"sample" poems
Anak ng poocha naman o oh
Sa lahat naman ng ayaw ko...
Anigma pasubali...fliptopan ba'to
Pooja' una pa lang pinagsabihan na kita,
Pero ngayon... malamang magtanda ka na!!!
Unang banat.. wala akong ganang mag ingles
Nakakawalang galang ka! Hinde naman sa naiines
Hinde na lang talaga kasi ako makatiis
Sa pigura **** pagkakinis-kinis
Kahit tuwalya wala ka man lang tapis
Daig mo pa nakatihayang ipis
Pasalamat ka walang pambura dala kong lapis
Kundi aabutin ka sa 'kin ng walang humpay na daplis
Sa patuwad **** nakalilis
Landas ko'y nalilihis.
Pangalawa..hinde pa ito ang huli...
ayoko sanang maging arogante
Sa lubot **** mala elepante...
Ambot sa imo wag kang makampante
Sa postura **** naka bra lang at panti
Naturalmente 'pupusta pa ako ng mil bente
Magsusumbong ka...magagalit ang mga higante
mapapagbigkas ka sa iyong linguwahe
'lintek lang ang walang ganti
Hinde ako intelehente...
dati lang akong ahenteng galante.
anong gusto mo diamante o brilyante
hahaha!! nganga!,, parehas lang yun impertenente!!!
Pangatlong banat,
.... ito ang tutuo
Pinoy Ako!!!
Purong tagalog den ako...
Pero kung iinglisen mo ako..
Then go ahead..english-san na 'to...ehheemmh,,,
=Do you understand the word that coming out of my mouth
You're some kindda liberated there in the south
Don't sample me (huwag mo akong subukan)
...perhalps change me'''' (ibahin mo ako)
YOU CAN NOT EYES ME ANYMORE!!! (hindi mo na ako kayang mata-matahin)
i will "the rich zoo" you! ("diretso"-hin na kita)=
Hey What's up Pooja Sweety?
Nose bleed??? I don't care if i look scary
To you i'm not being pity'
Real talk''' ...i'm not heavy
But you won't be able to carry
This trash talk of my tongue full of messy
Even your closest bessy
In your ass..shall be freaky
Mabuti pang nag selfie ka ng wacky !!!!!
I'm sure .....you gonna be pretty!!!!
Garantisado.....Madlang b-side...tuwa pa nila so plenty
......TIME ;)
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
Perched quietly in the shadows of the night,
Observing completely, using all her might,
Untouched the landscape sat; she breathed a sigh,
She leapt and began to fly
She soared through the trees, dark and murky,
Weaving in and out, the ride a little jerky,
Until she reached the clearing, blooming and sprouting,
Where she landed and began scouting
She spotted a baby, small and alone,
Hungry and confused, wanting to be shown,
Flying over to the area in which it sat,
She pulled some wisdom from her hat
Unmoving and silent, she sat as an example,
Showing her apprentice just a little sample,
Teaching patience and perseverance was first on the list,
She didn’t quit until it got the gist
Next thing she knew, her student was growing,
In no time, it was the one doing all the showing,
She took a step back, gazing proudly at her work,
While the child continued doing all the groundwork
Rays peaked out across the horizon in all hues,
Most of which consisted of reds and blues,
She looked at the child, beckoning it to fly on home,
Although she longed to stay and roam
As the sun rose, slow and bright,
She decided to turn and take off in flight,
Twisting and turning through trees and brush,
She flew on quickly, as if in a rush
She spotted it then, modest and small,
The place she longed to go most of all,
Adventures are fun and she liked to roam,
But there’s definitely no place quite like home.
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
Blue sky, smooth sailing
Balancing neon lights of my mind's eye
(as glassy waves lap against my feet)
And the innocent sands of a white-gold beach fantasy,
Soft, warm, and as sure as the day.
Graying sky, persevering
Forging ahead through tempestuous waves
(growing faster in speed and height than a father's son)
I cling to the sample of that white sand,
Bottled up in a tiny plastic nip.
Blackened sky, capsizing
Plummeting into jet-black sea
(stained in the lights of my fallen Titan)
The nip shattering, without my notice
Icebergs visible on the horizon of her heart
My sand lost into the radiant black seas
Never to be seen again.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 1:24 PM UTC
A quiet storm
Has formed
Within me.
And you claim you want
Me to release
Everything that I
Hold beneath the surface
And it's ironic
You complain
When I let you simply sample
The breeze.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
The power of Averages,
it means a lot
if you can
understand Means, a lot.
Assuming a Normal Distribution,
A Standard Deviation, or σ
defines where about 68% of the data falls;
roughly 34% above and below the Mean.
Two Standard Deviations
defines where a further 28% of data lies;
14% above and below 1σ and -1σ.
Positive 1-Sigma is one Standard Deviation above the Mean
Negative 1-Sigma is one below;
The range from -2σ to 2σ includes 96% of data.
The implications are astounding.
Within 3 Standard Deviations, one finds 99.7% of the data;
Within 4σ, 99.9%, 5σ, 99.999%,
the remainder are generally outliers and other improbable results.
To illustrate:
Suppose we had a group of 100 people,
and we wish to determine average height:
If our Mean height ends up being, say, 180 cm,
with a Standard Deviation of 20cm,
We can suppose that of 100 people, on average,
with a certain Margin of Error that is inversely proportionate to our Sample Size, or n
(for sake of argument, the Probable Error, or γ, is 13.49cm)
4 are taller than 220cm
14 are between 200cm and 220cm
68 are between 160cm and 200cm
14 are from 140cm to 160cm
4 are shorter than 140cm
--
Statistics is the parent of Probability;
Statistics is the Art and Science of Forecast,
Statistics paves the way for modern Science
Statistics is a powerful weapon in the fight against Ignorance
Statistics, however, are generally and intentionally misrepresented and thus misunderstood.
For increasingly accurate figures,
one must have a larger Sample Size
and a Sample group that is a representative subgroup
of the Whole
*This is intentionally abused
by most of the News
you read or see each day on Paper and Screens alike.*
If a "Statistical analysis" does not include at least
Margin of Error or Probable Error,
Mean (Average), Standard Deviation, and Sample Size
do not take it as accurate.
Depending on the source,
it could even be deliberately malicious.
Arm yourself with Knowledge.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
A delicious little bakery
is only down our street
the smell of baking bread
well.. it really is a treat
It is run by Mrs ******
she is just so very charming
but she is a little clumsy
it's really quite alarming
You see,
she does her best to make the cakes
and bake such tasty bread
but the currants just go everywhere
and in the pies instead
And in the Cornish pasties
there is very often nuts
and in the fruit pie filling
bacon and beef cuts
But she seems to be quite fancy
well there has been many rumours
of her and the deliveryman
well... she flashes him her bloomers
But she really is so charming
poor soul.. she has the worst mishaps
like when she inadvertently
displayed her finest baps
And no one will forget
when in came a group of nuns
all asking some tea cakes
but out popped her Chelsea buns
But she really is a riot
you can't help but love her so
she give you all you ask for
in a bargain box 'to go'
And she takes care of her customers
and gives out treats to sample
you'll never go home hungry
you'll end up with quite a armful
So if you get a moment
take a stroll just down our street
to Mrs Dingle's bakery
she really is a treat.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC
Maverick ex-cop (Green Beret /Navy Seal /SAS/Ranger)
Twiddle of the fingers to crack a 64 bit hexadecimal code
Shot but can still beat up bad people and run
15 people firing automatic weapons and they all miss
Database that searches the planets population in 2 seconds
And has photos of their children and plans of their building
Regardless of the crime scene sample, always a rare element that pinpoints location
Car chase where a truck can keep up with a Ducati motorbike
Organisations that only employ attractive people in lead roles
Ugly people are tech specialists sometimes allowed to be ‘quirky’
Even the uglies are attractive people disguised with glasses and bad hairstyles
‘I dream of genie’ gendre were they flirt but never get it on, unless it’s a hospital series
Watchable, funny programs that always succumb to sloppy sentimentality
High schools complete with intolerance, marginalisation, bullying, and hell on earth,
The most disturbing and darkest crime sent to titillate mid evening family viewing
Endless humiliation for fatties, chefs, performers, builders, restaurateurs, and troubled teens
Dysfunctional law enforcement agencies that never work together under any circumstances
Enough, if we need this thick coating of unreality, perhaps its time to switch off?
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
It was the watermelon diet, he said
That's what killed me
A lie as ripe as the freshest rind
Listen to the man
He was there at my deathbed
Though he never cared for my diet
It was the watermelon diet
not some virus
That consigned me to the Gods
The watermelon diet
Why now do they doubt my exotic pallet?
They've turned a blind eye to everything else
until now
For months, I guzzled nothing but sweet watermelon
Fat mounds of flesh between my greedy cheeks
The sheer volume of water left me bloated
Before I shed an immense amount of baggage
What else could be to blame?
Enough of your questions and on to the cremation
We'll see whether watermelon burns immortal
It began in Africa- no lie there
And comes in seedless varieties
I never planted mine
Though I wasn't want for trying
I can still taste the bitter juices as I lay here in my crypt
An artful coroner smelt a rat
Or a chance- to prove his mettle
Never heard of any watermelon diet
This is Palm Springs not Papa Nu Guinea
A sample of tissue foiled our grand conspiracy
Same thing that got Rock Hudson
But they kept a straight face
Kept to the story, mindful of my legacy
I'm not just any ******
Takes something grand and elaborate to dispose of me
An immigrant farmhand once told me “watermelon cure the AIDS”
And I believed him
At least that's what I'd have you believe
End
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC
Poetry is like sushi.
Sushi contains
Rice & goodies
Wrapped in nori.
Both are combined rolled
Into cylinders
Then cut
Into rolls.
Poetry
Is sounds & tropes
Rolled into images
Each poem
A unique
Experience.
When you
Eat Sushi
With chopsticks
You are too eat
the rolls
with just one bite
Sampling the wholeness
of the taste
and presentation.
May you
Devour
This poem
On the chopsticks
Of your feelings
And sample
The flavor
In the ink.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
There’s an assembly in the making
and the suits are all shuffling in for the big event
making way to their front row seats
****** in nose
hanky in hand
and all colorfully draped
in those cuffed pin stripes
and Jerry Garcia ties
*now what would the Grateful Dead
or any of their fine entourage
have to say about this foul routine?*
Apropos of that
they’re talking in the 3rd person
with tight syllables
and wavy hands
and all taking a run
at the state of the union
there’s Valentino
and Freddie
and good old Sal
"look....their fiddling with their nuts!"
cries a layman from the balcony seats
the Yin and the Yang
have got even the most liberal minded
scratching their heads
as questions fly in from the field:
*don’t you know the way it used to be?
have you no morals?
which way to the exit!?*
These front row fanatics
have surely been scrimmaging
in the corn fields
all down in that classic 3 point
watching their weight
with sample selections from the
Spicy House and Yaas Bazaar
as members of the congregation look on with envy
*pass the aperitif...the big ***** lady is on deck!*
Union heads are running rogue
loading up on grievances
and lines
passing files at a make shift pew
jumping the bunkers
and stepping on clams
while the orderlies move in
for governance
It’s a bewildered state
and only for the mind of the rigorous
Jimmy D would say:
“it’s nothing you pussy...to the victor goes the spoils!
everyone has a bit of good you know...
you just have to find it!"
Unrest is growing in the ranks
and the masses are unstable
Time to hammer down
with a formidable brace
and two tick play
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
"My daughter,
when you grow up (enough)
to be able to brandish self-sovereignty
tempered by self-discipline
I only hope that if and when you may choose
to try whatever drugs may appeal to you
you are least fortunate enough
to have access to clean ones
and a safe enough and comfortable enough environment
in which to study your interrelationship with them,
intellectually, physiologically, psychologically, spiritually, and socially,
but not necessarily in that order.
I won't tell you what to do,
but my advice is this:
Don't eat yellow snow:
don't snort yellow coke.
If you're gonna poison yourself,
poison yourself with the good ****
If you want to see whats up with something,
be certain your sample size is representative.
That's just good Science.
No one likes a false statistic
except those in power
who wish to remain in power
so maintain thy power
to wield thy freedom of choice
armed with an arsenal of personal experiences
sailing with an armada of accurate information
upon the high seas of this uncertain but certainly beautiful Life,
but be prepared to accept the consequences.
That's just responsibility.
That alone oughtta put you well ahead of the curve."
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
"Good morning, beautiful."
Words like a soft autumn breeze,
caressing, chilling to the touch;
three simple words to form one
complex ecosystem,
teeming with life,
droning with emotion.
I catch a glimpse of a bird,
a distant memory,
a sample of a sound I've heard before,
calming and pleasant.
May 7, 2010
May 7, 2010 at 2:05 AM UTC
Let me tell you a story about the time you walked me out of work, and how it changed the course of our lives. Let me explain how wiggly my insides felt to have you walking beside me. And let me tell you how I slowed my pace the closer we got to my car, trying not to be obvious. Let me tell you about us standing there, talking face-to-face outside of work for the first time ever, and how good and natural it felt. And let me tell you, time passed so quickly then, and the drizzle started turning to rain but I still didn’t want to go. So let me tell you about how I got courageous again, and asked if you wanted to go sit and talk in your car. Let me tell you how happy I was when you said yes, and how I’ve never been so thankful for rain. Let me tell you about our first of many “car dates,” when we just sat and talked. And let me tell you how it became clear very quickly that we are a natural fit. Because, let me tell you, I was so nervous that I’d be too quiet and we’d have nothing to say and it would become the bad awkward. But let me tell you how that didn’t happen, and we sat for hours in conversation. Let me tell you about our goodbye and how it was getting late because time had become nonexistent with you. And let me tell you about how you drove me back to my car because you didn’t want me walking in the rain, and I was so taken by how sweet you were. Let me tell you about how I was unsure of what to do, because we had hugged many times before, but honestly, I’d spent the whole evening wanting to sample your lips. But let me tell you, I’m not the one to make a move like that, so I just went for a hug as usual. And let me tell you how disappointed I was in myself. So let me tell you how I turned back, determined to kiss you, but quickly lost every nerve I had, and so started to settle for a second hug, this time adding the quickest kiss on your cheek. But let me also tell you how that somehow brought back the bravery, and I went for the kiss I truly desired. And let me tell you, baby, I’ll never know how I got the courage to kiss you first, but **** am I glad I did. Because, let me tell you, that kiss became one of the most pivotal moments in my life, and made me believe there was something worth living for. Let me tell you how your kiss saved my life.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
So close to your scent, I feel I should pay rent.
Something you will not know you smell, until a time comes when you go.
And suddenly everything smells like that.
WHAT IS THAT SMELL?
And you calculate the ingredients to the potion of that smell..
A smell you know so well..
But you can not list it's properties
You are it's only property.
A smell you can not tell the smell of.
And when we're back again the smell almost goes, it gets camp set up and lost inside my nose.
You enter the world of this smell, it's warm and it's cozy, it's familiar and almost dusty.
It smells like skin.
Which smells like nothing.
It smells like hair
Which smells like something.
It smells like breath without a particular scent.
It smells like clothes and armpits.
It smells like a sample scent of another world.
Which I am nosing around
It smells like all of your belongings and all the things that you do put into one familiar you.
It smells like sawdust, it smells like dog walking, it smells like toast, it smells like early morning, it smells of the coast, it smells of laptop, it smells of toothpaste, it smells like tents.
It smells of carpets, It smells of washing powder, It smells of your house and your power shower, It smells like Apple shampoo and all the other things that you like to do.
It smells like you.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
Nostradamus and sleeping prophet's One lost image of the singular Eye
Re(ad(d): No worry
To, Love Our Sun :).
Signs like Gemini is to air
Sagittarius is to fire a pair
in this crossing with Pisces
to water is Virgo for earth
too We are the mutable ones!!
Sunny is however we coin the calling spiraling too
EYE of the One generation transmutable souls of soil ARE
to earth; 'hues EYED like a butterfly, here to sample many flowers
connected within a Great Spirit invoked as in wilds if peopled or things'!!!
We do feel it within or without the actual considerations of the ultimate doings;
'letting go and taking the risk of trusting and depending on another'!!! One by one!!! :)
EYE of humus hued in spirit and love fused to the stone's twirling and of the ruse's tolling
So many of paths we traverse here as on earth the singular EYE knows out on the HORIZON
The great Eye is too glued on Sunny Sun's ever evolving viewing's as hued spirits cross EYE'S
Our blinded one eye's longing to Lyra's lyre, great musician Orpheus winging, whose W
music tamed wild beasts, caused rivers to stop flowing and enchanted even gates S
to the Lord of the Dead Hades, the softly lit fire singing inside linking heaven A
to earth viewed from outsider's hues waxing and waning of sleep wakened I N
so ode to the moon in the darkness of night gives but who takes her softer F USED
delight when One day halves by sun setting all ebbs in flowing as tides B I
to Great oceans moved like hearts breathe air to presence's emoting STAR'S
from magic to tragic we long of ecliptic traces cryptically erasing W
the blindness of memory and sight' majestic beast's floundering I
a forever crisscrossed from the One Eye here now to Knight's N
dear lost forbidden inner retreats from the East to God's lost 'S
children cast out to the land from blood pooling in spoils O
as easily uncovered as readily as new western lands had ~/ E \~ N
claim maddened ravaged savagely eagerly discovered ~(:YES :)~ G
fear still rocks this boat with hope still sailing onward (:FORGIVEN:). 'S
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
Like a lotus emerging
Unsullied
From the mud,
So have you appeared,
In this world,
Yet not of it.
I consider myself
Most blessed of all men
For having glimpsed upon your face.
Not even Michelangelo,
With all his magnificent frescoes,
Could have conceived of such beauty.
The most flowery prose of Marquez wilts,
Inadequate to fully describe your radiance.
The supple, rich compositions of Mozart
Are a rancorous cacophony
Compared to the melody of your voice.
Your entire being is a testament
To the masterful craftsmanship of our Lord.
I may circumnavigate this world
Sample the most luscious of delicacies
Climb the lofty peak of Everest
Swim the English Channel
Trek the Ural Mountains
Watch the Caribbean sunset
Walk the entirety of the Great Wall
But none of these
shall hope to compare with
the blissful moment
When my eyes fell upon you.
It was truly a day of days,
One which no other can rival.
You stood out
A swan
Regal in its repose
Amongst
Ducks
Babbling away
In their ignominy.
I have found my muse --
Alas! --
But for a moment.
Yet I shall not rage.
Neither shall I weep.
Just because
He got to you first.
Just because
He is
Perhaps
More worthy
Of you.
I shall not fly
Into a maelstrom of emotion
Sulk with resentment
And seethe with envy
Just for losing
Something
Someone
I never even had.
Just because
She will never be mine.
I shall not have
To lower and abandon myself
To the maddening clutches
Of grief
To wantonly fling
My artless soul
At the burning altar
Of undignified melancholy.
For it is foolish.
Yet I cannot help
But do exactly this.
Act like the boy,
The child,
That I am.
For what else am I?
I am not a man
Like him
After all.
Not adequate
For anything
Resembling a soulmate
For anyone
Like her.
I can never hold you
In my arms
Never gaze
Into your eyes
My ears can never hear you
Whisper
Sweet nothings.
And
My lips shall never
Meet yours.
So what
Else
Can I do
But mourn?
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
My early memory of farm,
Blackfella’s hill, banana sand,
exploring, chasing rabbits.
And riding round with grandpa,
in the white and well loved station wagon
checking sheep, windmill and chooks.
The lollies in the tin were there,
to help him stay awake at night;
but grandchildren were once allowed
to sample from the tin of treats,
in longer trips with grandparents,
while out on country roads.
The farm, a favourite place of mine,
away from school and normal life,
but Modb’ry North not quite the same.
With grandpa still out shearing though,
the farm-like feel not far away,
and granny kept a strawb’rry patch.
I went a-shearing with him once,
About six customers that day
and I can’t count the load of sheep.
I earned five dollars on that day,
while travelling around in ute
with shearing stuff all in the back.
His love of music satisfied,
the grandchildren are all gifted,
the music played from instruments
of cello, clarinet and bass
of flute, piano, violin,
and voice as well from Kate and Jo
Called grandpa day or dad or Doug
he’ll be remembered, days to come.
The stories will be told and told
of happenings while he was here,
from farm or Modb’ry North or else,
from other places he has been.
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 11:01 AM UTC
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day,
Myriad summer colours of an abstract view,
Curling up between and under the far away.
I’m lost in the mix, a melting *** full of play,
My own shade of Dark, a subtle blended hue,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day.
Beautiful retro splendour, asking me to stay,
Flower in her hair, white petals, edged blue,
Curling up between and under the far away.
Smiling, she raises my soul from feet of clay,
Dark and Stormy cocktail easing me through,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day.
Cuban rhythm dancers give a riotous display,
Bohemian sight and sound unleashed on cue,
Curling up between and under the far away.
We sample dreams from an enchanted tray,
Allowing hearts, minds, and spirits to renew,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day,
Curling up between and under the far away.
©Paul M Chafer 2015
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 9:35 AM UTC
It's not fair..nor do I care
Emotions breathe without air
No more power shall I grant
My heart blooms flowers like a plant
Refuse to follow will not swallow
Immersed in thought where I wallow
Thus I ramble a poet's gamble
Taste my soul here is a sample
Write it short or write it long
Write a song for all to sing along
Edit mind that's when I find
Insanity speaks in rhyme
A traveller will always go
On the path to their soul
Destination peace of mind
Activate it anytime
Leave a map all can see
Choose to elevate humanity
Simple is the truth
Hardened by a gangsta youth
Drama goes on everyday
Participate or refuse to play
Doesn't matter you are in the book
Captured by my writing hook
A character we all become
First you walk now you run
To the end or finish line
A blip we are in space and time
Identity do I own?
Reap what I've sewn?
Life springs forth from thee
In our children we can see
Evolution we all wear
Nor does it care if it's not fair...
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
True or false, when you stood behind me with your hands on my face and mouth to mine,
I was sitting on the floor, but my feet were no longer on solid ground.
I wonder if the distance between us is not from something as innocuous as miles or hours
but the more discrete variable- past open legs leading to closed hearts.
I'm not asking you to open your front door to me, unwittingly there is no need,
you've already found a spot in the sheets from me- conveniently forgetting you've already let me in.
And while you are speaking in operational terms to create what we are not,
you have quietly defined what we are.
Counting the statistics of it all, if we are the 95th percentile in our sample size of damaged goods,
5 percent is still unaccounted for- I place my hope of you among the population of those still yet to fall.
I can count those invisible scars when my lips are on your neck and you remind me it's too hard,
but when placed elsewhere the rule is no longer valid.
True or false, it is only too much when my breath can trail thoughts closer to your heart
where my intimacy is harder to un-feel.
True or false, some distances are so deep within our heads they become simply not real.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
Virtue this Sample, Beauty's Maiden Name
For Last Year's Praise I was Honest and Mean
Offering Roses whilst praying for Gain
Across Nation's Wear impossible to see
What Reality? Only a Bigot's Hat
Covers what the Bilderbergs want us to Know
Delusions a-like, or Clarity at that
Once revealed would make the Whole System blow
Forgive me. I should have spoken Tamed Words
As a Son-in-Duty in Prudent Form
If only but Fair, that he should give Word
Then I could have ended this Year-Long Storm.
I only meant Peace; If he can just Speak
If he can be Open; And I be Meek.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC