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"propitious" poems
I speak in praise of the ******** yes, and as a male, I decline to be clandestine about this. The reason I so admire the ******** is that it's the female's key to being multiply ******** and frankly, I'm in awe of this. You see, the male ***** can't compare because, of course, it has a dual purpose.   It wasn't put there just for bliss, which is the only purpose of the ******** Males must just resign themselves to their dangling ganglia, the **** which is so easy to malign compared to the delicate paradigm of the **** and its remarkable economy of design. Now I realize that females may be suspicious of my focus on their ******** but actually, I think it’s ingenious.   My own discovery of this was serendipitous and propitious. You see? Really, I’m envious of the ******** because it's indefatigable and delectable, (I think she likes a little nibble), and anyway, there’s not much point in trying to distinguish between *********** and the ******** So there's my poem to the little **** with admiration and respect. I speak in praise of the ******** Truly. A gift for all of us.
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Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
Ode to the ********
I. While raging tempests shake the shore, While Ælus’ thunders round us roar, And sweep impetuous o’er the plain Be still, O tyrant of the main; Nor let thy brow contracted frowns betray, While my Susanna skims the wat’ry way. II. The Pow’r propitious hears the lay, The blue-ey’d daughters of the sea With sweeter cadence glide along, And Thames responsive joins the song. Pleas’d with their notes Sol sheds benign his ray, And double radiance decks the face of day. III. To court thee to Britannia’s arms Serene the climes and mild the sky, Her region boasts unnumber’d charms, Thy welcome smiles in ev’ry eye. Thy promise, Neptune keep, record my pray’r, Not give my wishes to the empty air.
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Ode To Neptune
There was an Old Man with a beard, Who sat on a horse when he reared; But they said, "Never mind! You will fall off behind, You propitious Old Man with a beard!"
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There Was An Old Man With A Beard
Round a turn of the Qin Fortress winds the Wei River, And Yellow Mountain foot-hills enclose the Court of China; Past the South Gate willows comes the Car of Many Bells On the upper Palace-Garden Road-a solid length of blossom; A Forbidden City roof holds two phoenixes in cloud; The foliage of spring shelters multitudes from rain; And now, when the heavens are propitious for action, Here is our Emperor ready-no wasteful wanderer.
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Looking Down in a Spring-rain
O Venus, beauty of the skies, To whom a thousand temples rise, Gaily false in gentle smiles, Full of love-perplexing wiles; O goddess, from my heart remove The wasting cares and pains of love. If ever thou hast kindly heard A song in soft distress preferred, Propitious to my tuneful vow, A gentle goddess, hear me now. Descend, thou bright immortal guest, In all thy radiant charms confessed. Thou once didst leave almighty Jove And all the golden roofs above: The car thy wanton sparrows drew, Hovering in air they lightly flew; As to my bower they winged their way I saw their quivering pinions play. The birds dismissed (while you remain) Bore back their empty car again: Then you, with looks divinely mild, In every heavenly feature smiled, And asked what new complaints I made, And why I called you to my aid? What frenzy in my ***** raged, And by what cure to be assuaged? What gentle youth I would allure, Whom in my artful toils secure? Who does thy tender heart subdue, Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who? Though now he shuns thy longing arms, He soon shall court thy slighted charms; Though now thy offerings he despise, He soon to thee shall sacrifice; Though now he freezes, he soon shall burn, And be thy victim in his turn. Celestial visitant, once more Thy needful presence I implore. In pity come, and ease my grief, Bring my distempered soul relief, Favour thy suppliant's hidden fires, And give me all my heart desires.
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A Hymn To Venus
~ Bala^ comments: "alignment - any which way one can if possible to make ****** and *********** simultaneously happen, without any best position plan" ~ *may all the gods bless you, Bala, for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity with perfected clarity my own circadian rhythm masters internal, the most reliably unreliable human container technology teachers, semi-skilled in the entrainment arts for this impoverished body mine, deem it appropriate that early morn messages of propitious possibility be greeted immediately entrapped, awaken me at four AM with great glee, because these elusives^^  know exactly what stirs this being's cochlear cockles into birthing a poetic cookie ******** *********** your message meme provoking, inducing, be honest man - simply seducing, my within by your teasing words from without* "without any best position plan" *not to confuse the mere appearance of a routine as worthy of the entitlement of "plan," much as the poem's own vanity chooses it own alignment the relationship, the relativity - always the flexing flummoxing freaking insatiable pleasuring when your thrusting unplanned message ****** and bests my brain, releasing a fully formed, instantaneous parrying poem from an aroused, passing, unsanitized, second of sanity for no better *** than this... as per the unplan? this tissued life, this in and out of punching and counterpunching continuous, but rarely contiguous, for we are never aligned for more than a moment, the moment that almost always goes unnoticed, for the heart's ***** tissues, are mostly torn by how life uses us roughly so here is an aligned confession fecundity this poetry gig, my salve, to tenderize the daily redness, the irritation residual of having no plan however these fingerprints decided for you, to present, upon completion, this soft-spoken loud *********** a peaking, not a leaking, ** ** ** - a screaming hallelujah, i'm aligned! the man found albeit briefly a  beat, a plan and its verbal, herbal, best solution may all the gods bless you, Bala, for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity with perfected clarity the man and his plan, for a mega-second his best, unplanned but got and given, in poetic planetary alignment positioned as are you and I - the thousands of miles of distance tween us as you read this collage collapse into a singular synapse of ****** and *********** hallelujah, we are aligned! ~ **disclaimer: anything you say to me, can and will be used for a poem** ~ 5:55am April 1, 2017
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Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 4:16 PM UTC
hallelujah, I'm aligned, without any best position plan (for Bala)
~ Bala^ comments: "alignment - any which way one can if possible to make ****** and *********** simultaneously happen, without any best position plan" ~ *may all the gods bless you, Bala, for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity with perfected clarity my own circadian rhythm masters internal, the most reliably unreliable human container technology teachers, semi-skilled in the entrainment arts for this impoverished body mine, deem it appropriate that early morn messages of propitious possibility be greeted immediately entrapped, awaken me at four AM with great glee, because these elusives^^  know exactly what stirs this being's cochlear cockles into birthing a poetic cookie ******** *********** your message meme provoking, inducing, be honest man - simply seducing, my within by your teasing words from without* "without any best position plan" *not to confuse the mere appearance of a routine as worthy of the entitlement of "plan," much as the poem's own vanity chooses it own alignment the relationship, the relativity - always the flexing flummoxing freaking insatiable pleasuring when your thrusting unplanned message ****** and bests my brain, releasing a fully formed, instantaneous parrying poem from an aroused, passing, unsanitized, second of sanity for no better *** than this... as per the unplan? this tissued life, this in and out of punching and counterpunching continuous, but rarely contiguous, for we are never aligned for more than a moment, the moment that almost always goes unnoticed, for the heart's ***** tissues, are mostly torn by how life uses us roughly so here is an aligned confession fecundity this poetry gig, my salve, to tenderize the daily redness, the irritation residual of having no plan however these fingerprints decided for you, to present, upon completion, this soft-spoken loud *********** a peaking, not a leaking, ** ** ** - a screaming hallelujah, i'm aligned! the man found albeit briefly a  beat, a plan and its verbal, herbal, best solution may all the gods bless you, Bala, for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity with perfected clarity the man and his plan, for a mega-second his best, unplanned but got and given, in poetic planetary alignment positioned as are you and I - the thousands of miles of distance tween us as you read this collage collapse into a singular synapse of ****** and *********** hallelujah, we are aligned! ~ **disclaimer: anything you say to me, can and will be used for a poem** ~ 5:55am April 1, 2017
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O Nightingale! that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover’s heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo’s bill, Portend success in love; O, if Jove’s will Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why: Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
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To The Nightingale
The rhyme of the poet Modulates the king's affairs, Balance-loving nature Made all things in pairs. To every foot its antipode, Each color with its counter glowed, To every tone beat answering tones, Higher or graver; Flavor gladly blends with flavor; Leaf answers leaf upon the bough, And match the paired cotyledons. Hands to hands, and feet to feet, In one body grooms and brides; Eldest rite, two married sides In every mortal meet. Light's far furnace shines, Smelting ***** and bars, Forging double stars, Glittering twins and trines. The animals are sick with love, Lovesick with rhyme; Each with all propitious Time Into chorus wove. Like the dancers' ordered band, Thoughts come also hand in hand, In equal couples mated, Or else alternated, Adding by their mutual gage One to other health and age. Solitary fancies go Short-lived wandering to and fro, Most like to bachelors, Or an ungiven maid, Not ancestors, With no posterity to make the lie afraid, Or keep truth undecayed. Perfect paired as eagle's wings, Justice is the rhyme of things; Trade and counting use The serf-same tuneful muse; And Nemesis, Who with even matches odd, Who athwart space redresses The partial wrong, Fills the just period, And finishes the song. Subtle rhymes with ruin rife Murmur in the house of life, Sung by the Sisters as they spin; In perfect time and measure, they Build and unbuild our echoing clay, As the two twilights of the day Fold us music-drunken in.
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Merlin II
O Thou, the Nymph with placid eye ! O seldom found, yet ever nigh ! Receive my temperate vow : Not all the storms that shake the pole Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul, And smooth unalter'd brow. O come, in simplst vest array'd, With all thy sober cheer display'd To bless my longing sight ; Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace, Thy meek regard, thy matron grace, And chaste subdued delight. No more by varying passions beat, O gently guide my pilgrim feet To find thy hermit cell ; Where in some pure and equal sky Beneath thy soft indulgent eye Thy modest virtues dwell. Simplicity in Attic vest, And Innocence with candid breast, And clear undaunted eye ; And Hope, who points to distant years, Fair opening through this vale of tears A vista to the sky. There Health, thro' whose calm ***** glide The temperate joys in even tide, That rarely ebb or flow ; And Patience there, thy sister meek, Presents her mild, unvarying cheek To meet the offer'd blow. Her influence taught the Phrygian sage A tyrant master's wanton rage With settled smiles to meet ; Inur'd to toil and bitter bread He bow'd his meek submitted head, And kiss'd thy sainted feet. But thou, oh Nymph retir'd and coy ! In what brown hamlet dost thou joy To tell thy simple tale ; The lowliest children of the ground, Moss rose, and violet, blossom round, And lily of the vale. O say what soft propitious hour I best may chuse to hail thy power, And court thy gentle sway ? When Autumn, friendly to the Muse, Shall thy own modest tints diffuse, And shed thy milder day. When Eve, her dewy star beneath, Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe, And every storm is laid ; If such an hour was e'er thy choice, Oft let me hear thy soothing voice Low whispering thro' the shade.
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Hymn To Content
O Thou, the Nymph with placid eye ! O seldom found, yet ever nigh ! Receive my temperate vow : Not all the storms that shake the pole Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul, And smooth unalter'd brow. O come, in simplst vest array'd, With all thy sober cheer display'd To bless my longing sight ; Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace, Thy meek regard, thy matron grace, And chaste subdued delight. No more by varying passions beat, O gently guide my pilgrim feet To find thy hermit cell ; Where in some pure and equal sky Beneath thy soft indulgent eye Thy modest virtues dwell. Simplicity in Attic vest, And Innocence with candid breast, And clear undaunted eye ; And Hope, who points to distant years, Fair opening through this vale of tears A vista to the sky. There Health, thro' whose calm ***** glide The temperate joys in even tide, That rarely ebb or flow ; And Patience there, thy sister meek, Presents her mild, unvarying cheek To meet the offer'd blow. Her influence taught the Phrygian sage A tyrant master's wanton rage With settled smiles to meet ; Inur'd to toil and bitter bread He bow'd his meek submitted head, And kiss'd thy sainted feet. But thou, oh Nymph retir'd and coy ! In what brown hamlet dost thou joy To tell thy simple tale ; The lowliest children of the ground, Moss rose, and violet, blossom round, And lily of the vale. O say what soft propitious hour I best may chuse to hail thy power, And court thy gentle sway ? When Autumn, friendly to the Muse, Shall thy own modest tints diffuse, And shed thy milder day. When Eve, her dewy star beneath, Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe, And every storm is laid ; If such an hour was e'er thy choice, Oft let me hear thy soothing voice Low whispering thro' the shade.
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54
Obscurest night involv'd the sky, Th' Atlantic billows roar'd, When such a destin'd wretch as I, Wash'd headlong from on board, Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, His floating home for ever left. No braver chief could Albion boast Than he with whom he went, Nor ever ship left Albion's coast, With warmer wishes sent. He lov'd them both, but both in vain, Nor him beheld, nor her again. Not long beneath the whelming brine, Expert to swim, he lay; Nor soon he felt his strength decline, Or courage die away; But wag'd with death a lasting strife, Supported by despair of life. He shouted: nor his friends had fail'd To check the vessel's course, But so the furious blast prevail'd, That, pitiless perforce, They left their outcast mate behind, And scudded still before the wind. Some succour yet they could afford; And, such as storms allow, The cask, the coop, the floated cord, Delay'd not to bestow. But he (they knew) nor ship, nor shore, Whate'er they gave, should visit more. Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he Their haste himself condemn, Aware that flight, in such a sea, Alone could rescue them; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld; And so long he, with unspent pow'r, His destiny repell'd; And ever, as the minutes flew, Entreated help, or cried--Adieu! At length, his transient respite past, His comrades, who before Had heard his voice in ev'ry blast, Could catch the sound no more. For then, by toil subdued, he drank The stifling wave, and then he sank. No poet wept him: but the page Of narrative sincere; Is wet with Anson's tear. And tears by bards or heroes shed Alike immortalize the dead. I therefore purpose not, or dream, Descanting on his fate, To give the melancholy theme A more enduring date: But misery still delights to trace No voice divine the storm allay'd, No light propitious shone; When, snatch'd from all effectual aid, We perish'd, each alone: But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.
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The Castaway
Obscurest night involv'd the sky, Th' Atlantic billows roar'd, When such a destin'd wretch as I, Wash'd headlong from on board, Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, His floating home for ever left. No braver chief could Albion boast Than he with whom he went, Nor ever ship left Albion's coast, With warmer wishes sent. He lov'd them both, but both in vain, Nor him beheld, nor her again. Not long beneath the whelming brine, Expert to swim, he lay; Nor soon he felt his strength decline, Or courage die away; But wag'd with death a lasting strife, Supported by despair of life. He shouted: nor his friends had fail'd To check the vessel's course, But so the furious blast prevail'd, That, pitiless perforce, They left their outcast mate behind, And scudded still before the wind. Some succour yet they could afford; And, such as storms allow, The cask, the coop, the floated cord, Delay'd not to bestow. But he (they knew) nor ship, nor shore, Whate'er they gave, should visit more. Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he Their haste himself condemn, Aware that flight, in such a sea, Alone could rescue them; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld; And so long he, with unspent pow'r, His destiny repell'd; And ever, as the minutes flew, Entreated help, or cried--Adieu! At length, his transient respite past, His comrades, who before Had heard his voice in ev'ry blast, Could catch the sound no more. For then, by toil subdued, he drank The stifling wave, and then he sank. No poet wept him: but the page Of narrative sincere; Is wet with Anson's tear. And tears by bards or heroes shed Alike immortalize the dead. I therefore purpose not, or dream, Descanting on his fate, To give the melancholy theme A more enduring date: But misery still delights to trace No voice divine the storm allay'd, No light propitious shone; When, snatch'd from all effectual aid, We perish'd, each alone: But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.
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64
To cultivate in ev’ry noble mind Habitual grace, and sentiments refin’d, Thus while you strive to mend the human heart, Thus while the heav’nly precepts you impart, O may each ***** catch the sacred fire, And youthful minds to Virtue’s throne aspire! When God’s eternal ways you set in sight, And Virtue shines in all her native light, In vain would Vice her works in night conceal, For Wisdom’s eye pervades the sable veil. Artists may paint the sun’s effulgent rays, But Amory’s pen the brighter God displays: While his great works in Amory’s pages shine, And while he proves his essence all divine, The Atheist sure no more can boast aloud Of chance, or nature, and exclude the God; As if the clay without the potter’s aid Should rise in various forms, and shapes self-made, Or worlds above with orb o’er orb profound Self-mov’d could run the everlasting round. It cannot be—unerring Wisdom guides With eye propitious, and o’er all presides. Still prosper, Amory! still may’st thou receive The warmest blessings which a muse can give, And when this transitory state is o’er, When kingdoms fall, and fleeting Fame’s no more, May Amory triumph in immortal fame, A nobler title, and superior name!
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To The Rev. Dr. Thomas Amory, On Reading His Sermons On Daily Devotion, In Which That Duty Is Recommended And Assisted
We are thousand miles away. Still I say,'stay away'. People meet either because they are meant to be isolated or to be in their life forever. We know we want each other,knowing that it won't happen. Are you here to lessen my soreness and increase my my sprits. Let me tell you dear,I am in love and relationship with lugubrious. I am the most propitious and wealthiest person because I had had ever you in my lifetime, a cache. What are we meant for? For schism or forever? When we are meant for nix,then let us not give each other unfulfilling expectations.
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Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 1:25 AM UTC
Why did we meet?
Name any gentleman you spy, And there's a chance that he is I; Go out to angle, and you may Catch me on a propitious day: Booted and spurred, their journey ended, The weary are by me befriended: If roasted meat should be your wish, I am more needful than a dish: I am acknowledgedly poor: Yet my resources are no fewer Than all the trades; there is not one But I profess, beneath the sun: I bear a part in many a game; My worth may change, I am the same. Sometimes, by you expelled, I roam Forth from the sanctuary of home.
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New Enigmas
1 O' sprite full Maia, come attire our lands with your boundless prize- Of joyful swelling by the nature's pleasing bloom,and green surprise, To sprout a floral bedding,round the yards  and shades for worthy dales; And birds will spin their adorned bowers over the dewy boughs and vales. 2 Hail! to you goddess, deck the forest’s lingering beauty, thus come: Let streams to flow across the thick and- bushy meadows over your prime, For hawthorn white and lilies to bud, and converse fragrance in air, To wind down our minds with breezes- blow,groovy lifts cool us lighter. 3 Mid mate of months, come and show your primeval splendor and glee, While south is praising vintager’s autumn, North's propitious spring does fly, And make the country lush with garden- fruits,the sweetest scents they spray, To fill each rose with flavors long, for all the ardent grooms they pray! Come Glitter, glitter ***** rays-, and sun is warm in moderate mood; Behold! the coming of her-, bees gathered among the newly buds Nithin Purple from 'Halcyon Wings.' REFERENCE: *Maia— Greek goddess of May month *Hawthorn—A spring-flowering shrub or  small tree of the genus Crataegus. *Vintager—A person who harvests grapes for making wine. ***** rays—Attraction of sunlight towards flowers, showing a dependency. *Sprite—Middle English: alteration of sprit, a contraction of spirit.
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Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC
On A May Glory: A Welcome Song to Maia
Heart pounding nonstop 
 Feeling I ran sixteen miles
 Can't seem to decifrate 
 Where your affection lies

 Querying who am I 
 Long term silence prevails
 Things are better off left unsaid

 We used to share friendship 
Now there's nothing left
 Wondering where will you travel 
After all this ravel

 Observe along your space 
Recall your whereabouts 
Back when you were just 
 A young teenager

 You had company,
 Someone who cared
 That feminine corpse,
 Would outsource every fiber of her soul 
 To see you whole
 Sadly you saw her as 
Another to add list of friends role 
Meanwhile her heart beat off adrenaline 
 And nothing more

 Retaining secrecy, 
Devoted to destiny,
 I'll exit knowing there's nothing else to do,
 But to patiently wait for a propitious finale.
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Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 12:18 PM UTC
For Him (2/4)
Alone, it seems, I travel, but not alone, I fear. There are shadowy, staring eyes that pierce and whispers that scrape my ear. I need to find my way, and running takes me nowhere, as I tread the ceaseless circle path lost and only just aware that the darkness ever deepens. As the daylight begins its end, my mind casts prescient stones in dirt with a hope my course propitious wends. So on I trek untouched, my eye and mind feel no connection to the time or to the scenes that loom and crawl in each new direction.
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Jan 11, 2012
Jan 11, 2012 at 5:24 PM UTC
Road
If I had the words A gift of wings that would not fail Set my sword To perforate the veil Cut this clinging death away Let the light fall like rain Solace on a summer day But I’m bound Dragging shackles and chains Starving for grace As I choke on the profane Sacrificed my petty dreams Bled out on the altar of fools Propitious as light might have been I let darkness set the rules Circumstance stultifies the child inside Nullifies the need To hope for a greater salvation My spirit fights but my head concedes Lost in the chaos around me If I surrender who will lead And if by chance you went walking Through the shattered past I’ve left behind Pick your way through emotional wreckage Find my inner child deaf dumb and blind This failing hope will not carry me As I struggle toward the light And so I wait abandoned As the world spins fast toward night. I know the truth you cannot see What I carry hidden in me… 08/22/09 TL Boehm
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Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
If I Had The Words
There was a young person of Janina, Whose uncle was always a fanning her; When he fanned off her head, She smiled sweetly, and said, 'You propitious old person of Janina!'
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There Was A Young Person Of Janina
They said we had it all Middle American brats bottom barrel aristocrats we were told we were propitious children left alone to wonder the bland landscape of our gated community to stand in submission in our lovely subdivision When things changed it was us they blamed or the media or the influence of the ghetto so far away but never did we stray it all came to us and that was OK we wanted something more then material things Our parents were there but never really there not enough to care though they thought they were Asking random questions drinking their cocktails of white wine and ****** telling us to turn down the volume and what kind of **** were we listening to today telling us how music was better back in their day You gave us the world and in return we shouldered all the blame took the blame for all the pain and were reminded daily of how things could have been how things should have been if only you waited to have kids And you wonder why we f*ck and fight stay up all night become drunken fools at seventeen just so we can change the routine so we can feel alive by slowly dying cigarette smoke and xanax bars some percocet then drive our cars to some place any place where someone will tell us that we are special and unique beautiful as they touch our cheek and make us feel human again smart and talented more then our cookie cutter gated box of a life we have been told since birth we must carry on We just want to feel alive to feel that someone really knows us deep inside from front and back To feel that we are good enough that its OK to be different to feel different and still know you will love us just the same and take back some of the blame to hold us up so we don’t fall and shatter like glass from a child to a parent, is that too much to ask? David Martin
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May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Middle American Factory for Youth in Revolt
They said we had it all Middle American brats bottom barrel aristocrats we were told we were propitious children left alone to wonder the bland landscape of our gated community to stand in submission in our lovely subdivision When things changed it was us they blamed or the media or the influence of the ghetto so far away but never did we stray it all came to us and that was OK we wanted something more then material things Our parents were there but never really there not enough to care though they thought they were Asking random questions drinking their cocktails of white wine and ****** telling us to turn down the volume and what kind of **** were we listening to today telling us how music was better back in their day You gave us the world and in return we shouldered all the blame took the blame for all the pain and were reminded daily of how things could have been how things should have been if only you waited to have kids And you wonder why we f*ck and fight stay up all night become drunken fools at seventeen just so we can change the routine so we can feel alive by slowly dying cigarette smoke and xanax bars some percocet then drive our cars to some place any place where someone will tell us that we are special and unique beautiful as they touch our cheek and make us feel human again smart and talented more then our cookie cutter gated box of a life we have been told since birth we must carry on We just want to feel alive to feel that someone really knows us deep inside from front and back To feel that we are good enough that its OK to be different to feel different and still know you will love us just the same and take back some of the blame to hold us up so we don’t fall and shatter like glass from a child to a parent, is that too much to ask? David Martin
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73
life’s expanse is hard only better in your path’s eagle height understand this before the world began reward what you do, as he said, done well silhouetted smoke, sadness, silvery time, sagacious music is the holiday oozing into this side of paradise beautiful like a moon out in day lives fast like birds as free as you over the sky music is the religion just leaving town for now what do you have playing takes your soul riding even through the night on freeways through gilded hills, until now raceling traveling to my coastal world, edge and heights song lonely, giving bliss seeping from the other side of heaven’s doors dreamy like dawn’s first lights for lives fast horses bronze racing as fast as they always could dressed in true worship festivities, this is purely living dreamy and propitious blessed with a slightly sullen glow don’t belong here no more than he chance at pure light in each spin around the garden play and design life today, Lord knows the time we have awake I’m a soul eternal, living vigil of the gentle diamonds falling summer, horse country sunset wonder when I get back in from all, azure skies like a billion stars these days will seem strangely far away but you’ll love me all the same
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Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 4:07 PM UTC
Life is an expanse that's hard, but easy to glide on
I O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray Warbl’st at eeve, when all the Woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the Lovers heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May, Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day, First heard before the shallow Cuccoo’s bill Portend success in love; O if Jove’s will Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of Hate Foretell my hopeles doom in som Grove ny: As thou from yeer to yeer hast sung too late For my relief; yet hadst no reason why, Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
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1.1k
Sonnet 01
• **All the beauteous and delightful words in the world, Being integrated all together, Can never be in equilibrium, Of how much happy I am, Of how much you mean to me, And of how much I love you.**  (hahaaaaa) *Your words of love, Are just like a firefly in my pitch-black times, You’ve enlighten me with your luminescence, Just that little wonderful light that you’ve showed me daily, Being put all together, Just made a delightful gleaming sun, In a noontide, That glows up my darkest corners, That gives me warmth in my numbing days, That gives me hope, That gives me the strongest feeling to be the best I can be, And that gives me a better vision for tomorrow.* *You make my world an orchestral arena, Just the most wonderful tunes are played, The tunes of bona fide endearment, care and with hope, You’ve surrounded me with your fervid love songs, I have absorbed all of it, That together circulates into my body, As an energizer, And as supplier of all good nutrients.* *You’ve created a dance hall in my world, That I uses, To sway and undulate away, All the love and happiness, And let exuberance consume, All deleterious hormones that is in me, Into your phenomenal, auspicious dance steps, Steps that keep our love healthy and in perfect shape, And steps that carries me all the way to heaven.* *You are indeed my serotonin, My happiness hormone, That keeps me smiling, And keeping me away from depression.* *My endorphin, That always make me feel good, The one that reduces my apprehension.* *My dopamine, That keeps me mentally alert, That you, The source of dopamine, Just provide me, All inspiration I need, Keeps me concentrated on good stuff, And that takes away all bad moods in me.* *My ghrelin, That takes away all my stress, And replace it with peace of mind, And relaxing state.* *My phenylethamine, That gives me such gaiety, In this love that envelops me, A love that always put spark in my countenance.* *In my engineering life, You are just the perfect solution, In my engineering truss problems, And the truss as our love, You are the identification, Whether our love, Is statically determinate, or indeterminate, Statically stable or unstable, And finding the reactions of our love, Taking all the summation of forces, From the vertical to the horizontal axis, And the summations of all moments needed, In order to have strong and firm truss, A truss that would last, ‘Till eternity.* *You are the calculator in this path of mine, I could just be staring in blank space, Without any hope of solving any mathematical problems without you, You are the calculator that we call, An addition to our intestines, Without you my life will not be successful, And with your love as motivation and inspiration, It made me more successful in my career in life.* **And for the most important thing, You are the answer, To my earnest and lachrymose prayers, Prayers that are dearly uttered, During my detrimental moments, And just up to this day, I have understood, How God, Can allow throe to be planted into our lives, How a devastating incident, Will turn into propitious aurora, I knew from this day on, My life will completely change.** with love <3 © Earl Jane ♥ E.J.C.S.
