"rounder" poems
poetry readings have to be some of the saddest
****** things ever,
the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies,
week after week, month after month, year
after year,
getting old together,
reading on to tiny gatherings,
still hoping their genius will be
discovered,
making tapes together, discs together,
sweating for applause
they read basically to and for
each other,
they can't find a New York publisher
or one
within miles,
but they read on and on
in the poetry holes of America,
never daunted,
never considering the possibility that
their talent might be
thin, almost invisible,
they read on and on
before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands,
their wives, their friends, the other poets
and the handful of idiots who have wandered
in
from nowhere.
I am ashamed for them,
I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other,
I am ashamed for their lisping egos,
their lack of guts.
if these are our creators,
please, please give me something else:
a drunken plumber at a bowling alley,
a prelim boy in a four rounder,
a **** guiding his horse through along the
rail,
a bartender on last call,
a waitress pouring me a coffee,
a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway,
a dog munching a dry bone,
an elephant's **** in a circus tent,
a 6 p.m. freeway crush,
the mailman telling a ***** joke
anything
anything
but
these.
7.7k
380
There is a flower that Bees prefer—
And Butterflies—desire—
To gain the Purple Democrat
The Humming Bird—aspire—
And Whatsoever Insect pass—
A Honey bear away
Proportioned to his several dearth
And her—capacity—
Her face be rounder than the Moon
And ruddier than the Gown
Or Orchis in the Pasture—
Or Rhododendron—worn—
She doth not wait for June—
Before the World be Green—
Her sturdy little Countenance
Against the Wind—be seen—
Contending with the Grass—
Near Kinsman to Herself—
For Privilege of Sod and Sun—
Sweet Litigants for Life—
And when the Hills be full—
And newer fashions blow—
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy—
Her Public—be the Noon—
Her Providence—the Sun—
Her Progress—by the Bee—proclaimed—
In sovereign—Swerveless Tune—
The Bravest—of the Host—
Surrendering—the last—
Nor even of Defeat—aware—
What cancelled by the Frost—
4k
Cherries of the night are riper
Than the cherries pluckt at noon
Gather to your fairy piper
When he pipes his magic tune:
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
Under the moon.
And you’ll be fairies soon.
In the cherry pluckt at night,
With the dew of summer swelling,
There’s a juice of pure delight,
Cool, dark, sweet, divinely smelling.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
In the moonlight.
And you’ll be fairies quite.
When I sound the fairy call,
Gather here in silent meeting,
Chin to knee on the orchard wall,
Cooled with dew and cherries eating.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter.
For the eater
When the dews fall.
And you’ll be fairies all.
3.5k
What failures
oh the failures of leaving home at seventeen
of living and thriving as a minority foreigner
of working and studying to post-grad levels
of maturing wonderfully and being up and decent
of loving and marrying and creating a good home
of no crime, no debts, not a drunk, not a player
of no stained reputation, no borrowing or theft
of being easy-going, nice and friendly, an all-rounder
what failures
the failure of being successful and capable in grace
the failure of doing so well a white neighbor burgled
the failure of saying that's not right, you're rotten thieves
the failure of standing up to bullying thieving mobs
the failure of being gangstalked and destroyed
the failure of being an educated professional black
the failure of being a solid, courageous, wholesome man
the failure of knowing you can't do wrong and get by
Ladies and Gentlemen
these are my failures
Its all there in black and white
its the failure of being a minority
In the british democracy of the Socialists
for it is greed to work hard and be successful
its a failure for blacks to aspire and do well when your white
neighbor is a drunken, welfare dependent waster and thief
And Blacks beware, for if you dare tell them to go change
you will be stalked, hounded, smeared, defamed, humiliated
harassed, bullied, slandered, sabotaged, and basically driven to
suicide or a breakdown
They manufacture Failures to reflect their own failures
They call it Trading Places and dish it out to 'Uppity' Blacks
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 7:40 AM UTC
Every breath pushed me further bobbing and blushing, rounder and tugging, seeking simply to soar. I could taste the breeze, the blue above - waiting, and as I stretched so did my smile.
But I was held unknotted only, oblivion teetering on the pinch of a thumb and forefinger. Until slowly but cynically, gasp by gasp, all was forced out, and when the moment came to go, there was nothing left to go on.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
Rose redoubt
Rose few, in the hate we fed
Rose acts, when charisma is a pout
Rose timid, with a live for all ahead
Round eyes of decorum, vice in a wandering hope
Let to take, a tryst of potential...
Long if tooth, a wholesome day to arrive with our own
Here is my naivete, and a steads sulking breeze so beautiful...
When the world is rounder for a secret asking, to fulfil...
Promise me, a livid course, a golden truth
To the wanted more, when we are a soul of will
The tone of our voice, becomes the drama and decency of accepting youth?
Sophistication in a moment alone, with the weight of the world
Seemingly not, before the needs of others, worth is a means to amends...?
And the coltish example of the future, a repose of justness so early
That a miracle in the form of a wish, is a simplicity we lend?
Tales of the reach, the romance of curious senses
And the heart of essence, we know even will...
When boding hours are to be, the callous works of a world come to ends
With a handful of what miracles were, a common where to the liberty of silence, so real
Jun 7, 2023
Jun 7, 2023 at 2:37 PM UTC
In an arcade
a couple choose an engagement ring,
through a window they peer and grin
for this is the beginning of something new.
He, the larger of the two-
tshirt clad and cool-
stares with nose against the pane.
She, the rounder of the pair-
dressed for work but doesn’t care-
looks to her lover and smiles.
In an arcade
a couple chose their engagement ring,
through the door they came out
for that was the first domino to fall.
I carry on with this coffee
and think to the day when
I’ll be in an arcade choosing a ring.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
A small one remembers
fingers taut and ***** rounded,
Smiles evened, amongst quickened hands-
Effective carrot peelers, snotty nose healers,
Heavy duty wrappers, cloaked in corporate
knowledge of dog breeds, how to clean your ears,
stain removal, vegetable purging tricks,
fairies, bus schedules on rainy days;
Full of mud pie ideas, bustled
in tidy makings of reading and feeding.
Oct 25, 2009
Oct 25, 2009 at 2:30 PM UTC
The hot boiled rice
With brown gram curry
The nutty smell of sesame
Oil shrills in hurry
Deployed on a thrice
larger rounder plate
For a boy's belly deplete.
"Can't eat this much rice!"
He shouts with a surprise.
“You can do my son sure.",
Her firm voice enssures
The boys look measures.
"The remainder you keep aside"
Her remand saves his pride.
A monthly forty rupees
Should not be pretty reason
For a lodger's liberty to please
Among two of her teen sons
Than a welling spring of kindness
A heart huge in roundness
Larger than a stainless steel plate
With a profuse heap of hot rice
The smooth boiled brown pies
Oiled with fragrance fleet.
For how he fully did feat it?
How she purely predict it?
The stomach of a young one could hold
The heap of love on a stainless steel mold.
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
We stand unrobed where daylight splits the air,
Her thighs a bramble, mine are smooth and spare.
The mirror's glare reveals what we both share:
One breast a plum, its twin a rounder pear.
Time’s cursive scrawls on skin we’ve learned to bare—
Her stretchmarks ripple, tides, my palms embrace.
No clues hide the faint silver in her hair—
My thumb traces the laugh-lines on her face.
Past phantoms fade—two clocks now beat as one.
Her skin, once chilled, now thaws beneath my sighs;
My stony silence ripens into sun;
Time-frozen hearts melt in each other's eyes.
Your mouth—a fig split ripe—now drinks my moan:
We fuse to one fierce sun, no dusk, no dawn.
Feb 8, 2025
Feb 8, 2025 at 5:19 PM UTC
in the annals of cricket
those of greatness get a mention
for what they've achieved on the wicket
these men stand head and shoulder
above the rest
their contribution
to the game
has
been written as the best
three men have inspired
younger players
in their homelands
they've accomplished
much on wickets
throughout the many cricket playing
lands
Steven Waugh(Australian Captain)
the master strategist
who had a captain's mind
replete with brilliant tactics
when he took to the pitch
the opposition teams
would quiver in their
collective boots
field placement
over deliveries
the weather conditions
all of these factors
actuated in his mind
so he could
bring an innings
of a notable kind
Sachin Tendulkar (Indian Batsman)
the king of the blade
who none can equal
in test matches
his cuts and cover drives
were worthy of an epic prequel
his style with the bat
twas magic to see
he had a prowess
of majesty
Vivian Richard (West Indies All Rounder)
he was never phased
he held his nerve
with the bat or the ball
a tradesman
who fielded what ever came at him
and in his relaxed style
chewed on a piece of gum
and demolish
the bails
with a Caribbean hum
cricket's hall of fame
that 22 yard pitch
where three greatest of the game
performances
did of fans
ever bewitch
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
He was last spotted
With his gnarled hands
making love to his pockets
maybe bearing a child
half palm
half cotton
Every so often
he’d flail the lint
from his fingernails
serrated from his spleen,
knot them up
into steely ***** of yarn
and batter the window
of his sister’s room
His knuckles may have suffered
some trauma
but it’s likely now
they speak in scars
with windbag bones
that don’t shut up
He isn’t a looker
His nose is large
and barbed
like wire
with currents
that breathe in pollen
he’s allergic to
He got inked last March
on his eighteenth
shrouding his flaxen leg hairs
in ****** red roses,
a wide mouthed skull
with an inverted cross
bludgeoning its left temple,
and the words
“Here’s to your destiny”
in all caps
He has a mop
of tow colored hair
and narrow eyes
either a robin’s egg
or air force blue
that I once piloted
He’s a well padded
five feet and nine inches
But I picture him
far rounder
You’ll never see him
well kempt
he smells of minced cattle
and marijuana
He could dissolve you
into laughter
even on unlit nights
when the moon
goes to the cleaners
and the stars
swish around
in the Laundromat
with your knickers
His grin was cloying
like syrup
until his teeth stuck together
in a wonted pout
Don’t keep your eyes peeled
You won’t find his face
on a milk carton
This boy isn’t really missing
He’s out there somewhere
studying chemistry
or law
But he isn’t here
to give me hell
anymore
So I picture his calf,
his immutable tattoo
whispering
“Here’s to your destiny”
and hope I still have one
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC
Every year on your birthday,
I make a sincere attempt..
To put into words what I feel..
To show you my content!
This year is definitely not different..
My love for you keeps growing...
Feelings overflow n emotions are in abundance...
But honestly, words are real scarce!
Yet, here I am my darling mommy....
Armed with a paper and a pen..
Trying to express how dear you are...
And that you are my everything!
My best friend, my secret keeper...
My counsellor..my teacher...
No words can express enough...
That you are my all rounder!
When days are blue and you are low,
Remember you are me and I am you...
Your strength is me...
And mine is definitely you!!
My beautiful mumma...
Flash that million dollar smile...
Because its your birthday...
And while writing this...I am all smiles..
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
Dear Body;
I know it is stupid to see photoshopped girls and want to be like them. I know it is not possible to have flawless skin and a waist that tiny. I know I am supposed to be the one that preaches "love yourself" but honestly, it is unfeasible to not want to be perfect. It's not just the models or the celebrities who are fed a carrot a day and pumped with botox, but my friends are pretty, too. I wish you were skinnier, smoother, rounder, taller, clearer, more radiant and just generally less disgusting.
I wish I could wear clothes like everyone else and feel comfortable. I wish you didn't make me feel so crap all the time. I wish I was not so ungrateful. I wish I didn't have to feel guilty every time I eat bacon. I wish chocolate was good for you. I wish you would not become damaged in elements. If you could just, I don't know, change?
Sincerely, your disappointed owner.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
looking across time
from my etheric perch
or was it a pike
as I sat on my flounder…
as I was perched on a flounder…
perched on a pike I floundered
pike perch flounder
flounder perch pike
pike flounder perch
mike’s rounder peach
like sounder greetings
tricycle ground feet
triglycerides around meat
polymorphic lounge ****
people forget
poetry is expression
silliness for its own sake
nonsensical whimsy
for laze-abouts and lollygaggers
with unicorns and dragons
nothing is more magical than language –
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
Just, how cold?
Odd, the thought of passion
Should a sky have one to hold
Forever is now to fold, a prayer lasting...
Life in a walls shadow
Circumstance, with a youth's vow
Seek, and you shall find, all and know
A heart with happiness, only before how...
The sound of love...
Harried by a salt, a cursory share
Of decency, a proud covenant
With moments to quietly care...
Curious prayer's indeed
Means with a psyche, rounder eyes
Have the sense to see it, heed
A role in heaven, where one more life...
Is our's forever, fate in the first place
Sweet about, and a whole day to dream
Came as we went, from here to infinite praise
The truth of a world, taken to seem...
May 19, 2023
May 19, 2023 at 11:02 PM UTC
I am a disappointment to my mother.
I don’t call when I’ll be coming home late. My room is wreck. I’m not in school, and I work two dead end jobs at places that don’t matter one iota to anyone in my family.
I curse. I smoke. I drink.
I’m a foul mouthed little child that can’t lose weight and sleeps around and never does what she’s told.
I’m a disappointment to my mother,
Despite the years of good behaviour. The good grades, the chaste life, the driven nature that took me half way around the world just to see if I could do it.
I stand in front of her today, still 6 inches shorter. Still rounder, still brunette. Still foul mouthed and still rebellious.
I still hug her tightly as if she’s all I’ve ever had. As if she is the only stability I’ve ever known. As if all those boyfriends who claimed they’d never leave either of us, as if all of those friends she had that I grew to love, and the pets we abandoned, and the apartments we called home, as if all of those things never mattered, or shaped me to be the distrustful little being I am today.
I still look at her like she’s all I have left. I never talk to her about stuff like that because I know it will only make her mad. Her hormonal short temper and her distrust of my judgement. I know I’m young, Mom, that’s why you should let me make my mistakes now, instead of in ten years when I’m married with children and never got to taste what being wrong in every way felt like.
I’m a disappointment to my mother. I want to have bad times. And hard times. I want to be knocked on my *** by life and barely able to get back up. She doesn’t get it.
She never will. I love her. With all that I am I will always love her but that trust that was once only reserved the only person who never left me, never deserted me and never gave up on me, that trust needs to be placed in me.
I am a disappointment to my mother because I grew up, and now I need to be a disappointment to me.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 7:18 PM UTC
They decked their bodies on the hexagonal stairway,
That primed up into the heavens of boulders.
Decked boulders,
Eyes from the dead shoulders,
That ran the dust of time and concern,
With double ambiguity;
That ran the cobwebs of melodrama,
Of Purple voids
And dainty scars,
There were just blocks.
There was no God.
No Owl.
No leaflet or Foliage.
There was just a dainty scar
That cervically opened
Into a white expanse of rugged and dusty fieldstones;
With the waves expanding their circumference
It was hard to keep the shells afloat.
Rosebuds, it looked like,
The little ***** that dug out of dung holes,
Everywhere on the white crystalline beach;
Rose budded footprints of an animaline saint.
It might just not be the little *****
Then the dust rose up.
It amalgamated into the purple haze
That became the tender feet of cupids that embedded
Their rose-budded footprints along the shore of the sea
Sea that circumference the earth;
A Chinese fishnet flew out of the foliage
That, that is drugged in a an embrace
Gently over the ocean’s tiny footprints.
The fishnet was not targeted or focused on oars
But it was the Oars
That roared an echo
That conjured a Wraith
With Ate by its side;
They roared in unison
In a screaming echo of the overdue night before.
One with desperate fledging oars,
In a senseless sea
And,
In an endless churn;
Then the sky drifted apart
To clear the grey remains,
That of a nuclear battleground
Of the last world
It skid along a steep drift
And found a purple pathway.
The pathway took enough time to open them
The dingy awls of ancient machine plates.
Entwined and unforgotten,
These had made a rounder depth into its omnipotent boulders
Than the mongrel-ic infrastructure of the present world;
Mongrels of a primitive category of potential.
The wisdom that was as ****** as
A bloated hyacinth in its first blossom;
It took a speck of a quarter wink.
Chaos followed obstruction,
And the dust jostled out in the jiffiest.
It was a strange new octopi.
With blades for pearls.
With fangs for lustre
With gigantic dilation of a black void of pupil;
How could it run through?
It phantom-ed the serpent in one plunge;
And a single spasm.
Then it exploded.
A million nebulas bristling with a zillion kind of rainbows,
Rainbows of hydrangeas in elixiric daze at the tip of each finger.
And,
Starlets.
Then it was all purple.
Cosmotic falancho on a curly fledge.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
If my words could bring you back
I'd tell the mirror that you've gone away to battle
My noble prince will return
(Though your best weapons were always cold words and cold shoulders)
I'd inscribe my name into the bindings of all your favorite books
As though some part me could find some part of you in them
I'd yell at every pillow
That couldn't manage to muffle my cries
Every song that sounded just too much like us
Every fairy tale that seemed mocked us in it's polarity
(Dear, I wish I could've spun us in gold)
Every picture we took
That now look too much like broken promises
I'd sweet talk the fridge
Into making me feel worthy of more comfort food
I guess
you always said you like them "thick"
After you told me I'd gotten rounder
I'd scribble ***** sick sorrys into the floorboards
Serenading the floors you walked
(I think they turned to water on your final gracing of them
Because now I'm falling through)
I'd tell the fractures in these walls that you were the best filler
The fractures in my chest the same
I'd speak of you in the highest regard
My bourgeoisie balance act
Always calling for a coup d'état
And maybe that's why when I see you
I'm so choked up
I gargle these words in my mouth
But they fall into a silent drone
And If my words could bring you back
I still don't know that I could say a thing
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
I have been noticing some changes recently.
My face is rounder,
My chest has expanded and my hips have widened.
My grandmother told me that during your early teenage years you get chunkier,
Then you slim down and get “womanly” curves .
I have always had “child bearing hips”
It won’t be anything unusual.
I think that’s why I have never attracted boys my age.
They think I’m fat,
But men think I’m perfect.
They tell me about how perfectly round my hips are,
How I have the tiniest waist, and biggest back end.
They love my charisma and my personality.
They love to try to figure me out.
The change hasn’t only been in my body,
I noticed that I yearn to have a family; More than an education.
I clean all the time and worry about what color to paint the walls of my living room.
Grown up things,
I usually don’t find myself worrying about.
I refuse to let my parents pay my bills.
I notice theses changes.
I don’t worry.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
heavy bags,bouncing busses n sweaty days.
Is what i called ****** school life.
Obnoxious teachers getting their ways.
Rules,regulations and continuous strife.
i had decided to stick to studies coz fun doesn't last anyway
Finish off school being invisible coz friendship is but for a few days
what i didn't know back then
Was in d end ill have these idiots i call my friends
Idiots who made me laugh wen i wanted to cry
idiots who changed my point of view making me realize
That good Friends do not get replaced
They just make their way into hearts n make their own space
m not even kidding when i say
These r professional idiots in every way
Like he__ for example cant get enough of screaming my name simply for fun
But i know that if i had to pick the sweetest concerned friend,she would b the one
she's an all rounder, amazing at everything
with her, fun is always present even while studying
People who annoy u r d ones who care most
is what i try to believe when it comes to this dost
who Even after she dies will probably haunt me as a ghost
Ni__ wont even budge if i say get lost
and great gh___ believes she's the only one who can b rude to her friends
and if anyone else dares the same,off with their heads!
A thriller movie is life according to her Highness
Her laughter echoes with pure childish innocence <3
These idiots may tease me till there's nothing left
But r also bodyguards of my deepest secrets
Their jokes n sarcasm will have u in fits
it is true i love these idiots to bits
idiots who add up to my best friends list
Idiots i consider as priceless gifts
Coz They r special in so many ways
coz They r bandages to my wounds, Brought back my lost smile
they're The 'start button' to my new life
coz They accepted me d way i was
N mostly Coz,
since my heart was no more
These guys aimed for my soul
N they got it.
:) dedicated to my frnz in IIS
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
Love means I have the power
From within
I have never known or seen or felt I had
Love means sacrificing, learning to let go
To accept and to give in
To share with her because I love her so
And to win
Through the years as we begin
To spread
More rounder and curve
So will be our love.
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 12:33 AM UTC
First, the pink lace shirt
chuckles at his drum beats then
taps out her own. So
Bold, no glance is stolen. Eyes
rounder than globes, royal blue.
Feb 6, 2010
Feb 6, 2010 at 11:33 AM UTC