"rivalries" poems
More than just kawaii desu
More than nico nico ni
And senpai noticing me
You are the reason my heart goes doki doki
More than the final rasengan
More than the last hurrah
And all the power needed for a kamehameha
You give me strength when all hope is gone
More than just friendly rivalries
More than swimming medley relays
And underdog hero clichés
You help me be the best I can be always
With Moon Prism Power
I’ll transform right before your eyes
Into a weeb like no other
You bring me joy before I even realize
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic,
plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory.
In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears!
Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories
abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased,
edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects
rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories
of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
Rivalries are an excuse for animosity to be abused.
A tradition to explain the irrational and depraved.
A justification for future insubordination
Of logical arguments by the sane.
Beasts competed with one another through physical altercations,
But we have evolved to call everyone our brother.
So why is it that we must see fighting between one another?
Why is it that we may not all show that we're lovers?
Is there something wrong with the tolerance of each other?
Whatever rationalization is created for the promotion of hatred,
Should be abolished and ashamed,
That it may show its head and become a vein for placing blame,
Is unsettling all the same.
We are all too similar, and that should not promote altercations of an individual,
Rather it should be used as a connection to the familiar.
It should be used in stride with the builder
Of peace, and a reason for all this nonsense to cease.
We have developed into adults,
and it is time to show this with amiable results.
By citing a rivalry as traditional is exactly the reason
It is sinful.
One day we may see the end of this spitefully built fence,
By breaking down the wall separating far too many of us all.
I hope it is my lifetime here, for failing to unite us,
is my deepest of fears.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
I am your scapegoat
deconstruct your rivalries
you love to hate me
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 3:35 AM UTC
Bright in the light of fire and rage,
For such a mindful soul I speak of,
With many meanings I am often misunderstood,
What will become such a power,
Without the rest to be a hand.
Woe to I to be in between,
Two rivalries above and below me,
I may burn your eyes from my sour lies,
Or sweet laughter to your ears,
Be careful of me for I am the fork of the road.
Blind you will be if you look up to me,
I am the circle in the sky and the light to your day,
The one that shines and reflects,
And the joys of children's plays,
Happiness is certainly what you see in me.
You will find me when you smell nature's air,
When only sounds of waterfalls and chirps can be heard,
A place of peace and serenity,
So do not harm me,
As surely you will miss me.
Sadness and sorrow is my time
Away you go as I fall from the sky,
But I will not leave and I'll be there by your side,
For I am essential in your life,
And there you will be with me over the edge of the line.
From me you will seek my riches,
But some of you have already stolen my wealth,
And what I have left is darkness for you to enjoy,
I will not be able to give you what your eyes will,
Unless you have given me back what was once mine.
It is my time to show you my strength in this pride,
I am one of which you will find in beauty,
And what keeps most of you sane in your chaotic life,
Do not underestimate me because I am at the bottom,
For you should know I am what keeps us standing.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
Consisting of grown, persisting as shown and unknown. Insisting entities, rivalries and sworn enemies! Deformed, forewarned, formed, informed, mourned, performed, reformed and scorned. Dates of great storms! Family tree of hate, horns and thorns. My family tree of gore, horror, more, poor and sore. Perhaps of mishaps galore. Briefly sit
back! I’ll roughly take you back… Heck! Back to a time of attack,
blacks, slacks and whacks. My family tree of practical, tactical, methodical Aztec. Some beckon and reckon in seconds. A family tree of crime, grime and rhyme. A nation of communication, dedication,
dissemination, motivation and procrastination. The splendor of sin
of my corruptive, disruptive kin. They rely more on the color of one’s
skin. My family tree of abuse and misuse that misuses and seduces! Family tree of warfare and welfare legalities, moralities and family-prodigies. Picture this scriptural twist! Some assist on a kiss. I insist
some are idealities in social technicalities. Alcoholics, diabetics,
****** exotic, fantastic, Catholics, eccentric, horrific and poetic. I persist… some gnomes, some roam, some in poems, some with no homes. My family tree of adventuresome, awesome, handsome and troublesome. My family tree of beautiful and bountiful! Some are a
handful some handicap some locally and vocally-rap. Some slap,
gift-wrap and yap! Some are snuggly, pretty, witty or ugly. In my family tree, some crippled, some with pimples, some with freckles
and some that heckle. Some belittle and little, some wrinkled and old. Some are bold and pray to the lord! Some are Frio, meaning cold we
were told. Some I say, are poor with no Amor. Some are here no more, in my family tree of Amor.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
If trees could speak,
What would they say?
Could they recount the tales
Of all who crashed
Under their boughs?
Do they keep a list—
Even make it a game—
Of how many cars pass
Per day, per week, per decade?
Do they remember
Each fallen brethren,
Move to catch them
When they fall?
Do they have rivalries
About the biggest size
Or the best patch of soil
Or the most growing seeds—
Or are they past all that
And the weeping willows
Took it upon themselves
To weep for us humans
Who distinguish between
Small insignificances?
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
Little figures of purple and of blue
The uniforms cannot hide different places: different faces
Starting friendships, rivalries and thunder races
Personifying love, and energy, and whatever is true
Like the sun, illuminating, burning bright
They move at the speed of light
We are unable to fit them in one flat form
Or to keep them lukewarm.
Even with the uniforms.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:02 AM UTC
Flecks of color amid the gray wash
Rivers once formidable now only bothersome
Steel and concrete
Voices shouting
WAKE UP! an advertising sign screams silently
Still unheard a man jangles for change on a street corner
While church doors hang wide begging charity
Hockey games and unspoken rivalries
Except on national T.V
Bike shops, bus stops
Messengers and a mail box
Highways to by ways
But no one knows the right way
Got Junk?
Emotional maybe
Bentley's, all the baggage you'll never need
Oh please, words flow in chorus
Dramatic gestures following fluid as trained actors
Therapy is the way for me
Why not with M.D degrees being handed out like fortune cookies
No real complaints until you find yourself on Dr. Fill in the blank
Listening with glazed eyes as they doles out advice like Opera
Glass half full until its pushed off the metaphorical table
But how does that make you feel?
It's all become to much now
As directed on the back packaging
Please recycle your brain matter
They may need the ad space
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 8:47 PM UTC
Leaves of brown, petals unwound
I shrivel in your awkward shadow.
Had to pluck your roots, snap your stems.
Drown you out with dirt, and other seeds.
But somehow, you spring up again.
Desperately ugly and undead.
Even Earth had to regurgitate
That unsightly, darkened head.
Stubborn smog won't turn to vapor,
Not even seasons wilt your verdure.
Rivalries rage, with out any shame.
What has been done, remains.
Apr 5, 2011
Apr 5, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
*Out of the phoenix flame, a child appeared without a name
A cursed beauty lay, without direction or a way
Brought upon mortal men, to punish and condemn
But she as pure as winter snow, and little of evil does she know
Placed on this earth to adore, with a face that sent 1000 ships to war
Oh how the gods they mock, knowing how men will flock
To them it’s just a game, a simple pleasure to watch a flame
But her, she cries at night, and fears the grandeur of the light
As a Cleopatra Canna flower grows, of mixed beauty and pose
Afraid she may be picked, and behind a window pane restrict
Oh, how shall this cursed beauty be? Perhaps a life of mystery
She hides behind a veil, and holds her tongue when needing to exhale
For the intellect and compassion sought, by anxious men whom she fought
Was lost, and fell upon deaf ears, and only expressed through her tears
How shall history perceive? As nations condemned to grieve
Through princes and prophets the same, orchestrating a dangerous game
All in effort to win her devotion, they cross the vastness of an ocean
But why, is the question that we should ask, for beauty does not last
Perhaps this is how the gods are entertained, for her beauty cannot be contained
She’s granted to suffer through this life, filled with rivalries and strife
When will she know peace? After the deaf admirers cease
A beautiful fool, would be ideal, all she has to do is kneel.
But, she chooses to walk, as those around stand and gawk
Fire born, to earth she shall return, reborn again as a fern.
And hope that in the next life she might, be left alone to enjoy the light*
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
I wish I thought people all did what I do,
I wish I thought they all noticed.
I wish I thought they all had such a wonder for humanity in someone they love.
But I don't.
I've seen proof that I am rather alone, just here,
Rather unique where I am in life.
I don't think she can find your soul.
I don't think she would love what I would.
Mostly because people just don't.
My special talent, my dubious gift,
Is to see all the terrible moments of a person's mind and heart
And love them like they're salvation.
I see beauty as a full package thing.
I love one thing, I love it all.
I love your little petty rivalries and your scars and your self destruction
Your insecurity and your ugliness
I love your carelessness and your lack of self control.
I love all the terrible things you've done,
No matter how much destruction they've caused.
I love it all as much as I love your triumphs.
It is my talent, love.
To love.
And I just don't think it comes around often,
Offered like a tribute.
Nobody wants the cost of giving a love like that,
Except me, it seems.
That is why
I just don't think she can dig down and find everything you hate in yourself
And love it like it's perfect
Without trying to fix it.
I don't think he can see your soul.
I think you picked him so he wouldn't
Because you tired of my love
Terrifying and deep
When you hated all the things I loved you for.
I understand, love,
But he doesn't want to see your mind and heart,
He doesn't want to find it all so he can love it all.
I don't think he can find your soul.
I don't think she can find your soul.
I can.
And I won't hate
A thing I see on the way.
I want your flaws tattooed on my skin
Carved into my ribs
Hard and sharp
So that I might love them from the inside.
Scary, isn't it?
I want to know you like I know myself
So that I might forgive you for every single thing
You can't forgive yourself for
And love you for every mistake
You hate yourself for
And need you for every reason
You ever thought you were useless.
I want to give that to you.
And call me crazy
If I think
That's not a really common feeling to have for somebody.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
So you're turning **** up in today's society,
The future of our new rivalries.
No longer may your boyish charm be an excuse,
no you can't always blame naivety.
Some string are meant to be untied all loose.
Keep going and doing what you have got.
Man you've worked so hard for everything to lay back and rot.
Live on each day to find your reason..
New findings will bring you happiness,
Every day is a new chance, a new season.
(est.j.r.e.)
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
Old Memories are nestled safe in the Womb of our Heritage
Growing Roots in their Nurturing vessel
Until their Birth wherein they are forgotten.
They take their Vacation in our younger children, Brothers, Sisters
Who we have Provided the Memories of our long ago Childhood
Of the Toys, the Rivalries, the Responsibilities, the doting boys, and playground cliques
Their Adorable, albeit Tiny distracted heads may forget the days of our lives, but the passion they heard in our voices will never leave them.
Just as my mothers never left mine
Tell your stories. Tell them quick, before your memories are born from you and are forgotten from this world
They are irreplaceable, precious times that no one else can ever experience themselves and they must live on as precious stories.
Kept forever within the family walls of love and care
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 4:24 PM UTC
I love sports.
I love that the worst experience isn't getting last, it's getting second.
I love that I can drift into another world when I play.
I love that my teams are all like family to me.
I love that there is an infinite outcome to every scenario in a game, and each game has hundreds of thousands of scenarios.
I love that sports a combination of wit, coordination and logic.
I love seeing my heroes smile.
In a close second I love seeing them cry, as it reinforces my idea of how much they love the game.
Most of all, I love that sports are a unity throughout the world. The rifts known as rivalries bring us closer together.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
Pick a team from the local to the ten counties away
Inherited from your father or defiant like no other
Typical football fan that likes a bit of banter
No way I’ll be the same as my brother
Be it a County or a Town, there will always be days where you’ll have to frown
From striker to the keeper, mistakes are made where someone acted the clown
But when Saturday comes that will all be forgotten
Hat-trick from the Spaniard you’re once again smitten
The rivalries increase from City to United
Yours will always be the best team well that’s what your dad said
From the Celtic to the Rangers down to the Arsenals and the Hotspurs
Trouble has brewed for years without a kick-start or a stir
And then the billionaires stepped in and made it a business
Money to be made from the working class through to the Stubhub ticket
The tout on the street is an illegal source of income
Whack on a tax and the Governments blind eye is now looking handsome
So how far can this escalate with wages and ticket price entry
The first player worth a billion is only a few years away
Stadiums that hold a capacity where nobody can actually see
You think I’m making a joke, it’s all on the horizon believe me,
It’s a way of life,
Football
JJB
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 8:25 AM UTC
air colder than it is heavy
heaviness attached to memories
of shinny games played
with friends playing like
stars players of the day.
The names changed but the
friends didn't, the rivalries,
were more than East to West,
but who was seen as the best
on ice or roadway on that day
in our surreal play.
Ball, sticks and net,
the best game yet,
on suburb roads, icy or clear,
competition was intense, no fear,
like losing once,
to win again another time, the next night.
It wasn't about victory or loss,
it took skill and staring across,
at your opponent, to make him
look away and maybe give in,
before the game began.
street lights and stars lit our arena
found on Silivia or Olivia
framed in two curbs of concrete
the game was never called on account
of rain or snow or ice, we only
paused for
when some one called,
"Car!",
a goal or to chase the ball shot out of
bounds, (you shot or touched it
last it was only fair,
you chased it down...
all the way down the street)
Of course we lost our stars
when the parents called them
in for dinner... but even then
we stayed late knowing in the
cold our plate of food would be
warm,
as these memories,
wet jeans and socks, flushed
face, fingers and toes were
sometimes colder than
the frosty distance,
the empty streets,
the orange ball frozen so
it did not bounce,
but always either
made a mark, or
made its mark,
with the echo over
our heads in the
frosty air "Ggoooaaaalllll"
or not so subtle, "he scores!"
and the run back to your
team of friends and celebrate
the celebration seen on TV
on Saturday nights.
addendum:the cracks in the street where the tar repair didn't take,
holds my memories where I can see and touch and reach into them
once again.
©DWE092013
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 9:33 PM UTC
Please hold for an obligatory moment of silence, mute in its act, wordless in its perpetration.
Place artificial flowers on outer lapels, held in place with no concentration.
Feudal rivalries resurrected for resources and land…to be ripped from the native source’s hand.
Pitiful glances at battle worn soldiers, still praising ideology projecting them as a supported saviour.
Unregretful acts lead one to question their behaviour.
Service dogs doled out in bulk, preventing an army of PTS Banners from turning Hulk.
These discretionary acts of ill will mutilate the concept of freedom, and men who fought to uphold its worth.
These incendiary pacts on parliament hill, fumigating for roaches of aspersion, are bastardizing a new world’s birth.
Carriers’ return home, housing the long departed, not to be thanked, not to be appreciated, but to be ****** for unholy, sanctified acts.
Permitted parade zone, rousing the socially guarded, to be spanked, depreciated, and deemed unworthy to stand, before coyly rectified rats
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
Dj spinning the wheels of steel
Best lyrics I spill that send thrills
Picture perfect Picasso
Make my own moves like Carlito
Move dinero black don Vito
Keep suckas in check
So stay off my grande bicho
We turn culo into closed
Casket I'm.cold heartless ********
That's my persona
Smoke more yay then T Montana
Took a bite of the forbidden monzana
Tell these fools I don't bang
With panics only frantics
Childish antics make for required carcasses
I'm bark up the wrong trees
Rivalries I love em I'm.above em
Eight levels ahead with mad bread
Hotter than a baker
Brew up the hardest thymes
The lyrical barrister call me Mr
Big stuff Cuz my peace heavy d
Mid weight like hos who can shake
They **** looser than Jello
I'm a president never let me peoples go
Modern day pharaoh with a thorough
Of wisdoms hearts full of clay
Which means I'm cruddy no fears
Show ya real tears like when the shot gun
Enters ya body goin at 200 miles per second
I'm reluctant the only one to ever bless the mic when I recite don't try to fight
Only to meet ya fall and mobster even gall
After me butnnever touch my epitome
In the safe house with my spouse
Tucked in ya blouse
Homes!! Ya minstrel cycle leakin'
Which means ya close to shakin'
Hands with the grim reaper
Puff cabbage make the biggest clouds
Now ya resting lovely open casket
Awaiting to be covered with the shroud!!
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
Be a soldier
**** men
Be a hero
Be a civilian
**** men
Be sentenced to death by THE man
No no
Let me clarify
It's okay
When the man kills the man who kills the other man
Because we can't **** the men in OUR great country
Treason
Just the men of OTHERS
Loyalty
And I think of it like sibling rivalries
Ganging up on one another
Under the same roof
Now
Let me tell you of the greatest country in the world
Settlers
Brave souls who had to evict the native Americans
Because only savages don't have guns
And resistors did die
But we won our land
(Christened in their blood)
Grabbing at it like pocketed gas station goodies
And it was easy enough
To suspend your conscience for long enough
We learned
So last week I decided to walk into the nicest house I could find and claim it mine
It didn't work
Maybe next time I'll bring my guns
And as their fear becomes my power
I don't know what I'll become
But I think Niccolo put it best
Better being feared than loved
So we point our nukes at the bad men
The ones that live in the less civilized (less american) parts
Because violence is NOT the answer, kids, but war is
Civilian
If you wish to ****
Go buy a gun
And **** yourself
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
Home we come,
To the undergrowth,
We have not won,
But we won the most,
Unlike someone,
Through the sky we coast.
I do not want to know
Why the progress is so slow.
Fires burning left and right,
And everyone who wants a fight,
It's safer to just cause some harm,
Keep in your head a red alarm,
Rivalries are everywhere,
Some as close as head and hair,
Heads in clouds just can't be arsed,
So private ones are floating past.
This place is lost, it's hostile now,
Get out now,
No longer safe, we go to ground,
This place isn't safe,
Hired guns, a life of fear,
Fight all you want,
The only thing you'll get is the fall of the city.
Three yards from the edge,
Three yards from the middle,
It may be empty now,
But just you wait until it's full,
Losses over dough and imitation.
Please,
This your last chance,
Please,
Give me what I want,
Please, I don't know what you wa-
One less person helping bring about the fall of the city.
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 5:35 PM UTC
The leaves change on the trees as children return to school. People begin to put arts and crafts on display. A hot bowl of soup and friendly visits with a neighbor make the day pass quickly. The harbors are filled with fishermen tending their nets. The tourist make one last trek to see the sights. College students have returned to halls covered with Ivy and college sports bring rivalries alive. Not long from now, there will be cold wind and the first snow. It will be time to break out the fine china to entertain and look for a Spruce or lonely Pine to decorate. All things are coming together as Autumn comes to New England again.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC