"rafael" poems
in the somatic nervous system,
acetylcholine (ACh) stimulates skeletal muscle, causing contraction
action potentials
in the 8am physio lecture,
the biggest on campus
crammed with nursing majors,
and health science hankerers,
public health preachers,
OT saints and angels
amino acid NTs: glutamate (+) GABA (-) aspartate (+) glycine (-)
the prof wrote on a distant whiteboard
too many complained about being lost
she made a joke about feeding *******
to mice for her neuroscience research
amines: serotonin (-) dopamine (-/+) norepinephrine (+/-) epinephrine (+)
STEM-dominated
when i'm just looking
to drop my roots
and press that
good earth into
the spaces between
my toes and
under my nails
but the grounds are a garden
of biodiversity from clippings
gathered by migrant habit-clad
founders more than a century ago
the soil is fertile it is temperate
there are water filters in most residences
there is enough here for me
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
The moon's a dying ember
This evening in late September
A ***** copper coin
Resting on her porcelain ****
A mosaic of Ancient Corinth
As the soldiers passed
In blood-red rags
And orange
(c) Rafael Alfonzo
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC
Preguntaréis: Y dónde están las lilas?
Y la metafísica cubierta de amapolas?
Y la lluvia que a menudo golpeaba
sus palabras llenándolas
de agujeros y pájaros?
Os voy a contar todo lo que me pasa.
Yo vivía en un barrio
de Madrid, con campanas,
con relojes, con árboles.
Desde allí se veía
el rostro seco de Castilla
como un océano de cuero.
Mi casa era llamada
la casa de las flores, porque por todas partes
estallaban geranios: era
una bella casa
con perros y chiquillos.
Raúl, te acuerdas?
Te acuerdas, Rafael?
Federico, te acuerdas
debajo de la tierra,
te acuerdas de mi casa con balcones en donde
la luz de junio ahogaba flores en tu boca?
Hermano, hermano!
Todo
eran grandes voces, sal de mercaderías,
aglomeraciones de pan palpitante,
mercados de mi barrio de Argüelles con su estatua
como un tintero pálido entre las merluzas:
el aceite llegaba a las cucharas,
un profundo latido
de pies y manos llenaba las calles,
metros, litros, esencia
aguda de la vida,
pescados hacinados,
contextura de techos con sol frío en el cual
la flecha se fatiga,
delirante marfil fino de las patatas,
tomates repetidos hasta el mar.
Y una mañana todo estaba ardiendo
y una mañana las hogueras
salían de la tierra
devorando seres,
y desde entonces fuego,
pólvora desde entonces,
y desde entonces sangre.
Bandidos con aviones y con moros,
bandidos con sortijas y duquesas,
bandidos con frailes negros bendiciendo
venían por el cielo a matar niños,
y por las calles la sangre de los niños
corría simplemente, como sangre de niños.
Chacales que el chacal rechazaría,
piedras que el cardo seco mordería escupiendo,
víboras que las víboras odiaran!
Frente a vosotros he visto la sangre
de España levantarse
para ahogaros en una sola ola
de orgullo y de cuchillos!
Generales
traidores:
mirad mi casa muerta,
mirad España rota:
pero de cada casa muerta sale metal ardiendo
en vez de flores,
pero de cada hueco de España
sale España,
pero de cada niño muerto sale un fusil con ojos,
pero de cada crimen nacen balas
que os hallarán un día el sitio
del corazón.
Preguntaréis por qué su poesía
no nos habla del sueño, de las hojas,
de los grandes volcanes de su país natal?
Venid a ver la sangre por las calles
venid a ver
la sangré por las calles,
venid a ver la sangre
por las calles!
1.6k
Rafael quer poesia
queria
Rafael quer mulher
filofagia
Rafael ia
revel
para onde, Rafael?
fobia
mania
vagabunda teimosia
sentia!
agora, qual travessia?
será que seria?
a ver...
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 1:10 AM UTC
Deep within all of us lies an impeccable source of strength...a strength of which we are unaware and sometimes it takes an adverse and hopeless circumstance to draw it out....and once we discover it...we will realize that no goal is too big and no path is impossible...if we have the stomach for a fight and the will to learn and improve then virtually nothing is unachievable....Roger Federer winning his 18th slam at the age of 35 and Rafael Nadal winning his tenth French Open at age 31 is an inspiration to me...the fact that these legends did not give up and were ready to keep working and fight it out..has taught me one valuable lesson...even when you're going through a prolonged phase of failures never ever feel demotivated...keep your hopes up and believe in yourself...you will taste success again.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
Kamau Brathwaite wrote
That "the hurricane doesn't roar in pentameters"
And I really believed it could be true
That Caribbean hurricanes had their own cadences, their own dances :
Ida was reggae, Allen was merengue Brigitte was gwoka
David was cha cha cha and Edith was kadans rampa and Dorian calypso
All dactyls hatched instead of iambic pentameters
Out of each island Zeus 's head
Until i met the still eye of Hurricane Muse.
Muse was her nickname
Her real name was Shar
Named after shark and share and shear
and sharon,
Named after a calypso rose
Fearless except for lizards, a rose of tiny thorns
With a taste of a stormy black coffee
Born to a dragon of Jade and a white *** tigress
In the midst of the 1961
hurricane season.
Shar has the S of Sébastien Sally Sam Shary Sean and Sara
The H of Humberto Hanna Henri Hermine Harold and Hélène
The A of Andrea Arthur Ana Alex Arlene and Alberto
And the R of Rebecca René Rose Richard Rina and Rafael
And she dances not only calypso
And quadrille and zouk
But a mix as well of Salsa Hustle Affranchi and Reggae
In iambic pentameters
While she gently paints fearless green lizards
Having her five iambs of coffee
First thing in the unstressed and stressed morning
Before she even opens the syllables of her still Muse eye.
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 3:23 AM UTC
Last night we shared a rock in the sand. We sat close, sipping off a large bottle of red wine. Watching the silver silhouette of the waves and the dance of the moonshine in the current, we passed the bottle back and forth and drank. In silence we were mesmerized. The moons reflection played there in the surf from someplace beyond the water, within it, vanishing and re-lighting and then vanishing again, like a game of sparks, of white hot fireworks, winking for us between each rise and fall of the waves. She was lost in the beauty of it and I was beside her lost all the same in its beauty and the beauty of the moment. The wine warmed my cheeks from the cool autumn breeze riding in onto the shore. She rested her head on my shoulder. All night long as we held the nakedness of one another, our figures tessellated beneath the sheets, I dreamt of the waves and the moonshine-sparks and her hair on the slope of my neck. I dreamt of it all the next day. I write these words with the dream still fresh in my imagination. I am still dreaming of it; of her and the moonshine in the waves and the shape of her body flush against mine in the sheets and the softness of her skin and I cannot remember the moment before I fell asleep there but I can remember awakening and she was in my arms in the morning. My hands felt every curve of her flesh. I held the kiss, like one holds back tears, and then I kissed her. She moaned and squeezed my hand in hers and slightly lifted a corner of her lips. I fell back asleep. Now, for eternity, I shall be cleansed each time this dream returns, and left wondering at a curious emptiness when it falls away, until it washes over me again. Such is the way she comes and goes – a dazzling display of hot white flames and sparks – more magical than the light of the sun.
(c) Rafael Alfonzo
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
Michael Farrel ardía con un ardor puro como la luz.
Sus manos enseñaban a amar los lirios
y sus sienes a desear el oro de las estrellas.
En sus ojos bullían trémulas luces oceánicas.
Sus formas eran el himno de castidad de la arcilla,
suave y fragante y musical.
Bajo sus bucles rubios, undosos y profusos,
parecían temblar las alas de un ángel.
Emiliano Atehortúa era muy sencillo
y traía una infantilidad inagotable.
Su adolescencia láctea, meliflua y floreal,
fluía por las escarpas de mi madurez
como fluye por el cielo la leche del alba.
Cuando le vi en el vano ejercicio de la vida
me pareció que me envolvía el rumor de una selva
y me inundó el corazón la virtud musical de las aguas.
Hay almas tan melódicas como si fueran ríos
o bosques en las orillas de los ríos!
Guillermo Valderrama era indolente y apasionado.
Como un licor de bajo precio,
la vida le produjo una embriaguez innoble.
Sus formas pregonaban el triunfo de una estirpe.
Había en su voz un glú-glú redentor
y su amante le llamó una vez
"el Príncipe de las hablas de agua".
Leonel Robledo era muy tímido
bajo una apariencia llena de majestad.
En el recóndito espejo de su ternura
se le reflejaba la imagen de una mujer.
Toda su fuerza era para el ensueño y la evocación.
Le vi llorar una vez por males de ausencia
y me dije: hay una tempestad en una gota de rocío,
y, sin embargo, no se conmueven los luceros...
Stello Ialadaki era armonioso, rosáceo, azulino,
como los mares de Grecia, como las islas que ellos ciñen.
Efundía del mundo algo irreal, risueño, fantástico.
Se le veía como marchando de las playas de ensueño
que rozaron las quillas de Simbad el Marino,
hacia las vagas latitudes
por donde erró Sir John de Mandeville.
Cuando le conocí tuve antojo de releer la Odisea,
y por la noche soñé en el misterio de las espigas.
¡Evanaam! ¡Evanaam!
Juan Rafael Agudelo era fuerte. Su fuerza trascendía
como los roncos ecos del monte a los pinos.
Alma laboriosa, la soledad era su ambiente necesario.
Sus ilusiones fructificaban como una floresta
oculta por los tules del "todavía-no".
Sus palabras revelaban la fuerza de la realidad,
y sus actos tenían la sencillez de un gajo de roble.
962
Exercise like Billy Blanks
Then punch it like Anthony Joshua
Meander like Lionel Messi
Drive it like Chrisriano Ronaldo
Play around like Neymar da Silver Santos
Swim a d swim like Michael Phelps
Whatever you do?
Never loose your mojo like Zlatan Ibrahimovic
Eyes on the ball like Serena Williams
Hit it hard like Rafael Nadal
Or do you prefer Tiger woods?
Until you hear her sing like Beyonce Giselle Knowles
Twerk like Cardi B
Don't stop cruising like Michael Shumacher
Except you are in a hurry to meet your ancestors
No need for aphrodisiacs
When you have natural smoothies
Above is how to keep her
Repeat these lines over again
And she'll love you forever
Feb 21, 2020
Feb 21, 2020 at 4:06 PM UTC
Zarza florida
Rosal sin vida.
Salí de mi casa, amante,
por ir al campo a buscarte.
Y en una zarza florida
hallé la cinta prendida,
de tu delantal, mi vida.
Hallé tu cinta prendida,
y más allá, mi querida,
te encontré muy mal herida
bajo del rosal, mi vida.
Zarza florida
Rosal sin vida.
Bajo del rosal sin vida.
751
Por las calles, ¿quién aquél?
¡El tonto de Rafael!
Tonto llovido del cielo,
del limbo, sin un ochavo.
Mal pollito colipavo,
sin plumas, digo, sin pelo.
¡Pío-pic!, pica, y al vuelo
todos le pican a él.
¿Quién aquél?
¡El tonto de Rafael!
Tan campante, sin carrera,
no imperial, sí tomatero,
grillo tomatero, pero
sin tomate en la grillera.
Canario de la fresquera,
no de alcoba o mirabel.
¿Quién aquél?
¡El tonto de Rafael!
Tontaina tonto del higo,
rodando por las esquinas
bolas, bolindres, pamplinas
y pimientos que no digo.
Mas nunca falta un amigo
que le mendigue un clavel.
¿Quién aquél?
¡El tonto de Rafael!
Patos con gafas, en fila,
lo raptarán tontamente
en la berlina inconsciente
de San Jinojito el lila.
¿Qué runrún, qué retahíla
sube el cretino eco fiel?
¡Oh, oh, pero si es aquél
el tonto de Rafael!
780
Cristo dijo que allí donde nos reuniésemos en su nombre, estaría Él en medio de nosotros. No es, pues, extraño que aquella noche misteriosa en que hablábamos de Él con unción cordial, de su inmensa alma diáfana, de su ternura grande como el universo, de su espíritu de sacrificio incomparable, del sabor místico de su caridad, que nos penetra y nos envuelve, Él se presentara de pronto, suavemente, en el corro.
Lejos de sorprendernos, su aparición divina nos pareció natural. Quizá no se trataba propiamente de una aparición; más bien le sentíamos dentro de nosotros; pero la realidad de su presencia era absoluta, imponente, superior a toda convicción.
En vez de turbarnos, experimentamos todos un bienestar infinito.
Cristo nos bendijo y, sonriéndonos, con aquella indecible sonrisa, nos preguntó:
-¿Qué deseáis que os dé antes de volver al padre?
-Señor -dijo Rafael-, deseo que me perdones mis pecados.
-Perdonados están -respondió Jesús, siempre sonriendo.
-Yo, Señor -dijo Gabriel-, ansío estar contigo...
-Pronto estarás -replicó Cristo amorosamente-. Y tú -me preguntó-, ¿qué quieres, hijo?
Iba a decirte algo de mi muerta; pero no sé por qué, al ver la expresión divina de su rostro, comprendí que no era preciso decirle nada; que los muertos estaban en paz en su seno, junto a su corazón, y que todas las cosas que sucedían eran paternalmente dispuestas o reparadas.
-Qué anhelas, hijo? -repitió Jesús, y yo
respondí:
-Señor, ¿qué puedo anhelar, si todo está bien? Yo sólo deseo que se haga en mí tu voluntad...
Cristo me miró con ternura (¡qué mirada de éxtasis!); pasó su mano translúcida por mis cabellos...
Después se alejó sonriendo, como había venido.
765
Rafael was deaf.
Those colors were only
Depth shadows
He heard
When his brushes
Sang quietly
Every morning.
Caravaggio was mute.
And thus he
Could not
Sing along
With Rafael's brushes
On those
Oily mornings.
Funny how their paintings sing to us.
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 7:46 AM UTC
for John, it came with
the raucous roar of crowds when he scored
the winning touchdown; for Willie,
when he drove in the final run
for Paul, it came when he charged
a *** bunker on a chunk of rock from hell
he heard no applause--only the rat-tat-tat
of the gun that mowed him down
for Anna, it came with no
sound and fury; only a gentle thank you kiss
from her girl who told her she had been
the best mother in the world
for Rafael, his final hurrah was humble:
a smile from the lady who handed him his last check
after he mopped his last floor, cleaned his final
porcelain bowl, after a patient half century
for me, I don't know when it will be...
perhaps it occurred long ago, in an arena
or on a field I didn't recognize as a place of honor
or perchance tomorrow, when I learn to die
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 12:33 PM UTC
Why is it easy to put on the pounds
But so **** hard to lose?
It's always a breeze to pass on the peas,
But ice cream is hard to refuse.
Often we catch ourselves driving too fast;
Are we ever driving too slow?
Our brains are less like a Rafael
And more like a Vincent van Gogh.
Time plods along when we're waiting in line
But races when we're having fun.
As hard as we try to stick to a budget,
There's usually cost overrun!
Medical costs are so Brobdingnagian;
Why can't they be Lilliputian?
It's easy to make but tough to keep
A New Year's resolution.
Doesn't it also seem easy to sink
Yet hard to stay afloat?
Finding the exact words is a challenge;
It's a cinch to misquote.
Love--it seems--should be so simple.
Why is there so much hate?
Being early is usually good,
But sometimes you want to be late.
Life's little inconsistencies:
Always a daily test…
All we can do is go with the flow
And try to do our best.
- by Bob B
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
the young lad from Oz
and the old pro from Spain
shall do battle on
the center court's domain
us Australians hope
that Nick can knock Nadal over
what a triumph
that will be on British clover
the pundits say the lad
has enough fire power
to wear the pro down
and make him cower
serving shall be the key
to the outcome of the match
everyone knows
that it must be up to scratch
Nadal shall have to use
every bit of his armory
to keep the lad
from claiming a great victory
the duel between
the two men shall be riveting
so I'll get seated in front of the telly
to start watching
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
Works, shifting hours and
contemporary sanity, laterals
of an old
establishment barely hears
the sound of the siren
A courtesy call for the
undeserving folks in expensive
suits; I say
I-Fuck-You-For-You-Fucked-Us
Mothers, when they hear their sons’
pockets empty they
cut 1/4 of their flesh:
We’ll restore you back to your
youthful glow with our 20’s to 40’s
Fathers who lost their will to provide:
Do good in the afterlife,
we’ll ring the church bells for you
Yellow-sulfur stomachs in the streets,
in the slums, near the Malacañang,
who did you vote? Was it worth it?
Those untouchable ‘iglesia ni manalo’
it takes someone who has totally nothing to lose
to take your fancy states down
with a gun.
The real saviors are the cigarette retailers
they keep everyone sane, helps those in need
keep their minds on the ground, away from
the commas and the commas and the commas.
All this, a notion. Notion that has nothing to do
with, no connection with, doesn’t exist to, irrelevant to,
rich kids who call themselves ‘cool kids’
and
self-proclaimed leaders who leads masses with lies
through a microphone
religious cults that mistook money for god (is there a god?)
human resources personnel who desperately
needs to die
bosses who just don’t give a ****
presidents who just don’t give a ****
policemen who just don’t give a ****
people who just don’t give a ****
substantial earners who just don’t give a ****
leeches who just don’t give a ****
you don’t give a ****
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
The Phoenician explained the contents of the letter
Rose through the sand, should have brought sophisticated research
Castles near Alexandria breathed through the Rafael among many a patrons' painting
Icarus falls leisurely on my mind, except the wings look like hot wax
Measured by affluence, wandered the battlefield
Nevermind the clothes, and the shelter was in abundance
In my mind, it would probably be romantic and precarious
Closer to my eyes, the labyrinth unfolded
Brushing past crowds serenaded in my broken memory
Daedalus, I need you to heed my tears right now
Wipe the ink from the blood and sweat of invention
Miserable in your powerful intellect, Minos' knights bring death
Icarus never appalled me, paled in comparison to the living
An old rhyme followed the time in memoriam of my brother Icarus
Timeo danaos et dona ferentes
Break the statue, and find your favoritism in Apollo
Melt like the ephemeral wind
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 3:45 PM UTC
"Being famous for being famous doesn't give anything.It doesn't mean anything.It is nice and satisfying if you earned it for doing well, and not just on court.The real success is having friends, having a family, caring for them and feel loved by the people—the public is very important, but what is more important is to feel loved by those who are around you."
---Rafael Nadal(One of the greatest tennis players of all time)
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 2:34 AM UTC
The Phoenician explained the contents of the letter
Rose through the sand, should have brought sophisticated research
Castles near Alexandria breathed through the Rafael among many a patrons' painting
Icarus falls leisurely on my mind, except the wings look like hot wax
Measured by affluence, wandered the battlefield
Nevermind the clothes, and the shelter was in abundance
In my mind, it would probably be romantic and precarious
Closer to my eyes, the labyrinth unfolded
Brushing past crowds serenaded in my broken memory
Daedalus, I need you to heed my tears right now
Wipe the ink from the blood and sweat of invention
Miserable in your powerful intellect, Minos' knights bring death
Icarus never appalled me, paled in comparison to the living
An old rhyme followed the time in memoriam of my brother Icarus
Beware of Greeks bearing gifts
Break the statue, and find your favoritism in Apollo
Melt like the ephemeral wind
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 1:55 PM UTC
Coches cerrados llegaban
a las orillas de juncos
donde las ondas alisan
romano torso desnudo.
Coches que el Guadalquivir
tiende en su cristal maduro,
entre láminas de flores
y resonancias de nublos.
Los niños tejen y cantan
el desengaño del mundo,
cerca de los viejos coches
perdidos en el nocturno.
Pero Córdoba no tiembla
bajo el misterio confuso,
pues si la sombra levanta
la arquitectura del humo,
un pie de mármol afirma
su casto fulgor enjuto.
Pétalos de lata débil
recaman los grises puros
de la brisa, desplegada
sobre los arcos de triunfo.
Y mientras el puente sopla
diez rumores de Neptuno,
vendedores de tabaco
huyen por el roto muro.
Un solo pez en el agua
que a las dos Córdobas junta:
Blanda Córdoba de juncos.
Córdoba de arquitectura.
Niños de cara impasible
en la orilla se desnudan,
aprendices de Tobías
y Merlines de cintura,
para fastidiar al pez
en irónica pregunta
si quiere flores de vino
o saltos de media luna.
Pero el pez, que dora el agua
y los mármoles enluta,
les da lección y equilibrio
de solitaria columna.
El Arcángel aljamiado
de lentejuelas oscuras,
en el mitin de las ondas
buscaba rumor y cuna.
Un solo pez en el agua.
Dos Córdobas de hermosura.
Córdoba quebrada en chorros.
Celeste Córdoba enjuta.
492
Stone | Water | Wine
You | Truth | Fire
Physical | Consciousness | Spirit
The good book if read properly focuses its allegory of
Symbols and signs saying one thing while meaning another.
The word stone always meaning - you or the physical.
The word water standing in for truth and consciousness.
The word wine meaning the fire or of the spirit.
The trinity thus is – stone, water and wine
In every biblical representation of each.
How do I know, what do you know and what does it matter?
Watch this…
In the ancient document we often find the use of the word Israel.
But what was Israel and where was it?
Was it a real place?
Israel is not a Jewish word.
Is | Ra | El
Egyptian | Egyptian | Egyptian
God | God | God
Isis | Ra | Within
Female | Male | Both Male and Female
****** Spirit | Mind | Ang-el (do you see the El)***
That’s why all the angels are named, Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, Rafael and
All the other El versions of the angelic allegorical texts.
The word Israel when spoken of in the gospel has nothing to do with
A race of people or a specific nationality of people.
It means that when the spirit and mind are together
They produce the power that is within.
So when someone asks you “Why is God prejudice – or why God
Has chosen people,” and they truly want to know what all this is about
You can now safely tell them that the Apostle Paul said that
A Jew is not a Jew outwardly but instead a Jew is one inwardly.
Now I am going to let you ponder on these teachings for a bit.
Go read your bible and when you see the word rock or stone
Think of it as a symbol for you or for the physical aspects of life.
When you see the word water see it as truth or the conscious aspect of truth.
When you see the word wine understand that it means fire and spirit.
The bible is not only transcribed by men of ancient times
But they had a knowledge that has become mired and confused
By time and by countless belief systems – these people had an
Advanced knowledge of the cosmos and the inner workings
Of everything.
Don’t believe me?
Jews are known in the bible as the children of light.
And what is God? The bible says that God is light.
Look it up. His name is what? His name is I am that I am.
God is not human – it is written. Look it up.
And in Numbers Chapter 2 and verse 9 we hear
That the number of the tribe of Judah was 186,400.
And what is that number, does it mean anything to you?
186,400 is the exact speed per second of light and here we have it
In the old testament referring to the Jews – the children of light.
How could they have possibly known that exact figure?
Oh we’ve just begun. The knowledge held within the pages of
This book is fascinating beyond belief – if we would just
Get through the false teachings that the Bible is literal
And learn to read the stories and their allegorical teachings
Through the lens of a pure heart and mind not jaded
By conviction or guilt or all the traditional ties.
Instead listen to Jacob tell you what is inside of you:
Genesis 32:30 - Jacob then named the place Peniel,
'For I have seen God face to face,' he said,
'And I have been delivered.'
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 10:05 AM UTC
Hiring For Investment Banking roles
Is like wading through a swamp
At first, it may appear as easy
As winning the French Open is, for Rafael Nadal
Since there is a decent pool of candidates
Waiting to be tapped into
However, as the old cliche goes
Appearances are deceptive
There are numerous pits
In the form of various factors
That influence the interest levels
Of each and every candidate
Such as, the job location
The salary
The bonus payout
The appraisal cycle
The scope of the role
The reporting manager
The brand
And most importantly, the work culture
It requires a truckload of skills
As well as a fat lot of luck
To maneuver your way through the swamp
And successfully avoid these pits
Which lurk in the shadows
Waiting to catch you unawares
One slip-up, and you may lose a candidate
Every time that happens
You'll find yourself sinking into the mud
Slowly, but surely
The harder you try to escape
The deeper you end up sinking
By the time you find that "perfect candidate"
Your face is all that will remain above the surface
And the only thing that can save you
Is the client uttering the magic words
"This position is now on hold"
Jul 15, 2022
Jul 15, 2022 at 12:38 PM UTC
I look like Raffa
(Rafael Benítez, Spanish football manager)
no ****
you put a picture of him next to me
we look like long lost twins
but people don't seem to get
I'm not actually him
vilified by van drivers
builders on scaffolds
through open car windows
"oi Raffa you *****
they don't seem to understand
he wouldn't be walking
carrying shopping
down the high street
I also look a bit like Peter Sutcliffe
but we'll leave it there I think
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 5:04 AM UTC