"qualifies" poems
There are different types of women
As you may very well know
I am here to talk about her,
And her goodness I will show
A virtuous woman is
And talks of good things,
The joy of her love is strong,
And happiness it will bring
She works with her hands and
Takes good care of her home
She comforts her husband
When he is feeling alone.
She teaches her children and
Trains them very well
There is so much to be said
About a virtuous woman but
Not enough time to tell.
Proverb 18 and 22 said;
Whosoever finds a wife,
Which is a woman,
Find a good thing and obtain
Favor in the Lord;
They will remain together
Till death do them part.
A virtuous woman is not
Slothful in business
And serving the Lord
Doing wrong will not be
Found in her mind,
Or even in her heart.
Her husband trust her
Every step of the way,
He will never let her go
No matter what you say.
She dresses accordingly
To make her husband proud
She speaks with a gentle
Voice, not very loud.
She is always doing things to
Get her husband praise, sometimes
Just watching her
Will keep him so amazed.
A virtuous woman is strong
And worth more than
Rubies itself; and when
Her family hurt, she
Hurt more herself.
A woman shall be praised
If she is a woman that
Fear the Lord. A virtuous woman
Qualifies with mind, spirit,
Soul, and heart.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
Once I undertook a journey,
upon the very face of our entire world.
To view for myself the many pictures,
and written descriptions in all the geography
books and History Classes, National
Geographic magazines and movies seen.
A Quest to see with my own eyes what
I had only experienced second hand.
In my mid twenties, like a dream,
one foot in front of the other,
I went about exploring.
I sniffed and tasted the scents of foreign lands,
Incense, Sage and Frankincense, fish curry,
fried snake and even monkey brains.
Walked in lush Jungle Bush and Desert sands,
Along the shores of Islands and the coasts
of many lands.
Heard the voices of 30 divergent Dialects
and cultures, smiling and laughing with
the families and children of all of them.
Set beside the fires of primitive tribal men,
heard their chants to their gods above, the
moon, stars and the sun, the ocean, the land.
Clapped my hands and moved my feet in
their ancient mystic dances.
Drank their tea, Kava or whatever they shared
grateful for their offered unselfish brotherhood.
Stood on the flanks of the tallest Mountains
in the world, on my toe tips, to try to see the
face of the God of my youthful teachings,
disappointed when I did not see him, or Her.
Found instead an inner tranquility, imparted
to me by Red robbed Monks from within their
chants of Peace and wise earthly enlightenments.
Strolled the cobbled streets of two thousand year
old Cities. Walked among the ruined remnants of
nearly forgotten once great Civilizations.
Explored Modern European Citadels' of wealth and learning.
Over time rode on planes, ships, buses, backs of open trucks,
Horse pulled carts and human drawn rickshaws, taxis, subways,
rented motorcycles and cars. Walked perhaps 1000 miles.
In all a journey of the mind and heart lasting three years.
And why you might ask, "What qualifies you as a pilgrim
of any kind, to travel so far, and wide?"
"What was I looking for, what did I hope to find?"
All indeed, fare questions.
When a boy, I read a simple five word line,
“Seek and thee shall find". Curiosity and
Horizon Lust compelled me.
The next obvious question you might
ask is, after all that; “What did you find?”
That answer is very simple,
I found myself.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
Suicidal tendencies, alleged attempt in 2011
(National Scholar-Athlete)
Bipolar with psychotic features, meds necessary
(President of student government)
Anti-social features, deceptive, manipulative, lying.
(Captain of varsity athletics)
Qualifies as a pickup. Forfeits all rights. Police involvement if necessary.
(President of an all-star rugby club)
Extreme aggression. Any homicidal idealization should be taken seriously.
(Trustee Scholarship to a renown private college)
Narcotics abuse. Marijuana, LSD, Klonopin, ******* Alcohol, Painkillers
(3.7 GPA)
Masks and shields intentions. Deceptive with professionals.
