"simi" poems - Hello Poetry

Dysfunction and happiness Don’t usually go hand in hand But that describes you and I story The wise-man n’ Elle, a soldier n Simi A bad-ass movie in a broken DVD player More than ever our thoughts burn hateful And deep in our souls, the will begets cold Sealing us close and everything left to feel An illusion of end that tarnishes our peace Cleaner we walk and little by little we lied We each run a race to attain the crown I, the heir of Christopolis: a half man A king with no kingdom – a danger And you: heir of feline, an anger A shy queen with no freedom With no changes - so I ask myself Is this a sample of psychological fraud That people uses sensual relations n’ beliefs To sway their cause to others; positive or not Let us redeem your soul n’ gleam thou purpose Sell me thou beauty for luxury n’ fame, she says But the boy had his way with words: he opposed Curiosity is dangerous n' assumption is powerful Staring within her eyes with an abominable face He turn n’ stormed away with grace n’ disbelief Struggling not to outcry in compelling dismay Twas nice to desire, but hers is not a proper Piece of human sexuality; a noetic disorder The lesbians and gays - the political tool A change in the city, a proactive lie That errs up as Satan - a musical fool First he sings: “I bring peace and wealth” Next they proclaimed: “It is a Human Right” Another piece of the puzzle of human sexuality But so the Book quotes – an abomination I hate “No man shall have intimacy with another man” Let’s not rearranged n’ be lost – it cost our health For war is better than the choice of homosexuality They know they are doom, so they tend to mislead Some sit in shelters n' compose fraudulent grants Lies, patriotism n’ tradition to keep society inline For as long as they can, so afraid to lose control But wealth and health must go hand in hand For we are more of a lion than the least Quite divine and above every beast

0

Jan 8, 2019

Jan 8, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC

MinusculeEgo

Less than a Beast

Dysfunction and happiness Don’t usually go hand in hand But that describes you and I story The wise-man n’ Elle, a soldier n Simi A bad-ass movie in a broken DVD player More than ever our thoughts burn hateful And deep in our souls, the will begets cold Sealing us close and everything left to feel An illusion of end that tarnishes our peace Cleaner we walk and little by little we lied We each run a race to attain the crown I, the heir of Christopolis: a half man A king with no kingdom – a danger And you: heir of feline, an anger A shy queen with no freedom With no changes - so I ask myself Is this a sample of psychological fraud That people uses sensual relations n’ beliefs To sway their cause to others; positive or not Let us redeem your soul n’ gleam thou purpose Sell me thou beauty for luxury n’ fame, she says But the boy had his way with words: he opposed Curiosity is dangerous n' assumption is powerful Staring within her eyes with an abominable face He turn n’ stormed away with grace n’ disbelief Struggling not to outcry in compelling dismay Twas nice to desire, but hers is not a proper Piece of human sexuality; a noetic disorder The lesbians and gays - the political tool A change in the city, a proactive lie That errs up as Satan - a musical fool First he sings: “I bring peace and wealth” Next they proclaimed: “It is a Human Right” Another piece of the puzzle of human sexuality But so the Book quotes – an abomination I hate “No man shall have intimacy with another man” Let’s not rearranged n’ be lost – it cost our health For war is better than the choice of homosexuality They know they are doom, so they tend to mislead Some sit in shelters n' compose fraudulent grants Lies, patriotism n’ tradition to keep society inline For as long as they can, so afraid to lose control But wealth and health must go hand in hand For we are more of a lion than the least Quite divine and above every beast

45

Sweets Dreams Just east of the Simi valley, where they grow delicious grapes, to turn the buds of afcionado tasters, served with fruity crepes, and west of the biggest strip of all, where fast shakers tend to meet, is this little town, whose name slips my mind, on this busy little street, lives a queen of hearts, princess of mind, maiden of the soul, who's gentle touch upon my heart, has turned me all aglow, she has a way of being funny, but no, she's no ones fool, far from that lame description, she's been to finishing school, yet not overly proper, with sense of reason, sense of good and kind, it's been my pleasure, to have met this lady, and since my heart has pined, I know that we will never touch, not physically at least, but she has my heart, she has my mind, she's tamed this ugly beast, though she will never know, just how much, I dream of her at night, how much I wish, I could hold her close, and kiss my Sweets goodnight Gomer LePoet...

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Mar 12, 2010

Mar 12, 2010 at 3:46 AM UTC

david-nelson

Sweets Dreams

Sweets Dreams Just east of the Simi valley, where they grow delicious grapes, to turn the buds of afcionado tasters, served with fruity crepes, and west of the biggest strip of all, where fast shakers tend to meet, is this little town, whose name slips my mind, on this busy little street, lives a queen of hearts, princess of mind, maiden of the soul, who's gentle touch upon my heart, has turned me all aglow, she has a way of being funny, but no, she's no ones fool, far from that lame description, she's been to finishing school, yet not overly proper, with sense of reason, sense of good and kind, it's been my pleasure, to have met this lady, and since my heart has pined, I know that we will never touch, not physically at least, but she has my heart, she has my mind, she's tamed this ugly beast, though she will never know, just how much, I dream of her at night, how much I wish, I could hold her close, and kiss my Sweets goodnight Gomer LePoet...

24

I live in a dark coal-de-sac giving off Bonnie Tyler sparks the Rod Stewart of loneliness, feeling heart arch at Market Basket I go up and down elevator music with hooks and loops bringing back Ghost and Word Modern interlacing ritual and food in my head and in our breaking bread Why do you think the feast is movable? Weekend food shopping; stocking; cooking some, but most of it, wasted, rotting away even with modern coolness It's just me. It's just she The time is gone, the nest is empty wish I had something more to say It's just Dad visiting every weekend to sit with his daughter to watch his granddaughter play soccer It's just Mom cooking a minor chord meal, nothing like the Major meals of her missing older Sister It's just weekend sushi or Pho in Simi Valley modulating one Key memory to another The voices go ghosts fade and yet the ritualistic love persist in my looped head in my OCD play at every meal repeatedly self cutting our geometric thought Elements within a Euclidean subspace

0

Jun 19, 2016

Jun 19, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC

jojo-nguyen

It's just a heartache

I live in a dark coal-de-sac giving off Bonnie Tyler sparks the Rod Stewart of loneliness, feeling heart arch at Market Basket I go up and down elevator music with hooks and loops bringing back Ghost and Word Modern interlacing ritual and food in my head and in our breaking bread Why do you think the feast is movable? Weekend food shopping; stocking; cooking some, but most of it, wasted, rotting away even with modern coolness It's just me. It's just she The time is gone, the nest is empty wish I had something more to say It's just Dad visiting every weekend to sit with his daughter to watch his granddaughter play soccer It's just Mom cooking a minor chord meal, nothing like the Major meals of her missing older Sister It's just weekend sushi or Pho in Simi Valley modulating one Key memory to another The voices go ghosts fade and yet the ritualistic love persist in my looped head in my OCD play at every meal repeatedly self cutting our geometric thought Elements within a Euclidean subspace

49

Nights Are For Stuff Like This It's 3am. The city's sleeping and I'm not. Lights like scattered dots burn dim outside my window. People are dreaming and I'm awake thinking of the life that's been passing through me like second hands-smoke lingering in the slowed-down traffic of my DNA. Nights are for stuff like this; stuff like silken roads through ragged hillsides, feelings blacker than night that disappear in the day light, prisms bouncing off grey ash, tiny sparks falling through trap doors, never again to be seen nor heard, nor taken for granted upon the long laid train tracks of this ongoing dance. Memory like loaded simi-trucks taking me all the way back through corn fields and hay, through old hard hitting rain that goes clank, clank in my brain. Scars cutting through my skin opening again and again like songs that you hate but can't stop singing on endless streaming highways-hitching a ride inside my mind, pitch-perfect pristine and off-key in the dark, on a night like this blue black over amber gold. I'm a million miles further away and one mile closer. Signposts loud and large selling big hopes for happy dopes, emerging eyes now gone from me peering through clouds because they can, because they probably always will. Because who knows how far they've gone and how far I've come on this night of all nights awake in the grid of passing stars and dividing lines, now merging into my lane for better or for worse where gratitude needs no promotion, because it just is or is not. Because it can't be faked. nor pimped. Because it has no need for patronizing nor apologizing. Because it's outcome, a side effect of nights like this where everything makes sense and where nothing makes any sense at all in this gigantic freeway of time that will eventually reach a dead end. Where sleep will come 'cause the poetry will have run itself off the bend. Ah yea nights are for stuff like this.

0

Jun 26, 2019

Jun 26, 2019 at 9:29 AM UTC

tara-liz-driscoll

Nights Are For Stuff Like This

Nights Are For Stuff Like This It's 3am. The city's sleeping and I'm not. Lights like scattered dots burn dim outside my window. People are dreaming and I'm awake thinking of the life that's been passing through me like second hands-smoke lingering in the slowed-down traffic of my DNA. Nights are for stuff like this; stuff like silken roads through ragged hillsides, feelings blacker than night that disappear in the day light, prisms bouncing off grey ash, tiny sparks falling through trap doors, never again to be seen nor heard, nor taken for granted upon the long laid train tracks of this ongoing dance. Memory like loaded simi-trucks taking me all the way back through corn fields and hay, through old hard hitting rain that goes clank, clank in my brain. Scars cutting through my skin opening again and again like songs that you hate but can't stop singing on endless streaming highways-hitching a ride inside my mind, pitch-perfect pristine and off-key in the dark, on a night like this blue black over amber gold. I'm a million miles further away and one mile closer. Signposts loud and large selling big hopes for happy dopes, emerging eyes now gone from me peering through clouds because they can, because they probably always will. Because who knows how far they've gone and how far I've come on this night of all nights awake in the grid of passing stars and dividing lines, now merging into my lane for better or for worse where gratitude needs no promotion, because it just is or is not. Because it can't be faked. nor pimped. Because it has no need for patronizing nor apologizing. Because it's outcome, a side effect of nights like this where everything makes sense and where nothing makes any sense at all in this gigantic freeway of time that will eventually reach a dead end. Where sleep will come 'cause the poetry will have run itself off the bend. Ah yea nights are for stuff like this.

40

Public schooling houses dangerous and the most delicate beings to walk shy or stomp upon the dirt. Thou whom love to hate, yet hate to love; teenagers. They take their pill if good mannered, but hide it behind false grins, if not, to find later in a tin box dusted in carcinogens. The golf boy doesn't hide his pill- never. Swallowed with a glass of social simi- -larity, he melts away but likes it. He feels safe and warmed by the flame of fake. And then she comes along taking a psychedelic too many- red eyes of their own fire. Taste the skin of ana- -ther on her lips; sweet like cyanide tang. She takes her own kind of pill named CANTSTOP. She is named crack ***** by more than a- -lot of head down murmured voices coated in curiosity. They're not afraid of her anymore- he is though. Slightly but he doesn't say it. **** up- They know it. Golf boy knows it. Crack ***** knows it. He knows it. Small town ****** no future- can't even stay in school long enough to see a paper. But can play a chord like a rose in the barrel of steel- a voice of nostog- -ia. He makes people feel things too deep yet barely scratches the surface of himself. He used to hide his pill. Not anymore. She dreams of running away with a bottle of pennies. He drinks champagne and dreams black. She writes melodramatic spells above her collarbone- he spends the night alone thinking dark things about a girl who now lacks a soul- she used to light up. Not now though. And they all take their pill like good little kids.

0

Feb 6, 2018

Feb 6, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC

redruMAndTea

Morphine Comes In Pink Pills

Public schooling houses dangerous and the most delicate beings to walk shy or stomp upon the dirt. Thou whom love to hate, yet hate to love; teenagers. They take their pill if good mannered, but hide it behind false grins, if not, to find later in a tin box dusted in carcinogens. The golf boy doesn't hide his pill- never. Swallowed with a glass of social simi- -larity, he melts away but likes it. He feels safe and warmed by the flame of fake. And then she comes along taking a psychedelic too many- red eyes of their own fire. Taste the skin of ana- -ther on her lips; sweet like cyanide tang. She takes her own kind of pill named CANTSTOP. She is named crack ***** by more than a- -lot of head down murmured voices coated in curiosity. They're not afraid of her anymore- he is though. Slightly but he doesn't say it. **** up- They know it. Golf boy knows it. Crack ***** knows it. He knows it. Small town ****** no future- can't even stay in school long enough to see a paper. But can play a chord like a rose in the barrel of steel- a voice of nostog- -ia. He makes people feel things too deep yet barely scratches the surface of himself. He used to hide his pill. Not anymore. She dreams of running away with a bottle of pennies. He drinks champagne and dreams black. She writes melodramatic spells above her collarbone- he spends the night alone thinking dark things about a girl who now lacks a soul- she used to light up. Not now though. And they all take their pill like good little kids.

37

By: Cedric McClester, It's a long way from New York to Simi Valley But we've done the math And added up the tally Of unarmed black and brown men Who've been shot Tragically by bullets From a cop With hands held high In a gesture of surrender They have been shot down In all their youth and splendor And who do you guess Might be the prime offender Someone in blue uniform Is the top contender Like Rodney King After the facts are stated They don't get indicted Or are vindicated While the family of the victims Have all waited For justice that's denied Or just vacated With hands held high In a gesture of surrender They have been shot down In all their youth and splendor And who do you guess Might be the prime offender Someone in blue uniform Is the top contender It's not so much your color As your class That might determine If a cop acts much too fast Barely identifying themselves Before they blasts And your future could Quickly becomes your past With hands held high In a gesture of surrender They have been shot down In all their youth and splendor And who do you guess Might be the prime offender Someone in blue uniform Is the top contender Those who celebrated The Arab Spring Missed the point entirely And that's the funny thing Everywhere young people Are clamoring for change And demanding justice Though some might find it strange It's a long way from New York to Simi Valley But we've done the math And added up the tally Of unarmed black and brown men Who've been shot Tragically by bullets From a cop Copyright (c) 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.

0

May 28, 2015

May 28, 2015 at 3:46 PM UTC

cedric-mcclester

FROM NEW YORK TO SIMI VALLEY

By: Cedric McClester, It's a long way from New York to Simi Valley But we've done the math And added up the tally Of unarmed black and brown men Who've been shot Tragically by bullets From a cop With hands held high In a gesture of surrender They have been shot down In all their youth and splendor And who do you guess Might be the prime offender Someone in blue uniform Is the top contender Like Rodney King After the facts are stated They don't get indicted Or are vindicated While the family of the victims Have all waited For justice that's denied Or just vacated With hands held high In a gesture of surrender They have been shot down In all their youth and splendor And who do you guess Might be the prime offender Someone in blue uniform Is the top contender It's not so much your color As your class That might determine If a cop acts much too fast Barely identifying themselves Before they blasts And your future could Quickly becomes your past With hands held high In a gesture of surrender They have been shot down In all their youth and splendor And who do you guess Might be the prime offender Someone in blue uniform Is the top contender Those who celebrated The Arab Spring Missed the point entirely And that's the funny thing Everywhere young people Are clamoring for change And demanding justice Though some might find it strange It's a long way from New York to Simi Valley But we've done the math And added up the tally Of unarmed black and brown men Who've been shot Tragically by bullets From a cop Copyright (c) 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.

66

We walked the length of the tributary in the Simi hills tonight. timid lulls of filthy water lap against the rims of our shoes as we trudge under a dilapidating sun that breathes heavy over the San Fernando Valley. It is too warm for jackets so we trudge side by side decorated with summer regalia, the wind is hot for September and I watch as you soak the sweat from your brow on a green bandanna. As we approach highway 134 you stop and turn into the setting sun the blue of your eyes lights up the green rim around an olive pupil and you smile that deep, voracious grin that throws me into an almost sleep like daydream. and in this moment, with the palms swaying in the distance and the cry of the Northern fulmar straying too far from the beach, I decide I would go anywhere with you even if the sun never came out to push me to this place.

0

Sep 5, 2014

Sep 5, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC

sapsorrow

About your Eyes

We walked the length of the tributary in the Simi hills tonight. timid lulls of filthy water lap against the rims of our shoes as we trudge under a dilapidating sun that breathes heavy over the San Fernando Valley. It is too warm for jackets so we trudge side by side decorated with summer regalia, the wind is hot for September and I watch as you soak the sweat from your brow on a green bandanna. As we approach highway 134 you stop and turn into the setting sun the blue of your eyes lights up the green rim around an olive pupil and you smile that deep, voracious grin that throws me into an almost sleep like daydream. and in this moment, with the palms swaying in the distance and the cry of the Northern fulmar straying too far from the beach, I decide I would go anywhere with you even if the sun never came out to push me to this place.

14

widze (i see) widelec... (fork) widły... (pitchforks) hammer, and sickle... or should it look like a hammer & scythe? etymology: the origin of words... well... it's superior to darwinism... the chimpanzee is a given. now a terrible joke: twirl the star of david to represent a man sitting on a square carpet opening a book... a bit like twisting the ******** by the nazis... behind a crooked cross (slayer, south of heaven album); fair enough... but etymology is still superior regarding darwinism... o.k. o.k., we, origin, from monkey... chimps more apparentkly than gorillas... huh? why not originating from madascar lemurs? did the eskimos come from orangutans... **** me... down syndrome monkeys... orangutans ≠ down syndrome (based on ****** features)?! knife = nóż... łyżka = spoon. in terms of using language? darwinism is fuck-all... it's about the "mystery" of etymology... i really should have "said": the mystery... of etymology... at least there's some logic attributed to the practice... too many images with darwinism exist... said conclusion of the base for the concept of: **** similis... or simi similis... ******* satyrs... the origin of words (etymology) will always be more important than comparing forms, i.e. humans with apes, & tigers... with bonsais... i.e. cats.

0

May 20, 2017

May 20, 2017 at 11:32 AM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

etymology is superior to darwinisn

widze (i see) widelec... (fork) widły... (pitchforks) hammer, and sickle... or should it look like a hammer & scythe? etymology: the origin of words... well... it's superior to darwinism... the chimpanzee is a given. now a terrible joke: twirl the star of david to represent a man sitting on a square carpet opening a book... a bit like twisting the ******** by the nazis... behind a crooked cross (slayer, south of heaven album); fair enough... but etymology is still superior regarding darwinism... o.k. o.k., we, origin, from monkey... chimps more apparentkly than gorillas... huh? why not originating from madascar lemurs? did the eskimos come from orangutans... **** me... down syndrome monkeys... orangutans ≠ down syndrome (based on ****** features)?! knife = nóż... łyżka = spoon. in terms of using language? darwinism is fuck-all... it's about the "mystery" of etymology... i really should have "said": the mystery... of etymology... at least there's some logic attributed to the practice... too many images with darwinism exist... said conclusion of the base for the concept of: **** similis... or simi similis... ******* satyrs... the origin of words (etymology) will always be more important than comparing forms, i.e. humans with apes, & tigers... with bonsais... i.e. cats.

45