,
just to feel your warmth.
i’m a reckless child
though i'll reconcile
once the moon rises
oe'r your brown iris
i miss the taste of your lips,
your waist and your hips,
the way you brushed
my hair with your fingertips.
© Matthew Harlovic
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
294
The Doomed—regard the Sunrise
With different Delight—
Because—when next it burns abroad
They doubt to witness it—
The Man—to die—tomorrow—
Harks for the Meadow Bird—
Because its Music stirs the Axe
That clamors for his head—
Joyful—to whom the Sunrise
Precedes Enamored—Day—
Joyful—for whom the Meadow Bird
Has ought but Elegy!
2.8k
Your reputation
is usually a result of your actions
involving others;
Sometimes,
it does not accurately reflect who you are,
just how others see you.
Other times,
it is social Karma for the those
of indiscretion.
Your reputation
both precedes you
and follows you;
so long as people know people.
Sometimes you earn your reputation,
other times it is handed to you
by Life and her turmoil.
In either case,
it's usually up to you
to perpetuate it.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
t'is a seasonal custom of us,
**(you did notice that us
is the centerpiece of c-us-tom?)**
that in December, not November
when turkey precedes...
I take my slip of a gal
for a big bowl of pasta
and white truffles from France.
the eyetalian waiter knows
he made the sale when her eyes,
crinkle wrinkle when I ask,
upon which pasta
does the ristorante serve the
white truffles from France?
fettuccine, naturalmente!
in ritual grandiose,
the mushroom grated before our eyes,
shavings and specks scattered and disbursed,
part one of the us in c-us-tom done.
me, I grew up lower middle cheap,
Ronzoni rigatoni and Heinz Ketchup,
not just good enough, but a treat,
and I did not from truffle oil eat
nor speak.
two thirds of the way,
part two, I say, hey!
you know you don't have to eat the whole thing.
with eyes adoring,
she fesses up her tiny tummy was full
about half way through.
but she knows
me, I grew up lower middle cheap,
hate to waste the money,
that comes so hard.
part two is the part of the c-us-tom
she forgets about, but the part that
she really loves me for,
so who cares how much truffles cost,
as far her eyes are concerned,
they crinkle wrinkle at the taste,
of my remembering part two.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
~
*the peculiar sound of morning
during the long, boarded-up winter,
resonating through a cistern
set apart by thin waves
of decaying reservoir
a hint of canticle
in the unfounded wind,
impossible to ignore,
a series of collapsing oppositions
like interior and exterior,
self and other, the momentum
conveys the sublimity of being,
immersed in an unfathomable vastness,
of being part of an indivisible whole
a repeated glitch in the system,
our forever changing
constellation of feelings
and backward configurations,
slipping into a stream,
where the water precedes us,
and it will outlast us
we don't so much carry life
as allow ourselves to be carried
along by it, swept up in its current
for a little while*
~
Oct 4, 2023
Oct 4, 2023 at 2:39 PM UTC
out of arms
out of lungs
out of head
it’s an effort to be dragged
catch beneath the lock
where i tore my lid three years ago
each descent returning
spit from the cavernous body of marx
an empire of glass
the wretched of centre city
mop the open wound of 24/7 affairs
*** and grease stained upholstery
apologising for everyone else's mess
it’s blasé-faire
it’s pro-choice
corporate megaphone through the airwaves
distilled into the perfect idiot subject
enjoy life
enjoy life
enjoy life
enjoy life
enjoy life :)
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 12:47 AM UTC
~
Painting a picture of porcupines playing
Pincushions out in the field
Purple and pink for this playful perception
Plans of their purpose revealed
Painful endeavors of pacified pranksters
Presenting a pie at their place
Pecan or pumpkin, pickle, pineapple
Pieces are smeared on their face
Putting the paint on some powder puff paper
Pleasure in each stroke is plied
Pausing to peer at the porcupines playing
Prancing in pansies they hide
Puzzling problems with pretzels and peanuts
Posturing people to prove
Pistachio perfume in prime presentation
Preaches that peaches will move
Polishing pastels on pre-printed pages
Prized the possessions we seek
Paisley the plumes of a peacocks posterior
Portraits now come take a peek
Pampering piccolos play the piano
Pure as a pelican’s prayer
Picking a parcel of plum flavored pudding
Poetic prose fills the air
Pleats in my pants shout in proud proclamation
Puddle my pores they perspire
Poodles on playgrounds prevent prosecution
Plotting my hearts pure desire
Passion precedes every past tense of parting
Piled with a presence so true
Painting a picture while purposely dreaming
Promising my love to you
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
Life,
A path diverged, splitting in two,
And alas, my beloved, you cannot tread both.
Choose one journey, yearn to endure,
It's an intimate voyage, a solo race to embrace,
Gaze far ahead,
Where it curved amidst the foliage, and witness how
Mortal society ebbs and flows,
Amidst an unchanging factor.
The masses conform to the transient norm,
Beloved,
Many sorrows arise from faith's inertia,
Idle and hopeful, they bear consequence.
Do not play the assigned role, for conformity persists,
As humans, we mimic one another,
Pride precedes ruin,
And arrogance leads to downfall.
They are shackled by their lack of freedom,
Drawn to those who flaunt their fluidity and uniqueness.
Beloved,
Tell this tale with a wistful sigh,
Somewhere in distant ages to come: that
Once, it was unfashionable to be rebellious,
Yet as multitudes assumed the rebel's guise,
It lost its distinctiveness, its defiance faded,
But two paths diverged, and you,
You chose the one less traveled,
And that choice has made all the difference.
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 2:33 PM UTC
Coworkers seeking chit chat
I've a long night at that
Smiling and nodding robotically
If I leave they will hate me
The office party is on
They usually drag on till dawn
I look around for a spot
Just to hide out from the lot
Raising my head I see you
Eyes bright and blue
You look in my direction
I smile to show affection
As you move near me
My heart begins it's plea
Your fragrance precedes
A temptation indeed
Inches from me you stand
I reach out my hand
You slip your fingers in mine
Pulling me close its divine
You whisper in my ear
Why are you trembling dear?
I answer with a gentle kiss
Your smile tells me you like this
My intention is to hold you close
And dance until we overdose
My hands enjoy your curves
Another kiss to calm your nerves
Our bodies move in unison
This night has just begun
Dance with me till daybreak
These feelings I can't fake
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 8:37 PM UTC
ME:
A long dark day precedes a long dark night
I've lost to fear, I've lost to freight
Come courage, stength, or even might
I've lost the battle. No will to fight
TR:
Until the day of battles Dawn,
Where we fight together in this war.
For our fallen brothers we shall mourn,
And pray that tomorrow will bring something more.
ME:
But as fighting lives, our brothers die.
Come sword or bow, our time is nigh,
The one escape, towards the sky.
We must craft wings, that we may fly
TR:
When that day comes, we shall escape this torment,
And begin our own ethereal accent.
Until that time brother, we know only death,
But we shall fight until the very last breath.
ME:
But if we escape, is there such thing as life?
Or will it forever be pain and strife?
Until the day of the reaper's scythe,
We shall be mated with a clock as our wife.
TR:
Death is absolute,
Live on dear brother light comes,
Fight until dawn breaks.
ME:
Lights of hope, or lights of fire?
Glowing deep within desire.
The wants and needs of our bodies expire,
As I'm left to hang on a double-striped* wire
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
Flee the Ghetto
Times and Motions
Whirls and Swirls
Around the universe
we twirls
Great Space is black
all pinpoint lights
So cold and bleak
through all the night
Our best minds sit
and stare in awe
In altars, perched
on mountains tall
Seeking vistas,
Planets fine
Warm and wet
With Oceans Brine
Pure, swept With winds
fresh and new
A Paradise,
unblemished dew.
For we must flee
This planet small
Too many we
and soon the fall
Is eminent
if not we go
and refuge find
Pray God bestow
While we have time
To start anew
To try again
for we were fools
And ruined the place
gave us in Love
God’’s great gift
from Heav'n above
Dear Earth, fair home
All blessings be
Beloved of Man
On bended knee
We bow to you
You fleck of rock
You grain of sand
That bears our flock
Our precious home
for man to stand
and look around
and understand
How fragile’s life
A gift so rare
For all we’ve found
Of life Is here
So search brave priests
of this new age
of our demise
you are the sage
Please Save us guys*
you honored few
To you we cry
it’’s up to you
For we poor clods
have fought, and ruined
This grant from God
Destroyed too soon.
Find us a home
Another womb
Another Harbor
Please find one soon
For us to raise
our children strong
and try to teach them
right from wrong
That black or white
means not at all
that violence
precedes a fall
Too many players
Too small a stage
A madness caused
A screaming rage.
Our history
A tale of woe
Of endless wars
Tombstones in rows.
Our weapons might
Now reaches all
no refuge from
the killing fall
You made those things
Those killer toys
Now turn your brains
Look outward boys!
We need your help
and God’’s as well
This fate to turn,
This ride to hell
For we have learned
to dread the sight
of timeless darkness
endless night
We need some friends
To fight and play
Another species
Help us pray
Or we will end.
and all will turn
to endless blackness
Hell returned.
Justa Civileon 2003
* gender neutral on the "guys"
Not one of my uppiest rambles but I never was a light person
Jan 2, 2010
Jan 2, 2010 at 7:12 AM UTC
Whether or not we were created or we happened by chance, we still exist. Whether we are real or not, we still are. Whether there is more or it's all over, in this world or a next, let us just be.
I do to become. I do therefore I choose. I choose therefore I think. I think therefore I can. I can only cause I am and I am so I become...
Purpose is found among a vast sea of many meanings from which each picks that which shall compete the statement above. Influenced or not; Predetermined or not - this selection is still made regardless of belief, precisely because it is belief.
Thus, our existence precedes this purpose but proceeds from a sea of meaningless. For ambiguity, or many meanings, is just a synonym for meaningless.
Embrace this and you shall live! Freedom is but the choice to choose a master. The 'how you will exist' is up to you and for as long as you exist, the only permanence is this capacity for decision not the choice itself you make.
The question thus gradually evolves from "Why do I exist" and "What is my purpose" to "What do I become" and "What should I spend my time doing"
However, be afraid not of a mistake. Simply learn from it for all it needs to be rectified is a different mind from s/he who made it. Though, with that being said, still be careful not to break that which cannot be entirely mended.
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 12:47 AM UTC
In My Many Travels and dealing with the challenges of MAN'S MIND, Teaching and Learning with each STEP; I HAVE THIS "BURNING" DESIRE , For the "W H Y S " of life. SO, I ASK OF YOU !! Have you ENCOUNTERED ANY OF THE "FOLLOWING " ?___________(#1)= The Trail we Leave Precedes us, BUT the Shadow, do WE Lead or Follow. (#2)= "SHUCKS" said the Cowboy as He climbed upon the Steed, forgetting to put on His SPURS, NOW what would GOAD the Ride, to the SPUR store "OR" would a collection of SHARP words "WORK AS WELL" ? (#3)= Don't Tell Anyone, BUT, I have found a WORLD where the meaning of words are OBLIQUE to the words we use, Can YOU believe it, I've seen them ! (#4) The NICE THING about being OBLIQUE, when using "HIDDEN-MEANING" words and Allegories, the "ENEMY" *CAN'T Hear the words of TRUTH COMING! (#5) Do YOU realize that Glistening afternoons "USUALLY" result in "SHINING" attitudes for the Evenings; "GO FOR IT ! (#6)= For Those who are Still Rehearsing their LIFE; It's time to go Stage-Front, Turn off House lights,,Bring-up the SPOTS and see what "GOD" has in store for YOU ! (#7)= I USED to smell like Canteloupe, THEN, I discovered "ESCARGOT", NOW I Smell like an "OIL-SLICK" , What is? The Price of a Barrell today ? *(#8)= MY Songs are Not Just Words Written on Paper, BUT the Voices from My VERY Heart and the Melody Has JUST Begun ! ___"EVEN AS I held them up to the GREAT-LIGHT WITH HOPE= "YES" *TRULY I Understand NOW the "W H Y " of "OBSCURE OBSERVATIONS".......
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 3:16 AM UTC