"proposes" poems
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
*that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows the when and why of differing
cuddling styles...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows when to leave a man alone
alone in his man-mourning time,
distance needed,
letting his ex-rage dissipate or
watching his red and blue football
redefine ignominy...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when the man low whistles, eyes adrift,
she heartily agrees and is
reciprocity rewarded regularly
with hunk alerts of
"hey-check-him-out!"
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
a tigress in the bedroom
she asking, try this, I'll love it,
served with a desert demo of awkward afterward,
his less-than-perfect cuddling abilities
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who doesn't abhor partner silences,
comforting they are, in their own ways,
lying side by side, interrupted only by peccadillo body noises unexpected and
sheepish apologies and loving arm stroking
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who lets the man roar, top of voice,
when imprisoned in car,
his voice, un enfant terrible,
performs with Creedence Clearwater
a sing-a-long in traffic, asking
"Have you ever seen the rain"
while amidst Israel-leaving-Egypt
Sunday beach traffic on the L.I.E.
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
when it's pheromones alternative mode day,
he celebrates Carole King day,
she demonstrates her cuddling abilities,
par excellence, with kisses and tissues
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
a woman, plain confident in her abilities
no matter the situational status,
when confronted by
less-than-crazy-impetuous,
she smiling says "why not,"
when he proposes,
a movie and dinner in a fav haunt?
"plenty excellent enough" her answer,
spoke in a rising voice
full of unfeigned delight
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
accepting the unexpected airport embrace
on a moving sidewalk, unexpected delays
with the aplomb of a well lived life's
long term sustainability perspective
when he kisses her hand for no reason,
while driving 75 miles per hour,
she only winces internally,
the other hand vise-grasping
the other door's handle,
who brushes hair wisps in a dark movie,
celebrating her Bathsheba Everdeen's
duality of strength and tenderness
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when on second date he proposes
a non-exclusive relationship,
confident enough to high-five respond,
and laugh about it,
seven years on
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when she reads it,
analyzing the oeuvre as
"too **** personal and
as usual
too **** long"*
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her
cuddling abilities
in everything...
even a little occasional criticism
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
Sat on a sedan
Spiderman took her hand.
Went down on one knee
And said
Will you marry me?
I cannot face
The rest of eternity
With each generation's
Take on modernity.
It's old fashioned values
I look for and see -
Your confidence,
Common sense,
Your honesty,
Sincerity,
Your quirkiness
And peacableness.
But most of all
Your peerless take on life
Is what does it for me.
Will you be my wife?
Spiderman, Spiderman,
How you do woo!
And you have such qualities
That draw me to you -
Your patience,
Respect,
Your considerable intellect,
Your gentleness,
Strength of mind -
I could go on at length and find
You could be my cobweb?
I could be your fly?
Could you be the man for me
Until the day I die?
What more can I say than
You may have concurred
That I do things my own way.
So can you guess?
Little Miss Muffet Said Yes!
And do you know what?
As they lay there
On that Le Corbusier chair
Without a care in the world -
And you know it's not novel
To be graphic -
They were not afraid at all.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
Man proposes,
Women proposes
Both proposes at the same time unexpectedly
Wait, what?
Talk about hysterical
I wonder if that's ever happened before.
Like gold that washed from a shore
Thoughts racing back and forth galore
The excitement has overtakened me
My imagination might not take any more
Get me a pen
This has got to be on paper.
I'm a poet but i'm also curious.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC
May I join you in the doghouse, Rover?
I wish to retire till the party's over.
Since three o'clock I've done my best
To entertain each tiny guest. My conscience now I've left behind me,
And if they want me, let them find me.
I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats,
I kept them from each other's throats. I told them tales of magic lands,
I took them out to wash their hands.
I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces,
I wiped their noses and dried their faces. Of similarities there's lots
Twixt tiny tots and Hottentots.
I've earned repose to heal the ravages
Of these angelic-looking savages. Oh, progeny playing by itself
Is a lonely little elf,
But progeny in roistering batches
Would drive St. francis from here to Natchez. Shunned are the games a parent proposes,
They prefer to squirt each other with hoses,
Their playmates are their natural foemen
And they like to poke each other's abdomen. Their joy needs another woe's to cushion it,
Say a puddle, and someone littler to push in it.
