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"prudential" poems
1324 I send you a decrepit flower That nature sent to me At parting—she was going south And I designed to stay— Her motive for the souvenir If sentiment for me Or circumstances prudential Withheld invincibly—
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I send you a decrepit flower
1535 The Life that tied too tight escapes Will ever after run With a prudential look behind And spectres of the Rein— The Horse that scents the living Grass And sees the Pastures smile Will be retaken with a shot If he is caught at all—
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The Life that tied too tight escapes
Third Date She talked and talked and talked, an East Coast, cultured accent; "So what are you anyway, half-German? *** really? But you look so......British, I guess..." He stroked her knee. She gesticulated loudly, and talked. "So you were at Princeton, WOW, that's impressive." He squeezed her knee. "I baked cupcakes on Friday night, my Mom's recipe. I don't even eat cupcakes, what's that all about?!?! He squeezed her other knee. She wore a mid-thigh, black and white dress, swirls, that sort of thing, interesting cleavage. He was back on the first knee. She looked Italian (it was 'Ristorante Acqua al Duo' after all), Amy Winehouse eye flares, head swaying, resting on her palms, swaying again. He had his back to me. She fingered the wine glass, tall and generous, devoured the last inch, came up for air and talked again. He wore a blazer and cavalry twill pants, loafers and no socks. She was hot, really hot, fanned her brow with the dessert menu "Tiramisu was so deeeelicious". 75 degrees on the Prudential window. He perspired, fidgeted, loosened his collar, looked for the waitress.
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Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 6:45 PM UTC
Third Date
Hie Yamaha Wegman ****** voyager, voted vonage valuable, unrepentant TIME Magazine subscriber. Spotify sportsman Snapchat smartly. Sleuth slenderman silences Shutterfly schvitzing. Saxby sassy Santander sais sage rues rudimentary router rotorooter. Royale Rococco rigged remarkably regular referee reefers red reddit reeder recuperating. Reconnaissance recluse really rabid. QVC quotient quoting, quo quoi quivering quite quirky. Quisling quipped. Quintuplets quintessentially quiet. Quids Quicken questions. Quartermaster qualified quaint quaffing quadrilateral Pythons. Pyrex pylons put purdy purposeful puny punsters punching. Pumpkin pumice publicized prudential protean pros properly pronouncing prolific prodigies. Proletariats professors' problematic. Pro privileges prioritized. Principle primates prevaricate. Preppy pregnant, praying prattler possibly Porgie. Poseidon pooping poodle ponders poppycock. Plum? Polite poison pods ply pitiful pinterest. Pinhead Pillsbury pillager Pi. Pigskin pierce petsmart pests permanently. Perdition percolates peppered PennState pedigreed PearlJam Patagonian. Pastor pastes passion passably. Papas' paginated orbitz okayed. Nutty node needs money. Next netzero nee naugahyde. Nattering nationwide nabob Moxie Molly McGee. Monosodium livingsocial joyus je kickstarter. Identityguard Huffington GMO. Gluten Glutamate footloose fancy free footlocker. Fingerhut fetishistic fabrication Cingular.
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Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
Just Mien Pap Smeared Vapid Yawping
Thou art not the one I want to write about; but it appears that I have no brighter choice. The only one that seems to bear no fault; and lives a life full of merriment and bliss. And thy, thy name! So delicate as a summer laughter With hands so imbued with clarity and brave power. I believe thou art such an ingenious lover; but frail as thou hath always been; weak and fragile under thy harmonious cover. And shall I be treading these paths, tomorrow noon; whenst I'll come across a dainty flower by the lagoon. Amongst those ripe cherries-there is one too like thee, so mysterious and sometimes gazes awkwardly at me. Thy young bud is that of rose and berry, a symbol of thy soul so embraced by words and poetry. Ah! And so deserving it is of graceful flattery; as thou move along these paths, thy young heart shines and gleams afar-just like the dribbling snow, how childish, yet altogether refined and free. Thy stare-o, thy stare, querida, is deep and anxiously unbending; like those gracious arts and their prudential stone carving or pools with swarms of red starfish so enchanting as my little boat swims along feverishly, unnoticing. And ah! Unaging as thou always art, growth is but futile to thy slippery soul With this world thou shalt never part, and foreverness becomes thy frost-like hall. Youthness of thine that shall never fade, and handsome face that shall never wane. O, how thy delicacy is to me like that cruel fate- o my dearest, humble immortal man! Timelessness shall then become our lasting key; to a love sweeter and even more precious than destiny. And live, live in utter happiness shall forever we, as long as these muscles can breath, and as far as these eyes can see.
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Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
The Immortal Man
Thou art not the one I want to write about; but it appears that I have no brighter choice. The only one that seems to bear no fault; and lives a life full of merriment and bliss. And thy, thy name! So delicate as a summer laughter With hands so imbued with clarity and brave power. I believe thou art such an ingenious lover; but frail as thou hath always been; weak and fragile under thy harmonious cover. And shall I be treading these paths, tomorrow noon; whenst I'll come across a dainty flower by the lagoon. Amongst those ripe cherries-there is one too like thee, so mysterious and sometimes gazes awkwardly at me. Thy young bud is that of rose and berry, a symbol of thy soul so embraced by words and poetry. Ah! And so deserving it is of graceful flattery; as thou move along these paths, thy young heart shines and gleams afar-just like the dribbling snow, how childish, yet altogether refined and free. Thy stare-o, thy stare, querida, is deep and anxiously unbending; like those gracious arts and their prudential stone carving or pools with swarms of red starfish so enchanting as my little boat swims along feverishly, unnoticing. And ah! Unaging as thou always art, growth is but futile to thy slippery soul With this world thou shalt never part, and foreverness becomes thy frost-like hall. Youthness of thine that shall never fade, and handsome face that shall never wane. O, how thy delicacy is to me like that cruel fate- o my dearest, humble immortal man! Timelessness shall then become our lasting key; to a love sweeter and even more precious than destiny. And live, live in utter happiness shall forever we, as long as these muscles can breath, and as far as these eyes can see.
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36
Before leaving for Plaza Prudential, Don't forget about the essentials. Like the standard pen or pencil, To scribble down prices and credentials. Life for you has been sequential; From high school through college to jurisprudential. The exponential increase in wisdom is thanks to the potential Realized by influential forces to stop the consequential future. Curses, that was supposed to be confidential.
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Jul 4, 2011
Jul 4, 2011 at 10:09 AM UTC
The Essentials
Prudential center mall is OK But girl got to meet new frend todaye Friend tol me aboute the new skirt pull up I baughts me Da boys who der don no wha dey got.
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Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC
Prudential mall todaye
I'm not asking for forever. I'd settle for a moment or two. I don't want to hide from inevitability. I'm aware all things tend to fade. There's no need to pretend we're immortal, and I'm happy we'll never get the chance to be so. I've thought about what it'd be like -- to live forever, with myself. I imagine it'd be like a new city every weekend. I imagine I'd see the same people, just a new arrangement of faces. I'd know all the pitfalls and say, quietly: "Ya know, I've seen this before. Maybe you shouldn't do that." But I don't speak loud enough. Oh well. New week, new town. Then I think of all the farewells. I'd probably become numb to good-bye and forget to ever say hello. I'd get stuck in my head and know the story of every person without ever speaking to them. Watching them walk, I'd make up their stories for laughs. She wanted to be an art history major but prudential planning interrupted her thoughts; now she studies biology, or chemistry, or physics. She isn't happy at all. I can tell by the shoes that she wears. He wanted to be born as a peasant, unaware of money or cars or the lot. He thinks people are happier like that. I can tell by the shades that he wears. She wants to be a trophy wife. He wishes that he never had kids. She thinks she's too good for manual labor. He once lit a bag of cats on fire. I'd laugh at the stories unfolding before me. After a few generations, I'd know every story combination that ever could be. So, I'd turn my gaze to myself and find another lonely man making stories in his head without ever asking if they're true. I don't think I could handle forever. Sometimes today doesn't end soon enough.
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Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
I'm Not Asking For Forever
I'm not asking for forever. I'd settle for a moment or two. I don't want to hide from inevitability. I'm aware all things tend to fade. There's no need to pretend we're immortal, and I'm happy we'll never get the chance to be so. I've thought about what it'd be like -- to live forever, with myself. I imagine it'd be like a new city every weekend. I imagine I'd see the same people, just a new arrangement of faces. I'd know all the pitfalls and say, quietly: "Ya know, I've seen this before. Maybe you shouldn't do that." But I don't speak loud enough. Oh well. New week, new town. Then I think of all the farewells. I'd probably become numb to good-bye and forget to ever say hello. I'd get stuck in my head and know the story of every person without ever speaking to them. Watching them walk, I'd make up their stories for laughs. She wanted to be an art history major but prudential planning interrupted her thoughts; now she studies biology, or chemistry, or physics. She isn't happy at all. I can tell by the shoes that she wears. He wanted to be born as a peasant, unaware of money or cars or the lot. He thinks people are happier like that. I can tell by the shades that he wears. She wants to be a trophy wife. He wishes that he never had kids. She thinks she's too good for manual labor. He once lit a bag of cats on fire. I'd laugh at the stories unfolding before me. After a few generations, I'd know every story combination that ever could be. So, I'd turn my gaze to myself and find another lonely man making stories in his head without ever asking if they're true. I don't think I could handle forever. Sometimes today doesn't end soon enough.
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52
In the stillness of that split second, my tawny eyes recognized those woods: for, It was a familiar bend. woods all dark and serene as they stood. I drew my cape closer, my movements prudential and slower I heard footsteps behind me; I turned,my mind dancing with glee but my face was soon set on a sigh, for my dreams never came by I closed my eyes a second time to succumb to the darkness and stillness of the glen. A breeze touched me with it’s silent chime; I felt light spewing in that lion’s den. Light vanished the dark veil that covered the beauty of nature, a beauty that nothing in this world could attain as a feature, the divinity that none could seizure, the beauty that we destroy for leisure. I hated to look back to my worldly life because ,it only bought me sorrow. I was carried far away,away from that sharp knife. The beauty around me seemed to stimulate the beauty within me giving me a better hope for tomorrow. I had been there; amidst those lilies and heather in every weather but,I was expecting someone,in that silent ether. my hair danced in the morning air like a feather, I knew that something should bring us together. My heart skipped a beat,I saw her once again I extended my pale hands to her she held them,anger and agony silently drained from my finger tips,for her mind was soft and pure as fur. Nobody could describe the love I had for that world where, I could lose myself like an innocent child; where, the pain of past wounds were to be shed; the place where the light of imagination led. I was held back from venturing my imagination, for they told me to live in the reality, but,did they knew the painstaking frustration that,involved the idea of staying back,blocked from glee? Now that I can’t go back to that world where hate seemed to lack I have to die in this menacing shack. Maybe, one day i’ll be remembered in a clack
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Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 10:45 PM UTC
The agonies of life.
In the stillness of that split second, my tawny eyes recognized those woods: for, It was a familiar bend. woods all dark and serene as they stood. I drew my cape closer, my movements prudential and slower I heard footsteps behind me; I turned,my mind dancing with glee but my face was soon set on a sigh, for my dreams never came by I closed my eyes a second time to succumb to the darkness and stillness of the glen. A breeze touched me with it’s silent chime; I felt light spewing in that lion’s den. Light vanished the dark veil that covered the beauty of nature, a beauty that nothing in this world could attain as a feature, the divinity that none could seizure, the beauty that we destroy for leisure. I hated to look back to my worldly life because ,it only bought me sorrow. I was carried far away,away from that sharp knife. The beauty around me seemed to stimulate the beauty within me giving me a better hope for tomorrow. I had been there; amidst those lilies and heather in every weather but,I was expecting someone,in that silent ether. my hair danced in the morning air like a feather, I knew that something should bring us together. My heart skipped a beat,I saw her once again I extended my pale hands to her she held them,anger and agony silently drained from my finger tips,for her mind was soft and pure as fur. Nobody could describe the love I had for that world where, I could lose myself like an innocent child; where, the pain of past wounds were to be shed; the place where the light of imagination led. I was held back from venturing my imagination, for they told me to live in the reality, but,did they knew the painstaking frustration that,involved the idea of staying back,blocked from glee? Now that I can’t go back to that world where hate seemed to lack I have to die in this menacing shack. Maybe, one day i’ll be remembered in a clack
Continue reading...
43
My utterance in wanting to speak I had numerous questions that I was trying to seek Yet I was told to remain silence A volcanic eruption I felt all inside The silence I just couldn’t abide My integrity being my honest No I am not trying to be modest My understanding being more than mire words It’s a matter of being heard For years I was told I had no voice But the question being, “Who made this a choice?” Thoughts are made too be granted Shout out with your opinion expressed Be determined and make it clear like it’s your last breath Lead doesn’t always mean follow A space in the corner being your own makes you shallow You have become a shadow of your own fate This you can change and it is never too late You control and can make it an anticipated date Facts and figures that certainly should relate Think on accomplishments of Paul Revere Dr. Martin Luther King in where do we go from here? The Civil Movement from mission step to the rear President Obama in “Lets continue to preserver” It’s a matter of your voice being solid as the Prudential Rock It doesn’t matter if negativity mocks Your voice shines like the New York Stock Exchange It’s the roar of applause with thinking with a cause and the impression that remains Act like a Senator from within and let your speaking begin.
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Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC
THE CHOSEN VOICE