"repute" poems
It was like the room was mute
After our boundary dispute
You are a person of repute
Taking over my pursuit
I wish you'd not commute
but everything is so quiet
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
If you think that
I will wait in the shadows
keeping my head down
my organs, my time
at your disposal
You are blind
In the worst kind of way
I have been the trick
up the sleeve of
dishonest players
enough to know
that darkness well
penetrating only the physical
powerless against the invisible
I refuse to be kept
as a secret, a guilty pleasure
no more will you
take me behind closed doors
pretending not to be
intoxicated in front
of your friends
You will never see
me on my knees
for your sins
Your sinister sermon
no longer whispers
in my ear
And the weight of
your demons
Has lifted from my shoulder
The mistress of your cruelty
no more,
The empire we ruled
The castle we shared
All ruins now
Tales of our torrid
love affair will be
greatly misremembered
You, wearing my crown
And I, wearing your ill repute.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
I like slandering your makeshift forceps.
I hammer you down with watery *** and then spill
the remainder on the couch. Yarg! A diamond’s
worth at least a small intestine, and you
are worth whatever’s left over after night
has upended itself, poured sideways out of its
shellacked crawlspace, and turned the basement sour.
There are remnants of you in the park,
some red stain by the baseball field where,
if you’ll remember, you watched little leaguers
build teamwork, and faint splotches on tree bark
from your lactations which, if you’ll remember, happened
every morning. I whisper your godforsaken name
and am slapped in the head. The children cry
when I smile. I cry when the children smile. Good
heavens. I forbid you from not entering my corridor,
even as I set up a barricade. I like my water scalding,
my passion chilled, and I like you in easy-to-
swallow doses. I like you in my eggs.
Ditto the faucet, keyboard, the occasional lily,
but do not mess with my pearls. I mumble of apodictic
meadows while I sleep. What can I say?
I do not mumble of unclogging your bathtub,
which has a certain foul repute, and has grown
heavy and ugly with your hair, which is everywhere,
just as you are everywhere, and wherever, and so
********* hidden it’s not funny anymore, we stopped
looking some millennia ago, after scouring the drainpipes,
kicking down your doors, dissecting your mattress,
speculating about your burial site, etcetera, and even so
we have not been really looking all this time, have we,
just blaring your name through the speakers,
putting wrong numbers on our calling cards, leaving
uncooked meat out on the back porch as if you were
a raccoon, oh, or a lion, which you are not, or not
quite, though, as the books say, you have honey
in your stomach, and if you could but be
ripped open we would taste and see.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 8:21 PM UTC
Panic's jewel...
Or, is that pride?
Poor relenting, to you...
The question of irony on your side?
Places and things, together
With a real appetite for life's regency
So, sophisticated, the liberty of kind to bother
An open air, of a wish that found deception's history...?
My undone mercy, my marveling hope
Is with a ghost of a chance, the truth
In a guarded fist, to promise a shared cope?
If any pout of lore, is a wish that sought your youth...
I will follow...
Despairing consciences, with a blinking stare at honor
That defies home for one thing only, that is to harrow...
The dread in a tear, found for a salt that told a story:
Once upon a time, and the tenderness of couth
To wake upon a simple bed, the taste of harmony in league
With itself, the role of unity and vice, come the riches of who
Is a part defined, and who is a smarter focus divine, of each?
Which will the tows of remorse...
Work as we said, they have the skill's of duress to laud
And heraldry of a looming proportion, to understand the worse
The life of another lords prophet, the can and the callous odd...
Here is such, the lies or levity we fate
With a rekindled fire, for what is a stranger look, of desperation
Sincerity or since charity is a fool for itself, the world of sate
Is a kindness only a lover could afford, the very gift of intimation?
Tomorrow?
And the ides of heathen politeness, are here
To simply move forward and borrow
The truth in an order and repute, that has oneself to bless, with another's fear...?
Jun 25, 2022
Jun 25, 2022 at 1:25 AM UTC
Imprisoned by will
enslaved by a notion
I ripped my heart out
and let it sail in the ocean.
Disillusioned by segregation
a victim of seclusion
let my heart find another
and savor the taste of fusion.
Caressed by echoes
and the sounds of the gone
let the hearts strike a common note
and sing their own song.
Driven by purpose
fueled with youth
let my heart serve the time
let it live to its repute.
Distracted by the world
Soothed by deceit
Let my heart overcome
the bitter thorns of defeat
Drenched in colors of present
showered in shades of yesterday
Let my heart disregard time and
live tomorrow in a better way.
Worn out by the distance
overcome by remorse
let my heart return
only to find burned doors.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 5:31 AM UTC
Corina Junghiatu is a bilingual poet/writer hailing from Romania. She holds a Master Degree in Philology and Phychopedagogy and likewise she graduated from The Faculty of Letters and Philosophy in Bucharest. She speaks five foreign languages.
Corina has written and publishing two books of poetry: „Exile in the light” and „The ritual of a Sunrise”. She is Administrator and Publication Coordinator of Motivational Strips, editor of "Bharath Vision" website, and Chief Advisor of World Nations Writers' Union Kazakhstan. Corina has won many awards from international institutions of repute, for poetry.
Recently, Corina Junghiatu, together with 350 poets and writers from 80 countries, received a certificate of appreciation for her entire literary activity, on the occasion of the 74th anniversary of the Independence Day of the Republic of India. This certificate was was handed by the famous writer Shiju H. Pallithazheth the Founder of Motivational Strips, World's Most Active Writers Forum and Padma Shree Dr. Vishnu Pandya, President of Gujarat Sahitya Akademy, a government institution of the state of Gujarat (India).
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 10:45 AM UTC
Then dark with dripping blood it gave a howl
and cried again: 'Our damaged branches ache!
Your pillage maims me! Can't you feel at all?
We who were men are now this barren brake.
You'd grant us your respect and stay your hand
were we a thicket not of souls but snakes.'
As wood still green starts burning at one end
and from its unlit end the burning stick
drips sap, and hisses with escaping wind,
so from the broken stump there oozed a mix
of words and blood: a frothy babbling gore.
I dropped the branch. My fear had made me sick.
'Poor wounded soul, could he have grasped before,'
my sage replied, 'what now he sees is true,
and blindly trusted in poetic lore,
then he need not have so insulted you.
But as there was no other way to learn
I urged him to a test that grieved me too.
Tell us who you were, that he, in turn,
can set your honor freshly back in style
among those he will teach when he returns.'
The trunk: 'Your speech, by raising hope that I'll
regain repute, makes words arise in me.
I mean to talk, if you will stay a while:
I was the one entrusted with the keys
to Federigo's mind, and it was sweet
to share his thought and guard his strategy
for noble ventures secret in my keep —
so faithfully I filled this glorious post,
I gladly sacrificed my health and sleep...'
2.7k
Once upon a time, there was me:
A simpleton of no account,
A dunderhead by word of mouth,
An addle-pate, a cracking crock,
A crazy who deserved a lock.
Not pretty, brainy, or well-bred,
Bespectacled, a short redhead
With hands too small and far too pink
Who’d trip or fall as soon as think.
Not many prospects, they declared
With such conviction I was scared.
But the cast was short one role,
The one who’d make the halfwit whole . . .
Once upon a time, there was you:
A lord of state, of high esteem,
The answer to each maiden’s dream,
A strong man, raven-haired, and tall?
No, not this person, not at all.
You had glasses just like me,
And freckles where your skin should be.
Your clothes were rumpled, torn and tattered
Not as though that even mattered:
You walked on set and came to me
You got down on one gawky knee
You took my pink hand in your red
And, as you fixed your glasses, said:
“I love your hands, your height, your hair,
I love you up, down, everywhere.
And I hesitate to ask you this . . .
But could I maybe have a kiss?”
And, for once, my tactless lips
Did not resort to stumbling slips;
I gave you one, I gave you two,
I gave every kiss I had to you.
Once upon a time, there was us:
Two simpletons of no repute
Two dunderheads whose names were moot:
Prince Not-So-Charming and his *****
And much as cynics tried to drench
The flames of addle-pated glee
I found in you and you in me,
As much as they enjoyed pretending,
They could not harm our happy ending.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 1:28 AM UTC
the Republican Party
have the best candidate
to run for President
on that November date
patriotic and loyal
are her glowing attributes
she'll competently lead America
with great repute
her grasp on foreign policy
is second to none
she's got a domestic agenda
which is number one
Americans will be served well
under her stewardship
they'll have an excellent person
steering the ship
the White House needs
a woman of her grace
she'll bring fresh air
to the legislative space
ballots will not be wasted
on this lady's latitude
all fifty states must vote
for her rectitude
she'll uphold the constitution
of the USA
as the forefathers meant it
to be this way
Condoleezza Rice has all
the credentials that are required
and she'll be a President
who will be admired
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
*Tears as brittle
As glass cascade lazily down
Her rosy cheeks leaving behind
Indelible outstanding imprints
They reveal a brokenness
A vulnerability that’s so
Sweet and scary almost
In equal measure
Her eyes know not the
Splendor of a radiant sparkle
They downcast and a
Shade darker than normal
Naivety meekness and innocence
Jostle unabated within her eyes bounds
But seldom if never
Do her fears see the light of day
Her eyes speak a dialect
That would mind boggle linguists
Of reasonable repute
And render them obsolete
She undoubtedly a goddess
Of pure emotion and acute sensitivity*
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
These ides have kept me thus far
Sustained, am I, eternal
By their food of self-sacrifice
The jester’s tasty wine
Imbibing insults wrought by fool’ry
Again, reciting the dirge for pride
But the ides have kept me thus far.
Despite the ru’nation
Hoist! Ye ru’nous hands
My repute in mortification
A fool by their and my demands
I see my shame, long shadow cast
In light of sobriety
Ignominy and truth of me
Divorc’d n’er they be
Still taste of cheap liquors, distilled society
But the ides have kept me thus far.
Full knowledge, have I
The disservice I do
Only time will heal the wound
To shy away, acceptance is
A lovely balm on par
My image in tatters, though brazen I be
The ides have kept me thus far
Let them laugh, for I know they do
Not to me, but within and among
I am your entertainment
The source of all your jeers
My life, a blund’ring show
I am an actor, my blight for years
A part to play, it’s pleasing though
To thrive upon your mocking and time
Comforting knowledge, that
A fixture, am I, your Thalia
The ides have kept me thus far
Erected austerity, enigmatic walls
Fortifications around me
Charged to keep the chaos in
My heart, it truly calls
I am not so noble
As the sun will attest
Know me as the ascetic,
See the shrieking eccentric,
Know me as the philosopher
See my wit pathetic,
Know what is outside is purely for show
See that is internalized, is
So ********* antithetic
Each and every time
I hide my face in shame
My pride and my name, my actions did thus mar
But I will heal, I always do
The ides have kept me thus far
This is my mantra, an empty cadence
A mist to latch on to
With every refrain of wretched debauchery
Each weekend played anew
Though I stay to bear the howl
Of my dissonant, ugly hymn
I listen to the hardened ones
Their failures but a din
I wish to change the thing I am
At least to those who know
I’ve heaved the chance to the icy mar
Onto the cracking floe
I feel the daggers of humiliation
Plucking at each stitch
I’ll just smile as though I like it
For in effect I do
But it’s becoming unbearable
The walls beginning to bow
Imperceptible, if my resolve she lasts
Though this is nothing new
But I’ll just grin and carry on, for
The ides have kept me hitherto.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
Do you learn,
how do you earn,
if you did not burn
what you do into gray
matter memory.
Memorize by rote,
by rote,
rote,
a reducing game,
I'll call it stacking,
to maximize your
gain of what you
know, I mean know
for certain,
repeated physical
and mental actions
over and over,
over and over,
and over and over,
like a martial artist, doing a kata,
till he is caught doing it in his sleep,
or his nerves are always there
ahead, waiting for him to arrive,
but do we know for certain,
anything?,
photo shopping,
auto correcting,
foolish sexting,
conspiracy theorem,
bring me to life
AWAY
with boredom just a drop of inspiration,
AWAY
with tedium just some time and some space
A WAY
and I can and will learn it all,
with peace as my covering,
peace as my covering,
as my covering,
my covering,
covering.
Honest learning is that which is
involved in dwelling, some times
easily and at others it is a crime,
and a torturous process but in this,
***
"Finally, brethren, whatever is true,
whatever is honorable, whatever is
right, whatever is pure, whatever is
lovely, whatever is of good repute,
if there is any excellence and if
anything worthy of praise,
dwell on these things. "
***
That would be
what honest learning
could be,
where do I start,
memorizing by heart,
when my is heart turning
to stone, hardening,
not fertile and not prepared
for gardening and the
planting of good seed,
use a funny voice,
if you need to memorize,
tape to a mirror in front of
your eyes, your face,
*where you do spend allot of time I might add.
but before you go forward,
I will be forward and
remind you there are better
things, on which to dwell.
©DWE082013
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
Where is the terror please in a blameless mind
Show me the pain and fears in a brimful loving heart
Find me the nightmares 'n demons in blessed slumber
Wish me the tears in pious gratitudes real and plenty
Produce a charge sheet of dark deeds and secrets hidden
Bring witnesses of a stained criminal past and stolen items
Front me a past lover with tales of **** or ****** misdeeds
Show me anybody truly implicating me in any foul deeds
Ask my betrothed of ever knowing me drunk and disabled
Dig out any associations of me with friends of ill-repute
Point a day I conducted myself disgracefully 'n disrespectfully
Stand out a neighbour I went begging and borrowing from
Twirling taunting is nowt but delusions of ****** fantasists
Nothing to do with one devoid of fears and guilt of the neurotics
Show us the happy contented one who gives time to mudslinging
Even the most basic of intelligence tells us this is an impossibility
There are nasties out there kicking a poor policewoman in the head
There are repugnant foreign Taxi-drivers prostituting teen girls about
There are hate filled Terrorist willing to **** innocents unflinching
While our deranged think school playground antics is all they're worth
These are the ones that salivate in front of computer screens
Unwashed Keyboard cowards parading malfunctioning brains
Attention and ambition lacking deficits sad subhumans waiting to be fed
How can wasted western fodders impact on my consciousness or even my subconscious
Those by their evident actions already show they lack rationality, intelligence or understanding
Inadequates whose only recourse is to showcase their inferiority in pained envy and jealousy by trying to bully
Insignificant runts who can't better themselves despite opportunities abound
Dr Livingstone come see what your children from your Great Empire has become
You told our forefathers you came from the very cradle of Civilisation
A land of freedom and great knowledge
How come now your childrens are pathetic ignorant irrational insecure deluded cowards
What to do with morons other than to pitifully toss them a morsel of our talents once a while and laugh as they feed hungrily
You gotta laugh!
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
A Greeting across, Frost the Sweetest Cake,
An Offer for this Sentient to Heal
Dipped in Oil, then Light for your Merry-Make
Another Fresh Candle for Pure Heart's feel
And bring this Bide this Motherly Salute
With Prayers and Chants spring the Brighter Days
From Foregone Moments to Sharper Repute
With her the Daughter of Outstanding Ways
Plus Four more - and the Son of his Endow
Plomb himself your King for his Business fare
Though this Pill swallowed to remove such Doubt
Knowing your Thanks be mulled as I'm aware.
Still on still, Un-Condition pleads me by
Pray this Love I carry refuse to Die.
[HAPPY BIRTHDAY, M'AM LAURA!]
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
~one more for Joel~
The “valuations” methodology taught me forty plus years ago,
now rendered valueless, and yet,
the devils remind in
humongous whispers,
confuse not price
(or reads)
with value!
To a man I never met, and now,
will not yet on this Earth,
this process, to estimate,
what a man’s worthy words
are but worth exactly,
how much???
It matters greatly,
for one has come to realize
these scattering of poems
will be my repute,
my legate in reverse,
to see me forward,
you will need to see me
in reverse.
Oct 3, 2023
Oct 3, 2023 at 9:26 PM UTC
That pen was not just
another pen like,
Was close to his heart
soothing moonlike.
He bought that pen
after paying huge cost,
That was one reason
he liked that most.
For sbowing status for
showing the fame,
What he had achieved
position and name.
Pen was a symbol for
flaunting repute,
That he was on top this
no one dispute.
It reminds him also
reminds the all,
He reached at the top
after many so fall.
But one day in office
that pride was lost.
It was that pen that he
liked the most.
He doubted in office
workers and staff,
At times in office
abruptly he laugh.
He had suspicion on
ally and friend.
Driver & sweeper too
themselves to fend.
One day in office clerk
found that pen.
Was hidden in file and
lying since then.
He wished to say sorry
and admit the guilt.
His ego but came in
his way as a hilt.
Ajay Amitabh Suman:
All Rights Reserved
Dec 25, 2021
Dec 25, 2021 at 9:13 PM UTC
I saw an old man walking by the side of the lake , he turned and whispered somethings not right ? I walk among the creatures of night , with the moon as my shelter the stars as my light I do not walk this earth anymore somethings not right , I am a ghost of many a year gone bye , stalked by women and children that cry , stuck in a cell were no light is seen , and the god I worship cast me down like a feind , I lived a life full of Ill repute , shellfish untold before now , there was no applause to my life no fairwell crowd , a lonley man stood at my grave , Lamentations and verse about this fallen brave , but I am not , nor never I find a bit of bravery a bit peice of mind , life is cruel rotten unjust to carry on is the question of must ? For who I am you lips should say this old man who's lost his day ? am no stranger for I am you , telling the tale of what life has for you . Change you'r ways or never youl find that bit of bravery that bit peice of mind .
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
Today I met...
A man with sea blue eyes shining from fiery hair
I said "you should be a pirate"
Then Effie piped "Let's turn this bus into a ship"
He mined for gold in Australia
Working 12 hour days and nights
Visiting home he found bad repute
In Coromandal's strong anti-mining activism.
He complained about the packaging
Of the tourist L&P; ice-cream he'd bought
"It should all be cardboard and wooden spoons"
The miner turned environmentalist?
Did the activists hear him out?
Behind him,
A man with eyes enclosed in triangle parentheses,
A tattoo of reminder.
- Reminder that being locked up is a waste of time, of life.
- Realization that being in that crowd caused trouble. Drugs ain't the thing. And
- Regret. It caused him to care for young minds, to teach what he had learnt.
"I was only in there for drink driving" but for two years?
He left at Paeroa College, "take care",
Not hearing our "thank you for sharing"
At our transfer we serenaded
In happy gratitude and spontaneity
The pirate watched, intrigued.
The drivers; our faithful who had driven us so far
And our newly acquainted about to shuttle us forth;
They watched
'Til ye old faithful lost faith and went on with his duty
A boy stepped off the bus
Listening shyly, hiding.
My bow slipped over out-of-tune strings
Effie's voice rang true, feeling and joy,
Hand strumming, familiar and fond.
A mess of black hair from Colorado
Complained "there's too many guns"
But was a gunsmith "For hunters... I love it"
I held a rifle once,
Scared of its kick and its bite,
A man shouldered it for me,
I pulled the trigger.
Paused. Then relief.
- The clay bird flew on,
Its demise instead the ground
It hit and crumbled.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
*Water color painting of her mindscape
visualized by an artist of repute
and its map, though not drawn on a scale
yet shows the topography and neighborhood,
gives a concrete idea to plan the conquest.
A route map to her heart, meticulously prepared
marking all shortcuts and blockages of passages,
that may lead to confusion and mix up
is an essential tool now at hand
A modern day marauder is just that
he has no time for sentiments of a pusillanimous lover
sentiments are bothersome, portend troubles in store
if logistics are right, plan is great, any peak will stoop,
But yes, the moon they say plays havoc,
love poems that knead the hearts, songs and music
too, if comes between, the project may go bonkers
the problem here is the reign of unpredictability
when love starts its gallop and emotions the other horses
just follow without rules whatsoever,
isn't it unwise trying to stop a dam breach?
Not even the dam breach software be of any help here,
no study is yet available on dissipating such passion,
dynamics of love is an unknown country altogether
no intelligence available is effective to move
against it and make the conquest certainly possible.*
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
I am Ether
and it's hard luck these days
with nobody making you famous
There is a lead cloud pregnant
with memories worse than burns
raining like errant artillery
I have to bite with my best teeth
to rewind pleasure and fossilize
painful reputations
You put murderers tattoos on my
social membrane by a diseased loop
Obviously I run like a rabbit and
backflip and rip in half the sky
Anonymity boils
Jarry shoots his ephemeral pistol
outside the theatre at fictional
Paris of your half dream
these ghosts circle your nerves
bleeding christmas sugar
gasping kerosene charisma
atop the peak of repute
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 8:10 PM UTC
Ahhh poets of an age
words and line so smooth
keeping art the focus and rage
with nothing left, too prove
Wild and free beyond repute
no cares for meanings now in vogue
playing as piper, devout astute
now and then, going pure rogue
The rebels that we know and love
not subscribing to rote or known
hands that guide, in velvet gloves
not what they hide, but shown
Heed the call my friends and scribes
remember why you're here
as each and all imbibes
the pains and scars inscribed
with all the love and yet still
all the fear
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
strange professions and true confessions from a lockdown town (4/17/20)
————————————————————————————-————-
not a great idea,
in the not-yet-dawn,
to write
a poem entitled
strange professions,
true confessions
dried stains of prior leakings
upon old ‘n yellowed linoleum,
no need for more friends,
for sure, for sure,
that’s the smart play
you see! right there
I’m professing age
old wisdom,
confessing my sorry face is
well acquainted with
floor coverings,
where even the
soles of my shoes
won’t admit they been polluted,
having stepped in rooms
of low and ill repute,
those them there,
right in here
poetry writing sites
where there ain’t no
guideposts, reminding
what’s in the heart
pretend stays in Vegas,
but what the heck,
since I’m here already,
might as well,
ready go and spill,
things you don’t
need to know but...
help the time pass
in this lockdown town,
where total silence is
the loudest sound around
wine, empty beery bottles,
bad rhymes give me up,
just before I start a hey look!
it’s a brand new
sunny rain afternoon
the governor pronounced
we all gotta be masked,
24/7 inside and out,
the women complain that it
musses hair, the men say,
who me? nah, got
nothing to say about that,
We, don’t make no con-cessions...
when you can’t see
my lips moving, or my
one good eye be winking,
means it’s likely that I’m lying
they say, I’m going
stir crazy,
not me says he,
unlike some guy who
wanted to blow up the
Alice-in Wonderland statue in
Central Park, hell,
u could look it up!
guess I coulda call this
here epistle, official “Lockdown Blues,”
but I jes heard gotta stay inside
till June Seventeen
that’s the good news,
plenty o’time to set
my affairs in order,
burn the poems nobody
needs seeing, those them
there with weirdness galore,
say no more,
you can whine, it’s fine,
no caring, no hearing,
past way the point,
where running or returning
is an option viable for nut jobs
them, with strange professions
and true confessions...
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 4:56 PM UTC
The father is the trunk standing tall and firm
Showing conviction to the young, by his example they learn.
His roots seek nourishment, he never stops to rest
His family wants for nothing because he gives his best.
He patiently endures, and meets all demands
His strength is impressive, mighty and grand.
The mother is the branches stretching her arms to hold her child
Firm and flexible, strong and mild.
Her leaves of protection give shelter from the rain
That are the tears of rejection, injustice and pain.
Her pearls of wisdom are like ripening fruit
Sweetly teaching in her great repute
This family tree gets taken for granted
So many children grow up empty handed
Even though at times they may all disagree
There is nothing more essential than the family tree.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 8:34 PM UTC
They call me Jack! A Jack the Lad
a man who likes to go out late.
I must confess that I'm a cad
and often seen in Aldegate.
Whitechapel and Spittlefield
are other locations I frequent.
Tis where I often draw my yield
and nay for that I'll not lament.
Inspired by my ill repute,
repugnant chanting of my name,
I'll seek and find a **********
commencing to secure my fame.
Reference books cannot advise
what two skilled hands can show.
Exacting cuts when I excise,
instructing where my blade doth flow.
My first, Miss Nichols, I recall,
whom blinded by the lure of coin,
into my clutches she did fall
and she, I did indeed refine.
Chapman then I did impress
with incision so demanding.
Nothing taken to excess
an ***** now made outstanding.
Stride and Eddowes in one night
but fortune demanded I should race.
Though well presented to the light,
embarrassment is my disgrace.
My final lady played the game,
Miss Kelly whom at my insistence.
She alone recoiled my fame,
my very own Piece de Resistance.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
Even the purest compassion
Has its violent edges
But only when it comes to you
I wanna hug you, I wanna kiss you
I wanna love you, I wanna **** you
Get me off this wretched unmerry-go-round
You reach out with caring gestures
A smile and maybe a frown
But you only care about yourself
All the little things you did-
So cheap, so unimaginary
You put me in a den of vices-
A house of ill repute
And still I want to flash
All my colors for you
But you’ll never see them
You see in shades of grey
Which go to procreate
My feeling blue, my red of rage
Now there’s nothing left to say except
Are you alive?
Are you alive?
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 12:40 PM UTC