"showcases" poems
Derartu, Haile, Tirunesh
Kenenisa, Meseret, and all
With a similar footfall!
Displaying a superb
Long-distance athletic feat
When many superstars
Awe inspiringly you beat
And as a result of it
When your sought-for
Fought-for
And nation- prayed-for
Dream proves a hit
And also with kudos
A stadium full of people opt
You to greet
And when spectators
Accord you a high five
It is for your country's flag
You immediately dive!
Also on the podium
while Ethiopia's row-wise
Green,Yellow and Red
Emblazoned flag,
Shoulder high,
Soars above
You express
Your umbilical cord-tight
National love
With tears that
Trickle down each of
Your cheek,quick.
Is it because
Reminiscent of
Each living hero
With a life sacrifice
That brought colonial
Aggression to zero?
Is it because
The bounty of the land
You grew up
Seeing first hand?
Is it because
The cherished corner
You cut in the heart of
The poor but prideful
Ethiopian neighbour?
Is it because
The unity in diversity
That showcases
Ethiopia's identity
Or citizens hospitality?
Is it because
At heart strings a tug
Or ,among others
Gratefulness to
Your iron-strong lung
When you hear
Ethiopian anthem sung?
Is it because a secret another
Deep down you harbour?
Is it because the Fertility
Hope and Sovereignty ideals
The flag advance,
Also Ethiopia's being
A beacon of independence
What is more
The nation's renaissance
Which in a curtain of mist
Before your eyes dance?
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
looking at the sunset, the time where the skies want to look pretty for us
Even during the summertime, wintertime, spring, fall; every season the sky goes into a different style
but we also make ourselves look pretty for someone special
But imagine being the sunset, that not only one person see’s your beauty but the whole world gets to see it?
The colour that the sky showcases, it changes, beauty changes everyday
maybe I could be your sunset & u can be the sunrise, so I can wake up & see the beauty in you
Dawn & twilight, sunrise and sunset
Now paint yourself like that sunset.
Maybe living life like the sunset,
I could see the beauty in anything, within myself, & within the world
So go and be the sunset,
The world wants to see you shimmer
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 2:18 AM UTC
As a student you hold a pen,
Just so very often.
Hold it carefully and take its care,
For it can get broken.
Threading all the letters beautifully,
Cursive you write so neat.
We complement each other,
That too so well.
You need polishing just a bit more,
I need a lot of it.
Earlier my handwriting used to be worse,
But now it has improved as you have come.
Come and write your name,
Not on paper but on my arm.
Come now and come closer to me,
This feels like a dream materialized.
Now that Both have chosen The Best,
I am just glad that we chose each other.
I look at your handwriting,
It means the world to me dear.
When your heart is so beautiful,
Your handwriting is also gorgeous.
Yeah you saw my handwriting,
It is not like your elegant one.
So I am content that our children'll have beautiful handwritings.
Your handwriting tells me that you're innocent,
It also showcases a beautiful heart which I love.
Capitalize on your boon of good handwriting,
Success beckons you and now you just need to study sincerely.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
herein lies common fault - loosely hanging on a speculative conjecture
than exact detail.
mind's prison- asylum.
you go in to see furtive showcases
of the many names walking without
faces. you went in without invitation. only or abstract solicitation.
there is something that sinks
deeper than marrow, blows colder than December winnow, something that burgeons beyond naked sense.
inside this lair,
conflated you are with bent question marks to their distinct, curved smallnesses. you peek into the window of my eyes and inside this airless vault, we are both
heavy with staring at each other
dripping and bare-all, yet
this rigmarole of eyes contain
their visceral silences still.
i stripped them all of their voices
and they only look at each other
with onerous eyes, pondering
about their places, answerless
and just whirling in capacitous space --
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
Blue-grayish waves lap summer's sun-drenched beaches,
eternal, soothing rhythm, an enduring melody, into the soul it reaches.
Neighboring celestial bodies, conductors of the tides, creating eon's symphony,
embracing, pacifying music: a choral harmony.
Placid, glistening lake with fall moon's luminescent splendor,
silvery, reflective mirror, still and serene, lying quietly in slumber.
Bright, streaming rays, upon the surface, become as two entwined eternally,
brilliantly flowing: a beacon of tranquility.
White, pristine snow upon the meadow on a winter's early morning,
softly sown, caressing Mother Earth, pure and alluring.
Sol's rays shimmering on crystal flakes, a mosaic luminosity,
sparkling diamond facets: a blanket of serenity.
Dew-covered fields patched with spring's wild flowers,
dazzling array, vibrant and alive, displaying rainbow's colors.
A zephyr stirs bouquets of aromatic splendor, emerging reality,
a living portrait masterpiece--a canvas of vitality.
Nature, an ageless composer, conceiving kaleidoscope showcases,
perennial seasons casting actors on scores of different stages.
Wise is it, from time to time, to pause in awe and humble reverence,
and view a master artist's majestic, grand performance.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 5:32 PM UTC
there is books stacked in the corner and words flow out of every nook and cranny
a single light burns in the middle of the room
a light that dissolves your mask, a light that highlights ever scar you cut
on my oh-so innocent face, that was never touched by a man
you burned and branded what you wanted into my head
a head full of imagination, now empty of thought
you poured acid in my mouth, to cease my right of speaking
a mute... a freak of nature, with pink ribbon scars tattooing my arms
my freckles hide behind tears and mascara
no longing knowing freedom - caged by you, a fake friend
a fake man
i thought a man was supposed to protect their girl from harm
not cause the harm themselves, but of course it is not entirely your fault
maybe if i never said yes to your offer, without reading the fine print
maybe if i wasn't such a little girl, when you wanted a tough woman
but you can see my past in black-and-white
and the past in never pretty
i've never experienced a boy-meets-girl relationship... but i've known of a boy-hates-girl relationship
but now the light showcases this on a podium for all to see
maybe i'm not as crazy as you think
maybe i'm just human - diseased
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
The poor are blessed.
Those that hunger are blessed.
Those that cries are blessed.
Those that feels hated, are blessed.
Those that demises others, are blessed.
Except, it's up to us to mirror an image way above this earth.
One good deed has a mutiple of rewards to come.
Just one good deed showcases your love.
When you're in high spirit.
You are blessed.
When you feel you undeserving.
You are blessed.
We find many of times that our luck is around the corner.
We must believe, we are blessed.
Just to be loved.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
A ******** kid growing up
in Rosewood all alone,
a world full of anger
& turf fights.
She learned early-on
how to use a butterfly knife,
showcases a horizontal battle scar
on her shoulder blade,
it makes her look mean.
She has the face of a dark angel,
elegant-Hispanic
with hints of ******
twisted on her full rosy lips.
She talks rude street-vernacular,
the same dialect used by
those cracked gems
doing hard time
down in the big house.
She’s just seventeen,
and not the kind
found standing in
a Beatle happy-ever-after love song.
This girl plays tough,
she witnessed her first drive-by at ten,
dropped out at twelve,
she’d slit your throat for her tribe,
that’s rough.
And sadly,
she’ll never get out,
ever get to see
the wonderful things
most young girls dream about
that come true.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
Delicate ochre haze
against dark mountains
separates receding
lines of luxuriant trees. These
valley vistas,
these suburbs, look
like an 18th-century set
design: the landscape
stepping back
one row
after the other in
distant views. Funny
how hanging contamination
gently showcases
nature.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
oh, the sun is burning hot
as the waves rise up off of the black top
forming the familiar distortion
distinctly laced with humidity.
the young man marches, toes exposed
with flip-flops smacking down
and on the verge of melting
to the grand avenue sidewalk.
fuzzy memories like warped records
spin their sharps and flats in awkward places
and bring scent trails of teenage years:
bonfires, exhaust, lingering birdcages.
kreckel's still serves the same lemon ice cream,
but the billiards out back have been closed for a time.
quarters spent on raiden fighters rust in time
as the men muttering in the background play bumper pool.
the heat still feels the same in present summer,
and some of the same faces stay on the card.
routine and commitments are starting to build,
blurring the expressions of familiarity into fog.
the young man marches, face exposed
to the blistering light of day
as lines start to form where charm has twinkled
in the schoolyard and stagnant hallways.
years spent in sleep are pulsating
as the lull between cicadas
seems to stretch the summers south
to the screeching of metallic showcases.
he's buckled to the cracks in the concrete
that bulge upward and trip drunks after last call.
unshackled only to ride shotgun with the few
that still remember their seventh grade summers.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
I know why the joker
Doth smile and jest,
And laughs so gleefully at thee.
Thy spirits, he soothes,
With frolicking moves;
The way he sways is so lovely.
The cracks that he'll take
Are enough to make
The dimmest and dullest of minds
Feel stricken and stabbed
With all that he's jabbed:
His kicks are gained heeding your bind.
Showcases of joy,
He seeks to employ:
Even if it's at your expense,
He'll take your dismay,
And cast it away!
Despite his obvious offense...
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 1:33 AM UTC
Listen for it.
Whats trying to be found,
it was within grasp,
but lost when not put to use.
Where is it?
Why won’t it come back?
Insanity is beginning to creep with out it
please come back
to me...
before I lose myself with you.
All that's left is apologies and tithes,
amends that should have been extended long ago.
Words with out direction that need to spoken.
I feel you near
but constantly
you remain evasive.
Constantly craving our past,
when you would drift to the edge,
tip forward showcases,
and present the different reality
of who I am.
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 4:51 PM UTC
Restriction of the Bay's yeehaw,
Politely in the inner steel,
Cold bars to the planet Mars,
Dealers are encased as they want a deal!!!!
Currency friendly banker's bank upon thy smallest of wages,
Where buttered blades slice through T. C control!!!
Quadruplets of chain-gang walk in's all talking is sprayed like Russian magazines,
Some grown to addiction,
Dreamer's stay phene!!!!
Profane novelists attend the wickered chairs,
Wherein only ones a pair in solitaried room,
Twenty months to thou makes a year,
While a year settles for two....
Draft windows,
Plasticated pillows are showcases for what's to come!!!
Sit down,
Thou fool in blue the shows here, or the show has just begun!!!!!
Bribery is doubled,
A hand here at this polo lagoon!
Wherein monsoon's turn to drop outs,
Where knockout's are proprietary locked into place wittled with screws!!!!
Strenuous pulsation's beat to the enflamed core,
Pose thyself,
Thy critic of nature and god, you've settled your betted scores!!!!!
Narcotic,
I see you promising greater hopes with pre-maturities scope,
I've missed the hanging strike!!!
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
There are many books adorning my library
Every stack placed painstakingly
All your names feature in my catalogue
I know you by names and can recall every rendezvous
Each one of you have given me a new perspective
Sitting at the corner of my library, I have seen the world
Everyone of you have opened up to me
So that I could decipher the true meaning behind every words
Every picture registered in the canvas of my mind
I turned every page like an eager child
All of you have been my true companion
No matter the seasons and the year
I always looked at my collection with pride
Every one of you donning an interesting cover
From cover to cover, the pages sleeping in silence
Waiting for me to uncover with love, the way of the world
Every one of you had a different creator, who sacrificed you
It is such a sacrificial ritual for a writer, to reach out to readers like me
It pains them not, but is proud to depart with their possession
Filling you with all the tales and explanations of various themes
Through the centuries, books are a playing a vital role
It’s an art how you read them; read between the lines to decipher the true meaning
Now, I stand proudly in front of the shelves, which showcases my wealth
All of you are not part of a collection, but my friends forever…
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
i find it strange that i'm writing this letter to you.
but it kind of showcases our friendship.
all it was was an innocent kiss on your hand.
but i kissed you, instead of you kissing me [on the cheek].
so here we go.
it's like every word you say has an extra meaning.
every touch you steal or demand has an extra feeling.
so when you said, "kiss it, make it better," i wondered.
i wondered what exactly i was making better for you.
it could, of course, just be that you hit your hand on my pool steps.
but that was all you, anyway. i thought you were tackling me.
not hugging me.
but then again, it could, of course, be you were looking for a reaction.
if that's the case, i wish i knew why. i think i'm pretty clear on what i want.
you're the one complicating things, you know.
keep your mischievous eyes to yourself.
keep your troublesome lips closed.
god forbid we do anything we'd be ashamed of.
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 6:02 PM UTC
I could pretend to be anything I decides too.
But in the end the through would soon emerge.
I could imagine, in my mind things I am.
Except, I rather be me.
A con artist showcases only his skills of manipulation.
The same skills that a flim flam man have.
Whether it's a doctor, a lawyer or a businessman.
Except, I rather be me.
Scheming never gets you anywhere.
Except for fooling people in life.
Who was fooled by the mirage?
What you see in me?
Is truth.
What you see in them?
Is a fool.
Who couldn't be me?
What I achieve to be?
Is based on my determination.
And once I succeed.
Then I bet they would rather be me.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
I often wonder will things get much more tolerable
Wondering if the future sorrow is enough to swallow
Will I have enough capital for my family to borrow
Wondering if I will be able to say every night,
"I get to wake up next to the man of my dreams tomorrow"
The older I become and the more I begin to live,
The more reality sinks in and showcases an imagery beyond livid
Only 7 when I began to write
That same exact age was when I had to fight over and over for my life
I'm human, yes I say ****** phrases out of spite
But in all actuality I speak what's on my mind to sleep peacefully at night
Words are powerful
Encouraging notions can mend broken hearts
The lack of love and bravery to stand up for what we believe is tearing society apart
I just landed in the home that made me who I am
I felt that I should give you a little bit of my mind so you'll understand WHO I AM
I want you, you reading this to adore me for my kind words
Only because they become powerful once they're heard
I'm human far from perfect
But every word I write and process through my cranium is worth it
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
A three day extravaganza
of traditional folk music,
and rustic camping bonanza,
relaxing and therapeutic.
dance, crafts, children's activities
presented at the Old Poole Farm.
the ultimate of festivities
in upper salford, a schwenksville charm.
an event you won't want to miss!
workshops, showcases and concerts,
rain or shine, foods galore, what bliss!
lots of sleeveless shirts and short skirts.
jamming and camaraderie share
a great way to spend summer's end.
the Philadelphia folk fair,
an experience to attend!
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
They are the audience,
You are their puppet.
Attached by ropes hanging above where a stage is lit,
Lights bright, shining right at you,
...from the day you were born.
They were all directors,
-all of them? -yes all of them.
How could there be more than one you may ask?
I guess that's the mystery,
Can't seem to please them all,
But this stage showcases all,
the bad, the good, your actions,
Now you tell me,
where you have no place to hide,
How does a puppet escape a stage and auditorium full
of directors,
Why live in misery?
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 7:22 PM UTC
It's a broken frame now
But it used to be the most beautiful view
Art isn't born without intention
The fear and anger mixed make it pretentious
Loved a picture because of its beauty, pots and flower
Blamed the person who made it
A broken mirror.
It showcases itself as a beautiful victim
Making sanity lose itself; it's a verbatim
Quiet souls try hard to fix the broken
Putting bandages over its narrations
Letting the shards cut the flesh
Saying, “it's what makes fear feel fresh”
Night was awaiting,
You left it complaining
The perfect picture in a wooden frame
How come it let itself be framed?
An easel wasn't its job after all
It felt the pressure of worlds and broken hearts.
Love was being painted on top
Envy was the only emotion for its wrath
You should've told me you were as fragile as a glass
The tension phrases of “Sorry” can't fix the broken pieces of glass
How will the guilt go?
When the souls of the past bubble up to sorrows
Jul 13, 2025
Jul 13, 2025 at 7:11 AM UTC
What happened.
I wish the summers clock would turn clockwise and take me back to those moments.
What happened to the 7 hour facetime calls,
The 'fuck yea i'll come over I'd love to see you',
The 'I'll chase you endlessly' attitude.
Where did the boy who used to build shrines of me go.....
You used a piece of my torn up Jean shorts to worship me.
Why can't you pick me up early in the morning,
Draw me those cute 'Shel Silverstein' type poems and pictures.
How am I supposed to have a morning without them.
I look back into my Box of Your things
See nothing but summers and
Spoken word showcases,
Nothing but memories of pushing me into a bush covered in snow,
When we used to walk arm in arm,
And tell our little stories.
Take me back to the moment when we were in the CVS,
You brought me three flowers,
no bigger than the size of my little finger,
You got down on one knee,
Held them up,
And jokingly asked 'will you marry me.'
Tell me why I still have those,
Tell me why I took it seriously, and kept them.
As the flower flakes it's petals so did the contents of the relationship,
I'm not allowing it to end up a Beauty and the Beast fairytale,
So I guess you've grown up...
Hormones changing,
Development in the mind happening,
Why does it have to change the availability gauge.
So you have been holding back your true feelings,
and you broke some news to me.
You weren't too happy with the relationship,
It didn't feel equal on account to a collective sort of people.
Change.
That's a big word.
We all change,
And it all means something.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
It showcases your footprints
your handwritten I love you's, and will you marry me's
you draw a smiley face and add follow you dreams
the possibilities are endless so you keep carving your messages
Then the wind blows and so the waves rise
they wash away the imprint you left behind
standing ashore, you watch the sand castles collapse
But your memories...your memories will stay intact
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
I am standing at the edge of Never,
Looking beyond, looking across ,
the endless expanse of the
Immortal Sea.
I take a step forward…
Testing ,hoping, wishing, praying
I look down
To see the black waters churning,
Grinding, Crushing, Eternal waves.
I look up only to be blinded by heavens face.
I try to jump I bend my knees
But fall down in defeat instead.
I ventured out to take a leap of faith,
But was pushed down by my own device instead.
I get up, dust off the rubble,
And venture out a little further again…
I am standing at the edge of Never
And with every two steps forward
I’m pushed down by three instead!
The face of heaven scorches on;
And in the horizon of that
All Encompassing Sea,
I see a lone bird fly.
So free, so powerful, so magnificent that beast,
…All too soon it passes from view….
I look ahead
And standing on that Edge of Never
I say,
Destiny be ******
I write My story
I am Emperor, I am Slave
I am Ruler, Master and Subordinate
I am the Dominant and the Submissive
I am pleasure and I am Pain
Who is Faith?! Who is Kismet?
I run my show, I decide the Game.
All I want, All I seek is Within ME
I am standing at the edge of Never
And I take this leap of faith
And as I pummel into those Eternal depths
I know, the oceans but a pond
and the storms just a breeze.
I know all ‘s in my power
and well within my reach.
I drift on those waters
forever free
My strengths, weaknesses, flaws and virtues
Are not washed by those treacherous waves.
Oh my friends! the water just cleanses;
purges my soul,
Glorifies my victory and showcases my loss.
I stood at the Edge of Never
And now I float in the Sea of Life
I’ll get out and go back to the cliff again,
Take that leap once-more…!
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC
Without you,
I have to face myself,
spend time
alone
with myself.
I don’t let my head
fill with visions of us
making love.
I don’t let my mind
wander to a porch
where we
drink wine,
smoke American Spirits,
make music.
I don’t daydream
about our future condo—
your music room which showcases your guitars
your records
or my study which overlooks the herb garden
smells of old, coffee-stained books.
I
sit down with my past and future
drink expensive draft beer,
have political discussions.
Except I am terrifying.
My face is half ripped off
and I reek of decaying flesh
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 7:29 PM UTC
she recounts her life with the lovers she's had,
reliving adoration as she counts them off on her fingers
she showcases their best qualities
I cannot upstage her
I recount my life with prescription bottles
plastic and pharmacies
the time I swallowed all I had because I wanted to be happy
while she recounts, I relapse
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 12:55 AM UTC