They observe with glee the ballistic results
Of ice cream with spoons for catapults, And inform the assembly with tears and glares
That everyone's presents are better than theirs.
Oh, little women and little men,
Someday I hope to love you again, But not till after the party's over,
So give me the key to the doghouse, Rover
7.8k
Nothing hurts more than rejection
A mother throws away her new born baby
Nothing hurts more than rejection
A wife abused and beaten daily
Nothing hurts more than rejection
A father told he is not allowed
to see his child
Paying child support, while his role as a father is deported, any mistakes he is reported
Nothing hurts more than rejection
A girl told she is not pretty enough to be loved
Comforted by insecurity, abused physically and mentally, wounded emotionally
Nothing hurts more than rejection
A boyfriend proposes to his girlfriend while she walks away leaving him on one knee
Left to face his pain and agony
Nothing hurts more than rejection
A lover sees his lover fall in love with another lover, when he knows that should of been his lover, heart broken as he knows it’s all over
Nothing hurts more than rejection
A mother told she will never be a mother
Because her womb won’t let her
All she wanted was one son and one daughter
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 9:37 AM UTC
Come see black night. Black night proposes
more
Than madness in a prophet's dream, sets free
A lean uncertainty, sweet taste of all
We dare not see.
My sweet Kathryn, you were older than me,
Knew all the black mountains--Olson, Creely, Duncan, Morley, Dorn... While I
was learning
Levertov. Your dark, unshaven armpits
Drove me wild. I understood the honor
Of that crazy night--how could feather leave you--
our dance at the outlaw bar,
Your sapphic gaze bemused by coal miners,
In cowboy boots, as the band played Haggard,
Coe, Willie, Waylon, Johnny Cash, Kristofferson
& Emmy Lou. I wouldn't trade it for a date
With Miss Brazil, or Russia as it were--
Some people say you made that up,
Changed heritage and grew the hair to seem more European. I couldn't care
Less. A great dark mystery I loved
Now thirty-seven years ago with me
Just old enough to drink and you come down
From Bingington, I loved the way you said
That frozen town, where your husband lingered,
Teaching English to native speakers.
I know you still loved him. I think you loved
Me, but needed a woman's touch the same
As I. Strange how a night can be recalled
More than years, one drunken naked sunrise,
Pillow talk instead of class. I ditched the speech
At PBK, can't remember what they
Fed us, coming for you in a straight shift
Chevy pickup, red as the night was black.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
Five little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One:
Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.
Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six:
Sitting down to lessons - no more time for tricks.
Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven:
Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven!
Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen:
Each young man that calls, I say "Now tell me which you MEAN!"
Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one:
But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done?
Five showy girls - but Thirty is an age
When girls may be ENGAGING, but they somehow don't ENGAGE.
Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more:
So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before!
Five PASSE girls - Their age? Well, never mind!
We jog along together, like the rest of human kind:
But the quondam "careless bachelor" begins to think he knows
The answer to that ancient problem "how the money goes"!
2.5k
—Flash Forward—
A day of reckoning.
A small boat crosses
the Hudson River,
no warning horn.
Destination New Jersey,
of all places.
A. Burr isn’t warned
that Hamilton will not
fire his pistol.
Destiny predetermined.
“Death doesn’t discriminate
Between the sinners and the saints,
It takes and it takes and it takes.
History obliterates.”
—Flashback—
General.
Colonel.
Aide-de-camp.
Immigrant.
“Don’t engage, strike by night.
Remain relentless ‘til their troops take flight.”
“We escort their men out of Yorktown.
They stagger home single file.
Tens of thousands of people flood the streets.”
“Took up a collection just to send him to the
mainland.
‘Get your education. Don’t forget from whence
you came.’”
—Stepfather of the Union—
Treasury secretary, author of the Federalist Papers,
lawyer, speechwriter, confidante, opponent of slavery,
member of the Constitutional Convention.
“History has its eyes on you.”
“I’ve seen injustice in the world and I’ve
corrected it.”
“The Federalist: Addressed to the People
of the State of New York.”
“Goes and proposes his own form
of government.”
—Family and Marriage—
The Schuyler Sisters – Eliza.
Maria and James Reynolds – adultery and bribery.
Philip Hamilton – successor son and victim.
Philip Schuyler – father-in-law.
“And if this child
Shares a fraction of your smile
Or a fragment of your mind, look out, world!”
“I know you’re a man of honor,
I’m so sorry to bother you at home.”
“I’m only nineteen but my mind is older,
Gonna be my own man, like my father
but bolder.”
“Grampa just lost his seat in the Senate.”
—Why, How, How long?—
Why not?, biography,
genius, rapid-fire rap,
hip-hop, historical vertigo,
Lin-Manuel Miranda at the White House,
a cast talented beyond measure,
the Great White Way,
2017-18 and forever….
“…13 percent of the population is foreign
born, which is near an all-time high;
that one day soon there will no longer
be majority and minority races, only a
vibrant mix of colors.”
‒Jeremy McCarter, from Chapter I of
Hamilton: The Revolution
*© Lewis Bosworth, 12/2016
With credit to the book:*
Hamilton: The Revolution
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
My mother recently took me to another doctor
she said, ‘her condition is becoming outrageous ,
she hasn’t laughed in a year, avoids any talking,
never leaves the house until the night draws in. ’
And I think the sun should rather concern her.
Burning things don’t make good companions.
Bought a ticket for a train, northbound at night,
my eyes hurt from the condolences of daylight.
Went back south in September, I surrendered,
had to promise to be good again and presentable.
Indifferent on life, did I suffer from depression?
It’s not been an illness but a philosophic decision.
One Sunday, it was quiet during breakfast time,
somebody from town recently took their life.
Rised brows behind the newspaper’s edges,
secretly, I admire the courage and recklessness.
But I act eager and am polite with relatives,
at holiday occasions I behave and give kisses
until one proposes a toast to life being a gift.
I say nothing in exchange, I feel guilty to exist.
It all changed one day, when I found me a lover.
He sins for amusement while I sin to self punish.
I love that he’s mortal, of a perishable texture,
hope to be buried, rot with him in the graveyard.
We agree on senselessness without any pity,
he watches me fail life and thinks it’s poetic.
We can’t hurt since there’s nothing to heal from.
A physical love wich in it’s essence is platonic.
Feb 9, 2022
Feb 9, 2022 at 5:54 PM UTC
Stranger meets Stranger
Inside the banking hall
Stranger adores Stranger
And is unable to ignore
Stranger watches Stranger
And is confused to the core
Stranger talks to Stranger
They bond like never before
Stranger dates Stranger
What a marvelous score
Stranger loves Stranger
And this forever more
Stranger becomes a Lover
Lover waits for Stranger to love
Lover offends Stranger
And is reminded 'you're
still a Stranger' nothing more
Love Cycle recycles and soars
A Lover is reborn
Lover becomes a Partner
Partner loves Stranger to Lover
Partner waits for lover to Partner
Partner wants to marry Partner
For this he is sure
Partner changes pattern
And kicks out partner for
Partner keeps fighting Partner
The home is abandoned and empty
Partners revert to Strangers
Love Cycle recycles
Partner proposes to partner
Partners' marry and live happily ever after
Love Cycle Recycles
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC
a question
is posed..
touted as
most pressing as
our century unfolds:
Who am I..?
a phrase and cliche
proposes to reply
through the back door:
those talking-points
sometimes official
often serve to accuse..
the accuser
points to those points..
derides the masking
of original I am..
sad choice to repeat
health to reveal..
those points have
not just arrived..
dogmas of old
others brand new..
a sage once prescribed:
self-reliance on
Whim...!
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 11:59 AM UTC
On the
extended palm
of a lotus leaf,
falls
a drop of
untimely rain.
water drop
runs around,
refuses all
attachments,
takes refuge,
in the cupped palm of
the supple leaf.
The leaf
in its kindness
receives the drop,
as it's own,
feeling responsible,
the leaf keeps it
safe from
malicious winds;
protects it
from spilling over,
till the sun
proposes to the
water drop,
requests to be his own.
It goes up
as invisible vapors.
The drop,
as vapor
takes the form
of a cloud,
hovers above
the earth,
sans
attachment,
but realizes
sun has her heart
for ever.
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
There are none so blind as those who will not see
A prophet is not without honour, save in his own country,
Let the cobbler stick to his last; the nearer the church
The further from God; speak the truth and shame the devil
Every bullet has a billet, curses like chickens come home to roost
Comparisons are odious we are light years of discretion away
A little tin god enough to make angels weep
Sitting on thorns telling **** and bull stories,
I'll sieze the nettle and foul my own nest
Straight from the shoulder the sinews of war
To smite hip and thigh cut to the bone playing
Merry with lotus-eaters an elephant never forgets
Pull devil, pull baker man proposes but God disposes
Theres nothing new under the sun
Pitchers have big ears and pride goes before the fall
Even a worm will turn as fine words
Butter no parsnips, still waters run deep
Physician, Heal thyself.
ELEETE J MUIR
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 6:30 AM UTC
Sleep…Come back to me.
Take this room of coal black
and turn it into a vision of the sea.
Transform these tangled sheets
into a luscious robe fit for royalty,
and have thy citizens kiss they feet.
Let a soft cloud be thy pillow rest
up high in the dark, starlit sky.
Letting the clean air fill thy chest.
Make this bed one made of roses.
Have thy sweet laying beside thee
with a ring hidden before he proposes.
Let the curtains shut out the light
so I may stay in this false reality;
for behind my lids hold a prettier sight.
Took this vision of the sea
and turned it into the dawn.
Sleep…Come back to me.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
I crave a home that doesn't exist
A place I've never seen, how could it be missed?
Maybe covered in sunflowers and caught amidst
Please drag me there, drag me by my wrist
I wonder what it's like to feel at home
To feel wanted and never alone
Maybe it's warm and by the ocean
Maybe it's dark and golden
It could smell of peonies or red roses
It could taste of sugar and your broken proposes
Just a home full of moments
A home for a poet
But this home is impossible to obtain
For everything is done in vain
Just need somewhere to rid me of this pain
I'm sorry this is so hard to explain
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 7:34 PM UTC
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Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
Heart burdened, the river turns.
The bed is unmoving, curtain remains closed.
Autumn leaf dance, sun hidden, moon peek;
What is it that heaven seeks?
Tomorrow, I head to Chang’an,
Tonight, I take a sip of wine.
Sun rested, cold wind echoes;
My wine cup has shattered…
Tonight, I can’t take a sip of wine.
My mind drift far between rivers;
Dazzling among the night sky;
I find my heart unable to rest.
Sun has now dawn, my body is feeble;
Withered like ashen embers;
Today, I can’t head to Chang’an.
In the end, Man proposes and Heaven disposes.
Aug 10, 2021
Aug 10, 2021 at 5:36 PM UTC
She loved him like roses
She radiated light and heaven
Waiting for the stress to lessen
She liked to stay in the dark
Refusing to feel a spark
Always reaching for something broken
Her dreams never meant to be woken
He always did the same
Making himself impossible to claim
Radiating contentment and clarity
But still he was haunted and alone in the dark
I always appreciated his sincerity
He was nothing short of a king
How he'd enter a room and the girls would sing
Still he remained clueless to his charm
Always humble, afraid of causing harm
She ran and ran after the king
Incredibly impossible to seize
He wore his heart tucked away
Locked in a lonely box, meant to lay and decay
Hidden from every touch
Can't you see all the roses growing from your chest?
Can't you feel the thorns,
When you try and catch your breath?
She loved him like roses
Always beautiful,
Always sharp with her proposes
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 5:52 AM UTC
The space between the notes from the piano and the thoughts in my head,
Dancing for clarity, harmonious cooperation engage, thee I bade.
For my posture poses inquiries as my pulse proposes answers
And the prospect pulls eagerly at the corners of my consciousness..
Thrice kismet collide--Will, you, and I.
A softer understanding to provide strength with ease,
passion to separately seize, while love flows ever so free.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 12:07 PM UTC
When love proposes action beauty surpasses reflection
Only survives enchanting chain remaining goes to none
When beloved is in arms then universe seems crimson
Love is in my blood like my innocent, violent passion
Love is when you that you are not but love is all around
When love is in line of beauty then one becomes bound
To see what all is real to listen to the inner eternal sound
Then all is on horizon and nothing remains on the ground
My beloved let me taste what all your beauty is to portray
Tear me in to pieces and enter like blazon burning sun ray
You are like darkness of my life you are like dawn of the day
Let us embrace in sheer trance and let us sing and let us pray
It is oneness which remains it is a flower which is to bloom
It is only one tinkling of heart while both of us we are in room
In all this vacuum it is love and beauty which need to resume
Do not measure my love, you will never ever measure its volume
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 1:36 AM UTC
He’s warm and soft and tempting.
He even smells warm.
But I don’t have time for this—there’s work to be done.
I know I should take him out, fold him up, put him away,
and shut the drawer
for good.
I know better.
But he smells—he smells so warm
and new and clean and tender and gentle.
He’s beseeching me to climb in, to allow myself to sink
into his all encompassing embrace, to ignore all reason
and carelessly float in his soft-smelling air,
feeling his comfortable warmth all around me.
I know better.
I know his routine, but still
I’m torn every time.
Every time I find my mind wandering,
foolishly entertaining the ideas he proposes.
It could be so warm and safe—that home inside the dryer.
If I’d just climb in
maybe I wouldn’t feel trapped,
longing for room to stretch and air to breathe.
Maybe the hot, sharp edges of his zippers wouldn’t burn me
this time.
Maybe I would be happy
with him in our home inside the dryer.
But each time I dance with these thoughts, the music halts abruptly—
I know better.
His soft, comforting warmth will not last.
In his darkness, he will become cold and wrinkled.
Right now he is tempting, teasing, enticing.
But
I know better.
A person cannot live inside a dryer.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
it grieves me
the major dictionaries
cannot agree
on the longest word
in the English Language
The Oxford English proposes:
pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis
Merriam-Webster champions:
electroencephalographically
and others list: floccinaucinihilipilification -
but look, I am no counterrevolutionary
and I'm not attempting any deinstitutionalisation
but really the longest word in the English Language
(and let's settle this once and for all, amicably) is:
SMILE
Why?
because there's a mile between S and E...
You see? Easy!
Makes you wonder if
the editors of major dictionaries
are visuallyintellectuallyfacialmuscularlychallenged
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 12:37 AM UTC
(Puh)
“The power to perceive something impossible persuades me. I must pick a place.” The Clairvoyant Gulch.
This person pounds the ground with persistence. A penchant to procreate perception. The Clairvoyant Gulch.
Passing away into peach fuzz and polyandry. Pretty Polly plans to participate in the process. The Clairvoyant Gulch.
Princess Penelope ****** on Polly. Paczki the predator penetrates the preposterous Polly.
The Clairvoyant Gulch.
The President of the Polyandry Psychics proposes: let Polly go but only with the presentation.
The Clairvoyant Gulch.
The Polyandry People peer and pry for what will Polly present. The poor prissy presents her ***** The Clairvoyant Gulch.
She placidly plucks the ***** to pay the People. But she then panics and pours pomegranate red over a *** The Clairvoyant Gulch.
The *** then becomes an urn so precious that the People pray. Polly feels penitent of her peccadillo. The Clairvoyant Gulch.
The President points to the urn. Paczki the predator places ingredients into the *** pig’s tail, pesto and plantar’s wart. The Clairvoyant Gulch.
The Polyanderthals round about and puke into the *** Polly prepares a peyote dish that will pause time. The Clairvoyant Gulch.
The President and People consume the *** It tastes vile and profane, they puke again. The Clairvoyant Gulch.
The Polyantherhals turn around to find Polly unpresent. They **** and pant in confused anger. The Clairvoyant Gulch.
Polly is passing the time, possessing a power within the Earth’s core. Her polyethylene pants protect her from the core’s melting point. The Clairvoyant Gulch.
As for the People, it was not practical for them to be presented such profane magic. Their perception of the universal paradigm had been inverted in perpetuum. The Clairvoyant Gulch.
As for the Polyanderthalic *** of ****** pomegranate juice, the President sold the item through Paypal to a polyandry professor living in Piccadilly. The People never practiced polyandry in perpetuum. Ever again.
~The Clairvoyant Gulch
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 5:14 PM UTC
A step taken.
That first step -
Long and dreaded.
Trying so hard not to push yourself in,
As you watch yourself from the sidelines-
Who have you become?
You see all that you could be-
And know all that you couldn't.
Watching and anticipating...
What will you do?
All that you have lost-
All for nothing.
All that you had feared-
you have become.
Patience:
Good for the moment-
Then you realise doing nothing
won't get it done.
Stepping into everything you never wanted,
You ran into all that broke you.
Now you watch yourself falling deeper-
And refuse to swim.
All that life proposes,
A single flower in a vase of dead roses-
Saints and Sins and all sorts of things,
We love and then we regret...
Watching ourselves turn to-
all that we're used to...
Slowly-
taking that first step.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC