"rudely" poems
There is one thing that ought to be taught in all the colleges,
Which is that people ought to be taught not to go around always making apologies.
I don't mean the kind of apologies people make when they run over you or borrow five dollars or step on your feet,
Because I think that is sort of sweet;
No, I object to one kind of apology alone,
Which is when people spend their time and yours apologizing for everything they own.
You go to their house for a meal,
And they apologize because the anchovies aren't caviar or the partridge is veal;
They apologize privately for the crudeness of the other guests,
And they apologize publicly for their wife's housekeeping or their husband's jests;
If they give you a book by Dickens they apologize because it isn't by Scott,
And if they take you to the theater, they apologize for the acting and the dialogue and the plot;
They contain more milk of human kindness than the most capacious diary can,
But if you are from out of town they apologize for everything local and if you are a foreigner they apologize for everything American.
I dread these apologizers even as I am depicting them,
I shudder as I think of the hours that must be spend in contradicting them,
Because you are very rude if you let them emerge from an argument victorious,
And when they say something of theirs is awful, it is your duty to convince them politely that it is magnificent and glorious,
And what particularly bores me with them,
Is that half the time you have to politely contradict them when you rudely agree with them,
So I think there is one rule every host and hostess ought to keep with the comb and nail file and bicarbonate and aromatic spirits on a handy shelf,
Which is don't spoil the denouement by telling the guests everything is terrible, but let them have the thrill of finding it out for themselves.
23.7k
Babylon has fallen! Aye; but Babylon endures
Wherever human wisdom shines or human folly lures;
Where lovers lingering walk beside, and happy children play,
Is Babylon! Babylon! for ever and for aye.
The plan is rudely fashioned, the dream is unfulfilled,
Yet all is in the archetype if but a builder willed;
And Babylon is calling us, the microcosm of men,
To range her walls in harmony and lift her spires again;
The sternest walls, the proudest spires, that ever sun shone on,
Halting a space his burning race to gaze on Babylon.
Babylon has fallen! Aye; but Babylon shall stand:
The mantle of her majesty is over sea and land.
Hers is the name of challenge flung, a watchword in the fight
To grapple grim eternities and gain the old delight;
And in the word the dream is hid, and in the dream the deed,
And in the deed the mastery for those who dare to lead.
Surely her day shall come again, surely her breed be born
To urge the hope of humankind and scale the peaks of morn --
To fight as they who fought till death their ****** field upon,
And kept the gate against the Fate frowning on Babylon.
11k
I walked into a church today,
One I wanted to visit for days,
I passed by it, saw the huge doors open
Inviting me in daily, but I just didn’t go in.
I’m a Hindu by religion,
Indian by birth,
I have an older sister,
My mom and my dad obviously.
Why am I telling you this?
Well because I’m everything but
Happy, calm and sorted,
Just angry, irritated and anxious.
They fight, my mom and dad,
They love each other, or maybe they don’t,
But they fight and argue,
They don’t hold back on concern either.
They talk a lot, my sister and him,
The guy she’s seeing but not dating,
The guy she’s serious about but hasn’t met,
She’s always on the phone, sharing every bit of her life.
I entered the church,
Felt nothing, felt the same as usual,
No excitement, disappointment, nothing,
Temples don’t help either.
I love my family, they love me back,
They care and support me, a lot!
I don’t want it most of the times,
It both keeps me alive and suffocates me.
They are always there,
Standing right by me,
If not in person, then by spirit,
Always a call away.
I talk to them every day, thrice,
Twice at least, message my whereabouts,
It’s a habit, a want, a need
To let them know everything about me.
They are fighting now,
I got an email this time,
Not a phone call, nor message,
Mom lied, that she’s got her migraine.
Dad’s left the family WhatsApp group,
Blamed it on the work stress,
But I know better, we all do,
I may be the youngest, but I’m 20.
My sister’s fed up with me,
Well she’s not the only one,
I shout, scream, screech rudely,
Loudly, with no sane reason.
I know I need help,
We all do, for anger,
To love and feel loved,
But it’s never going to happen.
I am a psychology student,
I want to let the world know,
With my research that depression and anxiety,
Can’t be beat with medicines nor by expressing.
My sister’s a Human Rights student,
Who wants to help people,
Support and care for them,
You can’t, nothing will end human suffering.
We are the sole cause of it,
Human suffering, the ones with fuel,
The ones with the extinguisher,
Yet, each time we choose poorly.
My family is broken, ******* up,
It’s surviving on a thin string,
But it won’t break, ever,
We’ll all just drift apart.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
This was a hard few days filled with sadness and sometimes frustration.
I was on the defensive when I thought that I was being rudely attacked.
When all it was, was anger over something that had made you so upset.
I guess I wasn't used to having to be careful with my words & thoughts.
Well, let's forget about anything that was ever said between you and I.
I just feel happy that I can finally be fully happy because you now are.
Which means that we can both be happy together and do things now.
I was trying to help and it made me think of where we both are now.
Just thinking of the time that I've wasting not asking for permission.
I can't waste any more time that we both have together, I know that.
Babe, it's you and me, now more than it ever has been before really ever.
I want you to know that I will try to be the best for both you and me.
Wow, I've never written anything like this before now, so I'll stop now.
I guess I'm just trying to say that I'm happy and will be forever more.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
Onam Reminds
Onam reminds me of the venomous mind
That overthrew a just ,kind king ,unkind
Aryan imperialism subjugating the Dravid
The white over the black , dark apartheid
Justice of the black is unjust for the white
A matter of jealousy, dissatisfaction and fight.
For the British, Indians were raw to be refined
As Allopaths frown upon Ayurvedics as bad.
But, what is the truth? think of the covered past
Weigh evidences: from history, literature and art
Of all non-whites; really, they were and are super
In many respects, hence, awake from your stupor.
India shall not be a kite of any ruler outside
No race is Blessed to override anyone beside;
Almighty considers all equals - by their deeds
It is That, that fosters all by weighing our deeds.
When greed of man rudely jeopardizes the Nature
Nature jeopardizes human life, making a fracture.
Torrential rain or draught is a positive measure
Applied by It on earth (as earth-quake) to treasure.
Man like Vamana tries to grow and measure the earth
Other planets ,heaven or hell to exploit Nature’s wealth
As Jehovah ,the Almighty, Brahma, or Allah, the Cause
Of that Pulsation is everywhere, beware man! and pause!
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
there once was this guy named oedipus
of whom it was prophesied
that his mother he'd marry, his father he'd ****
at a place where three roads were tied.
his mother and father discovered their fate
and tried to dispose of their son
but he ended up in corinthian lands
and their efforts were all undone.
then a drunk guy ruined his happy facade
and to an oracle oedipus went
who repeated to him the dank prophesy;
he fled corinth, not taking a cent.
while on his sojourn away from his home
he encountered a party royale
which rudely pushed him off of the road,
and angered he slaughtered them all.
then from that blood soaked three-way path
he nonchalantly flew
not knowing that his father was
the man that he just slew.
he continued his journey until he reached thebes
where a sphinx held the city hostage
so oedipus solved the bird-cat's lame rhyme
and released thebes from its *******
as a reward, the people of thebes
gave oedipus their widowed queen,
unknowingly joining mother and son
in a marriage that was unclean.
after they ruled for twenty good years,
during which four children came,
a plague was induced by the sheltering of
the man by whom was slain
in searching him out, oedipus found
that the murderer was really he,
so long ago. the man he had killed
at the place where were joined roads of three.
but by finding this out, he also discovered
that his wife and his mother were one.
he gouged out his eyes after her suicide;
in her own bedroom she was hung.
as it turned out, oeddy exiled himself
but the seeds of his misery were sewn.
so he went to colonus and wandered around
and this is the end.
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 5:14 AM UTC
Beautiful Swan,
head held in high esteem
Beautiful baby
gracefully stroking down the stream
Ugly Duckling,
with head held down in the pond
Lesser creature who really
wants desperately to be the Swan
For nobody notices the inferior kind,
who cannot delight they eye
With the others ahead of the way
but can't keep up the pace it tries
Beautiful Swan rudely splashes water
in the face of the desperate Duck
Smug Swan proudly proclaims
"Too bad, Ugly Duck, you're out of luck!"
With one last fighting stroke,
Ugly Duckling catches up to push on
Ugly Duckling looks back and answers
***** you, you Beautiful Swan!"
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 6:44 AM UTC
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disablèd
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill.
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that to die, I leave my love alone.
4.7k
my mother says things about me
rudely
right in
front of me
to people that i have known
my entire life.
she tells them that i
never call
that i
don't care for her
one bit
that dad has
turned me against her
mother,
i am
five feet
away from you.
i am not
deaf.
i can hear
everything you are saying
to that poor old lady
who has no idea
why you are telling her this
she just wanted to tell you
how pretty i looked
mother
dear,
i came to give you a hug
only because
i knew that if i did
everything you just said
to that old woman
would be revealed
as a load of ****
yes mom,
for once i hugged you
and i meant it
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
If you were to ask me what boredom was, I’d tell you were boring and to stop asking stupid questions, but if you really persisted, I would tell you boredom is the tick tock on the white clock on the white wall of our English classroom.
it’s the thrill of seeing how many dried crackers you can cram into your mouth before your mouth becomes a cracked and dried desert. Boredom is
making up haikus,
Alone but not quite knowing,
How many syllables go on each line
Boredom is haikus.
Boredom is
the decapitation of innocent
grass blades as you listen to an unenthused sports teacher
the blood of your unwitting enemies splattered on your fingers.
Boredom is this boring poem
Now you were never one for boredom;
you enjoyed sitting on the grass, getting a soggy ***
you enjoyed the crunch of crackers snapping on your tongue,
you really enjoyed
and I still do not know why
making up haikus
you enjoyed the long languorous spaces between lines...
and I guess that really was just you.
But recently the silence has been getting short its rudely interrupted
by forced laughs and nervous glances from eyes that recently went shopping
You jump at every crunch or crack, scared of well…
I don’t know .
And your poetry,
Well, you barely write anymore because you just can’t seem to muster up the energy and you’re just tired and its nothing to worry about and it doesn’t matter anyway because you have an English essay due tomorrow yeah-
And the grass misses your ***
And I miss you
And there’s someone in your place, a lethargic parody, too frightened to pick up the phone, frightened by nothing at all
There’s a black hole in the shape of a friend
hidden behind the comets of comedy and asteroids of avoidance there’s a small hole
I reach in… grasping for a hand,
I catch glimpses. tufts of hair. old coffee smiles
but… nothing
so, I try again
I reach in, grasping for a hand, or even a bone
I catch glimpses of skin, hair, teeth, bone. Nothing
and each time I throw myself into the silent abyss,
batter past the comets and asteroids and reach into that dark expanse I find less and less,
I miss you
I am right outside,
whenever you’re ready to,
we can talk a bit
I’m trying my best ,
and I really care for you ,
but haikus are dumb
accept it, it’s true.
The spot of grass is waiting right where you left off,
the crackers in the tin are there just waiting to be scoffed.
if ever in that silence
you feel yourself alone
just know that in my house,
you’ve found yourself a home.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 3:53 PM UTC
*i once had a girl from poland over,
gave her the tourism of london,
a daughter of my mother's friend.*
i suffered sun stroke one day out
with her, blonde hair and all,
i was bound to feel the cold shivers,
went to a party with a school-friend
of mine and her...
i was left in a bed shivering,
he later said he didn't want to say it
but did, that they kissed...
like i didn't know the shorthand for
oral ***
now i'm drinking a beer, write
one poem weeping, another like this
one laughing prior, slapping myself in
the cheek...
two slaps to the face i didn't receive
from prostitutes **** your moral
relativism, you people only
know that theft and ****** and ****
are equal in the cauldron of einstein's
space-and-time, i accept physical
relativism, but i loath moral relativism,
it's like giving an umbrella to the man
under a champagne waterfall -
and an anorak to a man under a waterfall
of cow **** -
yep, slaps outside the brothel,
the kind women became knights' sparring partners
for the oath undertaken,
it was a practice among knights to get
a handkerchief to ease the sting later...
but when prostitutes don't slap you
for trying to sort your life in order to provide,
you sort of become two knights,
twin siamese, you slap yourself because
all that st. thomas gospel wisdom went into
sex-augmentation procedures and cheap
cancer victims with pill-for-pill profiteering...
leisurely ladies of societies made rich
by easy money, watching operas
but still preferring to notice what
their neighbours were wearing,
the peasant snobism who are more distracted
by what others wear rather than the music...
a herd of wilder-beasts could ease out more tears
at an opera than these "precious" ladies of the new
post-aristocratic society of easy money...
you drink beer, laugh, slap yourself silly on the cheeks
for more laughter... your brain
becomes a monkey in a cage gone mad
rather than turning docile...
so she came over and enjoyed my company,
spotted a fox in an alley to a surprise...
but then i got rudely told that oral *** was a kiss...
well **** me there's a cataphract -
let's ***** slap him silly so no byzantine philosopher
cared to exist.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
Daily, the conductor bellows,
"Enter with your change!"
Echoing the charge of his vocal fellows,
Then rudely disembarks passengers outside the range.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC
There is a woman I oft meet
On my journey here to home
Hey Lady!
I feign to shout.
My complexion's dark
But not my Soul.
So when you fright
On my approach
For
Goodness
Sake;
There is no need
To cross the road.
I'll feel that for a millennia,
ME
&
My kin
You so rudely
Robbing me,
Of the
opportunity,
To politely
Commune with you...
“good morning”
Then again,
You could be applying,
Learned street smarts?
Changing lanes,
Avoiding crossing paths.
This
Uptown
Downtown
Topsy-Turvy
Up-side-down
YOU'RE - SO - COOL
Pretending not to see me,
Hiding under your
Beats
Skull candy.
What sweet music
are you channeling?
Tunes contrary to Art?
Con
Artist
Purveyors
of
Catchy wicked things
Said twice?
High definition
'Stereo'
Types?
Shall we dance from a distance
Again tomorrow?
Yes of course!
For I believe,
You too have been deceived.
Hey! Ms. Concept,
R U
Thinking;
The beauty found in this deep Brown,
Predetermines fact that
I'm called
Black?
© Qwey.ku
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 5:15 AM UTC
freak of nature
"selfish" screaming in my ears
I digress violently now
Whitman bleeding out of
my ears
I cannot bow
seventeen and furious
I am the poet of the
human skin; of violins
and softly fingered clarinets
singing of the dirt under
my fingernails
self-loathing--the evil twin
of guilt--is blinding
I cannot read graphing
calculators or the
future
but both seem empty
like the box under my bed
that used to hold pieces of my
soul (or I thought it did)
now I am scattered
I would like to
hold onto your hand
(I will be less abrasive this way)
instead of purging myself
of every doubt that
has rudely accosted me
in the marrow of
my simple human
structure
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.
Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.
Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.
Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
And Blink said Week! , which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.
Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.
Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.
But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.
The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.
Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.
But presently up spoke little dog Mustard,
I'd been twice as brave if I hadn't been flustered.
And up spoke Ink and up spoke Blink,
We'd have been three times as brave, we think,
And Custard said, I quite agree
That everybody is braver than me.
Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
i am the controlled group
i expected interferon and
i got a saline injection
hepatitis c is the
monster
hiding under my skin
i've called for 300,000 favors
from faceless friends - IRC, IRBs, dietitians, physicians
to try to cheat the system
and to cheat the 4 horsemen
harbinging my own internal apocalypse
"If they don't give me anything,"
I began calmly to my wife;
"the scars on my guts will generate another
Chernobyl out of frustration;
out wanting to see my son graduate."
my white blood cell count is 3
and i will wreck this study
go to mexico
and buy as much real medicine
as i need to survive
rudely refusing the FDA's
50% miracle drug
the ingenious intravenous
sugar pill
i only have 3
white blood cells
circumventing valuable scientific knowledge
is not off the table
i will walk away in slow motion
after saving my liver from
hepatitis hellfire horse jockeys in lab coats
with the entirety of clinical research
burning behind me
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 8:02 AM UTC
When the life you live is a lie,
could you ever look up to the sky
and apologize?
But you can't and you know why.
You speak as if you are better than all.
But how could you possibly stand tall
when you are only trying to maul
many people so they will fall?
I did not like meeting you in my light,
for you're making it as dark as night.
But maybe you believe it to be your right,
to act rudely and cruelly and fight.
Have you ever considered being nice?
I heard that it was good advice.
But hey, maybe you like your vice
and i'm watching it grow out of control like lice.
I don't like watching others endure your cruelty
for they do not deserve your foolery,
or was it your lunacy?
either way, stay away from my community.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
As low as nicknames go,
I chose the worst for you,I chose this as your position,
your time,
your place to me,
even if you're my third one,
you're all I can see.
You're my third one,
the third person to make me swoon,
You're my third one,
Though the first to make me feel torturingly alive,
You're my third one,
and you know what they say,
Third time's a charm.
I still feel guilty calling you Third
When you're my first
right now,right here,
Open or close,
My eyes,
They see your cheery white teeth
in your amazing smile,
My eyes,
They stare at your confident lazy eyes
coolly seeing,hiding your emotions in it's golden brown depths,
My eyes,
They appreciate your Greek-like,straight nose,
long with strength and sharp with confidence,
My eyes,
They see your mouse-like ears,
keen to casually hear
conversations you may not seem to care.
;
My eyes,
They see your fine build,
veins running downs places,up and over your tiny muscles.
My eyes,my heart,
they don't see your personality,
they only see the cool outside shell you've built around it.
Yes,occasionally,
you let go of that cool aura,
you goof off,you laugh,you act silly
with your friends.
And I'll stand there,
not even ashamed to stare
your perfection a glare
like your sun rays bear.
You like your sports,
your music,
your Dota 2.
I want to know everything about you.
That's the sad part,isn't it?
For me at least,I don't know about you.
I DON'T KNOW (ANYTHING)ABOUT YOU
YET I'M CRAAAAAZY
For you.
Get a hold of yourself,self.
The audience aren't here for screaming.
They want sadness ,tragedy,romanticism.
But damn,I can only give you guys 2.
There's no romance but in my head,my dreams,
torturing me with false hope and implanted feelings
No sadness but in my heart,
I can't have him,
I know,
I'm slowly tearing apart.
We don't talk,we don't speak,
we look,we glance,we sometimes take a dare and stare,
but
that's the only tweak.
There's no tragedy but in the non-romantic relationship between his friend and me,
I was called a stalker,
my best friend rudely rejected for small favors,
that's a tragic crushing history.
There were chances I could've taken,
if you,my Third One still sat on the bus,
when your sister wouldn't be between us,
but day after day
It slowly became a bust.
More sadness?
Well,summer's here.
I can't see you no more,
you didn't show the last week of school or the few days before.
I admit,I'm stalking you.
But I need you to stop stalking my mind,taking over my thoughts,my vision,
making me blind.
Maybe I'll forget about you the next 2 months.
It'll be hard but I'll try.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
"To Lionel Engers-Kennedy: to the memory of Hargrave Jennings: and
to A. C. W. G. and H. E. H."
Beneath the vine tree and the fig
Where mortal cares may not intrude,
On melon and on ******* pig
Although their brains are bright and big
Banquet the Great White Brotherhood.
Among the fountains and the trees
That fringed his garden's glowing border,
At sunset walked, and, in the breeze
With his disciples, took his ease
An Adept of the Holy Order.
"My children," Said the holy man,
"Once more I'm willing to unmask me.
This is my birthday; and my plan
Is to bestow on you (I can)
Whatever favour you may ask me."
Nor curiosity nor greed
Brought these disciples to disaster;
For, being very wise indeed,
The adolescents all agreed
To ask His Secret of the Master.
With the "aplomb" and "savoir faire"
Peculiar to Eastern races,
He took the secret then and there
(What, is not lawful to declare),
And ****** it rudely in their faces.
"A filthy insult!" screamed the first;
The second smiled, "Ingenious blind!"
The youngest neither blessed nor cursed,
Contented to believe the worst -
That He had spoken all his mind!
The second earned the name of ****
The first the epithet of *****
The third, as merry as a grig,
On melon and on ******* pig
Feasts with the Great White Brotherhood.
2.9k
Step by step a kite ascends to the sky
regains memory of transcendence
of once being the echo of a cloud
sailing speedily westwards.
the kite remembers another life
and strays far beyond it's distance permitted,
when the string rudely pulls it back,controls,
the young cloud, narcissistic
still keeps it's love for the echo, in swirling
wisps of vapor as gently caressing wet touch
The lone woman who suppresses deep inside her chest,
the tumultuous waves of love and passion,
imbuing the emotion sunset spews, suddenly breaks down
the startled sea breeze is the only witness to her outburst.
the sky slipping fast in to the gloom of darkness
stands frozen, silent, as if melting in the pain love causes,
when one bids final good bye to the beloved, vowed never to part.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
I don't know what wrong have I done
To deserve so much pain
Always, have I been kind
Yet, have I lost a few friends
Suffered, have I, a rather painful divorce
My marriage was a total farce
However, not at all was I at fault
Never, did I deserve so much hurt!
I don't know what wrong have I done
To be taken for granted by a woman
Whom I loved a lot
She cared for me not one bit
Though she turned out to be an amazing actress
Who pretended to be in great distress
And milked me for all was I worth
Really, was she the worst!!
I don't know what wrong have I done
To be so rudely cut off by a woman
Who always called me her best friend
Never did I think our long relationship would end
In such a brutal manner
Especially considering was I always good to her
How dare she take advantage of my autism
***** her and her Brahminical egoism!!
I don't know what wrong have I done
To be rejected by almost everyone
On a variety of dating apps
Sometimes I feel I am being treated like a corpse
What qualities do I lack?
Why do some people only look at my mistakes
And not the good things have I done?
Seriously, with India, am I done!!
I don't know what wrong have I done
But I am not going to be taken for granted again
***** all of you, thanks to whom I have suffered
There may be a time when YOU suffer
I will laugh at you then
Truly, never again, am I going to be taken for a ride
Because Jesus is on my side
Amen!!
Jun 16, 2024
Jun 16, 2024 at 3:07 AM UTC
Verse, a breeze ’mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—
Both were mine! Life went a-maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young!
When I was young?—Ah, woeful When!
Ah! for the change ‘twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O’er aery cliffs and glittering sands
How lightly then it flashed along,
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
When Youth and I lived in’t together.
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
O the joys! that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
Ere I was old!
Ere I was old? Ah woeful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth’s no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet
’Tis known that Thou and I were one,
I’ll think it but a fond conceit—
It cannot be that Thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolled—
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size:
But Springtide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes:
Life is but Thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are housemates still.
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life’s a warning
That only serves to make us grieve
When we are old:
That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest
That may not rudely be dismist;
Yet hath out-stayed his welcome while,
And tells the jest without the smile.
2.9k
The First Apostle
Did you know your calling?
When He first met you
Demonized-Prostitute
Transformed by His healing hand
Your love-turned passion
Inseparably bound to his being
Scorned for your lavish yearning
Prophetically anointing perfume-blood
Head to hands to dusty broken feet
Your walk with Him closer to death
The rugged weight of dry wood
Heavy heart anointed in knowing tears
You stood by his side-abandoned
By pharisaical disciples cowards call
His love grafted into bone and sinew
The empty mocking tomb
Like your barren heart
Devoid-all you lived for
Rudely taken away
Then He touches you again
With glorious anointing
Head to heart to weary feet
With apostolic "Go-Tell" command
Demonized-Prostitute
Apostle-Evangelist
Stanley Arumugam
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
Words should express sincerely
It shouldn't be spoken rudely or weirdly
Or it might be misunderstood by someone else.
In the situation that merely just go
Where all the tense and massive form of air
Inhaling and exhaling deep inside
It's ironic life could feel
Looking for a word that could fit in
Bringing some thing that could break
"The awkwardness"
Why is it so hard to start a conversation?
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC