"rudy" poems
It was a graveyard and overcast sky
and I sat with book and accordian in hand,
hearing the world with its screams
swallow up around me.
The people whom I had loved and lost,
Papa with his silver eyes
Mama her sharp tongue and tough love
Rudy whose hair the colour of lemons
and questioned why, the living and dead,
worlds apart, yet both did not have a choice.
I stood and screamed so that everything shook
the burning rubble and ash and dust
willing my words to bring it all back
but it did not come, and my breath rose in gasps.
Death had looked me in the eye and said,
“It’s not time yet.”
I would shut my eyes to the world
only decades later.
I will understand that there was hate and pain
there was sadness
but even more so, there was love and joy.
I will know that the people I loved had reason
to kiss goodbye
whether it was their own hurt
or saw it as a necessity,
but they were never truly gone from me
always somewhere nearby,
in the thick and thin
frail and worn
of times.
I would learn
to forgive Death that day.
I will understand that
and I will be hurt,
but I will be okay.
~
*Not all deaths are sad.
Some, meant to ease their own pain,
Are called freedom.
While some,
Meant to ease the pain of others,
Are called love.*
© BT
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
I was born on November 30th , I hear that makes me a Saggitarius.
I dunno what that means.
I know how to swim, and I'm a sucker for a guy with a nice smile
And nice words.
I'm still learning how to whisper sweet nothings
I'm often loud at times when I should be quiet
I'm often quiet at times when I should be loud
I keep holding back or letting it all out at the wrong time.
I like sweet drinks... a lot.
I've been told that I give pretty bad hugs
People say that it feels like I'm trying to escape
Well I don't like letting people close.
Especially close enough to hear me breathe.
I have this odd fascination with things like time machines and technology,
I assume it's because I like to figure out how things work and fix them.
Am the same way with people, like to know what's coming before it does.
Love usually lasts a few moments,
That's also why I tend to fall in love with men
Who would never love me back
I know it sounds crazy, but it's actually much saner than it seems
And to be honest, I think it's safer that way
See relationships, they often remind me that I'm not afraid of letting go.
But I'm scared of what's gonna happen
The moment that my body hits the ground
I'm clumsy. I usually trip when am following my feelings.
I landed on my pride and it shattered like a mirror i check daily.
Now I can't even tell who's trying to give me a compliment
or just trying to get into my pants.
I've never been into martial arts but I have all these bruises,
I got from beating myself up over things I can't fix
I know it sounds weird but sometimes,
I wonder what the voices in my head say when am asleep.
I wonder what the doors would do if they found out
About all the things that I've done when they are closed.
I've got a trash can that's overflowing with really, really obnoxious mistakes
And a dump site in my closet with all the skeletons.
You'll trap me in a corner and insist I get help.
Hi, my name is Em,
I enjoy ice cream and yoghurt, people watching
And figuring out how to make them work.
I allow myself to cry more than I need to,
from letting all the wrong people in.
I have solar-powered energy, I have a battery-operated heart,
It flickers and dies from overuse.
My hobbies include rewriting my life story, hiding behind poems,
And trying to convince myself that I do matter to someone.
I don't know much, but I do know this
I know that if you don't have standards,
you won't be treated right and be happy.
I know God is still reworking my faults and flaws,
I'm a unique work in progress.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 6:15 AM UTC
I’m going to be honest,
I’m not a love poet
But if I was to wake up tomorrow morning
And decide that I really wanted to write about love
I swear that my first poem…
It would be about you
About how I loved you the same way
That I learned to ride a bike:
Scared
But reckless
With no training wheels or elbow pads
So my scars can tell you the story of how I fell for you
~Rudy Francisco
I’m not Rudy Francisco
But every man has his own words
So if I was a love poet
God knows I would still write about you
But I would write about how
That smile of yours might only last a moment
But I'll do everything I can to make it last a lifetime
And then... I will make sure it lasts an eternity
If I was a love poet
I would tell you how
You make all of my days
So I'll make it my duty to make all your tomorrows
I would tell you
That the sun rises each and every morning
Because it wants to see you
Because as bright as the sun is
It is blinded by your light
And you make me want to see
What blindness is really like
So I can look at you for the
Short moment before I lose my sight
Because then
Your image will always be with me
However, If I really cared
I would tell you
You’re better off alone
Than with me
Because I know
I know I’ll hurt you
And I can’t bare the thought of that
I would tell you
I’m not enough
And I never will be
Because enough isn’t in me
If I really cared
I would tell you
Nothing
Because I don’t deserve the chance to speak to you
However to tell you any of this
You would have to be real
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 7:25 PM UTC
Bop bopa-a-lu a whop bam boom
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
A Bop bopa-lu a whop bam boom
knew a deer named Rudy
had a ruby snooty
knew a deer named Rudy
had a ruby snooty
you see a red light in the air
you knew Rudy was flying there
Bop bopa-a-lu a whop bam boom
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
A Bop bopa-lu a whop bam boom
Couldn't play the reindeer games
Had to hide his nose in shame
Couldn't play the reindeer games
Had to hide his nose in shame
So he chose to run away
Away from where the reindeer play
Bop bopa-a-lu a whop bam boom
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
A Bop bopa-lu a whop bam boom
Went off, with an elf
They went off by themselves
Went off, with an elf
They went off by themselves
Had adventures in the snow
They tried to hide old Rudy's glow
Bop bopa-a-lu a whop bam boom
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
A Bop bopa-lu a whop bam boom
Met a man wantin' gold
And a bumble,in the cold
Met a man wantin' gold
And a bumble, in the cold
Found the land of misfit toys
Waiting for good girls and boys
Bop bopa-a-lu a whop bam boom
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
A Bop bopa-lu a whop bam boom
Found their way to Christmas Town
Santa Claus was feeling down
Found their way to Christmas Town
Santa Claus was feeling down
Santa told the elves I fear
There won't be a Christmas trip this year
Bop bopa-a-lu a whop bam boom
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
Ruby snooty, Oh Rudy
A Bop bopa-lu a whop bam boom
Then Santa saw old Rudy's nose
You know how the story goes
When Santa saw old Rudy's nose
You know how the story goes
He led Santa on his flight
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
Low I go to sleep under my filthy bridge
The gap between you and I the gap that cant be filled
You see me on the street everyday yet ignore me
I suffer the starvation that humanity has forced upon me
Everyone says they want to do something about the homeless
Why not just do what Rudy Juliane did
Put us all in jail
Why suffer us yet another empty day
When you lay down your weary head
You dont think of us the ones you dont see
Oh you see us with your eyes
But you ignore us by your deed
Some of the homeless may have chosen to be ware they are
Some did not
For those whom did not you see them as the bain of humanity
You see them as the gum on the bottom of your shoe
Something to scrape off on the curb and be forgotten
Something to be discarded in the refuse container
Something that you think really isnt there
Something you can only hope to cast out with disdain
Low I go to sleep under my filthy bridge
Suffer the starvation that humanity has forced upon me
Suffer another empty day
Low I go to sleep under my filthy bridge
Low I go to sleep under my filthy bridge
Suffer me humanity, Suffer Me humanity, Suffer Me Humanity
SUffer ME HUmanity, SUFfer ME HUManity, SUFFer ME HUMANity
SUFFEr ME HUMANIty, SUFFER ME HUMANITy, SUFFER ME HUMANITYYYYYYYYY
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 11:06 AM UTC
"Regular Sized Rudy?
Why do they call you that?"
"Just look at me."
Yes, look at me. Are
the laces of my corset
tied tight enough?
Do I deserve lust
if ******* show
in this underbust?
Is my masculinity
compliant and
where it needs to be?
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
-something real. Something strong and sturdy, believable. I want to write words that are heavy with lightness and dark with their brightness, to draw on a page a life so unbelievably real, so inconceivably mine
in creation
I want to write
-not just love. Not a ***** with a couple of drink-mangled bugs. I want to write about that feeling of blood churning and the warmth of emotion not physical feeling, to put into words the unwordable joy of being in the presence of
not just anyone
Anyone. Like the not-platonic-non-romantic affection that Rudy would not fail to hint at, that so-wanted kiss that Liesel gave, it wasn't so much the action as the meaning behind it. Like that itch on Death's ear when Liesel he came near, not to take her yet, but to steal her story, to live through it. To feel the words dance in his void, non-niceness, the infinite meanings and the power of phonic combinations.
They allow even Death to live.
I want to write like Zusak, like Rowling, like me.
I want to write
-the philosophies. The thoughts and wishes and wonders of a minority. I want to write about those opinions of those whose voices are too small and their souls beautifully lit up but unseen, their ideologies so unmistakably right but also naive and innocent, to stage their feelings from transition to transition
their words to the wise
I want to write
-characters so flawed. Each with an inner splendor most radiant, but with their fields of starless black and heads that wander from this to that. I want to write lives and people so different, with not-so-good lives and not-so-normal features. People who, though lacking thereof, cliche the right things and believe
in the wrong
The wrong. Their thoughts and meanings about life and beyond, undesirable and judged but that is the human mentality, such as Hazel Grace felt about her casualties and Alaska Young wondered about the labyrinth's unending game. So standard at first, but then Gandalf came and Bilbo learned the differences between Hobbit and the untame. The reasons and purposes of life's grand living, through the eyes of those whose faces are shunned.
Hermione wasn't just a bibliosiac.
I want to write like Green, like Tolkien, like me.
Alas, the clock, a stained moon, it darkens, and the prejudice of people as well as the pride, unfortunately Austen couldn't lessen so much. Stereotypes triumphantly sit on the throne with their Mary-Sue maids catering from head to toe. I can't barge in, object to the crowning, because today I admit it: my writing is dying.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
Miss Elliot is not just a single mom
Miss Elliot is not just white trash
Because Miss Elliot must stay calm
In the lunchroom, though she grins wide, she’ll crash
In the West End High lunchroom peak hour
Miss Elliot, our warrior stands strong
"You ugly white trash," they scream at the door
But she keeps quiet, she won't yell you're wrong
At home, she has a little one to watch
She packs her bag, cleans off her recipe
She claws in her mind for hope hard to catch
As she quietly gives us a whisper
"So what will it be
Chris, Molly, Rudy?"
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC
I was born on a Sunday.
My eyes change colors
depending on the weather.
I am 5' 2'' but feel like I am 5' 6".
I don't know how to do Calculus.
I am okay with that.
My first name means "one who listens".
I wish my middle name meant "one who speaks"
because my God, I am a wishing well
and people have the tendency to toss
their secrets into me. And their loss, their pain,
their anger, their sadness, their regret
it fills up a part of me that I thought was infinite.
I am on the constant verge of spilling over and
when I walk I feel like a garbage bag, dragged
against cement, one sidewalk scrape away
from coming undone. I am expected to keep
everyone's mess inside.
My friends tend give me **** for the amount of
time I can spend staring in the mirror.
The secret here isn't that I'm vain,
it's that approaching my reflection is like
ripping off a band-aid because looking
myself in the eye still makes my stomach flip.
60 pounds of weight lost does not
silence the echoes of words that
convinced me that life as a size zero
was the only life worth living and
I had been alive nine sizes too long.
I can't always remember that I am beautiful.
And I have this collection
of words that I should
have said. When I am alone,
I bring them out from
my closet and introduce
them to the ghosts of
people I have lost,
of the people I could not fix,
of the people I should forget
but can't forget because I
don't want to forget because
there's something about keeping
wounds open that feels better
than letting them heal—
I have always been one to pick at scabs.
This is my declaration of honesty—
My name is Sam.
I can't ride a bike
but I can write you a poem.
I am afraid of perpetually falling
in love with people who won't love me back.
There is a man in a cell I live to forget.
I am convinced Heaven looks like Ireland
and that soul mates come in multiples.
My voice shakes when I say what I think.
and for once,
this poem isn't for you.
This is a poem for me.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
This is a lateral Christmas, my dears,
The reasons for red-nosed reindeer,
Rudolph was on the ***** my dears,
Santa and Rudolph loved Christmas beers,
You could see it in their faces, dears,
Rudy and Santa were dipsomaniacs,
They drank all the ***** in Santa's sacks,
But worse, Santa's in a stroke unit, we fear,
We knew it was a bit hard,
For gifts, Santa maxed out his credit cards,
Red cheeks meant high blood pressure, we fear,
There's worse, Mrs. Santa was a real *****
She drank all the eggnog with Rudolph and Blitzen,
The drunken elves kept all your gifts for their party,
They drank all your Christmas bevvies, party hearty!
There's worse, Christmas fairies live in fear,
They did ask Santa one year,
"What to do with the trees, Santa dear?"
"Wait and see!!" roared Santa, O dear,
There's a fairy with a tree up her blip here,
Now, Santa's in the Stroke Unit this year,
Folk at the North Pole, too much Christmas cheer,
So, there's no Christmas on Earth, my dears,
This is the lateral Christmas year...........
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
Snooty Rudy
Thinks he’s hot as fire.
Snooty Rudy
Leaves a lot to be desired.
Snooty Rudy
Thinks he’s better than us all
Silly Rudy
He’s heading for a big fall.
Rudy always thinks
He’s the star of every game
Rudy never gets
The joke hidden in his name.
He looks up on life
As someone else’s duty.
Someone must pay the piper
But it is never Rudy.
Snooty Rudy
Thinks he’s hot as fire.
Snooty Rudy
Leaves a lot to be desired.
Rudy never gets the check
When he goes out to eat.
When people rise to clean
He always keeps his seat.
Rudy doesn’t like to stir
From a relaxing chair.
Look around when work is done,
Rudy is never there.
Snooty Rudy
Thinks he’s better than us all
Silly Rudy
He’s heading for a big fall.
Rudy likes to join
Committees for charity causes
But when the work is done
Rudy only pauses.
He’s there for congratulations
But not for sweat and toil.
***** hands are beneath his station.
Never a smidgen of soil.
Snooty Rudy
Thinks he’s hot as fire.
Snooty Rudy
Leaves a lot to be desired.
Snooty Rudy
Thinks he’s better than us all
Silly Rudy
He’s heading for a big fall.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC
I guess I feel threatened by your strength
I guess I feel threatened by your beauty
I build brick layers between us.
What is that?
She ushered me to that golden path of sacred
My hands seek but grasp not
But there is something there to be taken
Why the blinders?
Why the stammer?
I have never been so confused
‘Olobeouch,’ the Yapese say
A tangling predicament worth
Unraveling with a fine-tooth
Bamboo comb
What about awareness
Emotional terror both by day
And by night
The subtle insidious kind
Calm waves of sad
Inertia creeps
What is that?
How do I heal when--
(and thanks for putting words to it, Rudy):
When it feels like the arms of my
Clock have arthritis?
Ship wreck on the wrong shore
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My feelings for you have grown needlessly ornate
Yours for me, simple
Sullivan says:
Friendship is underrated
Because of its inherent
Ability to be so earthen
So organic
And, thus
Conceptualized
Less
So why have I built
Nonsensical negativity?
Self-sabotage
What is that?
I’m not that guy.
I told you:
“I want so much more of you than I need”
I didn’t know at the time that I got it twisted
Maybe:
I need you more than I want to admit
Love the one you’re with
I idealized, romanticized the **** out of you
Before I even came back
I shot myself
Big toe on rifle trigger
A nice distraction from more
Pressing issues?
What is that?
I thought I was alone
But you reminded me
I am not
I can’t tell you how much that means to me
Those words:
Struck match
In a dark room
I’ve not let anyone acknowledge or
Sympathize with my lingering ache
Much less help anyone understand it
What is that?
I’m not that guy
I’ve never been that guy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I let news of:
Thousands killed by super typhoon
Refugee birth
******** hunter casualty
Child victim of AIDS
Remind me that my pain is small
Pretending that that news is
Good enough to build perspective
And deal with pain
When it isn’t
“We accept the love we think we deserve”
I guess I thought I didn’t deserve you
Thank you for reminding me that that is
Not Truth
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ask me unprovoked questions
By the sea, under a tree
Whisper me stardust
Because one day I want to say:
Love me for the man I’ve become
Not the man I was
I touch the tip of your nose
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
The road seemed to never end. But these frnds were having fun walking together. Sweeto said, "the aroma in here is beautiful"..
Rudy said, "well I think you are just overreacting"
Friendo said, "Hey rudy, just stop acting rude, we are together here on the road, just live the moment.."
Rudy said, "yeah yeah, it wud have been better to sit at home doing nothing than to be here".
Silence there gave a sad frown which no one noticed..
Scary repeated the sentence, "uhh, all of you plz listen to me this road is really not meant for us, anything may happen there at the end, there could be ghosts or zombies or thieves, we cud get killed."
Bravery said, "Dont you worry guys, Until i am there no one can ever harm my friends."
Happy was happy cuz he had his dreams come true on this journey.
While the Jealousy was surrounded by the smoke of restlessness, both of them together creating partly dull atmosphere..
Excity was hopping like a small girl skipping but was losing its track from the others..
But Controller had got his eyes on everyone so it didnt matter when he was around, excity wud be fine..
Confidence with stability walked in the second row to guide all the others behind..
Angry was getting red cuz he thought what is the use of thus journey when this cud have been simpler and due to this Saddy was losing hopes..
But calmy placed his hands around their necks and said everything happens for a reason..
Strategy was guiding everyone in the perfect manner..
Striding at the front was love with its sparkling aura, since it had won, cuz it was stable after being angry and then sad, before which he was excited and controlled, even before which he was brave to be a friend which taught him to keep calm when there is sadness and use strategy and confidence to fight jealousy and restlessness and be happy.
But walking just beside Love was pain which said, "Dude, Let us see who wins."
The wise road of Life simply smiled..
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 3:23 AM UTC
#29 | 31 Poems for August 2016
The girl with a soul like a library keeps getting thicker than the plot does.
So I guess that it’s no mystery why I am obsessed with reading.
She knows that I always have a book in my hand no matter the season.
The day I realised that words could touch her, I wanted to become a poem.
The type of poem that Rudy Francisco’s pen always dreams about.
It doesn’t matter whether it’s winter or summer, when she is the breeze I can never forget to breathe.
She gently holds me in her hands like her favourite author’s best-selling novel.
She told me to write poetry until my heart runs out of ink and my soul runs out of paper.
The girl with a soul like a library fell in love with me not for my words but because I love reading.
She’s composed of all the love poems my pen never had the courage to write.
Because sometimes the pulchritude of her presence is too heavy for blank pages and simple words.
The day I realised that words could touch her, I wanted to become a poem.
The type of poem that Reyna Biddy’s pen always dreams about.
The girl with a soul like a library fell in love with the boy who loves reading.
Reading the lines on a woman’s skin is poetry and too many men are illiterate.
So they will never truly understand the fact that liberty begins with literacy.
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC
**Opposed
September 03, 2014 Daily Poem
Locking Lips
"I swear when our lips touch,
I can taste the next
sixty years of my life"**
Above is an excerpt from Rudy Francisco's Love Poem Medley
http://lit.genius.com/Rudy-francisco-love-poem-medley-annotated
I highly doubt Opposed is Rudy Francisco... The poem of the day today did not acknowledge the original writer or poem only stated in the notes
"Thank you for selecting this as the daily poem! :)"
It's ok to seek the elusive 15 minutes of fame as long as it's YOUR fame to celebrate...
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 5:59 AM UTC
"Regular-sized Rudy?
Why do they call you that?"
"Just look at me,"
A touch of incongruity,
like a rogue ****** in
the parking lot of Rite Aid
that's like really close to the entrance
He said: "I want us to
be happy, and normal,
and I want to treat you better,"
Just look at me.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
"Poetry doesn't have to rhyme, it just has to touch someone where your hands couldnt."
-Rudy Akbarian
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
#13 | 31 Poems for August 2016
Listen to the love and freedom embedded in every figure of speech.
I pray that these words bless all the beautiful souls that they reach.
It’s weird how we find comfort in the pain we allow ourselves to feel.
According to the stats, some people live outside their means like outliers.
Pass the herbs so I can pass these words then maybe we can pass the word.
Sometimes my thoughts tend to overflow to the rim so it’s only necessary that you jump in and swim.
Feel the rhythm in my ghetto cries and urban blues.
As I write and recite poems reminiscent of those by Maya Angelou, Jasmine Mans and Langston Hughes.
God hears our prayers so I know that we are all going to be alright.
Luyanda told me that I can conquer the world as long as I have Jesus so who am I not to follow greatness?
You need to know the value of life before it gets taken away from you.
Will you be a victim of the past or pay homage to your mother’s womb?
I need peace of mind before there comes a time when my mind ends up in pieces.
Nobody ever listens but you appreciate my ghetto cries and urban blues.
So allow me to write and recite poems reminiscent of those by Maya Angelou, Rudy Francisco and Langston Hughes.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 5:38 AM UTC
Collared for white collar,
To society I'm paying my dues
The Trump appointee Club Fed blues.
The beds are pretty clean and soft,
At Club Fed, they hardly cost
Shootin' shuffleboard, takin' a snooze
Just forgettin' the Club Fed blues
The **** beach aint just ahead
Club Fed just aint the Club Med
At 3-pm, it's tea and cake
Every night supper-- it's Trump steak
The cash register rings, it's all his take.
They're adding on to the Club Fed thing,
A spanking new Congressional wing
Having latte with a Trumper con
He whines,"I'm no Don,
I was just a pawn."
On the ladies side, want to meet
Lori, the College Admission cheat
No black ink pen tattoos
Just plain old Club Fed blues
Bill Barr and Rudy sit at table
Remembering when they were on cable
Just spinning another Ukrainian fable
Missing my 5-pm yardarm *****
A stiff price to pay, the Club Fed blues
When I leave it's to the Caribbean
To a fat numbered account
And I'll finally lose the Club Fed blues.
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 6:56 AM UTC
The old man
laughed at everything,
even when it
was never
funny,
and his hair hadn't
been combed for weeks
or more.
With a bald head on top,
he looked like some
exotic, near-extinct
bird.
He kept poking
holes in his styrofoam
paper plate with
his fork-fixing
something probably.
He doesn't know
I'm his granddaughter.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 1:22 AM UTC
This isn't a poem or a story this is stream of consciousness baby a dangerous thing cause you might drown and you might get bored but I am arrogant as hell and I believe to the souls of my feet that I am a glittery gleaming river of crystal and fire cause that's a soul baby and we are made of the square root of energy-over-the-speed-of-light the same stuff as stars and God's breath and hot **** that's a wonderful thing that we are alive darlin we are alive so take a deep breath cause when's the last time you did that I'm looking at you love and I like what I see you're a pretty nice guy really though implying a question sorry dear but you know we don't really talk and why is that oh yeah we are surrounded in practically prison by busybodies guards again sorry dears but you know it's true and is that the reason or is it that we have nothing to say empty like an old cocoon butterfly's fluttered by and that's really what I'm hanging like a small winter coat on I'm getting slightly dusty musty so come and wipe me off I want to see if we can have an actual conversation I know basically nothing about you except you like Moby **** and you can dance both of which I gotta admit are major pros but I know that being young handsome and pleasant to be with are bad reasons to love someone thanks to Nellynicole are you Heathcliff dear lord I hope not he is such a bore according to the Cardplayer although he was a joker lets not kid ourselves here but come on he's related to Liesel and she loved Rudy and that was good and right and terrible and tragic and heartbreaking and oh god Rudy why did you die sobbing over you I loved you like a friend a brother a lover and you aren't even real so why am I hung up over YOU?!
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC
I wonder if he knows his words saved my life.
He sees things the way I see things—
it’s the kind of music the deaf can hear.
Salvation in words, an alter for art,
sound soul reinforcements for those of us
who almost couldn’t dig our nails in
deep enough to hang on.
Almost.
Thank you for having the courage
to write it all down
to say it all out loud
for allowing me
to relate.
You see, I, too, am still learning to love
the parts of me
that no one claps for.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
East of the Equator on 1° 15' tropics is an old pirate isle
Irate willy-wavers are set to meet, I repeat, on Santosha
where, if you know it by its sanskrit, they might reconcile
Wishful leaders play symbolic. To us are none, but frenzy frolic.
Rudy doubles a pretty sight when smart cookie crumbles
to his knees. The apprentice, a fake gansta has capitulated to
Trump who's known to expostulate his lot of twitterati
oh, the wizard of sentences, cut the circuit and paparazzi.
Rocket man says read my lips, so Dotard threatens bigger drips
Both gaga over trigger hands, like-a-virgin on hot dozen buttons.
Ain’t it a saga, they goatherd each other on, so call in Dennis to
get us out of the funk. Just maybe, a remote chance, a fun slam-dunk!
The world awaits with bated breath, the immovable anchors to a
bad romance. We're stuck for answers to translate two gyrate minds,
singing hits a-capella under nuke umbrella. No tanning spray and
pray please or death-from-behind us all, the wrench of humankind.
At 34, Prince has just begun life, to see his people starving to die
At 71, ****** has a life doing what he does, while waiting to die
Chasms miles long, but cookie cutter share tall man phantasm
94 stories high towards disarming God in their own ego suites.
Gurkhas and gazetted city blocks, the people in uttered groans
All twitterpating over a hermit throne dancing to a jailhouse rock
Two bright like buttons, so zero sum bargains may cost an arm and
an earth - nuclear glutton! Not a far gains from your usual Target?
At St Regis in gather, string theories of riddles to Lord of the Rings
Towkays at the table “Order! Order!” no one absquatulates at all borders
In shambhala, will it be “Big and Bold” or “Beg and Hold”, who knows
Except Goldenhair, in first minute - Upside or Upset of an F1 ride!
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 2:01 AM UTC