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Roger Turner - Poet Feb 2014
Beer Left in The Fridge
We can fight like holy demons
And in the end, nobody won
You ain't telling me we're over
I'll tell you when we're done

Just because we fight a bit
We argue and we cuss
I ain't set to call us done
There's time still left in us

I ain't going nowhere
I ain't jumpin' off that ridge
I ain't movin' out on you
While there's beer left in the fridge

I'll tell you when we're finished
Though we argue just a smidge
I ain't going nowhere
While there's beer left in the fridge

Sure, I done my cheating
But I kept my fingers crossed
I know that if I kept in on
My ring would not be lost

So I go and party
But I always come back home
It may take me a couple days
But, I know where I belong

I ain't going nowhere
I ain't jumpin' off that ridge
I ain't movin' out on you
While there's beer left in the fridge

I'll tell you when we're finished
Though we argue just a smidge
I ain't going nowhere
While there's beer left in the fridge

We always talk it over
Once they let me out of jail
I know that you still love me
Or you'd not have paid my bail

There's time for us to make up
And there's time for us to fight
So, three more beer or so
And we'll see which will be tonight

I ain't going nowhere
I ain't jumpin' off that ridge
I ain't movin' out on you
While there's beer left in the fridge

I'll tell you when we're finished
Though we argue just a smidge
I ain't going nowhere
While there's beer left in the fridge
#beer #trending
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sweet leigh Feb 2013
DreamGirl
**** me, I still dream of you.
When I'm thick in sleep and I'm so so lonely
and you
not you but dreamYou my dreamYou is
just so so ******* sweet...
and you're touching and I'm crooning and you're touching
and I'm twitching at the brink
the steady hand steady tongue
bringing me closer and further and closer and further
and I wish
wish wish wish
this was real
real really happening
because dreamYou isn't quite as harsh
as realYou was but
I can't kiss dreamYou without
your perfect dream face
cosmic scary dream morphing
into someone somebody not you
and what's sad
so sad, **** tragic
is you don't care a bit
not a smidge
not a ******* drop about
my miss miss missing you
dream or otherwise.
angst angst angst
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aar505n Dec 2014
Strange Phenomena We Find In A Great City
Stalked the streets of the fair city.
Walked among strangers, talking of change.
Gritty pavement beneath my feet.

Watched around me
at my supposed kith and kin
Saw them with sin
and observed them
as they curved around the streets.

At a shop window,
A little boy stares at the chocolate
In a state of elated joy
But in a limbo, unsure how to profit.

A woman strolls pass a fruit stall.
She sees oranges and clenches her fists
Drenched in the awful memory
Of a fruity misery

An activist tries to preaches
But no one is listening to her speech
An analyst who worries about everything
Scared of being nothing

Sitting at the steps of the church
A boy hides from the dull march of people
Feels a surge inside but words caught at Adam’s apple
So he lets the ink bleed onto a page instead

Outside a run down theatre the actor stood.
His detractors made their presence felt
making him uncertain in his ways,
pushing his very essence into the dark of ether.

Coffee shop was full
but the man stood out
Coffee dripping from his mouth
The blinding glint form his watch,
a lofty story to tell no doubt.

Two souls turned a corner and became one
neither were mourners of their old lives
Two heads on one dead body
Intricacy of the mind and soul
a flase sense of intimacy

And the ghosts joined us on streets
They did not boast of their deaths
At most, they were simple engrossed
with everything from pillar to post

Dragon was there too, wanting a battle
talons rip through rag and bones.
His fire arched upwards
and then down and scorched stones

Chaos raised its heineous face
and embraced the madness
strong winds ravaged the city
blasted every building down

Among the damge I saw them.
Them and more.
A robin flying by,
Mel with her dark eyes,
the river dried up and
four moons impossibly raised.

And everything rained down and destroyed me.


I awoke
but choose to keep my eyes closed.
Wanting to drift in the darkness,
a temporary bliss.
But then the memory surfaced
and I opened my eyes.

I stood on a bridge,
the city to either side of me
and the river running underneath.
No fires, no ghosts.

All seemed restored, I sighed a sigh of releif.
A smidge of hope flowed into me.
From where I stood,
I began to understand it all.

Out, out in the distance
I scarcely saw a man standing on the river
like it was land and not water
My eyes squinted to make him out
but all I could see was an outstreched hand.

He had been observing me
and now he was calling me.
and I would leave this pretty, gritty city
and all its comittees for him.

I would.

But I still had unresolved business.
Story to be told and demons to be slayed
Then I would be a free man.
But untill then I won't be a runaway.
Cause I'll stay as long as it takes.

And with that I adjourned
this session and did returned.
Taking my chances with the city.
a rather loneger poem than i normaly do, but i have this one one my mind for some time now.
Title is a reference to the quote
“What strange phenomena we find in a great city, all we need do is stroll about with our eyes open. Life swarms with innocent monsters.”
― Charles Baudelaire
Hope you enjoy and feel free to comment!
#love #friends #life #god #you #storm #city #them #watching #choas
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Brent Kincaid Dec 2016
MIDDLE SCHOOL ADULTHOOD
Middle-school adulthood
Picking on people is cool.
Nothing important is going on
That has anything to do with school.
Glasses make people four-eyed
Not being thin means they’re fat.
Stutters and stammers are funny
And being snotty is where it’s at.

Ding **** bell, being rich is swell
Don’t  be wimpy, not a smidge
Tree-hugging liberals can go to hell.
Revel in your white privilege.
You want to vote for a Democrat?
Have you lost your silly head?
Just check all the GOP boxes
With Daddy’s choice instead.

Now you’re all grow up today
And have a lot of political power
Which grows and grows  stronger
Each hour by Republican hour.
So don’t weaken now, baby
Do what you know is right.
Stick to your supremacist guns.
Because you know white makes might.

So use your sarcasm as a tool
Secretly whisper against the weak.
And those weak-kneed pacifists,
Those flag burning, long haired creeps;
Ignore them all; give their nose a tweak.
Just like the women you dated and married
They need to follow your lead in life.
After all, they don’t count the same as you.
The important thing is they’re just a wife.

Ding **** bell, power is swell
You never suffer, not a smidge
Don’t worry if you can’t spell.
Revel in your white privilege.
Never vote for a Democrat,
Don’t be that kind of stupid head.
Just check every the GOP boxes
Faithfully keep your state red.
#poetry #adolescence #racism #elitism #childishness #kincaid #gop #prolonged
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Pauline Morris May 2016
The Ugly Troll
Once upon a time in the days of old
There lived a very ugly troll
But her heart was made of gold

Her body was round and lumpy
Her brow furrowed and grumpy
She always stood all slumpy

She was abandoned as soon as she was born
For her mother had looked upon her with scorn
For with beauty she was not adorned

She was wrapped in a towel and placed under a bridge
Right up there on that little ridge
She was nothing then but a little smidge

The forest creatures insteed of eating her up
Raised her as a cub
They even shared with her their grub

The wolf taught of graces
The vultures, patience
The skunk, fragrances

The mouse taught of need
The crow, greed
The fox, speed

She lived in an ugly house of mud
Just like her the outside was a dud
But wow the inside of that hut could warm your blood

Late one night came a knock on her door
It was a knight in shining armor complete with sword
Battle weary, and badly gourd

She took him in and sewed up he's wounds
He looked longingly in her eyes, she thought loved had bloomed
But in reality she unknowingly sealed her doom

For he had seen her heart of gold
Please excuse me, this is where the tale turns cold
For this knight was not so nice, he had a heart of mold

Late that same darkened night
He unsheathed his sharpest knife
And plunged in the troll's chest just right

With a wailing mournful cry
Right there in her hut she would die
In that fleeting moment that sparkle left her eye

That knight cut out that gloden heart
It was so huge he had to put it on a cart
He didn't feel bad, what an ugly troll was he's only thought

The animals came to see what was that screaming sound
The wolfs smelled around
Nose to the ground
Off to hunt that evil knight down

The vultures did what they do, and ate her remains
The crows joined in and did the same
The mice and the fox just ran around all insane

The moral to this story is an ugly body can hold a heart of gold
But this world is very, very cold
So be very careful with your heart and to who it is you show
#evil #knight #animals #guard #goldenheart #uglytroll
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Francis Scudellari Sep 2010
Never underestimate the power of telling people what they want to hear
Our wilier webs
woven with the distractions of self-absorption
can come to feel
cheated if we use them
only for halfhearted games of catch
and eventual release.
He’d overlooked that part.
Then there was an obligation to prey
who so willingly strayed upon the taffy
pull of his sweet and sticky strands.
The scrunch up of their wee faces
squeaked, “We deserve
to have our glued-down expectations
met with a most gruesome expertise.”
He’d just wanted to watch them
struggle a smidge,
at first.
It was a test if this muscle the scribes
ascribe as rightly plagued by pangs
was in him
perhaps despicably defective.
With each tripper-by trapped
the examinations grew
more tortuously complex,
and when none raised even
the slightest murmur of a palpitation,
he gave the web its dripped-dry due,
at last.
“The murderous truth will out,”
they say. It did, monstrously.
Now his bound but gagless masques
are always well-attended.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
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Shari Forman Oct 2013
"Hurt"
Forget all of our webchats,
Forget our fake hugs when we reunited,
Forget the fake love we shared,
And forget our laughs and moments of bonding.
You've hurt me more than you could ever imagine,
And don't try to be friends with me out of guilt,
Because the past can never be erased,
You are honestly a disgrace!
Why sit here and think about you,
After all the pain you put me through,
Neglect, wanting to have *** constantly, and showing no affection towards me,
But there's a whole lot more,
Just not enough to put on paper.
All I was was nice to you,
And you very much exploited me,
And for that I can never forgive you,
You selfish boy!
I used to think you cared about my family,
Friends and sick relatives,
But I now realize you never did.
But I have people who will always love and care about me!
Do me a favor,
And stop texting and calling me out of guilt,
Because you know you never really loved me,
You just wanted to show me off for the time being!
Let's think realistically,
You cared more about yourself than you ever did me!
You put me last of your priority list and you ******* with my head,
For many months!
But I can say one thing about you,
You're very clever,
Into making me fall for you,
But I'm not as stupid as you think,
I'm so done with you!
Even after I write this poem,
I still care about you a smidge,
And I have not a clue of why,
But I know one thing to be true,
I'm leaving you forever; goodbye.
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Nat Lipstadt Feb 2016
on some days, I love you more than others
•••

"on some days, I love you more than others,"
an early morning uh oh
IROLO
(instantly regretted out loud observation),
of the potentially ruinous kind,
spoken with malice towards none,
and obviously,
no forethought,
firmly but modestly muttered
over the modestly rumpled
courtroom battlefield
of sheets, newsprint, mugs
and Bocelli on low

smockingly,
(a slow spreading smile of mock),
she turns her gaze upon
the presumed guilty, querulous,
soon-to-be-ruined ruminator (me),
and asks with
disdainful derisive decisiveness

is your first cuppa too hot darling?
has your uncommon sense of non-sense been burnt?

t'is true I reply,
I feel the burn!

for am I not sworn
to tell the whole heated truth
and nothing but?

my love for you is simply
a mathematical additive,
progression series

every new day I love you
is forever
a mighty mite more
than the prior,
a smudged smidge of a penciled line,
taller than the
higher higher notated
upon ancient yesterday's doorpost

ergo,
ip so factoid,
and therefore,
by definition

on some days I love you more than others
    •••


p.s. never have conversations like this in the presence of within-reach newspapers,
for they be
easy rolled and revised
into fearsome weaponry,
suitably for handy smacking"
two six sixteen
eight fifty one am
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Poemasabi Dec 2013
Holiday Cheer (my first "poem" from 2005)
I've always thought that there should be
A change in personality
At that time of year when the holidays come 'round.

There is a change that I observe
In parking lots as people swerve
Around each other to get a spot they've found

They swear, they scream they go insane
In cars with kids they yell out names
names that'd make a life-long sailor blush

their faces red, they pound the wheel
with two arms flailing and fist of steel
shopping in a frantic blur and rush

Then done they speed out in the night
causing other drivers to pause with fright
going home to dinner with family and friends

They all sit down and raise a glass
asking peace and harmony to last
and beg for prosperity that never ends

please bless these folks who have no clue
or think a smidge of what they do
and take your shopping trips defensively

For they know not that when they bluster
it's all the self control we can muster
not to laugh so hard at them we can not see.
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jack of spades Dec 2016
dear mom: (this is a poem)
dear mom: (this is a poem)
     (this is typed so that you don’t have to struggle through my handwriting-- which is, like me, sloppy and a little difficult, but sometimes people tell me that it’s pretty and artsy. your handwriting is swirly and elegant and sometimes hard to read, but i love looking at it anyway.)
     psychologically speaking, children do not understand “good” and “bad” in terms of flaws until they are taught by observing, watching their elders discriminate peers based on skin and shape and size and little pieces of identity that seem to be unusual. children see moles and freckles as interesting marks. squishy tummies are good for laying on. good hugs are good hugs, whether you’re tall or short or gangly or round.
     psychologically speaking, a child’s insecurities will stem from their parents--
     when a girl sees her mother disliking something about herself, that girl is more likely to grow up and feel that way as well.
     people tell me that i look like you all the time. (i like to roll my eyes a little passively and act like i’m sick of hearing it (sometimes it does get tiring) but it has always been a compliment.) this is not me telling you that i have your insecurities (i know you don’t like your chin and your arms and sometimes you don’t like your tummy) but instead this is me telling you this:
     you and dad always like to tell me how beautiful i am.
     momma, i look like you. you’re beautiful too.
     you’re the perfect height for hugging because, if i want to, i can engulf you and pull my arms over yours and tuck my face into your shoulder. but you’re also the perfect height for hugging because if i need to, i can tuck myself under your arms and press my face against your collarbone and feel protected by you.
     your hands hurt a lot now but that doesn’t mean they can’t still make beautiful things. i love the way that your fingers compliment your wedding/engagement rings.
     your arms are good for lifting, picking up new projects and painting and framing and helping me carry things.
     (harry potter had his mother’s green eyes and so do i. lily potter didn’t have glasses but that just means that we’re beating them by just a smidge, then.)
     your hair is perfect for being played with, soft and easy to run my fingers through. (you endured countless Little League baseball games with me twisting your poor tresses into knots, didn’t you? and you’ve spent hours patiently playing with mine, because even though your hands get tired you know that it feels good.)
     dear mom: i know it kinda ***** to deal with moody teenagers (twice!) especially when you can’t really figure out what we’re upset about half the time, but you never get angry when i cry out of frustration. you listen to my dubiously-correct fun facts and watch silly videos of adorable cats and you buy me books and paint and all kinds of crafty things, and i know from experience how hard it can be to love yourself sometimes but mom, here’s the thing: *i love you.
my mom is having a rough time so here's part of her christmas present
#mom #mother #daughter
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Misnomer Nov 2011
[no title. just a 'unnel].
I suppose I hadn't supposed, hadn't thought what a true, deadened chrysalis wonder
she was. Not until I pressed my lips against lobe and had to bend this way and
that. Most awkward. Felt un-gentle-manly. Felt unwomanly. Felt like
some copper etched away from an old photograph (is that why I...
looked like such a fool?) benign attitude, work force, eat, eat,
sleep, eat, *****, rob, and rot. my own mother sneered at
me. she draped gritty cloths across my forehead and, o
i died a smidge each time. now i cradle this thing...
this beautiful, tragic, fawn, black euphoria, well,
thing. spot on i can tell you i no wanna harm
or grease the poor thang. thang will evolve
to thong. she wuld naught grows up to
eva, eva-- (emfucis- emp-emphaw
sis. emphasis) like mama's own
twisted chalice. **** she
sure did remind me of
jazz, the squeaky
kind you don't
eva seem to
hear.
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xntivibes Sep 2013
sleeping whispers
"An american nightmare, I'd rather be dead."

She was sleeping in her bed, mind
racing with dreams,
thoughts clouding her small mind
her sleep drowning in the beginning of
a nightmare
die,* the voices whispered, waking her her petite ears that are
adorned with the two diamond hearts her
mother bought her for christmas last year
no one wants you here, a spirit shrieks, evading her 2 am distraction, making
her small body jump in fear
you can't live like this, her parents, teachers, new therapists have said to her
seek help, dear, they continued to preach, throughout adolescence
though not realizing she was drowning in her own voice,
her threatening mind
after days, weeks, months, she couldn't
think any more good because it was instantly
covered by her own horrid thoughts
so instead of writing or singing, she
turned to another helper, a monster
of it's own.

...the blade cut her skin, the razor
made the panic disappear and
the voices fade
for just a few moments, that was all she needed
it left her skin with a tingle, a
fiery touch nothing like she
had ever felt before
one Night particularly her father
had sought solace in alcohol that sunday evening
and instead of
keeping quiet to himself, only drown his sorrows of the day
insults, words not of endearment, were spat her way
worthless, *****, suicidal freak, *****
all that were echoes from her weeks at that prestigious, expensive private school
her parents had thrown money at
because she wasn't grotesque or proletariat to even be seen in 'public schools'
and instead of voicing concern over her distraught father
she calmly stepped into her small, cozy bedroom
adorned with every expensive thing she desired
and she grabbed her blade and cut just a touch deeper,
a smidge further,
a small bit sharper than before.
Now she lays sleeping with a gravestone at her head
that reads her name
and no nightmares to cloud her young mind anymore
however, she hadn't realized that her nightmares
did not go away,
rather,
they were left back on earth
with her loved ones as their newly sought homes.
this is long, i hope it's worthy
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Curing Dec 2014
More
Like the hero of a story
...arriving two pages too soon.
The plot incomplete, like our own waxing moon.

Like the sweetest of fruits
...plucked a smidge premature.
Timing is crucial for love to endure.

If Love is a light
...to be alone is the night
...before two hearts unite
...we search absent sight
...starving for you, yet unable to bite

He's felt it before
...as he crashed to the floor
...a tormented soul seared to the core
...as the deafening silence continues to roar
...he misses her more
...and more
...and more
#love #regret #heart #alone #lost #curing
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Brittany Leigh Feb 2010
Internet Fairytales II
'Pets and Palates'

he had only two real loves
ducks and waffles
this was highly disconcerting
to his parents
who tried to distance their boy
from these strange affectations
by buying him a precious pet goose
named Berchunice
and putting him on a steady diet
of pancakes
and their various
international counterparts
needless to say
he didn't live to a great age
as a matter of fact
he died at twenty-two and a smidge
because while pets generally extend and enrich life
caring for a goose you despise
and dining on starchy carbs
seriously inhibits life expectancy

his passing was terribly unfortunate
as was the life his parents had forced upon him
if they hadn't forced these changes on him
had they merely accepted
perhaps
encouraged even
this love of ducks and waffles
their lovely lad
would have
efficiently and economically
solved global warming
in an effort to protect
the best interest
of his friends
the ducks
and in his downtime
he would have put
a major dent
in the world hunger problem
with a highly adaptable
waffle recipe
too bad.
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Randolph Llewellyn Wilson May 2017
The Afternoon Butter ....
Spread over warm shortbread ,
a drizzle with molasses and cornbread
On a fresh baked apple , a dabble on a **** ,
a spoonful over your corn on the cob
Hoecakes , pancakes , johnnycakes and
hushpuppies
A crawfish boil , a 'smidge in the stew , *** liquor , fresh hominy in the fridge ,
drop biscuits , catfish breading and Columbus
grits
Grandmother's frosting with a -
Mason Jar
The Old Red Rooster sleeps in PawPaw's car
Barn Owl hoot 'n holler
Two York's in the afternoon wallow
Blackberry muffins on the rack
An afternoon stitch on Uncle Joe's back
Three legged pup in a red clay ditch
Mother whipping okra with a hickory switch* .....
Copyright May 2 , 2017 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
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Harly A Quinn May 2015
My Feelings Bucket
It feels like I keep
my feelings in a bucket
And each day
it gets heavier
and heavier
Until I empty it.

But until Then
I carry this bucket around
It drags in the dirt behind me
and weighs me down.
And at the end of each day
I feel so heavy myself.

Every night I sort
through the bucket,
All the anger is crusted
to the bottom
and It's impossible to scrub away
Happiness is always falling out.
It takes a lot more happiness to fill that bucket
and even then it weights
less that even a speck of anger.

It takes a drop of sadness, a smidge
of pain, or even a dash of
frustration to overpower the happiness and
shove it from the bucket.

Finally one day I look
down at this bucket of mine and
I realize, I'm tired
of lugging it around
and carrying
the wounds
and anger of my past self.

Tonight I empty my bucket
I'll let the pain and sadness
go
and set the anger free

After all I can't hold on to it
forever
#go #feelings #anger #it #let #therapy #bucket #merp
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1SP Sep 2012
Land of the Free
A Lamar Original


Instead of being the Americans
That none chose to remember;
Let us become the America
That fondly glows with splendor.


No longer will we attack an America
That has the smidge of craft,
If we must attract the Americans
Who have to bridge the gap.


Great opportunity does not come,
Because we inhabit America;
Great opportunity does so come,
Because America inhabits us.


America,
This is the land of the free,
And we must prosper as one,
If we wish to continue to be…
In America,
The land of the free.


Instead of bringing forth an America
That rejects all faces;
We will bring forth Americans
That respect all races.


No longer will we charter an America
That greeds all day with favor,
If we must harbor the Americans
That bleed all day from labor.


For it is not how we live in this country
That determines the fate of our lifetime,
But it is so how we live in this lifetime
Which determines the fate of our country.


America,
This is the land of the free
And we must prosper as one,
If we wish to continue to be…
In America,
The land of the free.
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ellis danzel May 2014
Rock My World
This is the introduction to another cliche poem about love...well maybe.

I just want to meet one **** person that enthralls me, that doesn't end up just wanting me for ***. I honestly thought that maybe she'd be different. But, to her, I think I'm just a one night stand.

I mean really??

I just need her to tell me she felt something different with me.

I just need her to tell me that I'm more than some stupid one night stand.

I just want her to tell me that she could fall in love with me...because whenever I'm around her, I'm always blushing, I'm always bashful, she brings out the shy little boy in me.

or maybe,

I'm crazy.

or maybe,

Its just the hormones.

The testosterone is probably driving me little insane.

Oh the unfortunate life of a transman. Sad, but true.

...with a smidge of anger, but that's besides the point...I'm always angry, I'm a poet.

and if there is one thing you need to know about this poet,

its that he likes going off on tangents.

anyways,

I just want to be with her.

Simply because she rocked my world... In more ways than one if you know what I mean.

I want her to be mine...or the respectfully equal to me in the form of a consensual relationship type partnership type thing.

whatever floats her boat...

because I just want to be the ocean underneath her.

and as if this poem couldn't get any more cliche, I'd like to point out that I'm a bottom or whatever that means because I guess she's a top...or at least she's the top to my bottom.

and I like it that way.

Call me a melodramatic hopeless romantic fool, but I want it to always be that way.

because I knew from the moment I saw her briefly make eye contact with me for the first time...I wanted to be her bottom, her ocean, her bashful little trans man. I could list titles forever, but I wont because I'm trying to be serious.

I read her some of my writing that night, and in truth I knew that she enjoyed it. Despite fact that she doesn't like poetry and she apparently doesn't make any exceptions for anyone... I could see in her eyes that I astonished her.

I hope that some day I become her favourite writer, maybe then I could rock her world in return.
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Jeremy Betts May 14
~•§•~ Me Looking Back at Me ~•§•~
Pain affects immediately, sticks around indefinitely
The headcount is up to sixty over infinity
And right around the corner is another three
Meaning it's always in the vicinity
And every type lands just a smidge differently
This feels like what I might imagine to be purgatory
Woe is me
My future will be winless if I'm too stay in the business of learning from my history
The bell to start the fight indicates the end, just prematurely
Loosing in a victory, contradictory absurdity mentioned literally,
All ***** nilly
As I'm sure you can imagine, maybe even probably agree
Somethin' like that is bound to change the complexion of a personality
I know personally
I'd hoped good days would roll in gradually, at least eventually
Instead they taunt relentlessly
It's with a heavy, often broken, heart I go in and defend half heartedly
Enjoying the savagery, a familiarity that relaxes me
But positions me next to the poisons amidst the pageantry
In the direct line of sight of my worst enemy
Me looking back at me directly
"You're talking to yourself again Jeremy..."
...shiit, sorry

©2024
#pain #different #infinity #always #purgatory #woe #winning #premature #literally #personality
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lua Oct 2020
without a sense of purpose
i think i've lost the feeling in my fingertips
and the words that
graze my lips
slip
and dissipate
into meaningless thoughts
onto a page
it's the banging against my window panes
the clang and drip of rain
it's the constant reminder of the sun
that 'yes, i live'
'yes, i am here'
'yes, i will stay'
'for as long as you will let me'
it's like listening to the sound of crashing waves
against the shore
as i dip my toes
in the moonlight
but
there is that fear
of the unknown
the slippery tongues of the abyss
that lap and lick against my heels
the tremble of my lip
the shudder down my spine
as it snakes around my legs
it's the longingness to runaway
and disappear
to leave without a trace
no new names, no fake identities
not a smidge of existence
no footprints left behind.
it's been hard to do anything lately.
#confusion #runningaway #runaway #escapism
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Poetic T Apr 2014
Jumping Bean
Jump up and down does
the world move an inch,
for if we all jumped together
would the world move a smidge .

A jumping bean in the solar
system, where we all jump
up and down, to the left
we jump to the right up
and down we all do jump.
Are little planet swinging
like a pendulum, one
moment day the next it
is night.

We thought we could play
with the planet until the day
some one instead of the left
on did jump to the right and
in to the sun we hopped,
with a puff out went 6
billion lights. Just because you
can do something, never be
a show off as it'll smack
back in the face...
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Brent Kincaid Jun 2015
MICAH THE MOUSE
Micah The Mouse was a rat;
At least that’s how he behaved.
If he didn’t get his way every time
He’d holler and he’d rant and rave.
He got to be such a big mouse
That his head swelled up too.
He became so hugely obnoxious
Other mice didn’t know what to do.

They held a spontaneous election.
They needed to elect a top mouse.
Micah bribed the weaker leaders
So, Micah got the run of the house.
He kept up his pattern of bribery
And threatening those in his way.
Without anything like scruples
He’s still on the throne to this day

Micah The Mouse takes with both hands
And it’s too bad if anyone disagrees.
Those who think he cares about complaints
Will spend a lot of time on their knees.

In Micah got horrendously fat
By overeating just a tiny smidge.
He got to be so much like a big rat
He grew too heavy to cross the bridge.
So he roared and ranted and raved.
And blamed everybody around him.
That he was the cause of his problems
Seemed to completely astound him.

The wonder in all of this sad story
Is why the other mice could not see
That Micah was only in it for himself
And not for members of the citizenry.
Micah got to eat while others starved.
He got what he wanted, moved on
Yet somehow those that elected him
Never quite seemed to catch on.

Micah The Mouse takes with both hands
And it’s too bad if anyone disagrees.
Those who think he cares about complaints
Will spend a lot of time on their knees.

(Image from www.sharktacos.com)
#poetry #political #bullying #government #corruption #brent #bribery #graft #kincaid
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Anthony Collazo Sep 2019
No rest
Lately I've been losing sleep,
counting sheep ain't helping me
my OCD is killing me,
with late night things,
I barely blink,
cuz all I think.
it's coming soon
It's coming quick
I can not snooze
My eyes will squint
I might doze off, a lil bit.
But that's just it, a lil bit.
It's always just, a lil bit
A lil smidge a lil bit..
It's always just a lil bit.
Read it like a slow song emotional song.
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CLARYT Apr 2019
Recipe For Love
All you need is fair a heart,
And mix that in, with pure of mind,
Sprinkle in romantic thoughts,
And add some love, just use the rind,

You'll need a pinch of *** appeal,
And just a smidge of naughty thoughts,
Room temperature is always best,
For when you take your clothing off,

The kindest words work best this way,
And don't forget to blow a kiss,
And mind your mood as you begin,
And don't forget to make a list,

A candle red, with rose oil rub,
As much as you can muster up,
Mix all of these together well,
Voila!, a recipe for love.....
A very playful take on one of my many love spells..

(C) eileenmcgreevy@ymail.com 20/04/2019
#magick #love #sensual #witchcraft #moon #work
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Genevieve Apr 2017
95 years of Genuine Love
He lived a long life of 95 years
telling me stories had been music to my ears,
Life experiences of plenty he was never without a story for me.

Life without parents at such a young age
became a truly honorable man in times of pain he raised his sister
as brother/father figure to a degree of course he always protected Junie,
Never letting it destroy who he is or
his name he held his head up proudly!
A Handsome like a stud for back in those times,
He is a stealth lady killer for sure and Grandma won his heart and owned it and still does from heaven above which my friends is where you find Real Love.
     Married for over 50 years they celebrated year after year
still making each other hearts warm and full.

He is the Best Man I knoW
I watched him and listened as I wanted to taste his wisdom,
         And I had longed deeply to know more of who he is and what he lived! Because that is where my dad whom was my grandpa but father to me.

Robert C. Brown
a Navy Seal and War Vet as well
Flying Aircraft and maybe even one or two kills.

He is an amazing man who deserves to be acknowledged
if you know what I mean because not only was he honorable
he was the best Dill Pickle maker anyone has taste or seen!

Always did want him to go big and sell in the markets but Dad
is a humble man who did it for the fun and love of his family and Friends!
For us it was a treat and we all looked forward to eat,
That certain time of year was Ever so Sweet!
Waking up from a sleepover at Grandma and Grandpas house ~

Exciting for sure knowing we will awaken to dads famous so light & fluffy
Scrambled eggs~buttered toast~Jam with french as well !
Choices of hot syrup served and more than that too!!
Yes Waking up at our Grandparents in the mornings were a time for chatter and
being playful with Gma and Gpa at the breakfast table and us taking it all in that special gentle kindness they always did extend.

So Tall and stellar
truly like the old diner/navy cut style,
this man was quite Incredible that people may stop and stare
but Gpa waves his hands and says " Oh Phewy!" blushing a bit.
Survived Throat Cancer thrice ah yes"

he is a fighter won many times but his voice was got light and raspy a smidge louder
than a whisper which would frustrate him with gatherings on holiday times,
So I sat close near listening with an avid ear ; Taking minutes to look into his piercing blue eyes to see that smile time after time again.

Trying to absorb yet another smell of him a hug to feel his sweetness
Love a kiss to tell him how great he is ;
To feel the scruff of his growing back in beard against my cheek
Reminding him of how much I value him & his presence his love.

Always make sure to say Hello if you walk in the door don't waste a single moment!
Since everyone did know not to ignore him or you'd get a pop in the nose!!

Well he would chuckle and grin with sweet humor across his face
that is when Dad was the cutest in all times,

A joke to tell and a smile to give that is how dad chose to live!
Grandpa~Dad
whom I Adore
you will be missed
forever until my days end,

I will never forget you dad, My best friend.
Such an Honorable intelligent man watching you
helped me to pick out a Great man too as a husband.

I became extra picky because of seeing you and hearing you speak
watching you be the man you only knew to be and Jesus in your heart!

This too is amazing I say so what I want you to know is I love you still each and every single passing day,month and years until there is no more so thank you for being
who
You
Are
A Grandpa,Father,Friend
thanks for leading me til the end. Lvuxoxome
My Grandpa died a couple years few years ago and I mourn as if it were yesterday I am also having lots of stress in life right now but it makes for great poems at least,
So I wrote this so people can hear about the Best Man to be. Everyone misses out without having knowing him or met but much richer he makes your life by he has a way of getting you to appreciate what you have and the time here with each other
I also have witnessed death a couple times so I am hyper sensitive to valuing our time. Don't sit around forever and a day get up be lively and help others out
even if it seems small even a tiny thing to us may be huge to another. Kindness was his gift and being humbled always Grandpa just purely loved people and I learned from him so now I share this with all of you. thnx
#love #poetry #sad #die #dead #dad #grandpa #mourning #grandma #pickles
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vinny Jun 2016
untitled
this day is full of possibilities
by which i determine my fate
i can choose to take these chains off
but i secretly enjoy their weight

can't come up short
miss by just a smidge
burdens are a gift
my only privilege

so i shift into neutral
let the engine idle
these words mean nothing
so i leave them untitled
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emm Aug 2019
smidge of hope
sometimes i wonder if it's all worth it.
i dont know, i probably never will.
it's hard sometimes,
all this doubt.
but i suppose it's worth a try.
i dunno
#hopeful
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Miguel J Figueroa Aug 2023
Stolen Moments
If I could just love you as much as you loved me on days that i didn’t react to you,
I would hate myself- just a smidge less…
I would forgive myself for how I no longer get butterflies when I hold your hand,
Yet I can hear your butterflies flutter just as they did when we had our first kiss…
Just a few of the moments I’ve stolen from us,
All because I can’t seem to get over the things that have been stolen from me…
Currently going to a wave of depression and I feel as if im stealing the moments Im meant to share with my girlfriend because i cant get out if this wave.
#moments #stolen
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betterdays Apr 2014
a little to the left
i'm feeling a just little to
the left of sane today,
don't quite know what it is.
but it feels a little like
that itchy spot in the middle of your back.
you know the one ya just can't reach to scratch.

the day started good..
now a smidge of paranoid and pinch of misunderstood is make making me feel
less than i should
if i had to colour me right now,
it would be a deep grey, indigo blue.
perhaps....
i am just getting a dose of manflu(strange as i am a woman-girl).
but no it's more than that.

i feel rundown, runover, squashed flat.
bummed out busted and outright flustered
yeah adding a dash of that. now i am on a roll down a hill going fast.

nothing of import has happened to make me feel this way.
no arguement, cross words, crisis or dilemma has crossed my path today.

i am out of step,
stomping on toes,
counting to ten,
to save someones nose,
from my tense and tightly clenched fist.

the way that i'm feeling
one of two things could happen.
every body else could...
shuffle to the left a little
to align with me (yeah like thats gonna happen).

....or if thats just a hassle your going to need to:
step aside as my progress,
is now furious
and my wake is wide.

make your choice
my toes are a tappin
i no longer
have time for this lip flappin....

....boom thar she blows!!!!
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Felicia C Jul 2014
Today Is Great
The smidge smudge of pastel over my left eyebrow matches the wildflower I picked down by the river which matches the stray spray paint stain on my right shoe and I’m not one for symmetry, so it suits me just fine. Today is for letting go and for mailing things left behind. Today is for coffee and for Peter Pan Wendy Tiger Lily dances. Today is a blueberry day.
June 2013
#happiness #art #summer #joy
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Eoin Nov 2016
Ramble On
What am I doing with my life.
Torn.
Between the life I have made for myself and the life of an immature man's dreams.
What have I done to myself? Surely this is not a healthy venture. Do I continue to follow the dreams, or do I lay down, content with the reality I live in?
They warn that the mind of sobriety is the clearest, but maybe that is a lie?
The inebriated mind seems to be the clearer of the two. Then again, it's the intoxicated one thinking right now.
It does so seem that the current mental state understands emotional matters just a smidge more.
Maybe just more in tune, no filter. No white noise interrupting.
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betterdays May 2014
ten n'two past three
ten n' two past three,
my mind slips from it's
domesticated fetters,
flys free into the star stitched night..

wandering, effortlessly
to climes of restless insanity
and step-stoning away from
garnered life.....

....it finds the scurrying creatures,
hovel featured and scrawny
eyes ......beggars @ the feast.
tired of the hide-away life...
wanting just a moment's grace.... a smidge of light...
pickpockets of slumber's ease.
abram, palliard, mendicant.
all asking for alms to ease their plight...

all.... wanting succour in the dead of night.
.....yet, at this time,as the darklight,
thinks and hopes desperately for dawn...

....i find my mind poor.. ....careworn and a cupboard bare and paltry...

...so again my night's thoughts . ..wend their way home hungry and sad....
black and grey wraiths,
of thoughts...... i never really had....
another freeflow insomniac
ramble.....when the upper mind is tired....it's restless children come out and play...
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Brent Kincaid Sep 2018
SENIOR STORY
I’ve reached that age where I dodder
And when I forget becomes fodder
For impatience and often abuse.
I apologize but it’s seldom any use.
I have learned to smile and tip my hat
As I am now the oldster I once laughed at.
My face tells a story with every wrinkle
And it now takes me longer to ******.
I have to get up two or three times a night
Which means my kidneys aren’t working right.

Getting up from a chair is a three part thing
And I can’t do it without some moaning.
I’m very glad for a thing called remote control
Because it’s a saving grace for growing old.
I moved the coffee maker closer to my chair
So I don’t have to walk so far over there.
I’m thinking of swapping my end table in a smidge
To replace it with a my own personal mini-fridge.
That will save me even more trips over and back
By loading it with sodas and some clever snacks.

Now just in case some might think I’m *******,
I’m not, it’s just that my habits are now switching.
It another phase of living life, is all it means
Like switching to Sansabelt slacks instead of jeans.
I had plenty of fun when I was young and foolish
So, there is no sense of anyone getting ghoulish.
I’m full to the brim with carefully gathered memories
And a scant few of them could be called miseries.
Mostly I have been pretty much a happy kid
And now enjoy the wisdom from all I did.
#age #seniors #maturity #memory #pride #longevity #poetry #kincaid
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— The End —