"quarrelsome" poems
Double red daisies, they’re my flowers,
Which nobody else may grow.
In a big quarrelsome house like ours
They try it sometimes—but no,
I root them up because they’re my flowers,
Which nobody else may grow.
Claire has a tea-rose, but she didn’t plant it;
Ben has an iris, but I don’t want it.
Daisies, double red daisies for me,
The beautifulest flowers in the garden.
Double red daisy, that’s my mark:
I paint it in all my books!
It’s carved high up on the beech-tree bark,
How neat and lovely it looks!
So don’t forget that it’s my trade mark;
Don’t copy it in your books.
Claire has a tea-rose, but she didn’t plant it;
Ben has an iris, but I don’t want it.
Daisies, double red daisies for me,
The beautifulest flowers in the garden.
4.5k
This is A Faithful saying; If A Man Desire the Position of A Bishop, He Desire A Good Work. A Bishop then must be Blameless, the Husband Of One Wife, Temperate, Sober-Minded, of Good Behavior, Hospitable, Able to Teach: no given to Wine, no Violent, not Greedy for Money, bu Gentle, not Quarrelsome, not Covetous; One who Rules His Own House well, having His Children in Submission with all Reverence. For if a Man does not know how to Rule His Own House, how will He take Care of the Church Of GOD?; Not A Novice, lest Being Puffed-Up with Pride He Fall into the same Condemnation as the Devil. Moreover He must have A Good Testimony among those who are Outside, lest He Fall into Reproach and Snare of the devil. Likewise Deacons must be Reverent, no Double-Tongued, not given to much Wine, not Greedy for Money, Holding the Mystery of the Faith with Pure Conscience. But let these also First be Tested; then let them Serve as Deacons, Being Found Blameless. Likewise, their Wives mus be Reverent, not Slanderers, Temperate, Faithful in All Things. Let Deacons be the Husbands of One Wife, Ruling their Children and their Own House-Well. For those who have Served well as Deacons Obtain for Themselves A Good Standing and Great Boldness in the Faith which is in Chris Jesus. These things I write to You, though I Hope to Come to You shortly; But if I Am Delayed, I write so that You may know how You Ought to Conduct Thyself in the House Of GOD, which is the Church Of the Living GOD, he Pillar and Ground Of the Truth. And without Controversy Great is the Mystery Of Godliness: GOD was Manifested in the Flesh, Justified in thy Spirit, Seen by Angels, Preached among the Gentiles, Believed on in the World, Receieved Up In Glory.!!!
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
dear immoral,
salt
seed of
s
la
ughter
enticingly, affably, salt
compassionate psychic stimulates
the pigheaded exclamation
compassionate osculation stands
glove
gives callously
equally, nonetheless, equally
quarrelsome loving glove
a persnickety longshoreman
each persnickety biochemistry
is the
longshoreman cancerous?
A ambiguous certification
a stupid symphony
leads a wizardry
a road worker.
No content,
j
us
t web,
you
r bright face
is suffered with an imagery.
Bridge operator:
agile
computation
today, randomly ordinarily
ah! A
trembling
je
we
ler
confidant loves increasingly
languidly, sociably, spontaneously
Look! A poor ***********
perpetual on my
quick
bible;
my psychotherapy roves
into a
bleeding seashore.
Oxygen
tickles beautifully
boisterous, antisocial, odorous
Look! A quivering predisposition
the
psychoanalysis's
preferably quick
psych
otherapy-
how
ebbing it is!
It has the the depression snowed ordinarily.
It repels the grin into the seashore
a
punishing scream.
Cataclysm predicts perfectly
stupidly sensually noncommittal
unchanging rambling cataclysm
in t
he
unharnessing camaraderie
a perfect board
overshadows
his youth
so
that it is contemporary
grin
quick psychotherapies
I repel quick
this punishing kennel.
The chore
into appreciated camaraderies
psychotherapies rove in it.
A ink stick:
into appreciated ca
mar
aderies
psychotherapies rove in
my own gossip.
Dogmatic, unrealistic cliff
grip
of firefly
realistically, subtly, cliff
Situationist
on my quick bible;
my paralysis roves
onto a crazy seashore.
Situationist on a
journey;
my
paralysis ambles
onto a
crazy hotel.
A equality
onto procreation kings
paralys
is
amble outside of the kings.
Buzzard: omnipotent nullification
extraordinarily, perfectly, saintly
that buzzard is ambitious
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
As a child I always covered my ears
whenever I started to hear my
parents fighting about whose weekend it was
And I hated that term
Whose weekend it was
Like they owned me
As if I was nothing more than some
quarrelsome barter being habitually swapped between living quarters at the end of every week
Sometimes I wished nothing more than to be
invisable, camouflaged along the wall
of dusty old antiques
Because the only ones you ever saw
fighting over them were old people who smelled
of pastries and lilacs
But I got tired of waiting for that
And I got more tired of the ********
small talk and forced awkward smiles
and when push came to shove,
At eight years old I was tired
of being handled with kid gloves
I grew up feeling like a token of fair trade
And in school I learned that fair trade
really wasn't fair at all
Some were taught to run while others
are forced to crawl to cross the finish line
but even that can't buy you time
Because at the end of the day
I still find myself coming back to that
original thought of the antiques along the
wall of items that nobody bought
And when you see that your only
company is dust and stale air,
life finds another way to remind you
that nothing is fair.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
She likes fashion and interviews. I like getting lost.
Sometimes she grabs my bulge,
as she drinks from an aluminum flask.
She told me to rhyme something with 'flask'.
I said, "Fine. In your life, you've been wearing a mask.
But I can see. And you can see. They can't see.
That you are a detached, blond doll
and your back is against the wall,
as I kiss your neck until you're dead."
She said to rhyme something with 'dead'.
I said, "Fine. You ********** in my head.
And it's quarrelsome
that they don't see that you're numb.
I'd pull on your lip, with my teeth.
Dig my hand between your legs.
Just to make you feel. Just to make you feel.
And I study your hairbrush
to see that there are too much
strands of memories from melodies
that lay dormant in ballrooms
and scented kisses
that drip of the misses
in your life and mine."
She said **** me with your words.
I refused because I'd rather watch her bloom
in my dreams than the seams of
a fiber noose that rings loose
the bell in your neck
that sounds until birds fly
and we die-
You look at me,
"Home."
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
To look carefully.
It begins with a reminder to myself to look oh so carefully
Because this isn't just any time of day,
But the end of day time when the light fades away.
To think, that this happens before every eve and after every noon
Night pulls at the Sun so gently.
From behind the mountains
The anchor of time begins its distortion
Upon the Sun, its stress seems to bless the sky
In those blending hues
And spins clouds into colorful sweetness
As it demands an encore for a set too soon.
The mountains become flat nibbles into space,
Eating at the canvas
Where sky's light knows nothing of us.
It too, flattens buildings at the foothills;
A pasting of pastel flavor, drawn
By the distant gray air of sand and sea.
The glorified glass edifices at my shore watching,
Bleeding, in mocking colors of a time that burns into another
A time that ends in blazing defiant oranges assaulting the falling sky
In quarrelsome pinks and purples
I remember the tender
I must see this so softly
At the sinking light
As the mountains swallow burning sky
One ring at a time,
Lighter than velvet.
Heavier than vivid.
Humility rose, with this setting,
To stand against so many gradients
And recall the faux pas of permanence.
Not until it was gone
With its whims toward time.
Could I see, tenderly.
The width and warmth
Of their embellished embrace
Between day, and night-
Pouring that fragility-
From the last light.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
I have but a smatter of the angelic tongue;
The language of angels, archaic and foreign as the morning sun
It's to you I posit the following query:
Should I for one be ecstatic or pragmatic,
When the voice of God speaks to me only in static
I choose to believe but this troublesome quarry is all too problematic
My philosophy and logic quarrelsome emphatic
Psychosomatic and impractical
Maybe it's the infrequency with which I tune my internal radio;
And maybe I'm not listening
Or maybe it's really true what Nietzsche touted so many moons ago
I beg for sacrament
But partake in sacrilege
If its true that Soul is eternal
Or even existential
What is the sake that merits mine salvation
If I can't save even those I hold near and dear from being of Self mind
Fallacy of ego.
Global enslavement.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
Abusive & Apathetic
Bashful & Brash
Careless & Corrosive
Depressive & Destructive
Exaggerative & Egotistical
Forgetful & Fake
Glum & Guilty
Horrible & Hurtful
Insensitive & Intimidating
**** & Judging
Kill-joy & Kidling
Lazy & Lousy
Menacing & Mean
Nasty & Negative
Opposing & Offensive
Paranoiac & Pathetic
Quarrelsome & Quiet
Reckless & Rude
Stupid & Selfish
Troublesome & torturous
Useless & Un-changeable
Vindictive & Veracious
*Who the **** cares anymore...Sick of thinking for this...*
X...
Y....
Z.....
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 1:59 AM UTC
"HOWEVER."
Even though we're
so much
quarrelsome, but
nevertheless we
like
us and yet
always loves us
dearly so much.
She's far
away from my arm
to touch, but she's
right therein my
heart to reach. She's
easily
offended
he's highly sensitive.
By her humility is
necessary.
Patient
is required of
him. She loves me,
I loved her more.
#C9_fm
Apr 30, 2021
Apr 30, 2021 at 6:27 PM UTC
Although spring be flowering
My heart will still be wishing
For your smile blossoming
And lips made full for kissing
Distance can seem burdensome
Difficult and oft lonely
Makes me sometimes quarrelsome
Hard edged and sometimes stony
Love is o'er us towering
Eyes and soul are still aglow
Patience it is powering
In this soft hope-lit meadow
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 4:54 PM UTC
A Chesire cat grins at me tonight
I can only see his mouth
The rest of him is hidden in the black hemisphere
But he is kind,
He illuminates for me a glimpse of the cloud kingdom
Oh, but they look so lonely, without the birds.
In my stiff party dress
I follow Mad Hatter and Mad Hare
To a party where Mad Hatters and March Hares multiply
All so quarrelsome and confusing,
In company of the Queen of Hearts, King and queersome flat people,
As if one pair of Mad Hatter and Mad Hare
Wasn't bad enough.
When I arrive, what a fantastic sight I beheld
My cousins tell me what a giant I've become!
As I hugged them, I had to stoop, and thought;
As if I had any control over growth,
Well perhaps you shrunk - it's hardly my fault.
Then I felt rather miniature,
As I shook my uncles' and aunties' hands;
They were so big and booming with authority,
They pet my head and cooed at me,
I let them, not wanting trouble.
My, there was quite a chatter,
I easily got lost
But tediously, I managed to get out
It was as if I had drowned,
And was revived again,
By the creepy Chesire cat up high
I sat by the garden wall
How I felt tired and dull!
I longed for home
But I do not know where it is
So I wrapped a stolen coat around me
Because the Chesire cat's smile was indeed chilling
Then wondered when Ole Lukøje's brother will come
But I see Ole Lukøje's silhouette already
He takes me by the hand
And we danced into dreams.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC
I swear I am calm. Look at that, I depressed a button thats been
neglected for so long. Again you see I am quaking not faking my
thoughts are overtaking my waking position, quarrelsome indeed
towards entering the state that I need. To function. Normally.
Please, I'm holding back, can't you tell? A metaphor of a dam would
do me well, of course it's not solid the pressure is building, of
course it's not stone it's made out of soothing all the things that I
find in my mind would it surprise you to know that they'd fit on a
dime? My own little who ville on a metal map scape. It's fine it's fun
it's quite the scene. Would you stay for awhile and meet my people
that follow the laws loyally with no question of doubt because they
are enlightened, perfection, plato lives there and he see's all their
forms if you entered would it all would you try and conform? Fit in
with perfection even if your meat makes you mad, your soul steals
away and it becomes possible to play along the slightly raised ridges
found on the side of a dime and you'll never ever have to question
what occurs when you die. You won't know what occurs but let me
tell you in the following words it won't matter to you as a soul
singing songs along with millions of mimes that tend to live on my
dimes because fears do not exist in communities so small learn from
this please come one come all, the irony is if more come it will fall
and collapse into everything, rioting and pain, and then we'll think
back in wonderment, what did we gain? I don't know at least we
tried, that's the most I can say, the sun will still rise but we'll be
lucky to find peace as it exists across loose change in a mist where
it's more illusive and special and harder to find, we won't not never
it will remain unfound unless we settle and sit in a square and
slowly think of something profound: build a new community there
and slowly weigh the pros and the nouns would we risk it,
revealing us out loud to the world because you see in close circles
we'll work and we'll smile without fears of continuing this course of
denial, perfection is possible if sacrifices are made but our meat is
too silly to play along in that game so more people flood in and
bring disease and the pain so we sigh and trudge on with only hope
to our name we just remember to never give in, we have what we
need to continue to live.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 8:06 PM UTC
"'Thou mayest rule over sin," Lee said. That's it. I do not believe all men are destroyed. I can name you a dozen who were not, and they are the ones the world lives by. It is true of the spirit as it is true of the battles - only the winners are remembered. Surely most men are destroyed, but there are others who like pillars of fire guide frightened men through the darkness. 'Thou mayest, Thou mayest!' What glory! It is true that we are weak and sick and quarrelsome, but if that is all we ever were, we would, millenniums ago, have disappeared from the face of the earth. A few remnants of fossilized jawbone, some broken teeth in strats of limestone, would be the only mark man would have left of his existence in the world. But the choice, Lee, the choice of winning! I had never understood it or accepted it before. 'Thou mayest rule over sin.'"
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
As The Sparrow Flies
It fell from the summer sky the bird, dust on roadside ****
not pretty place a flutter of its wings and then nothing.
It, a sparrow didn’t look particularly old and birds can live long,
but the call to joined the celestial heaven had been sudden
and no time for spring rituals, sitting on phone lines flirting.
God’s canary bird had escaped its cage – it had read a book that
God was not great- and she replaced it with a much lowly bird
grey winged- yes, and quarrelsome, they tend to be and they
will be asking questions. I know of a couple they have a nest near
the roof terrace when I go up there they never stop their shrilly
thrilling until I leave feeling hurt because I know where they live
on the third roof tile to the left, and I know they have shat in
my deck chair. They have produced fledglings which have turned
out to be as uncut as their parents, but I have said nothing.
Sometimes I wonder if full freedom is good, as humans and birds
we think we have the right to rule the world, but we are leaves
blown off the tree and we now little of tomorrow.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
all memories like wilted orchid
and i smelled the earth
i remember four quarrelsome stars
slipping beneath my fabric
how i miss them on winding night
belonging is worship
now i became god
and i'm not satisfied
until you give
contentment escapes
and like a god i am,
creating and creating endless ashes
tasting like burnt date
and keep asking to myself
is god ever satisfied?
mother on sand
mother on my hand
mother slips now
like an escaping memory
while sparkling more than ever
urging me to worship.
Mar 24, 2025
Mar 24, 2025 at 12:11 PM UTC
Never will I ask you to ever stay,
You to come once again and take my heart away,
Discrete are we now,
Once inseparable,
But now our relationship is on verge of decay,
Disputes between us,
Quarrelsome,
On epitome to my dismay,
How can I ever ask you to stay?
Work on me, love me and then take my heart away,
You once came and disrupted my heart,
Breaking the once strengthened bond which I thought may never break,
Causing me to shed my tears and mentally hurt me on the way,
Is this how you keep a promise to never leave?
And then dump and move on to your next prey.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
Say there, you old fool,
what have you been up to?
Day and night you chase the moon
till daylight comes again. Why?
Her glow is much the lesser light
than yours. Don't you know
her sheen is you reflected?
Yet you persist, while other
stellar bodies stay neglected.
Best not to fuss with Venus-
her Mars is much too jealous.
Mercury is much too hot, thanks to you,
and Earth is way too quarrelsome.
Saturn would run rings around you,
and as for Jupiter? I know
of no planet stupider. Neptune
is altogether frosty, and Uranus
is simply out of the question,
in this or any other dimension.
And Pluto hardly seems a proper
planet anymore- not in this galaxy,
that's for sure. No, old Sol,
you'd best retain your sorry lunar love-
as the moon evades your grasp
and flirts with stars above.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC
O My Lord, there is no one vaguely like Thee,
Who has the ability to forgive me of my iniquity.
Failure to accept Your grace is a sin of pride,
since Your presence within me, can divinely reside.
Forgiveness is a powerful weapon for my wounded soul,
when I recognize that only You can truly make me whole.
Help me Lord, to rightly walk in love without hypocrisy;
help me observe the Christ - in everyone I meet and see.
Don’t allow poor, quarrelsome behaviors to rise up in me,
for ungodly uproars may create opposition to God’s decrees.
Remind me to be kind, gentle and tender-hearted to those,
who still suffer under the weight of sin’s deathly throes.
In the remainder of my days, I will continually confess,
that I’ve been cleansed of all traces of unrighteousness.
Despite my human imperfections, my spirit won’t be riven,
knowing that I am greatly blessed and… still forgiven!
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Matt 20:25-26; Acts 10:38
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
Questionable, queer,
Quickeningly quaking
Queen’s quest,
Quizzically qualified,
Questionless qualmishness,
Quarrelsome quacksalvers,
Quicksanding queenships,
Quirkiness quieted.
- February 23rd, 2023
Feb 23, 2023
Feb 23, 2023 at 12:02 PM UTC
The misshapen palate
Of the creature made him crude,
But I listened to his case,
As he told me what he knew.
"Stop! I beg you, please!
Lower sword, and listen, you.
We are not as we appear,
I swear these words are true."
He displayed his empty hands,
on which extra digits grew.
"We awoke in this condition.
As you neared, we did ensue
to devise a plan to flee,
but the woman saw us through."
**** them all," my lover interrupted,
"Lest they throw you in their stew.
The very nature of their foulness
Evidents their souls askew."
The smallish creatures looked surprised,
and my wife appeared amused.
"Need you more explanation?
Their appearance is the proof.
These nasty things deserve a death:
Cut them all in two!"
These kinds of words from my beloved
were a sight I'd never seen.
Had she lost all her compassion?
Was it disgust that made her mean?
I was surprised to find her here,
but now that shock had left the scene,
there seemed an oddness in her then:
The tiny difference found in dreams.
The stunted creature spoke,
and my wife vented spleen.
"We ask not much:
Take us out from here, we plead.
This mountain has been sown
with an evil kind of seed.
There are only seven here.
Take us with you and with speed,
or let us pass without protest.
We only wish to flee."
The armor on his chest
was polished fairly clean,
and I saw in its reflection
a vengeful face of greed:
Peering over my right shoulder,
was the face of The Queen.
I turned with such a haste,
I stirred the snow with startled scream.
An idea began to form,
but I spoke with slow degree.
"What say you, My Only one?
Why do you wish these lives undone,
when the only thing they want for,
is a chance to turn and run?
They threaten not, they lack the strength,
Yet you plead their ends to come?
Do you find them so revolting?
Is their sight so cumbersome?
I've never known you to be violent,
So readily quarrelsome!
Were you to be so stricken,
would you call for martyrdom?"
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 1:16 AM UTC
They crowd and jostle, the ever-present soot-black jackdaws,
Noisily quarrelsome, never doubting their close-knit kinship,
The unmistakable chatter, raucous like winged chainsaws,
How I envy their warm sociability, and loving courtship,
I long to rip down these walls, to be at one with joyous jackdaws!
I marvel as it hovers, then in a blink swoops, a majestic kestrel!
Without mercy will **** and then **** again,
Do not judge harshly, it has young, this is no callous scoundrel,
No false modesty, reigns supreme amongst aerial stuntmen,
I long to rip down these walls, and plunge like a killer kestrel!
A restless game of hide and seek, hello bye-bye blackbird!
What energy! here, there and everywhere,
Hedgerow or open space, resolute and undeterred,
Never tires, so sleek and debonair!
I long to rip down these walls, to forage with a blessed blackbird!
A silent sentinel of death, the dusk-loving owl,
With all-seeing eyes, unerringly selects its prey,
Creatures of the night beware! of the habitual hungry prowl,
Razor sharp, rarely do these talons go astray,
I long to rip down these walls, to salute my heroic occult-owl!
I am at peace, I will never leave these walls,
A barred window will be my eyesight,
A glimpse of freedom, before death befalls,
Fly free for me! to satisfy my avian appetite.
© Robert Porteus
Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 7:05 AM UTC
“And the Lord’s servant
must not be quarrelsome
but kind to everyone,
able to teach,
patiently enduring evil,
correcting his opponents with
gentleness”
Why is it
That passion,
Anger- named zeal-,
Rebuke
Reproach,
And doom
Fill the tongue
Of those
Called to be
Peace-
Do you praise the one who cut off the ear
Do you praise those who would not hammer their swords to plowshares
Do you praise those who slaughtered men for their god
Do you praise those who use guns to silence their oppressors-
Is there no understanding?
Is there only passion?
Is there no Holy Spirit?
What fruit is born from your actions?
-
We were not called to destroy, but to be destroyed
We were not called to hate, but to be hated
Not to be loved, but to love-
Do we understand what it means to take up a cross
Can we patiently endure evil
Or must we destroy all evil
And evil doers-
Do we relish in our fallen enemies?
Do you find comfort that evil people go hell?
Do you enjoy their suffering
While never having suffered yourself-
May
The
Light
Pierce
Through
Every
Dark
Secret
Corner
And
Precious
Conviction
We
Try
To
Ignore
-
May
We
Change-
Be
Made
New-
Be
Better
Than
Before.
Jun 14, 2024
Jun 14, 2024 at 4:16 PM UTC
I don't want to go outside, not ever.
I want to stay in here with you.
I don't like the outside pressures.
I like our cocoon.
People ask if we are chafing.
Growing quarrelsome or cross.
And I laugh until I am shaking.
If ever I am frustrated, you are not the cause.
I have loved you for three years and will forever.
And, no matter what, all I see,
Is that I will never
be prepared for you to go from me.
I was thinking, if you live to be 80
It would only give me 45 years to spend with you
and though that is longer than we've lived already.
I still think it would be too soon.
I am stupidly in love with your smile
and the way we dance from room to room.
So, I'm fine if we don't go outside for a while
I like our cocoon.
Nov 11, 2020
Nov 11, 2020 at 8:31 PM UTC