"presenter" poems
It's 6pm,
anxiously waiting till its 8pm,
For the voice of magic,
that magnifies my heart from so many miles away,
This is my confession your voice is perfection,
I love the way you alter those words of affection,
Without going down memory lane,
Butterflies in my belly doing the flip floppy thing like a lolly,
As I feel your sweet melodious voice,
Solidify & Stir-up in my heart,
I wanna radically alter my thought,
I'm astonished by your rapid transformation of words
To be sincere,
If the sea where to be a burning fire &
the blustery wind were to blow it profusely
Like a stormy rain of volcano upon the land,
I will never leave,
I will always be on nigeria info,
Where I get all the info,
the purest of creativity you deliver,
you diva,
When I tune-in in the evening,
you Ignite my heart
Your eyes are the kaleidoscope,
to my ever moving colorful world of reality,
Let me leave for now,
I will be back soon by night,
I think others are in anxiety,
Trying to drop in,
Their beautiful words of human creativity.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
Every time my father is late from the front line
Sickness strikes my mother
and I tour with her the hospitals of Najaf.
I write to him ‘come back to us now,
Make your sergeant read my words: I am about to die’.
He returns my letter, laughing:
‘We are the amusement of the blindman’.
Oh, you River of Jasim, you tore my years
Between my father’s assumed victories
And my mother’s wishes in the emergency room;
They used to plant hope in her mind
By sticking on the glass door,
Two notices confirming: (awaiting death certificate).
Her heart ages so fast
And I ***** from hearing the chants.
Every time the presenter says ‘Victory is on the horizon’,
My grandmothers’ eyes rise to the ceiling -
She hides a mocking smile.
With rage I scream at the screen ‘no victory’s coming’.
She whispers: ‘god is generous’.
‘You sound like my father when I asked for new toys’.
She quietens and we contend,
Awaiting his return before a new battle,
Fearing that a last fight may end the life of a dove.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 12:54 PM UTC
Fond of love? Is it not?
With whom do I speak about?
Is it the heart?
A mere transaction between the heart and the love that it gives
Takes
Moves and listens to each
And every
Single
Day.
I feel…
Yet there is no presenter.
No one to share,
No one to give.
No supplier, provider. There is a house,
Yet it is no home. No place to reside.
What I feel is an experience worth the ride. I bought plane tickets this time.
A one way ticket to wherever it can take me.
Prescribe me the medication, the antidote.
Respond to my prayers with a challenge, rather than a definition.
Give me the reason I long for, simply
Because I ask for it.
Love.
Give it to me.
Feed it to me,
Make it melt in my mouth, at the tip of my tongue.
Let it linger,
Whisper my name,
Romance at the calm of my voice.
Feel my words against yours.
Trial my heart.
Adore.
Bestow upon her the
True
Meaning
Of
Love.
The distinction between a kiss,
And a hug.
The conceptual, intangible evidence that she is looking for.
Hurt?
Pain?
No more.
What I feel is the reaction to love.
There can only be pain
Where there is a heart.
This can go on for as long as it can be taken.
I have been beat up by love,
Yet I refuse for it to take advantage.
It will challenge me indefinitely, until I learn what it dares not bring forth at ease.
Afraid, withdrawn. Confused,
Wishing for a moment. My heart is weak.
Tired of the constant reciprocation of negative energy feeding at her.
Eating her alive. Heart.
Love,
Striking her.
Take it. Take it.
Not for an eternity, rather,
For a moment.
Stand up and fight for it.
A feeling deep inside waiting to let go. Please,
Take it.
I dare not wish to fight another day. She says. She says
She loves him.
She says that she wants to be with him.
Another heart to hold,
Another heart to handle.
Another heart to feel, and be loved by.
A heart scorned by the misinterpretation of the mind however. An emotion that remains,
Sitting
As if there was no other place.
Without love I do not seek to be found. With it,
I am everything. I am a journey with no end,
No signs telling me where to go, what to do, who to love and who to be without. Love.
Shut up and take it.
Barr up the doors! Continue to hide in safety. Create your own world,
Within the lies you constantly tell yourself. Day to day
You sit and embrace your own heart,
Your own hourglass.
In hope of one day someone else loving you the way that love does.
The word is simply a word.
The actions are actions,
And the pain is pain.
The feeling is feeling,
The emotion is emotion.
What is love is love,
What gives what receives are what we call motivation.
Fond of love I am.
It is not pain that I speak of. It is the heart.
Worthy of any and every transaction between itself and love and I live in it
Each
And
Every
Single
Day.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
Acara dalam rangka memperingati hari lahir (harlah) Ke-65 PW Fatayat NU itu diikuti hampir 38 peserta se-Jatim yang meliputi perwakilan seluruh pimpinan cabang Fatayat NU.
Hasil desain peserta diperagakan model andalan mereka. Tak kalah dengan model profesional, para model Fatayat NU ini juga tampak percaya diri berlenggak-lenggok di atas caltwalk.
Dalam lomba fashion show ini, peserta dari PC Fatayat Bojonegoro meraih juara pertama, sedangkan pemenang kedua diraih oleh peserta dari Nganjuk dan pemenang ketiga dari Fatayat Bangil.
Menurut desainer muslimah yang dinobatkan jadi juri lomba ini, Ana Farhasy, ada beberapa poin dimiliki peserta Bojonegoro sehingga meraih juara.
"Kendati bertemakan busana pesta muslimah, namun desainnya simpel dan elegan. Itu menjadi kelebihan sendiri daripada peserta lain yang banyak menonjolkan aksesoris sehingga tampak berlebihan," katanya.
Selain itu, peserta dari Bojonegoro menampilkan tema gold kayu jati. "Batik yang digunakan asli Bojonegoro," jelas Ana.
Sementara itu, Ketua Fatayat NU Jatim Hikmah Bafaqih mengatakan selain lomba fashion show, kegiatan lain juga digelar dalam rangkaian harlah Fatayat NU itu.
"Ada lomba menulis artikel, lomba menjadi presenter, dan bazar produk unggulan (handycraft) kreasi kader Fatayat di seluruh cabang Fatayat se-Jatim," katanya.
Ia menambahkan, puncak peringatan Harlah Fatayat NU dilaksanakan di kantor PWNU Jatim pada Minggu, 17 Mei 2015. Rencananya, acara puncak dihadiri Menpora Imam Nahrawi, Wagub Jatim Saifullah Yusuf, dan Ketua DPRD Jatim.
"Ketua Umum PP Fatayat NU Hajah Ida Fauziyah tidak bisa hadir karena berbarengan dengan acara prakongres Fatayat di Bandung," katanya.
Mbak Hikmah, sapaan akrabnya, mengemukakan tema yang diambil harlah kali ini adalah "Ikhtiar Fatayat NU menuju Indonesia Berkeadaban".
"Karenanya kita akan terus berusaha untuk melakukan berbagai karya nyata, tentu kita bangun ulang keadaban kita dengan Islam ahlussunnah wal jamaah atau yang kita kenal dengan Islam Nusantara," katanya.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/mermaid-trumpet-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/one-shoulder-formal-dresses
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 10:37 PM UTC
One lonely girl,
Isolated.
Many girls –
Students,
Few friends,
Where are they ?
Big room,
Cold air,
Shivering.
Dripping blood.
Shaking legs,
Restless.
Presenter..
Voice echoes,
Words fly,
None perch.
Maybe just a drops..
Like dew.
Little girl;
Sitting there,
Thoughts of you.
Take her hand .. ?
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
Former X Factor presenter Tulisa is certainly bouncing back after her recent drink driving arrest and the night after rocking a **** white ensemble on the red carpet, slipped into this risque red number.
The 27-year-old flashed some serious cleavage as she went braless in the bandeau dress, that left very little to the imagination and perfectly showed off her toned arms and abs.
She teamed the show-stopping look with heavy make-up and let her dark locks, styled in loose barrel curls, fall over her shoulders.
The star - who spent nearly 22 hours at a South London police station after a car accident earlier this month - posted the figure-hugging outfit on social media on Tuesday afternoon and jokingly wrote alongside it: "I did not wake up like this".
The night before the former N-Dubz singer rocked a more demure look on the red carpet as she joined Myleene Klass and Mark Wright at Roar Group's 21st Birthday Celebrations at Avenue.
It had been her first public appearance since her arreston suspicion of drink-driving earlier this month.
The star reportedly told friends she only enjoyed a “quick drink” at home 20 minutes before crashing her Ferrari into the side of another car just before midnight.
The star spent nearly 22 hours in custody after failing a breath test after she crashed into a Saab.
Tulisa is said to have narrowly missed two pedestrians before the crash. If the Young singer is charged and convicted, she could be jailed for up to two years and be banned from driving for up to 12 months.
She has been released on bail until November.
read more:http://www.marieaustralia.com
www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
In school they showed us a video
about drug cartels and drug addition,
but all I could think about was you,
and how much I crave your touch.
The mouth of the presenter is moving,
but his words fall on deaf ears
that crave the sound of your voice.
As I think about your lips,
and how they taste,
I can't help but wonder if this is addiction,
because all of my desire is revolved around you.
(Constantly wanting you by my side)
(Constantly, constantly craving you)
I've never injected a needle,
or taken a hit.
Come to think of it,
those drug dealers have no idea how intense I feel,
so they can keep their substances.
Why would I need that
when I already have you?
(The substance of love is powerful)
(in the form of you)
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
I am not a presenter
Wheeze coughing
I'm the
The center
Of a hurricane
On stage
Sitting standing hating every second
Can't stop
Shaking
I'm stressing
That u might ask me any questions
When did words
Feel started feeling like knives pressing
Against my Adam's apple
Glass is empty not half full
Of concentrated juice
What's the use
In speaking
If I can't get through to you
I'm not a presenter
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
Behold! Enthroned in a tower,
enshrouded in the might of power,
the soul of malice,
the bitter existence,
Foul breath giving life to evil,
and provoking a grim struggle.
Men cannot resist it,
never are they content with it,
but once they obtain this,
they are hopeless to survive the emptiness.
Rua'grain, the usurper,
the master of villainy,
the taker of lives, and destroyer
of all good things.
The lord of Mists,
the keeper of shadows,
the presenter of flames,
and spreader of ash,
how he has the world in his hands.
We are without hope,
no refuge, no noble heroes,
no valiant quests,
we are without hope.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
For once, the tears aren't falling from my eyes
As I stand on this stage
the arm of the middle aged blond woman-
with a smile frozen on her lips
and tears frozen in her eyes, ready to fall at moments like this,
resting on my shoulders.
And with every word she says
I see another gurgle of raw, teary happiness bubble out of the short shaking woman
sitting in front of me
whose name, face and voice I know
but who I have barely talked to.
The applause is too much
it's all too much.
I take the check,
give a her a 30 second hug
and sit down next to my aunt.
She hugs me and the whole room smiles
the principal takes longer to stand, drying her face
but announces the next presenter just the same.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 4:25 PM UTC
Hey, you are so sweet and lovely
You're innocent and handsome too
No, you're better than I, believe it
Truly, no one's better than anyone
Hey, you're so romantic and smart
You are cute, shy, and lovable too
No, you are the cutest than I am
Truly, no one's better than anyone
Hey, you're gorgeous beauty and cool
You're good looking and decent too
No, you're so much prettier than I am
Truly, no one's better than anyone
Hey, you are a great poet and playwright
You're an amazing writer and presenter too
No, you are the greatest than I. Believe it.
Truly, no one's better than anyone
'Yes, your poems are great!
You put a lot of thought
And feeling into your words
I can feel that when I read'
You have a great mind too
So you are a great poet than I am
Truly, no one's better than anyone.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC
Tides of change are like the tides of the ocean
Tides of the ocean I watched on an island off the coast of Charleston SC
Cemented in my childhood memories as a scene of holy simplicity
And like the ocean, these tides can bring forth
Great waves of progress
Hunter Thompson speaks of the great San Francisco wave of the 60s, and how it surged, raged, but could not make the journey farther than they peyote nightmares of Vegas
And still in dreams at night I hear Woody Guthrie singing how there's "a better world a-coming"
If you listen closely
In the alleys around trashcan fires
Or in the last of the occupied boxcars
You can hear the same thing
It's coming
It's coming
Yet tides come in and then recede back
And in the roar of the ocean I could hear it telling me to be calm
The better world is coming
But there is still much more time to wait
I don't like to be a pessimist about such things
But all one generation can do is reap and learn the last generations harvest,
And then go and plant their own
In these reflections I realize why I can't write exactly how I feel about politics or progress
I am not a warrior
I am not a brick thrower or speech giver, though both have necessity in their own respect
Like Hunter and Woody
I am a teller of stories and presenter of truth and life
I can spend endless nights and days writing of experiences
But the future is beyond my grasp
Yet when the times come
When blood is spilt and windows shatter
I will be there
I will experience every moment
And I won't let the effort be forgotten or in vain
For the tides come in
Then go back again
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC
I was requested
To write a rhyme about rain
By a soldier man who lives
Almost in a lake
I thought of rain
Again and again
In time,
A rain rhyme came
From me to you,
Mr. Hill
Who lives
In 'The Lakes'
Rain rain go away
Come again
Some other day
Today I want to play
Rain rain go away
But not for long
Or I’ll complain
Stay around
I’ll want you when
My grass is brown
Rain rain stay around
My kayak doesn’t work well
On the ground
Rain rain
Once in a while
I will delight
When my feet are warm and dry
By the firelight
I will watch you through
My windowpane
In ease
As you paint
Your Three D
Masterpiece
O essential element
Presenter of presents
Why do we lament
So much
Your ever-present presence
Sean Hunt April 16 2015
For video recitation: see link below
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
*is russell brand the presenter on the pointless blog?
i swear it's russel brand! no wait, it's someone
called alfred dyson... ***** the fun out of it
it's still russell brand to me, eating pickles for
he he giggles.*
you know, the only reason i cried when i first
watched the cinematic passion of the christ,
it wasn't the plot and the outline,
i cried when i heard the resurrection of ancient
Aramaic... that got me... it pierced my soul...
so you're living with your parents
because the nigerians and saudi arabs bought
you out of right for home ownership,
and in the background you just hear an i.v.f.
baby argument, a test-tube baby argument damning
you for not enough capitalistic incentive...
herr doctor freud comes in too into the plotline...
and then you turn back and watch russell brand
on the pointless blog discovering sardines in
digestive juices of preservation of sour marbles
in the museum alongside mummies.
*brian molko already did the trans-gender **** me
mascara look without, as the homosexuals already said:
well i did confuse the **** with the ****
but by god i didn't confuse the ******* emblem with
architecture and warring attempts...
brian molko made the girls jealous with his
androgynous appeal... girls got jealous,
pressurised the trans-gender movement to a tic tac toe.*
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC
Like a telly weather presenter
You have given
A perfect representation
Of bittersweet Britishness,
My good friend, Keith!
I love many things about England
But the bittersweetness
Of the weather
Is not one of them
My ideal climate
would be the same temperature
every day, all day
and all night,
all year long
The moon would have to become
Sun-like during the night;
Then I would be perfectly content
(with the weather)
The weather would stop being
Such a persistent
And consistent
Topic of conversation
And question of commentary,
On whether it was fine or not
The climate in question
Does not exist
Here on planet earth
Sean Hunt
Windermere, January 16 2016
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 3:39 AM UTC
I might have been a yeah mate yeah kid when I was young
I visited oldies and I didn’t hang
With many cool people back then I might have been a nerd back then I liked programming computer games and I did a lot of different things
I might have been a tad different to the others but deep
Down I thought that made me cool
I mucked with my friends at school and I found it hard to muck with bullies and I liked to much with my family like playing games and watching television
And I performed in school plays
And learnt to sing songs like songs that were pretty much in the hippy age I remember mucking around at the mall being cool and I was hearing voices, well I think they were of them treating me like a nerdy yeah mate yeah kid just because I watched television with my mates and family I played basketball with my friend at the Southside basketball stadium abs had a drink afterwards I thought that was cool and I played bingo with my grandmother and my friends and even if it is an oldie thing
I was probably a bit of a geek
I might have been a bit shy at family parties where I just played cricket with dice when others were enjoying themselves and I went to concerts like from red tape and ac/dc and Bryan Adams and def Leopard and the pigs in Merimbula but I had a few social issues where I must be the coolest one there and I was I think and I teased my father sometimes but it didn’t get me far, you see I might have been a geek I might have been a nerd I might have been a yeah mate yeah kid, but I thought I was pretty cool, because I watch the footy afl and nrl and cricket and baseball and soccer and basketball I like to celebrate Christmas even if I am not a Christian, no, I am a Buddhist and I feel different from the world but it ain’t my intention though, I just believe in coming back after you die, rather than this stupid heaven bull **** and
I know they believe in nirvana and I know what goes on up there cause you can go there in dreams
I might be a geek nerd or yeah mate yeah kid, but I am a writer artist and YouTube presenter
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 6:17 AM UTC
Tamable wolves are raging outside like a mob of people; a storm-hurricane roars like this when the immense horde-mass starts. A storm of art - not so much anymore - so that only a few on-duty Celeb-stars can become really big altar-jerking ******** whom the next generation of cyber-ass will look up to as worthy role models. Beauty contest, Anna-ball, but for what?! The good-sounding promise-speech flows from a jug, so that an employed model-presenter can always do well, since he hardly knows anything else.
Because "some" have to be barefoot to march even the length of a street towards success and a certain dubious fame. The exhibitionist overheatedness of voluntary, but still publicly humiliating, naked undressings is necessary so that a tabloid channel that is already doomed to die can still produce the sufficient number of viewers. Because every futile existence here is now torn in two and the simple man, tearing his hair out, can no longer decide what would be better?
To go or to stay in this wasteland doomed to Nirvana?! Among the fluffy roots that were already intended, that which could not even be born yet. The introverted consciousness that does not lie to itself cannot be a virtue now, but rather a conscious mistake. It would be good if superficial faces would not only suggest manipulable duplicity - but would redeem reality with a little sincerity and the pearly waters of tears. Why do we now have to to listen to what and how the wolf pack of the troubled city night is howling, completely out of its senses?!
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 12:23 AM UTC
You could take her home
To meet mom and dad
Yet still the secret desire
Of a young boy's wet dream
Sharp eye make-up and gleaming smile
Yes, bright white constant smile
Presenting neutral facts in a neutral way
With loose-cheeked speech
Like a child whose face has yet to become fixed
The auto-cue leaves little room for sincerity
Though sympathy is shown at appropriate times
In an appropriately professional way
A slight pause, then the smile switch flicks again
And on once more to less somber items
By Phil Roberts
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 6:23 AM UTC
Three tabs of acid and a year of postmodern novels will **** you up in a shorter span of time than doing a degree in poststructuralism, and only an idiot with a death wish would do both. Manic romp to reach nowhere in a political field that never arrives, except in France.
Well Sartre once said nothing, and so did Derrida, and so did Baudrillard. Endless procession of words for the sake of filling a vacuum that didn’t exist until it was filled. Enter Freud; exit Bernays. All meaning atop a Golden Bough.
Sitting in your flatmate’s room the acid kicks in and suddenly no one is themselves, every line that leaves their mouths traceable to a media product, the perfect communion of pluralism arriving as the terror of integral capitalist banality. To speak is to add to the mockery; to say nothing is to let the mockery continue.
Forget it all by watching Youtube videos at 0.25x speed. Displace the terror of your own situation through the consumptive behaviour that had constituted it in the first place. Watch in gleeful delight as the eyes of whatever presenter happens to be on the screen at the moment dart between this or that object of desire, ever unsure of where to settle amongst an infinite number of existential refrains, none of which deliver from the anxiety of the prior.
Holding a caramel slice in the departmental tea room, your lecturer waits for you to respond, but all you manage is a cough.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 5:56 AM UTC
People across the globe
Are enjoying my poetry
Well that is really
Something else
Maybe just a few
But that is exciting to me
I see people
I hear sounds
But these people
Don't talk to me
Where are they going?
And what are they doing?
Who knows
Some have work
In the morning
While others will stay
Up late
For a hot and steamy
Night of college ***
Good to know
That that turkey wrap
Can be relied upon
Quality turkey
And spinach
Nigel the dog
Has his own twitter
He is owned by Monty Don
British television presenter
Writer and speaker
On horticulture
I jump from one thought
To the next
The ideas have
No connection
Just as a day
Is remembered
In small segments
Random
And usually disconnected
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
There is a PDiddy in every hustler,
A Mitchelle Obama in every lady,
A Barrack Obama in every child,
A Micheal Jackson in every singer/performer,
A TD Jakes in every preacher,
A Maya Angelou in every poet,
A Napoleon in every soldier
A Mother Theresa in every little girl,
A Henry Ford in every mechanic,
A Micheal Jordan in every basketball player,
A Picasso in every artist,
A Tupac in every gangster,
A Martin Luther King in every activist,
A Usain Bolt in every sprinter,
An Oprah Winfrey in every presenter,
An Einstein in every intelligent mind.
Greatness lives in each and every one of us
In whatever we do, whoever we are
wheresoever we're come from or go.
©️IB-Poetry
2/27/2018
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
It has always been an open door and shut case
But wait and let’s not be haste
In order to even open the door, you must see opportunity
But the cognitive of unity
A collaboration of everything coming together
The process illustrating effort
Determination with attempting to open the door
The door is an explore
Once you open the door, there is assurance of sure
There is a connection of the open door and ****
It takes a destined desire to find out more
The fact is be confident with no ignore
The open door and **** being the hand that extends
We are back to opportunity with an inspired begin
Trust brings on assurance
Illustration values influence
The door that won’t close on you
As you were able to get through
So when you see an open door could possibly be your chance
Once again, it’s that opportunity that spells advance e
So open that door, and handle your business, and be inspired as the presenter on the floor.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
Rain rain go away
Come again
Some other day
Today I want to play
Rain rain go away
But not for long or I’ll complain
So stay around
I’ll want you when my grass is brown
Rain rain
Once in a while I will delight
When my feet are warm and dry
By the firelight
I will watch you through
My windowpane in ease
As you paint
Your Three D Masterpiece
O essential element
Presenter of presents
Why do we lament so much
Your ever-present presence
Sean Hunt
April 16 2015
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 7:35 AM UTC