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Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
You Are, You Are. ( Brandon ) A reply to His poem
• **All the beauteous and delightful words in the world, Being integrated all together, Can never be in equilibrium, Of how much happy I am, Of how much you mean to me, And of how much I love you.**  (hahaaaaa) *Your words of love, Are just like a firefly in my pitch-black times, You’ve enlighten me with your luminescence, Just that little wonderful light that you’ve showed me daily, Being put all together, Just made a delightful gleaming sun, In a noontide, That glows up my darkest corners, That gives me warmth in my numbing days, That gives me hope, That gives me the strongest feeling to be the best I can be, And that gives me a better vision for tomorrow.* *You make my world an orchestral arena, Just the most wonderful tunes are played, The tunes of bona fide endearment, care and with hope, You’ve surrounded me with your fervid love songs, I have absorbed all of it, That together circulates into my body, As an energizer, And as supplier of all good nutrients.* *You’ve created a dance hall in my world, That I uses, To sway and undulate away, All the love and happiness, And let exuberance consume, All deleterious hormones that is in me, Into your phenomenal, auspicious dance steps, Steps that keep our love healthy and in perfect shape, And steps that carries me all the way to heaven.* *You are indeed my serotonin, My happiness hormone, That keeps me smiling, And keeping me away from depression.* *My endorphin, That always make me feel good, The one that reduces my apprehension.* *My dopamine, That keeps me mentally alert, That you, The source of dopamine, Just provide me, All inspiration I need, Keeps me concentrated on good stuff, And that takes away all bad moods in me.* *My ghrelin, That takes away all my stress, And replace it with peace of mind, And relaxing state.* *My phenylethamine, That gives me such gaiety, In this love that envelops me, A love that always put spark in my countenance.* *In my engineering life, You are just the perfect solution, In my engineering truss problems, And the truss as our love, You are the identification, Whether our love, Is statically determinate, or indeterminate, Statically stable or unstable, And finding the reactions of our love, Taking all the summation of forces, From the vertical to the horizontal axis, And the summations of all moments needed, In order to have strong and firm truss, A truss that would last, ‘Till eternity.* *You are the calculator in this path of mine, I could just be staring in blank space, Without any hope of solving any mathematical problems without you, You are the calculator that we call, An addition to our intestines, Without you my life will not be successful, And with your love as motivation and inspiration, It made me more successful in my career in life.* **And for the most important thing, You are the answer, To my earnest and lachrymose prayers, Prayers that are dearly uttered, During my detrimental moments, And just up to this day, I have understood, How God, Can allow throe to be planted into our lives, How a devastating incident, Will turn into propitious aurora, I knew from this day on, My life will completely change.** with love <3 © Earl Jane ♥ E.J.C.S.
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93 Went up a year this evening! I recollect it well! Amid no bells nor bravoes The bystanders will tell! Cheerful—as to the village— Tranquil—as to repose— Chastened—as to the Chapel This humble Tourist rose! Did not talk of returning! Alluded to no time When, were the gales propitious— We might look for him! Was grateful for the Roses In life’s diverse bouquet— Talked softly of new species To pick another day; Beguiling thus the wonder The wondrous nearer drew— Hands bustled at the moorings— The crown respectful grew— Ascended from our vision To Countenances new! A Difference—A Daisy— Is all the rest I knew!
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994
Went up a year this evening!
"FORTUNATE BIRTHDAY" Birthday doesn't only mean aging celebration on earth's surface. But tells how well one has grown wide and bestowed on earth's ground. Obviously she's prosperously come from womb. Her birth was full of fortunes, wishing @Kiki Oshinbajo a propitious birthday. A birthday diluted with protections, peace, and harmony, healthy donkey days. Peaceful Birthday, 'KIKI' #C9fm made up
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Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 6:33 PM UTC
FORTUNATE BIRTHDAY