"removers" poems - Hello Poetry

She is equipped with sensitive ******* and those other secret places that ladies give out as prizes to deserving guys as long as they adopt the right disguises of gods, gurus, intellectual giants, goats, children, father figures, macho brutes, sugar-daddies, supermen, seminal vessels, house-repairers, jar openers, jocks, hate objects, handy shoulders to cry on, emotional support systems, sensitive, intuitive, yet strong silent types who can also pay the bills, tall dark and handsome total strangers, toy boys, clowns, jugglers, jokers, millionaires, wood choppers, ******* removers, bottomless reservoirs of reassurance or just plain spunky studs when the moon is right. In fact, anything but woffly wimps. Oh God, no. Anything but woffly wimps. Yes, but what about stoic, steadfast SNAGS, you know, the Sensitive New Age Guys who won’t face-shift for a **** Yes, well, let's try to sum all this up here right now. I think that the woman is dripping with a brimming reservoir of luscious and sensitive resources on tap for the man who can figure out her cosmic kaleidoscope of swirling dreams and desires, which is definitely not to say she can’t be totally independent. Although please don't be confused. Friendly boy-next-door types who are handsome, aren't too hairy, who like to laugh, who have a boyish braggadocio, who are students, who appear to be intellectuals, who are not nerds, and who can **** it in the kitchen, who can be oh, so cool, who can convince a maiden that she is in distress, and is in need of rescuing, while he has a swaggering hard-on will do, too. Oooh. You devil. And if you think this poem is misogynist, misanthropic or myopic, well, I’ve been around and by now, well, I really should be panoptic because I’ve seen all the fads, and really, it’s sadly too bad about those poor old earnest SNAGS. But you know what? I don't think I understand anything, because I'm really a victim of worshiping women. I'm bedazzled and as blind as the next man, and yes, I'm just happy whenever I'm with them.

0

Jan 28, 2013

Jan 28, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC

mike-t-minehan

The Woman

She is equipped with sensitive ******* and those other secret places that ladies give out as prizes to deserving guys as long as they adopt the right disguises of gods, gurus, intellectual giants, goats, children, father figures, macho brutes, sugar-daddies, supermen, seminal vessels, house-repairers, jar openers, jocks, hate objects, handy shoulders to cry on, emotional support systems, sensitive, intuitive, yet strong silent types who can also pay the bills, tall dark and handsome total strangers, toy boys, clowns, jugglers, jokers, millionaires, wood choppers, ******* removers, bottomless reservoirs of reassurance or just plain spunky studs when the moon is right. In fact, anything but woffly wimps. Oh God, no. Anything but woffly wimps. Yes, but what about stoic, steadfast SNAGS, you know, the Sensitive New Age Guys who won’t face-shift for a **** Yes, well, let's try to sum all this up here right now. I think that the woman is dripping with a brimming reservoir of luscious and sensitive resources on tap for the man who can figure out her cosmic kaleidoscope of swirling dreams and desires, which is definitely not to say she can’t be totally independent. Although please don't be confused. Friendly boy-next-door types who are handsome, aren't too hairy, who like to laugh, who have a boyish braggadocio, who are students, who appear to be intellectuals, who are not nerds, and who can **** it in the kitchen, who can be oh, so cool, who can convince a maiden that she is in distress, and is in need of rescuing, while he has a swaggering hard-on will do, too. Oooh. You devil. And if you think this poem is misogynist, misanthropic or myopic, well, I’ve been around and by now, well, I really should be panoptic because I’ve seen all the fads, and really, it’s sadly too bad about those poor old earnest SNAGS. But you know what? I don't think I understand anything, because I'm really a victim of worshiping women. I'm bedazzled and as blind as the next man, and yes, I'm just happy whenever I'm with them.

52

Why I Always Carry Tissues To My Children: I'm laughing at myself, As I am prone to do because Why I Always Carry Tissues Is the title of a poem I write for you. There is a story here, Of parenting, and responsibilties That transcends yourself, defines me, Vis-a-vis you, then and there, and maybe now. When you were small, I took you by the hand, The cement canyons, trails & rivers of West Eighty Six Street, Together, we would ford. Periodically, as Fathers are prone to do, Your hand, from my hand, I would release So you could fall down, All on your own. It bemused me that I could see Three or four paces ahead of thee Exactly which crack, Upon which you would trip, And come crying back to me. Back-to-me. That was then. And now, Yes, no more, Back-to-me. But I always had tissues to dry your eyes And no surprise, I still do, Always will. These days, they, more likely used to dry mine, As I have forded that Styxy river, When crossed, you spend more of the day, Liking Back more, Then looking ahead. No matter, by right and tradition, It is still my mission, that when you need, when you bleed, as I know you surely shall, These pocket tissues will be there Ready, willing and able, fully capable, of snatching away your tears. **When you need, When you bleed, And you surely shall, These pockets of mine, Of tissue made, Are waiting for your tears, And you, to fill them, For without them, Their raison d'etre is unfulfilled.** These used tissues are my history book, Re the art of loving, and the arch-i-texture of life, Of tears and hearts, And concrete spills, That need knees to be complete. That is why you will find me, without fail, Ready, willing and able, holding my White Badge of Courage at the ready, Waiting patiently, for my mission to be redeemed, Missions known as parenting schemes. The scheme is clear, even if my tissues you no longer request, You will let your own babies fall n' fail, then take their tears Put them in your pocket, keep them forever wet, Like my memories of you the ones I cherish best... Perhaps a tradition We will start, Unsightly bulges in our pocket rear, Where we will store our packet of saver-saviors Removers of our dear one's fears. If we are truly wise Those tissued memories We will keep, Die among them contented, Knee-scraped deep When tears fall... 2008

0

Jul 27, 2013

Jul 27, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Why I Always Carry Tissues (2008 - the poem I love the best)

Why I Always Carry Tissues To My Children: I'm laughing at myself, As I am prone to do because Why I Always Carry Tissues Is the title of a poem I write for you. There is a story here, Of parenting, and responsibilties That transcends yourself, defines me, Vis-a-vis you, then and there, and maybe now. When you were small, I took you by the hand, The cement canyons, trails & rivers of West Eighty Six Street, Together, we would ford. Periodically, as Fathers are prone to do, Your hand, from my hand, I would release So you could fall down, All on your own. It bemused me that I could see Three or four paces ahead of thee Exactly which crack, Upon which you would trip, And come crying back to me. Back-to-me. That was then. And now, Yes, no more, Back-to-me. But I always had tissues to dry your eyes And no surprise, I still do, Always will. These days, they, more likely used to dry mine, As I have forded that Styxy river, When crossed, you spend more of the day, Liking Back more, Then looking ahead. No matter, by right and tradition, It is still my mission, that when you need, when you bleed, as I know you surely shall, These pocket tissues will be there Ready, willing and able, fully capable, of snatching away your tears. **When you need, When you bleed, And you surely shall, These pockets of mine, Of tissue made, Are waiting for your tears, And you, to fill them, For without them, Their raison d'etre is unfulfilled.** These used tissues are my history book, Re the art of loving, and the arch-i-texture of life, Of tears and hearts, And concrete spills, That need knees to be complete. That is why you will find me, without fail, Ready, willing and able, holding my White Badge of Courage at the ready, Waiting patiently, for my mission to be redeemed, Missions known as parenting schemes. The scheme is clear, even if my tissues you no longer request, You will let your own babies fall n' fail, then take their tears Put them in your pocket, keep them forever wet, Like my memories of you the ones I cherish best... Perhaps a tradition We will start, Unsightly bulges in our pocket rear, Where we will store our packet of saver-saviors Removers of our dear one's fears. If we are truly wise Those tissued memories We will keep, Die among them contented, Knee-scraped deep When tears fall... 2008

89

You are the town and we are the clock. We are the guardians of the gate in the rock. The Two. On your left and on your right In the day and in the night, We are watching you. Wiser not to ask just what has occurred To them who disobeyed our word; To those We were the whirlpool, we were the reef, We were the formal nightmare, grief And the unlucky rose. Climb up the crane, learn the sailor's words When the ships from the islands laden with birds Come in. Tell your stories of fishing and other men's wives: The expansive moments of constricted lives In the lighted inn. But do not imagine we do not know Nor that what you hide with such care won't show At a glance. Nothing is done, nothing is said, But don't make the mistake of believing us dead: I shouldn't dance. We're afraid in that case you'll have a fall. We've been watching you over the garden wall For hours. The sky is darkening like a stain, Something is going to fall like rain And it won't be flowers. When the green field comes off like a lid Revealing what was much better hid: Unpleasant. And look, behind you without a sound The woods have come up and are standing round In deadly crescent. The bolt is sliding in its groove, Outside the window is the black removers' van. And now with sudden swift emergence Come the woman in dark glasses and humpbacked surgeons And the scissors man. This might happen any day So be careful what you say Or do. Be clean, be tidy, oil the lock, Trim the garden, wind the clock, Remember the Two.

0

6.7k

W. H. Auden

The Two

You are the town and we are the clock. We are the guardians of the gate in the rock. The Two. On your left and on your right In the day and in the night, We are watching you. Wiser not to ask just what has occurred To them who disobeyed our word; To those We were the whirlpool, we were the reef, We were the formal nightmare, grief And the unlucky rose. Climb up the crane, learn the sailor's words When the ships from the islands laden with birds Come in. Tell your stories of fishing and other men's wives: The expansive moments of constricted lives In the lighted inn. But do not imagine we do not know Nor that what you hide with such care won't show At a glance. Nothing is done, nothing is said, But don't make the mistake of believing us dead: I shouldn't dance. We're afraid in that case you'll have a fall. We've been watching you over the garden wall For hours. The sky is darkening like a stain, Something is going to fall like rain And it won't be flowers. When the green field comes off like a lid Revealing what was much better hid: Unpleasant. And look, behind you without a sound The woods have come up and are standing round In deadly crescent. The bolt is sliding in its groove, Outside the window is the black removers' van. And now with sudden swift emergence Come the woman in dark glasses and humpbacked surgeons And the scissors man. This might happen any day So be careful what you say Or do. Be clean, be tidy, oil the lock, Trim the garden, wind the clock, Remember the Two.

47

What can we do once we are ordinary? Mother Teresa an ordinary nun, just a woman. Oscar Romero an ordinary cleric, just a man. The Beatles an ordinary band, just musicians. An ordinary office worker changed all of China when he stopped the tanks in Tianamen Square. An ordinary woman changed the rules about ****** harassment in the American workplace, by accident, just trying to embarrass a Supreme Court nominee. An ordinary housewife changed the world. In a peaceful way. In a non-violent way. Corazon Aquino toppled the might of the American-backed Marcos regime. We need moms and dads, teachers and technicians, people who work and people who play. Pearl divers and trash removers. We need ordinary people doing ordinary things everyday - like being a carpenter - to make our world an extraordinary place. What can we do once we are ordinary? We can save the world.

0

Jul 14, 2015

Jul 14, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC

carla-blaschka

Time for the Ordinary: Ecclesiastes 3:1

What can we do once we are ordinary? Mother Teresa an ordinary nun, just a woman. Oscar Romero an ordinary cleric, just a man. The Beatles an ordinary band, just musicians. An ordinary office worker changed all of China when he stopped the tanks in Tianamen Square. An ordinary woman changed the rules about ****** harassment in the American workplace, by accident, just trying to embarrass a Supreme Court nominee. An ordinary housewife changed the world. In a peaceful way. In a non-violent way. Corazon Aquino toppled the might of the American-backed Marcos regime. We need moms and dads, teachers and technicians, people who work and people who play. Pearl divers and trash removers. We need ordinary people doing ordinary things everyday - like being a carpenter - to make our world an extraordinary place. What can we do once we are ordinary? We can save the world.

10

Let’s face it: we’re not all George Clooney. Most of us need a little help scoring with chicks. Our dicks—the archetypal genital signal— Are hidden from sight, & ****** wagging Will get you arrested. Perhaps, pheromones may be the answer. Dr. Winifred Cutler’s Bio: (As read by Don Pardo, postmortem). “Biologist and behavioral endocrinologist Dr. Winifred Cutler was the first to establish the presence of human pheromones in 1986 when her team removed sweat from human underarms and found that only the odorless materials that contained pheromones remained.” Blessed are the Underarm Sweat Removers, A Labor cohort Soon to be SEIU smorganized . . . Organized, smorganized. | Karen Koedding, Productivity ... https://www.linkedin.com/.../organized-smorganized-karen-koe...LinkedIn Organized, smorganized. Jan 7, 2015. 209Views; 11Likes; 3Comments. Share on LinkedIn; Share on Facebook; Share on Google Plus; Share on Twitter. Ka-Ching. Ka-Ching. And Andy Stern’s suggestion, Probably the best for anyone Searching for a new mate, or Wanting to move up, Move up to a new relationship plateau, Move up to a higher class of ****** Open your nostrils. Take a deep breath. Bio continues: “Dr. Winifred Cutler Founded the Athena Institute in 1986, Selected that name Signifying the mission; Helping women increase Wisdom and skill, Relative to Their Bodies, Their Health, Their Wellbeing.” Why not a Nobel for Dr. Cutler? Testimony follows: “Pheromones magnify my mojo. I wear the love potion that makes The most gorgeous gal in the bar-- That kind of gorgeous gal, Usually out of my league— Makes her look my way. Welcome, my fingers Touch her siren shoulder. She turns, ‘What do you want?’ she asks coyly. ‘Um, want to dance?’ I manage. She grins, looks me Up and down— Mostly down— And says, “Not really.” The verdict? Apparently, the scent of pheromones is Still overpowered by nerves. Let’s face it: Women can smell fear.

0

Mar 9, 2015

Mar 9, 2015 at 4:57 PM UTC

giuseppi-martino-buonaiuto

“Dr. Winifred Cutler: One **** *****

Let’s face it: we’re not all George Clooney. Most of us need a little help scoring with chicks. Our dicks—the archetypal genital signal— Are hidden from sight, & ****** wagging Will get you arrested. Perhaps, pheromones may be the answer. Dr. Winifred Cutler’s Bio: (As read by Don Pardo, postmortem). “Biologist and behavioral endocrinologist Dr. Winifred Cutler was the first to establish the presence of human pheromones in 1986 when her team removed sweat from human underarms and found that only the odorless materials that contained pheromones remained.” Blessed are the Underarm Sweat Removers, A Labor cohort Soon to be SEIU smorganized . . . Organized, smorganized. | Karen Koedding, Productivity ... https://www.linkedin.com/.../organized-smorganized-karen-koe...LinkedIn Organized, smorganized. Jan 7, 2015. 209Views; 11Likes; 3Comments. Share on LinkedIn; Share on Facebook; Share on Google Plus; Share on Twitter. Ka-Ching. Ka-Ching. And Andy Stern’s suggestion, Probably the best for anyone Searching for a new mate, or Wanting to move up, Move up to a new relationship plateau, Move up to a higher class of ****** Open your nostrils. Take a deep breath. Bio continues: “Dr. Winifred Cutler Founded the Athena Institute in 1986, Selected that name Signifying the mission; Helping women increase Wisdom and skill, Relative to Their Bodies, Their Health, Their Wellbeing.” Why not a Nobel for Dr. Cutler? Testimony follows: “Pheromones magnify my mojo. I wear the love potion that makes The most gorgeous gal in the bar-- That kind of gorgeous gal, Usually out of my league— Makes her look my way. Welcome, my fingers Touch her siren shoulder. She turns, ‘What do you want?’ she asks coyly. ‘Um, want to dance?’ I manage. She grins, looks me Up and down— Mostly down— And says, “Not really.” The verdict? Apparently, the scent of pheromones is Still overpowered by nerves. Let’s face it: Women can smell fear.

59

https://artsofthought.com/2018/07/04/why-i-always-carry-tissues-2008-the-poem-i-love-the-best/ To My Children: I’m laughing at myself, As I am prone to do because Why I Always Carry Tissues Is the title of a poem I write for you. There is a story here, Of parenting, and responsibilties That transcends yourself, defines me, Vis-a-vis you, then and there, and maybe now. When you were small, I took you by the hand, The cement canyons, trails & rivers of West Eighty Six Street, Together, we would ford. Periodically, as Fathers are prone to do, Your hand, from my hand, I would release So you could fall down, All on your own. It bemused me that I could see Three or four paces ahead of thee Exactly which crack, Upon which you would trip, And come crying back to me. Back-to-me. That was then. And now, Yes, no more, Back-to-me. But I always had tissues to dry your eyes And no surprise, I still do, Always will. These days, they, more likely used to dry mine, As I have forded that Styxy river, When crossed, you spend more of the day, Liking Back more, Than looking ahead. No matter, by right and tradition, It is still my mission, that when! when you need, when you bleed, as I know you surely shall, These pocket tissues will be there Ready, willing and able, fully capable, of snatching away your tears. When you need, When you bleed, And you surely shall, These pockets of mine, Of tissue made, Are waiting for your tears, And you, to fill them, For without them, Their raison d’etre is unfulfilled. These used tissues are my history book, Re the art of loving, and the arch-i-texture of life, Of tears and hearts, And concrete spills, That need knees to be complete. That is why you will find me, without fail, Ready, willing and able, holding my White Badge of Courage at the ready, Waiting patiently, for my mission to be redeemed, Missions known as parenting schemes. The scheme is clear, even if my tissues you no longer request, You will let your own babies fall n’ fail, then take their tears Put them in your pocket, keep them forever wet, Like my memories of you the ones I cherish best… Perhaps a tradition We will start, Unsightly bulges in our pocket rear, Where we will store our packet of saver-saviors Removers of our dear one’s fears. If we are truly wise Those tissued memories We will keep, Die among them contented, Knee-scraped deep when! When tears fall… ©Nat Lipstadt 2008

0

Sep 13, 2019

Sep 13, 2019 at 12:05 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

the poem I love the best (2004)

https://artsofthought.com/2018/07/04/why-i-always-carry-tissues-2008-the-poem-i-love-the-best/ To My Children: I’m laughing at myself, As I am prone to do because Why I Always Carry Tissues Is the title of a poem I write for you. There is a story here, Of parenting, and responsibilties That transcends yourself, defines me, Vis-a-vis you, then and there, and maybe now. When you were small, I took you by the hand, The cement canyons, trails & rivers of West Eighty Six Street, Together, we would ford. Periodically, as Fathers are prone to do, Your hand, from my hand, I would release So you could fall down, All on your own. It bemused me that I could see Three or four paces ahead of thee Exactly which crack, Upon which you would trip, And come crying back to me. Back-to-me. That was then. And now, Yes, no more, Back-to-me. But I always had tissues to dry your eyes And no surprise, I still do, Always will. These days, they, more likely used to dry mine, As I have forded that Styxy river, When crossed, you spend more of the day, Liking Back more, Than looking ahead. No matter, by right and tradition, It is still my mission, that when! when you need, when you bleed, as I know you surely shall, These pocket tissues will be there Ready, willing and able, fully capable, of snatching away your tears. When you need, When you bleed, And you surely shall, These pockets of mine, Of tissue made, Are waiting for your tears, And you, to fill them, For without them, Their raison d’etre is unfulfilled. These used tissues are my history book, Re the art of loving, and the arch-i-texture of life, Of tears and hearts, And concrete spills, That need knees to be complete. That is why you will find me, without fail, Ready, willing and able, holding my White Badge of Courage at the ready, Waiting patiently, for my mission to be redeemed, Missions known as parenting schemes. The scheme is clear, even if my tissues you no longer request, You will let your own babies fall n’ fail, then take their tears Put them in your pocket, keep them forever wet, Like my memories of you the ones I cherish best… Perhaps a tradition We will start, Unsightly bulges in our pocket rear, Where we will store our packet of saver-saviors Removers of our dear one’s fears. If we are truly wise Those tissued memories We will keep, Die among them contented, Knee-scraped deep when! When tears fall… ©Nat Lipstadt 2008

89

I don't think I've ever been in love I've fallen, though. and by fallen I mean into a dark pit of months of agony, waiting for my phone to glow in the instant gratification of our generations definiton of "love". i'm horrible at being patient. like really. really b.a.d I've realized that if I do what I always have done : I will always get the same outcome so something obviously has to change. I need to relax and enjoy my crafts and enjoy the sun and listen to Elton John and not base all of my happiness on a member of the opposite *** thinking that a kiss from them will really fix all my problems. because will it? will it bring my brother back home and help subdue the religion that consumed him? no will it help all of the seam ripped threads on my broken heart somehow mend together again? no. If you could selfishly change three things in your life to make it perfect, what would it be? I've heard many answers: most of them being "You" "You would make my life perfect" But two weeks later with tear streaked pillows and an absence of makeup removers I need a break. I can make my own life perfect. Low expectations are better days.

0

Feb 9, 2014

Feb 9, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC

mushroomfaerie

low expectations

I don't think I've ever been in love I've fallen, though. and by fallen I mean into a dark pit of months of agony, waiting for my phone to glow in the instant gratification of our generations definiton of "love". i'm horrible at being patient. like really. really b.a.d I've realized that if I do what I always have done : I will always get the same outcome so something obviously has to change. I need to relax and enjoy my crafts and enjoy the sun and listen to Elton John and not base all of my happiness on a member of the opposite *** thinking that a kiss from them will really fix all my problems. because will it? will it bring my brother back home and help subdue the religion that consumed him? no will it help all of the seam ripped threads on my broken heart somehow mend together again? no. If you could selfishly change three things in your life to make it perfect, what would it be? I've heard many answers: most of them being "You" "You would make my life perfect" But two weeks later with tear streaked pillows and an absence of makeup removers I need a break. I can make my own life perfect. Low expectations are better days.

26

"Why does this matter?" What? What do you mean.... "Why would people be interested in this? What use would it have in real life?" I'm not sure But why should that matter? Was Einstein thinking of who would care When he thought up E=MC2 No. He wasn't. I can tell you for a fact That when he came up With his relative theory He was staring out of his window And wondering "What would happen if a man fell down Inside a rapidly falling elevator?" OK, but I get that you're trying to emphasize Why people should care about science So that the slackers in the class Might become interested In the project So I won't catalog plant species By concentrations In different areas "How will you control this?" What? What do you mean? I literally wrote out the variables. "If you can't make the conditions Exactly the same, If you can't make sure That someone could do exactly as you did, The experiment isn't viable." So, you're telling me That even though Comparing the air qualities In different places To see if any one place has inherently better air quality Is not a viable experiment Because if the wether Is so much as one degree different When someone else Tries to test it It will skew the results So severely That no one can Make heads or tails of it? Ok, I guess I'll just test stain removers on ink Because I need a midterm grade

0

Jun 3, 2016

Jun 3, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC

breeze-mist

Science Fair Requirements

"Why does this matter?" What? What do you mean.... "Why would people be interested in this? What use would it have in real life?" I'm not sure But why should that matter? Was Einstein thinking of who would care When he thought up E=MC2 No. He wasn't. I can tell you for a fact That when he came up With his relative theory He was staring out of his window And wondering "What would happen if a man fell down Inside a rapidly falling elevator?" OK, but I get that you're trying to emphasize Why people should care about science So that the slackers in the class Might become interested In the project So I won't catalog plant species By concentrations In different areas "How will you control this?" What? What do you mean? I literally wrote out the variables. "If you can't make the conditions Exactly the same, If you can't make sure That someone could do exactly as you did, The experiment isn't viable." So, you're telling me That even though Comparing the air qualities In different places To see if any one place has inherently better air quality Is not a viable experiment Because if the wether Is so much as one degree different When someone else Tries to test it It will skew the results So severely That no one can Make heads or tails of it? Ok, I guess I'll just test stain removers on ink Because I need a midterm grade

48

Shes leaves the house with a smile Shes off to a spot she hasn't been for a while Her favourite place One serene and full of grace With the whole day to waste She walks at a bohemian pace She passes under the stone arch Admires the shade of every branch As Her shoe taps the bricks with rhymth she skips She raises her head towards the sky Watching the fluffy clouds drift effortlessly up high She admires the variety of kites Red specks dancing at heights Through the clouds the warm sun glares The cherps of many birds she hears The clouds drifft over, and through the sun rays peers The hues brighten And the mood lightens She spots a lovely corner Where it looks a little warmer Between two oak trees With just the right amount of breeze She lays on her back And removers from her pack A rather curious tatted book Ones shes glad she took Her book of sketches As she draws time stretches The sun sinks low, But she has little intention to go The sky dull crimson red She adjusts her head As she takes in the glorious sight She feels full of magical might

0

Apr 19, 2015

Apr 19, 2015 at 2:21 AM UTC

Davedop

Day at the park

Shes leaves the house with a smile Shes off to a spot she hasn't been for a while Her favourite place One serene and full of grace With the whole day to waste She walks at a bohemian pace She passes under the stone arch Admires the shade of every branch As Her shoe taps the bricks with rhymth she skips She raises her head towards the sky Watching the fluffy clouds drift effortlessly up high She admires the variety of kites Red specks dancing at heights Through the clouds the warm sun glares The cherps of many birds she hears The clouds drifft over, and through the sun rays peers The hues brighten And the mood lightens She spots a lovely corner Where it looks a little warmer Between two oak trees With just the right amount of breeze She lays on her back And removers from her pack A rather curious tatted book Ones shes glad she took Her book of sketches As she draws time stretches The sun sinks low, But she has little intention to go The sky dull crimson red She adjusts her head As she takes in the glorious sight She feels full of magical might

35

Typewriter's Have my dread If random waiters? Listening for the phone, patience's lead I type like a fool See my chaste, with perception I have officially lost my cool... As a redress, for spoken introspection, we seem Care and character have their fools... More than a corrected future Few a strength, with the voice of youth Call it crass, an impunity is bred to keep curiosity? Jaded or judged words of defiance...? Solemn time, in a year's clock Share the skip, of Friday the thirteenth We have other words, to viciously mock?! Victim of heroines? A heed of suggestion, calls me... On the typewriter (which always wins...?) Where is a telephone more a friend, than dread in holy deeds; dear me... Is; your fate is with meager Toil and baffled eggs, I wearily tell Of what interim, there is, to the devil With his horns and forked tail, pursuing you from hell? They seek; gum removers And, gum without a tired eye... Are you a decency, with a misery of lovers? Should a lover sleep with you, when shoulders ask if submission is yours for a pipe? Hello, austerity My many and stultified mercy Is a role in a quieter city With a rise of mercy, to the level of heaven, where it's even mine to worry... Count me in... A hated smile, favoring nothing's eyes A patient stir of shame, to sin...? All in the way, for a devoted face to keep why...?

0

Jul 3, 2025

Jul 3, 2025 at 2:58 AM UTC

david-hilburn

Giving A Child A Reason To Hate Me? (Subway Demon's)

Typewriter's Have my dread If random waiters? Listening for the phone, patience's lead I type like a fool See my chaste, with perception I have officially lost my cool... As a redress, for spoken introspection, we seem Care and character have their fools... More than a corrected future Few a strength, with the voice of youth Call it crass, an impunity is bred to keep curiosity? Jaded or judged words of defiance...? Solemn time, in a year's clock Share the skip, of Friday the thirteenth We have other words, to viciously mock?! Victim of heroines? A heed of suggestion, calls me... On the typewriter (which always wins...?) Where is a telephone more a friend, than dread in holy deeds; dear me... Is; your fate is with meager Toil and baffled eggs, I wearily tell Of what interim, there is, to the devil With his horns and forked tail, pursuing you from hell? They seek; gum removers And, gum without a tired eye... Are you a decency, with a misery of lovers? Should a lover sleep with you, when shoulders ask if submission is yours for a pipe? Hello, austerity My many and stultified mercy Is a role in a quieter city With a rise of mercy, to the level of heaven, where it's even mine to worry... Count me in... A hated smile, favoring nothing's eyes A patient stir of shame, to sin...? All in the way, for a devoted face to keep why...?

36