(Active volunteer)
I advise that he be admitted to a hospital immediately
(Participant in community)
Drug abuse counseling, medication, extensive therapy necessary
(Leader of peers)
Diagnoses fly like a panhandlers love affairs
Your inexact science is a disgrace to what I've created
A philosophy based on your experience
Ignoring the dynamic of the human condition
****** for feeling to much
****** for not feeling enough
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
3rd Grade, Awards Assembly
Children are filed into the cafeteria in almost orderly lines
Giggling about silly jokes that make no sense to adults
But for awards, they are silent, and expecting.
Kindergarten, first grade, second grade, finally
The little girl with her shiny black shoes waits for her award telling her that she qualifies as smart
And she receives perfect attendance
8th Grade, School Computer Room
Awkward preteens set in blue plastic chairs
Friends clumped together around a single screen
"Secretly" googling ***** like it's a crime, though everyone knows
But in the very back
The girl with her black bag full of books checking her grades online
Has her nose to the monitor and worry in her heart
Because just perfect attendance makes her a disappointment.
Junior Year, Home Bathroom
Soapy water soaks the floor and into a dollar store rug
The bath is half empty and tinted a rusty shade of red
And sitting on the floor with her knees to her chin, carving A+ into the scarred skin of her arm
Is the girl, almost a woman, with her eyes messily ringed in black, who doesn't dare cut too deep.
Killing herself would mean losing her perfect attendance.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
not especially social,
just a couple of friends,
so our interaction qualifies,
special, very,
with sincerity I say,
fancy seeing you here
come and gone,
come back again,
restarting an engine,
that been redesigned
to be as simple as
you and me,
reader, writer
quit, here, brevity here,
but say out loud that word,
fancy
one mo' time
part fantasy,
special, very,
a poem read,
a fan friendship established
here, where words and eyes
intersect, a very fancy place...
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
doing the heavy lifting
*picking up my emaciated heart,
letting the rest of my wilting body
tag along qualifies, but is not the
heavy lifting referenced above.
we all have a meeting, the bits and
pieces, the bobs and keepsakes
that constitute my mien, a constitutional
convention of 13 colonies that raucous
write of burdens, of freedoms, with wild
inspirations and cold political calculations
this combining document hoping to topstitch
my reeling mind and deteriorating physic,
to write words of hopeful praise but rising
to a world that is baking in hatred into fabric
and tissue, and that is the heaviest lift of all
Sunday morning, coffe-d, somewhat rested,
a full day planned, and a Mike Message says
it’s me that does the heavy lifting and I know!
he knows! the displaced state of my mind, and
the hardened ache of writing with fresh hope,
when there is so little, that it is lost in the litter
of endlessness of a world gone, not going,
mad~insane and murderers are
illogically celebrated,
and yet here I am punching words on my
AM Morning Punch List of worthy words
available that aid us needy for repair & yet
might move us together to a state of full repair;
but I am punchy from trying, to find words
themselves that require do not require, a
truth washing,
a new word recleansing
and*
(they put the load right on me),
*and naïf-not, see the troubles ahead and get
me more paper to add to the list of lists of
worldly worrisome words that are heavy
lifting of the world as it is but know I weep as
I write this for not in my possess the light airy
words, the wordsmith is crushed neath the weight of***
tonnage of human word-lessened-ness
Sunday Morning
Oct 22 2023
9:02am,
writ in a singed single cry
Oct 22, 2023
Oct 22, 2023 at 10:09 AM UTC
you know that, only in england
you can wear a t-shirt in january,
and concede that (it's chav scots
clearing the path):
reading a søren kierkegaard book
qualifies you as mentally ill?
odd, isn't it? read a philosophy book
get a psychiatrist... where's the ******* bookmark?
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 7:06 PM UTC
but then i am moulded by democracy,
and i see its evils,
and the only good of it
exercised is focused upon
the critical acclaim of theocracy,
and that only spreads upon
a definition: the existence of theocracy
qualifies democracy to become warring,
because under the dicta of the people
no gods exist, but despots do,
and democracy is qualified to eradicate all despots,
even god, with or without the rule of the people,
as the ambition of being without rule:
as ant said unto aardvark: same **** different planet.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 7:44 PM UTC
How are you not to be damaged,
When the one that you think is supposed to love,
Doesn't really love you.
I mean it feels like there is supposed to be some sort of unwritten rule somewhere
That states if you have a a kid you must love them.
I'm not just talking about muttering those three little words.
That can be scribbled on paper, or typed in an email.
I'm talking about a deep rooted, carved in your heart, can be felt from across the world, no mistaking, pure and sacrificial love.
Tangible love, seen, and felt, and heard.
No I don't need money from you.
I would prefer to feel like I'm worth knowing
Rather than the feeling of my forgiveness being bought.
See how am I supposed to feel that others in life will like me,
If my own parent doesn't care to even know me.
Yes the world is a wonderful place and I understand the feeling of being caged.
So wouldn't it have been better in the beginning if you had never even made the effort?
So that when you decided that the world was worth more
and that I was just an anchor to a place you didn't care for.
Wouldn't it have been easier for me,
Instead of feeling like I was a piece of trash tossed over your shoulder missing the waste basket because you didn't even care to look as you threw it.
Not even put in a rightful place, left to wonder is it something I did wrong?
Only to grow up and find out it was much worse
it wasn't anything I did, it is the simple fact that I wasn't enough.
Wasn't enough for you, to much work to wipe off my ***** face.
Wasn't enough for you to pick up and kiss the ****** knee that I scrapped.
Wasn't enough for you to watch me as I grew, to give me advice on making life's toughest decisions.
Wasn't enough for you to see that although it was good for you to escape the cage from which you felt confined to,
you didn't realize that I had followed you in, and on your way out without so much as a backwards glance, you locked me in.
Maybe I got it wrong.
Maybe there shouldn't be some unwritten rule that makes you love your children.
Because there shouldn't be anything that makes you love.
Maybe I just need to realize that some people are loved and others just aren't.
Some people are capable of loving.
Some are only capable of hurting those who have a twisted look on life
Thinking that by just being someone's own flesh and blood qualifies to being loved.
Only to be taught the truth.
It doesn't.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 2:09 PM UTC
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Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
You prevent me moving on
You limit my horizons
You cheapen my achievements
And you delete me based on age
You are the judge and powerbroker
Little that qualifies you for this
And your prejudices and abilities gap
Run riot over my ambition
When you are from within
And not an agent for
My background scares you
And threatens your own standing
No perfect world
No meritocracy
No boat rockers
Just the usual suspects
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 5:36 PM UTC
new words for an old day that’s just begun
even I, author of the conundrum above,
confused but let us sort it out as we
descend into the elixir that is our combo
of noises, prejudices, limited vocabularies
time noted, not even the nine o’clock mark,
so the day qualifies as new, but it’s an aged
sun rising, skills displaying, historical precedent,
ancient practice, adjusted for atmosphericals
the lawn is speckled, mottled, as light ray guns
through the defending battalion branches and
platoons of leaves facing up, to a certain death
later than sooner, no killing fields till September
the oak tree generals, wisdomed experiential,
prepare plans, take light a prisoner in sufficient
quantity to nourish the troops, yet, not too much,
for the sun can be fickle, a flame thrower machina
all that vision leads me to this pronouncement:
*Oh Lord, bountiful be provided, beloved, inscribed,
this day, its mega-millennium predecessors and
successors gifted precision amounts needed, then,
**Cast me gently into morning,
For the night has been unkind,
Take me to a, a place so holy,
That I can wash this from my mind,
The memory of choosing not to fight.**
Sara Mclachlan “The Answer”
9:18am Thu Jul 9 ‘20
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 9:29 AM UTC
*This woman is a chameleon,
how her hues change!
she is the conqueror-
wearing the false hues of the conquered;
a desire for perfect conquest, in disguise.
She instinctively find
what she wants to conquer,
from among the smiles
identifying the heart of her like,
from its invisible presence,
from a distance.That one moment
qualifies her as a magician of heart strings.
Her studied indifference now
is a tacit invitation
to get near her,
though concealed in many layers.
She makes sure he doesn't
miss the message,
but for the uninitiated
it goes invisible.
Sly looks he send now and then,
when she moves closer, his whisper:
"Don't you hear what my heart says?"
his half smile is being reciprocated,
what was made to look like reluctance
was in fact a challenge
for him to go and get
what he wanted,
not as a gift, but
as a hard earned asset.
He thinks she was the best
he has ever set his eyes on.
They hit it off in a bit.*
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
Midnight came and midnight went.
Once again alone in bed.
Company creeps into her head.
Unwanted and unwarranted.
In the form of vibrant visions.
Somewhere between rest and life.
Or rest of life.
Never sure.
A drifter on the raft of life
Eyes clasp shut or open wide.
Creeping behind clams eyes.
Hidden secrets.
Locked behind those heavy tired,
Visionary creators.
Brain in pain or brain insane.
Never sure what qualifies.
The images stored behind minds eyes.
Locked inside, no great escape.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
“The hottest love has the coldest end.”
-Socrates
You were there. Like stardust ever dancing in the light as if infinity swirls to you. Your existence declines my being. You waived all presences, defying the mnemonics of what qualifies existence.
You were there—not now.
Before, we were strangers looking at some abyss. After, we are strangers excited of what the future holds for both of us. In between, we are still strangers cursing all pains stinging our hearts.
Time inflicts its greatest wound: recollection. Malt ferments. Soul dies. Mind breaks down. Bubbles in beers imploded to every motion of the hand swaying, wishing it never touched you. Dreams stitched to rags given to wipe dusts and rusts. Time betrayed us, then and again. You were there but not now. Time cursed the being. Time stabbed us causing my heart to burn.
If only I can love you without time minding us all.
Atoms fall. They swerve a little, says Epicurus. Repulsion with others creates the world. That repulsion is a lasting encounter.
What holds that philosophy to be true is antimony. What holds us after all is just an illusion.
When I stumble upon old things finding some boxes, I remember you. When I see your picture in an old frame, forgetting becomes a sickness.
Is there a pill that can selectively erase your fading silhouette in my memory? Confession: I took that pill long ago. My mind fabricates immunity.
You were there in the horizon standing, holding an umbrella, ready to swerve from the rain that once made our love so cold and true.
I was there.
That night, the rain substituted to a poet’s tears.
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
you invite
the cut,
you know you do
bloodlet come
dust off those bad humors
that have already won
one
incision
on the inside of inner-thigh,
nicely
neatly: remedies indecision for a wee bit
doesn't it?
confirm that silly string
and pipe cleaners
aren't reeeally your insides
lifely! lifely! qualifies your moves
in this
thing
this
****** sadwhirenoughenough
you jus
Buddha the hurt afterward
but emptiness of being always keeps
a few of your you's and me's around
ricocheting off far unkempt corners
like me, the pigeon
and you, the squirrel
...
look, they've already won, my love;
no,
they -always- have already won
so, plz, don't k?
jus don't
don't assemble upright-me as your
night-n-shiny handle
don't fix me la-la opposite his hard gleam
his trite inky blah bodkin Brahmin to my Bodhisattva
i can't, won't do it anymore,
my core torpid
Luke Skywalker warm
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
He's friendly but not a flirt,
He's not pure but he tries to free his mind from dirt,
He sticks to one woman,
He knows having more only makes him less of a man.
He treats people with respect,
He's usually holding on to the good side an aspect,
He's positive,
His plans are so stable;more like sweetly manipulative,
Life isn't always nice for him,
But he still feels obliged to make a change in the lives of those in his realm.
He's a hardworker,
Such that he qualifies to be a home maker,
He's great but he's not proud,
He's so humble only his actions speak loud.
He's only a saint because he sins and still goes back for repentance,
He's not perfect,and he's brought this to acceptance.
He's the man,
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
I want to love you like it's my job-
to study for you, get a degree
that qualifies me
to fill your vacancies.
And if you accept,
I will love you with determination,
good team-building skills,
and attention to detail,
even on president's day.
I will love you overtime
but only
from monday to friday.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 5:40 AM UTC
I'm different. It was known,
but yesterday it was understood.
This is why:
On Mondays I ask the questions that have no answer,
and my answers have no question.
Around noon I search for the space between orange and green,
then I listen for the songs between tomorrow and the future.
At 11:11 PM I try to choose between the bittersweet perfume of her sweat
and the scent of the magnolia flower in your hair.
I measure time by counting the blinks of my eyelids,
The wings of my thoughts fluttering without a purpose.
I'm dollar wise and penny foolish.
I give to all and yet I'm selfish.
In my head my poetry sounds like a cracked guitar,
and my music like a breeze rustling through the cherry flowers in May.
I close my eyes to see the world's beauty
and the pain makes me rejoice the eternal truth of life.
I gamble with my feelings and I'm cold to all.
I see myself in all my friends and hate human condition,
but love the road I'm given by blind luck.
Crossing a bridge I always pray for safety
but I slalom between my inner dragons,
crashing every once in a while,
scars visible on my dried knees,
tears frozen in time and space.
One rainy day, on the old barge on the wide river,
My left foot slipped on my autistic realm
and I stomped my right foot on my genius
(if telling the future qualifies as a special gift).
My big toe said:
"you toad, where did you learn to dance, 'cause you are gnarly good."
I ignored the voice,
but that's when I had the first sign of it,
Of my strangeness.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
(Rb), glorious mother calls my teeth dearly overthrown
Jewish people stupid plastic police
Puta emotional support dog football dog
hunting Friday to the beach
barber hair master Sacred sacrum really
waiting for the blonde Marcus the violence
of sound qualifies the show of the angry
king of the wind anger blessing (Reality)
always the mother calls to the teeth dear
Soma Jewish people image stupid plastic
police paint emotional support corner dog
dog football Friday to the beach barber hair master
Spirit Christian witch is really waiting
for the blond Ivan warm sound violence
calling to the program's Anger of wrath
anger; King wind anger bless women skin muscles,
the silent show to defeat the teenagers to go.
Kiss the subtle feeling of change of snow
on the skin,
looking at the monumental museum, tcold leather will
He sat on the floor of a small old man
who also sat down.
A loud noise was heard.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
The creativity that once
Flowed through the mind
Like the wind through the trees
And the blood through the veins
Has taken a back seat
As the mind is now full
Of things that take priority
In regaining sanity and peace
A war has erupted
And being stuck in the middle
Is proving to be
No easy chore
What qualifies as being more important?
Moving forward for one's self
Or helping others to do so?
All comes down to the state of mind
The conscience is the ultimate answer
For listening holds the key
Whichever path it chooses
Is surely the right answer
Isn't it?
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 6:37 PM UTC
My dear mother managed to reel me into the mandatory pre-christmas cleaning
Which drives me wildly insane
Rearranging cutlery and scouring the sink is not my ideal way of spending a Wednesday morning
I could think of worse things to have been engaged in
but this wretched activity is way up there.
In all honesty my mother's (bless her) kitchen qualifies to be on an episode of Hoarders
Depleted from obsessively dusting off countertops
I sat down sipping my green tea
Watching her take on the rearranging of the pots in the dreaded corner cupboard
Chucking out the old
Indecisive when it came to some
When the job was done
The space left was aplenty
Seeing the rusted pots and charred pans to be thrown in the trash
Then it hit me
If one harbours filth, negativity or the past
Newer and better things have no space to make their way into and settle in one's life
Re-birthing is only possible if one completely purges that which deters them from metamorphosising.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 6:58 AM UTC
it was a summer of firsts.
first crush
or something like that.
i'm still not sure if it
qualifies as a crush.
first shooting star
and i didn't make a wish
because i knew better than
to believe that wishes on a star come true.
and yet i marveled like a little girl
thinking that God planned that moment
to tell me that He loved me.
first time singing in front of others
i had practiced all day
but when the moment came
my hands were shaking
and so was my voice.
Bruna held my hand
and the sweetest sound came from my mouth.
i blushed as
everyone smiled.
it was the first time in a long time
that i felt like i belonged
that i felt i was real
that i felt i was me.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
Words have power.
We all know this.
Verbs have power
because without verbs
we can neither laugh nor cry,
neither run nor walk;
we cannot breathe,
nor even be,
without a verb.
A noun too has power
because with it we have, in a sense,
mastery of the object, the person, or the feeling
that we name.
Even an adjective has power,
for it qualifies the noun,
fleshes it out,
makes it more our possession.
A conjunction,
small, insignificant,
you might think
without power,
but ....
All words have power.
We know this,
or we would not be writing poetry.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 11:26 AM UTC