"profess" poems
She's in the kitchen
(close the door)
just mixin' up some metaphor;
a true conundrum
through and through
and through to me and thus to you.
Her humble hunger
(forest's slumber)
thunders 'neath a wilting tune;
tuned to too many
to count without
a thought within.
She must profess
(but shall confess)
to any who will listen;
closely she holds
a tragic history
mostly mystery to most.
She solves my soul
(I deny that hole)
which she still fills;
overflowing always
with such unrelenting joy
that is My Love.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
Kudos to Kaepernick.
I just cannot drown all my beliefs and ideas, even if it contradicts my flesh and soul. When I heard that not standing up to the tune; that has always succeeded on sweeping all of the messes underneath the sad reality, to be deemed as subversive, I know that Rosa would definitely clench onto the seat tighter than ever.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
To drag our body out there, all over the precious hills and fields, while acting as if the scale has always been set fairly beneath you all this time, will hurt you more than myself. How can a mere matter of things decide our future, our destiny? We shall shape our fate, you shall shape your own fate, and to be judged on the perception biasedly built in the name of order for thousands of years, is a situation that should not be endured by anyone or anything in a tiny dot within this vast universe.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
And for that, I cannot stand proudly and profess my love to you as of now, even though I will always wear my heart on my sleeve for you to see. To be cheated, to be manipulated, to be deemed as surplus, by those at the tip of the plateau, that cunningly asked us to forget all the tangles and wrangles for the love of this sacred land, while unashamedly distribute everything off the land, off the ocean amongst them, is the last thing that we should allow to happen. I am one of those people that are not able to put on the mask on top of our meant-to-be honest faces, to say hail to the thief is worse than the eternal grief. I have never dreamed of burying the hatchet with them, not even for a second and if I ever do it, I shall be condemned and dismissed for forgetting the roots, the fons et origo of mine. To love you does not mean to stand still to the soulless melodies, to love you does not mean to bow down to the meaningless piece of cloth that has overseen countless infiltration and bombing over the years.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
To love you is to fight for the rights of many, by any means, even by not standing up. When black is no longer the symbol of miserable, filth and calamity, we shall then breath with ease, stand on our feet and fully embrace the real meaning behind all those majestic words.
Kudos to Kaepernick.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:09 PM UTC
I am not required to love you.
Let's get that straight.
Neither man nor woman
Is obligated to profess
And show their undying love for you,
Just as the sun doesn't revolve around the world,
The world doesn't revolve around you.
A series of acts showing your "kindness"
Is not a contract for a relationship.
The very fact that you have to shout
How you are a "nice guy"
Shows how you aren't;
Kindness doesn't need reassurance.
To be frank,
This whole delusion
Is getting a bit out of hand
(see: the ****** Killer",
a guy so sexually frustated
He killed people
for not giving him the right to get laid).
Maybe, hear me out here guys,
it's not because girls only look for "bad guys".
Maybe we look for soulmates,
Not Good Samaritans with hidden agendas.
This may come off as a shock for some of you,
But all-around goodness isn't equal
to treating girls nicely
Only because you might have a chance.
So if your mating dance
Consists of acting like you're an angel And simultaneously complaining
About the blindness
And insolence of women,
It's high time you should stop.
Put down the fedora while you're at it.
It's become a symbol for gentlemen for you,
But now it's a warning sign for us: "Beware the self-entitling guy!"
Honestly, we cringe every single time.
And darling,
Nice guys always finish last
because they whine
Instead of running.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
I want to let out
a scream so loud
the Grand Canyon will shake
Mount Everest will crumble,
and the whole world will kneel down.
I want to scream so my voice
could finally be heard
after all this while
hiding behind curtains,
sleeping in the shadows,
travelling by rooftops
during the night.
I want to confess,
to profess,
to be honest.
I want to rid of my brain
and its logic
who says not to;
Dig 10 layers
of six feet of dirt
and bury it deep underground
lost and forgotten
like the planes and ships over the Bermuda Triangle.
I want to leave and forget,
cast away the fibers and threads
that hold on to my
morality and affection ,
but only you
can hold me down.
I want you to
hold me down;
Hidden between the gaps of pain
is my heart.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 4:54 AM UTC
Fall in love with yourself.
Learn how to be infatuated
with the veins in your hands
and the stretchmarks on your tummy.
Make your own heart race
as you whisper those
three words,
eight letters
to yourself
over and over again.
*I love you.
I love you.
I love you.*
And mean it.
If you can learn how to
profess your undying love
to the naked, scared figure
in the mirror,
you can learn how to
daydream about a future
where you
and that person
are finally happy.
If you can give
a piece of your heart
to that stranger on the bus,
why can't you give everything
back to yourself?
You,
who picked your broken self up
after dropping to your knees
one too many times.
You,
who dragged your ***
to the toilet
after drinking the night away
(even though you promised
that you wouldn't do it again).
You,
who wasn't always there,
but tried to make it up to yourself
by covering your wounds
with purple plasters
and starlight.
Because when people
turn out their pockets
with no spare love
to hand to you,
you will stuff your hands into yours
and give them some of your own
without ever running out of supply.
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
Its like when you hold a new puppy
You can tell it is squirming
Wishing for the freedom to go play
It isn’t that you wouldn’t let the puppy go
If it really wanted to be let go...
But you blind yourself with infinite and simultaneous
Justifications of other possible portents
And so you cling
ever tighter
Saying puppy sit still
“Puppy I love you”
And when the puppy finally learns it cannot struggle anymore
You profess
True Love!
Jul 24, 2010
Jul 24, 2010 at 10:07 AM UTC
You share your words, I cup my ears.
You shed your shell, I catch your tears.
When life goes awry, wisdom gives bliss.
I hold your face, forehead graced with kiss.
My words are calm, warm, and tranquil.
I'm gentle, understanding; tell me how you feel.
You're unburdened, cumbersome no more.
Uplifted you thank me and say your peace.
I'm alone again, but it's better now. I'm sure.
Wings flap; I close my eyes and feel the breeze.
Their once storms, now but a gust.
Shepard their dragons, I must.
Their dragons are slain, the fire is gone.
I shoulder their pain, my words drawn.
As they sleep, I sit and gaze at the stars.
I'm arrested, their beauty. Oh, how they glisten.
Frankly, I weep as I'm fighting their wars.
As dark as the night may fall, I'll always listen.
To whose ears may I profess?
Am I not too, simply a mess?
No one to be me, for the father.
Everyday, the man seems closer yet farther.
Who is there when it all seems so bad?
I know who I am, the man, my own dad.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 5:01 PM UTC
i dove down to the bottom
of Mariana Trench, to plant
my blue pearl.
it's the very point when the ocean
and sky look into each
other's eyes, and let loose love.
as clear as your face in a dream
asking me to profess this immensity...
which now i have.
i awoke to a blue jay crying hysterically
out the window, and energy gushing
from the crown of my head.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC
Carefree my life
Hides emptiness
Internal strife
Longs to profess
Denied by fate
Love incarnate
Expecting now?
Son or daughter
Someday maybe?
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
It's unfortunate that Parisians
Are very hard to bear,
In terms of flash obsequiousity,
They drive me to despair!
And patience is an attribute
I don't profess to have
To mercifully administer
When accents veer to Slav.
Baltics look like jellyfish,
The Germans are obscene
And loud and overbearing
But the Swiss are very clean.
Italians are a swarthy lot
Who gourmandize on food
And sacrifice their suavity
By being impudently crude.
The Spanish are no better,
In fact they are probably worse,
For obsessing in the blood sports
I actually rate them in reverse.
Starchiness is British
They're convoluted to the core,
The Old Boy system's lost it's sheen
Aspirants flock to it no more.
The Yanks are looking slightly crass
Whilst fighting foreign wars,
Their pinky held up squeaky clean
To call "foul" to China's flaws.
China sits inscrutably
Holding all the cards
Waiting for the moment
To strike beneath the guards.
India and Pakistan
Are squabbling like kids
The uproar over Kashmir
Rates them lower than the Yids.
The Yids are walking tightropes
With Iran's nuclear ******
Whilst currying Yank approval,
Eventual bombing is a must.
The Dutch behave so anally
They're always proven right
When faced with rigid negatives
They blanch with haunches tight.
But not the Argentineans
They love to dance and flirt,
To chase the senorita
Cavorting in the scarlet skirt.
The South Pacific's wallowing
They're adrift from World affairs
Oz's self preoccupation
Mirrors Kiwi's vacant stares.
Africa's way past comment
Lost to heat and dust,
Warfare, **** and pillage
And the rest decayed by rust.
Eskimos are OK
Clean living on the ice
The population static,
Zer-O pollution's nice!
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
14 April 2009
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 12:08 AM UTC
I wonder if the trees could talk
Would they tell about the breeze?
Would they talk about the sunshine?
Or of their many different leaves?
Would they talk about that woodpecker
That's roosted on their limb?
Or maybe devise a brilliant plan
To rid themselves of him
Would they tell us of their thirst?
And celebrate the rain
Would they talk about their fear of fire?
And how they hate the flame
Would they talk about the winter?
How it robs them of their shields
As the winter breeze scatter their leaves
Across the barren fields
Would they talk about the summer heat?
And the sacrifices they've made
As they hold their limbs high and stong
To cast our needed shade
Would they talk about their Creator,
Who rules from Heaven above
And profess undying gratitude
And their never ending love?
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 6:27 PM UTC
When A Man Loves A Woman, He Will.
Let us end this weekend by talking about the love between a man and a woman. To the ladies who often ask, “How do I truly know a man loves me?” this is for you. When a man loves a woman, he will never cheat on her. Never! He will find other women that throw themselves at him repulsive, however beautiful, they might be. That does not mean he has to profess a zillion times in a day how much he loves you. A man who does that is often a player.
Talk is cheap. To a man who loves, actions speak louder than thunder, even in his subtlety! If you are an intuitive woman, you will know how much you are loved without even hearing the “three magical words.” There will be love in the way he looks in those lovely eyes of yours, in the way he holds your hands, in the tenderness of his text messages, in the attention he gives you, and in the care he takes in choosing the gifts he give you, and in the way he speaks to you.
It is widely acknowledged that men love *** If a man says he does not love *** he is a shameless liar or a capon. God, we love *** Yet, paradoxically, when a man truly loves a woman, *** with her is the last thing on his mind. His interest in her is holistic, not just the apple she has to offer. He wants you for the rest of his life, and his single preoccupation from the moment he meets you, will be to put a ring on your finger so you can carry his name as Mrs…(Insert your man’s name) as a badge of honour.
A man who truly loves you knows you meticulously. He knows what puts a smile on those rosy lips of yours. He knows what to say and what to do both in the good and bad times. He knows your kind of music or your kind of book. If you are a chocolate lady, he knows your kind of chocolate, if you are the romantic type he knows when to take you for moonlight strolls. Basically he will love you like you have never been loved before.
In all, a man who loves you will do anything. I mean ANYTHING for the woman he loves.
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC
*To watch the sun glare,
a rainbow of colors shining this world,
to smell the rain fall
a reprieve from the chaos
splendidness surrounds life
the death of a spider
when the eggs hatch,
the larval caterpillar
wrapped up in a cocoon;
emerges into an elegant butterfly,
the bacterial decay of nature
into flourishing mushrooms,
the ***** of bees
into sweet, sweet honey,
waste and manure
encourage bloom of radiant flowers,
the grace and beauty of youth
becoming the wisdom and dignity of winkled skin,
lessons learned
from hardships experienced*
when in negative light
remember,
there will be another chance to improve
another time to change the next outcome
your view, aspect of the universe
greatly changes the situation
your attitude, your reaction
towards others, towards life
is what monumentally effects the context
so prideful us humans
an ego trip indeed
an argument of the opposites,
a debate of loved ones,
are both sides wrong?
often not,
yet the argument remains
admit your id
profess your apology,
it does not have to
mean that you
are the one at fault,
(though you very well might be)
it does not mean
the other is infinitely correct,
sincere it should be
it simply states,
you are sorry for the distress,
sorry for the difference of opinions,
thoughts, ideas
that could not be controlled,
you are admitting
you value your relationship
much, much more
then your self righteousness,
if you genuinely care
you will listen,
and if you listen
you will be on the road
to understanding
**and only at understanding
can you truly love**
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 12:45 PM UTC
Metaphorical suicide.
My feelings are as deep as the valleys running across my wrist: Non existent.
Countless heart breaks from a single girl proved to be a likely deterrent.
Old habits die easy with you, causing my fists to turn a dark red hue.
Empty bottles and cigarettes litter the floor, a noose hanging above being the only door so that I will finally soar.
Or dare I ask, and partake in this task which will surely leave me stripped of my sanity.
Watch me load a revolver with a single casing engraved "True Love" . Look me in the eyes as I place the barrel of the gun made from the broken memories we shared together unto my chest, and watch as I pull the trigger, causing my metaphorical platter splatter into globs of grey matter.
I lay in my bed sleepless, non existent lateral lines running up and down my wrists, non existent, yet I still feel the throbbing and the slow spill of everything I ever felt ,drip down into my sides, surrounding me in a puddle of...
Real tears caused by the fears of letting go, or is what surrounds me are all the mistakes I've made, mutated from being left alone with no where else to go, so they make their way to the surface waiting for me to profess all that I've wronged? No. All that would have been too merciful.
Instead you took all of my feelings, my love, my heart, and melted it down into the shape of a metal bat, ironically engraved "tough luck" and proceeded to beat me in.
Not to bad, or painful. But to the point where I feel it, then the pain quickly recedes, like i am stuck in the sand of a island you marooned me on, The acid waves wash over me for a split second, causing pain into my heart, then it's gone. Causing me to forever constantly.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
I once professed my love to the wind...
I had professed that I admired the way
it had caressed my face.
The way it cupped my cheeks
and combed through
my tousled hair.
I once professed my love to the wind...
I had professed that I was infinitely enamoured
with its playful but gentle ways.
The way it would upset
the serenity of my clothes.
The way it would engulf me cool
on a hot sunny day.
I once professed my love to the wind...
I had professed that I get addicted to the way
it would reach into my lungs
and abscond with my breath.
Leaving me asphyxiated for a brief moment
before mischievously
introducing new air;
hale and fresh.
I still profess my love to the wind...
I'd profess my adoration for the way
she fills my sails full
and my heart full of hope.
For I am a lone sailor
in a crowded ocean.
Sailing in a vessel bound for nowhere...
Traversing time and space
with my love, my breeze...
my air.
.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
She calls me best friend
Every hurt and every pain is referred back to the friendship we have.
Hours never go by without my screen having her name written all across it, amongst others, she stands out.
Heart races and as I cross my finger over the finish line of opening the text just to find out she needs to talk.
This is it.
I’ve played this moment over and over in my head, boy doesn’t she know how prepared I am to profess.... this love
She starts texting and it’s taking a bit longer than forever. Time somehow managed to slow down...
“There’s this guy
He’s a stand up guy
He’s so respectful and he treats me like a Queen.
He makes me feel good about myself and he calls me beautiful too many times to count
I tell him everything and he tells me everything and I’d never seen him in this light but now...”
Man, I knew it
I’m a stand up guy
I respect her wishes almost like they’re mine.
I’ve always seen myself as the King to her Queen. She’s the royalty to dynasty
I tell her she’s beautiful too often to count but if I did.... it wouldn’t make sense to time, because you’d think my vocabulary is only riddled with the phrase, “You’re so beautiful.”
I tell her everything, everything except how I feel about her. I’ve always seen her as a light to my love. That doesn’t make sense but I see the light, and she’s it. I see her...
“He makes me feel safe. I can tell him anything.”
I know. I try my best to make you feel this love.
“He’s handsome and his laugh is so cute and he gets so annoyed with me for saying so.”
She says that all the **** time and it gets on my nerves.
“I feel like I can’t ... live without him..”
And I can’t live without you too....
My response to her text is
“Well, why don’t you tell him...?”
“That’s the thing”, she says...
“I did, and he told me he sees me as just a friend.”
“I guess that’s how you see me too.”
Ends chat...
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 3:19 PM UTC
You ask me how I can love you
You who is broken, and limping, and lame
I stop you before the tear can fall
Taking them from your eyes
And crying them out my own
I tell you the truth of absolute love
I tell you I wear no blinders
I see you as you are
I see your imperfections but we are all flawed
Those minute cracks in your soul
Trickle out pain in swirling hues of tender that highlight your heart
A heart you profess is black and stone
But it beats strong within my chest
Where I will nuture it and feed it with my own
I see all the nicks and bruises and breaks
They are not reasons to walk away
They are the very thing that makes you worthy
Your damage healed in stregnth
You are not broken
You are beautiful in all things
A tender heart that bleeds for others
That hates you for not being better...for me
Don't you know? Can't you see?
There is no better, you are as good as it gets
It is I who is unworthy
And in all your fear of being alone, you overlook the truth of who you are
of who I am when I am with you
You see beauty in every corner of derelict
You fill my cracks with your joy
To the point where you feel you run out, not even knowing you gave it away
You see in me what I am unable to see in myself
And because it is you who sees it I believe you
I see your cracks and spackle them with love
I see the scars and am thankful you survived the journey
And tomorrow, or next week next month or next year
When you have grown strong in my love
When the time comes that you realize I am naught but pieces duct taped together
When you see the truth of what I have always known
I will still love you
When you move on to brighter days and greener pastures
I will still love you
When you see that you are worthy of more than I am able to give you
I will still love you, as I do now
For I never learned how to unlove someone
And you have always been worthy
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 2:24 AM UTC
I'm falling in love
With my computer
Yes it's true
Just look at all the things
I can do
Youtube, articles,
**** and chatrooms too
To my PowerBook G4
Yes, I profess
My love to you!
Two months from now
We will tie the knot
I promise to update
Your hardware
And software as well
And no money offered
Would ever cause me
To sell
You to anyone
Our life journey together
Is fun
After all you taught me
About the human being
So strange, I know it seems
The chat rooms are my favorite place
People on mic and cams
A human connection occurs
Which brings a smile to my face
Because you are older
They don't make the latest version
Of java for you
But that's okay
I will always love you
Anyway!
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
the night of the fake dead has become eternal
(i will wear Susan Lucci's face for it)
staggering through excesses unknown
and the uncertainty of this ranking system,
you tried to eat my earlobe
but lost interest in it quickly.
your scent safe in this butterfly net,
i am surrounded by the
murderous howls of your perennial
buttercups, determined to tempt
my animal ******* instincts.
(enuma elish la nabu shamamu)
(shapiltu ammatum shuma la zakrat)
i have tripped in the garden of Eve's desire
and felt torrents across my cheeks
of alternating salt and sugar-sweet nectar.
i have held the red locks of wort
and danced on the blossom-littered ground
in remembrance of wandered attention.
(When in the heights heaven had not been named)
(and below, firm ground had not been called...)
i have wept in the shadow of Adam's twin towers
and seen the rift between the continents
ebb and fall under silence's blanket.
i have leathered my skin under this star
to defend my eyes and tongue from
the bite of the turtle goddess.
i have seen the feast of the water,
devouring the naked soil of Pangea,
and tasted its salt with my eyes.
i have undertaken the toil of the shaduf,
churning mud and planting seeds for
the return of the floral messiah.
(Amaru baur rata)
(Shagane Ir Imshi)
i have borne the yoke of the oxen
and reaped stalks of wheat
in the summer's first harvest
i have broken bread with companions
under starlight mixed embers
glowing log light orange dynamo
(The Flood swept thereover)
(His heart was filled with tears)
Will you scream for me?
Can you profess the holiness
of my mission?
My name, my motif, echoes
across the ages...
Siaynoq!
Siaynoq!
Siaynoq!
In the end we are called upon by
stronger forces, blank expressions, glassy eyes
Siaynoq!
Siaynoq!
Siaynoq!
the cold of the world's knife,
pressed against the flesh of our selves,
unconscious rhythm heartbeat pounding
twisted sense rhumba of a thousand tiny shards
Siaynoq!
Call me to a greater purpose
Siaynoq!
Spill my blood across the sand
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
When I am dead, and doctors know not why,
And my friends’ curiosity
Will have me cut up to survey each part,—
When they shall find your picture in my heart,
You think a sudden damp of love
Will through all their senses move,
And work on them as me, and so prefer
Your ****** to the name of massacre.
Poor victories! But if you dare be brave,
And pleasure in your conquest have,
First **** th’ enormous giant, your Disdain,
And let th’ enchantress Honour next be slain,
And like a Goth and Vandal rise,
Deface records and histories
Of your own arts and triumphs over men,
And, without such advantage, **** me then.
For I could muster up as well as you
My giants, and my witches too,
Which are vast Constancy and Secretness;
But these I neither look for nor profess.
**** me as woman, let me die
As a mere man; do you but try
Your passive valour, and you shall find then,
Naked you have odds enough of any man.
2.7k
"Tell me about you" he whispers,
I want to know more
I've seen you before,
So I couldn't ignored....
The elegance in your steps
The truth you profess
A genuine interest even in my disinterest
Jun 4, 2021
Jun 4, 2021 at 7:52 PM UTC
I am made all things to all men—
Hebrew, Roman, and Greek—
In each one’s tongue I speal,
Suiting to each my word,
That some may be drawn to the Lord!
I am made all things to all men—
In City or Wilderness
Praising the crafts they profess
That some may be drawn to the Lord—
By any means to my Lord!
Since I was overcome
By that great Light and Word,
I have forgot or forgone
The self men call their own
(Being made all things to all men)
So that I might save some
At such small price, to the Lord,
As being all things to all men.
I was made all things to all men,
But now my course is done—
And now is my reward…
Ah, Christ, when I stand at Thy Throne
With those I have drawn to the Lord,
Restore me my self again!
2.4k
Forgive me,
if at this moment
you are lonely;
and me not there
to be lonely with you.
Forgive me,
if some girls have hurt you;
and made you feel undeserved.
Trust me, I understand your pain;
for I too have been with men
whom I loved only for hopes that
one of them is finally you.
But none of them was you.
Because You are still there,
somewhere,
hurting.
And me too here,
crying, hoping, waiting.
But I would like to ask you,
like me;
Keep looking.
And if we will be hurt
again and again,
with wrong people,
that is only because
we have not found each other yet.
But please, take heed;
I know, when us finally meet
we will work together,
to put ourselves back again.
Our love shall heal each other
as if we have not been lonely,
as if we have not been hurt before.
Our love shall thread the holes
in our hearts,
Our hugs shall glue the the broken pieces of us.
Our kisses shall profess that in each other's arm;
We received the love we deserved.
Your love,
*** ---qyf***
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 1:47 PM UTC
I could tell you how to write a poem
Playful phrasing, not too quick, not too strong,
Be graphic and persuasive, appealing to us all,
The want for supposed meaning and a silver tongue
Is the truth beneath our fall
Heartfelt sentiment, articulation,
Let’s entice some Pharisees to avoid any tribulation
For the bouts and shouts of living out
And extravagantly exhibiting oneself to all and everyone—
Clichéd, now it may be,
There’s truth in that I see
Can we find apparent happiness
All appearance and accreditation,
Let’s be certain we’re (clandestinely) drudging for recognition,
Yet, I can never tell you what is true in writing,
The slow path? That’s what I long for,
Or profess, in the world of colorful mosaics,
I am the truth! The way and the light!
I’ll set you free! The God of Wonders!
Can’t you see?
I’m God, I’ve always meant to be!
*Heaven help me,
I didn’t mean to pretend
But I believed beyond
What even I could comprehend..
I’m not God, this I know,
But is this—
The way I'll go?*
It is my end…
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC