"schmoozing" poems
I see two people
so in love with each other
schmoozing numinous dialect,
only a purest of heart can fathom.
I see a kiss I hear it too,
I see eyes pinnacles
lips singing
and heart sinking in love.
Now, do not tell me
I’m seeing
a teaching of Venn diagram
on the display board,
and my explanation for
A intersection B is ludicrous!
Please do not tell me
I’m wrong.
It must be poetry
I'm seeing,
and I'm in love with it
more than anything else.
/*Orginal poem published in Mayalayam, translated by poet. */
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
When the Costa Concordia met with a reef,
it was certain some lives would be lost.
As she listed to starboard at eighty degrees,
Her Captain was first to get off.
Captain Schettino was schmoozing some blonde
when his ship began veering to shore.
He was unwilling to go down on his ship,-
The blonde? yes, but hold the encore.
It seems his chief waiter hails from the Isle,
the Isle with the ship eating reef.
They drew close to shore so he’d wave to his wife
an excursion that beggars belief.
The Coast guard responders where shocked and amazed;
They just couldn’t believe what they saw:
The Cruise liner Captain, paddling furiously,
beating women and children to shore.
Unlike Captain Smith, who stood at his post,
hearing “ Nearer my God to thee.”
The tune that Schettino will sing his bambinos
is “Nearer to Shore take me!”
He’ll spend time in jail, but the punishment pales
when compared to the scope of his sin
This sailor has fallen from grace with the sea
in his dreams let their screams never end.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 9:05 PM UTC
My girl has this boyfriend,
I simply just don't trust;
When she brings him by the house
He dotes and makes a fuss,
Schmoozing me relentlessly,
Something's in the works,
Just teetering on the cusp.
I've got my keen eyes sharpened,
He isn't fooling me,
I've known the likes of him before,
When I was young and free.
But that was someone else's daughter,
No relationship to me.
Yes, she was someone else's dauaghter,
And I was young and free.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC
This shady-bar
gave you more ***** than mixer,
cheap spirits & rot gut elixirs flowed,
some did lines of flake on the teak.
By eight, most dates were sloppy drunk,
buzzed, frazzled to the gills,
schmoozing the feline-walk,
talking **** listening to
Floyd or Skynyrd.
It was a circus of sorts.
Back in those days
we called the cops 'fuzz',
they'd make their rounds
every couple of hours,
it made it look like they were
using tax-dollars wisely,
but we students knew better,
******* establishment.
The parking lot was a mix
of racetrack & boxing ring.
Cars jammed, roared,
cruised, honked
their way
through the fistfights.
Once, I saw two sweet-babes,
real rough-cats scratch and claw
themselves to near death.
The flowered-blouse
on one was ripped clean off,
one of her ***** hung out,
it looked bruised.
Blood streamed down
both of their faces,
ruining their mascara.
When I look back,
it's quite amazing
any of us survived
that freaking place.
Now come to think of it,
the last time
I saw my buddy Marcus
was outside that
nasty-drinking-establishment.
He was ******* amongst
the drunks & excrement.
I really wonder how he survived,
if he made it out of that city
in one piece,
alive.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
Gambale
he comes from the land down under
a golden axe is in his hand
creating his centrifugal funk
all across his note drenched land
he completed his Italian job
sending everyone high fives
while schmoozing in the white room
high powered electric jives
Nunzia was by his side
he was his right hand man
except of course when making love
inside Lydia's love van
one of the great explorers
of this final wild frontier
like a crouching jaguar
keeping his mind so clear
the magical slinging weapon
faster than an arrow
the vibrations pierced through the skin
down inside the marrow
the thunder current crashing
this pathfinder with attitude
it was dawn over the Nullarbor
at crusing altitude
conducting naughty business
for all those who seek to hear
Kuranda is the place you'll find
his vision so perfectly clear
for his right of passages
a little charmer flying by
a present for the future
noteworker on a natural high
Gomer LePoet...
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 3:07 AM UTC
They preen, they brag, they cluck like hens
Favorite pastime? Schmoozing with friends
They lunch, they party, they go to the races
Wearing Versace and botoxed faces
They worship the sun, the moon, and the stars
And fill up their lives with mansions and cars
They spray tan each day to enhance their appeal
These housewives are everything...except real
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 11:11 AM UTC
Stern men line a path, to
Doors with plaques stating former occupants:
Chopin, Churchill, Napoleon III.
Overhead flags hang early evening shadows
From ornate golden arms
Across the first of nine or ten marble steps.
And up them walk folk with schmoozing faces
From cars with private drivers
And windows tinted black.
White limestone porticos are
Split by solid black adorned with gold,
And expensive gowns in violent colour.
And I notice the eyes
Fixed on my passing
As I slip into familiar grey.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 10:05 AM UTC
the peace of the woods would feel empty with out the caw of the crows,
even this piece of the woods would be empty of sound, if trees were to fall in rows,
for there is no one here to hear, they are in their cars, their offices, their homes,
for there is none alone here to hear, they being social on their media, darlings,
scavenging a life or schmoozing but staying distant from the crows and starlings,
they leave a lot of junk behind
for us
it is not in the searching but finding
we fuss,
we feathered ones are eating what they do;
for one day we will be as smart as them or
they will be like us,
no home but a den, a nest, a pit in the ground that they share with one another,
being social without the media, once again,
like it was before
©DWE2013
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC