"spelt" poems
i told my therapist about you,
while your lips were still slathered alllll over my body.
i showed her the places we had been,
and all the things we had seen.
i told her what lies underneath that pretty
pretty
skin of yours,
and i told her how i knew.
i spelt out your name as she scribbled it on her cute little clipboard,
i told her about the first night
and the second
and the fourth
and that time in the closet.
i told her everything,
i really just wanted to get
you
out
of my brain,
it didn't matter if saying these things put me in sososo much pain.
because you've moved on so why can't i?
i told my therapist about you,
but i still can't tell you
goodbye.
i know i'm s t u p i d,
for holding on this l
o
n
g,
i know it's useless,
for wishing you weren't gone.
but my words carry on like a heartbeat
s l o w
steady
fast
u s e d
n t a y
i keep keep keep breaking and breaking and breaking and
i told my therapist about you.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
Education is currently being used as a weapon
to arm the educated to defend the system.
Question the system.
Go out there and equip yourself for the right belief.
Be a dreamer. The dream is beautiful.
The problem with dreams is that you don’t know
the dream has turned into a nightmare until you wake up.
Are you awake? Be awake.
The problem with being awake; we need to rest.
Lucidly dream. Be lucid.
The problem with being lucid; you’re lucid.
There was a dream not long ago. The dream was beautiful.
We liked the dream, the dream became ours and we slept.
Slowly we all grew tired.
Those that did not need to sleep,
those that did not like our dream,
we treated like children.
We know that we need to rest and we were tired. We left our children to starve.
We forced others to sleep and so, we forced our children to sleep.
Even in our sleep, we forced others to sleep.
And so the big dream grew.
It became nightmare.
We all dream. Be aware of others dreams. Be aware of others while we sleep.
Be aware of those that sleep while we awaken.
When you wake and see your siblings rest no longer.
That their dream, once ours, has turned to terror.
The problem with dreams…
We force our children to sleep.
Is this bad? Always question. Should we force them to wake?
Force can create. Force can destroy.
The problem with being awake, when we know our brothers and sisters
sweat in there nightmares; we have a choice.
That is not a choice to wake them or not. To hope for the best.
That the nightmare will end and the dream will return.
A dream that has travelled
through the terrors of our minds
will not return the same.
Would you like the red pill or the blue pill?
Is there good and bad? Force can create and destroy.
Be mindful of how you wake.
Be lucid of how you force others to wake.
Tea or coffee; a cigarette; some breakfast; some fear?
Use balance.
We are all unique.
I have a personal story. As I wrote this, typos occurred in the original edit.
The technology, ‘swipe’ was used. I meant to spell unique and unite was spelt.
Personal became powerful and with turned to WE.
Is there a reason ‘i’ should always be capitalized?
‘i’ wish to be mindful of my readers. ‘i’ want to stay true to them.
We that can read are the readers. ‘i’ am the reader.
When I isn’t capitalized I began to feel more comfortable with using it,
if i gave it arms; ‘i’.
And when I typed to explain that,
I went to preferring if isn’t typing out ‘and then i and then ‘, to just type two of them;
ii.
We don’t want to be alone.
There’s no I in teamwork but
there is and I in kind.
I is complicated. Be you.
Find your voice. Have a voice and be aware.
Others have a voice.
What would happen if we all respected each other’s voice?
What would happen if we all had the same voice?
That was the beauty of the dream.
The dream is travelling through nightmare
and is slowly returning.
It has changed.
Unite our uniqueness’s.
Do you eat fast food? I love it. It is a dream… Do I eat it all the time, I hope not.
Ken Robinson is a good man to ask. Consider food for the mind.
There are beliefs out there. There’s a belief out there that our world is ******
Forgive the language. Understand it.
I wanted to say, ‘that our world is doomed; eternally ****** to be destroyed’ and that scared me. **** There will always be nightmares, disaster and destruction.
What is an ‘aster’? Curious.
When did we chose to destroy; each other?
Could we create; each other?
There’s a belief out there for that one too.
Are you awake, yet?
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 9:06 AM UTC
I drop four ice cubes into my coke out of habit.
I kiss my sweet love four times for good luck so our team can win the game.
I catch myself counting to four when Im ready to speak up, I don't count to three or even ten I count to four.
It was on my back in big white letters when dad looked through the chain linked fence and said with every ounce of his pride "Take it for a ride lex."
That's the day I got my first homerun.
That's my old man's favorite number and mine too.
Ill never know why I look at him like hes god.
He spelt my name wrong two years back.
The letters said L-e-x-i,
I whispered that's not how you spell my name it's spelled L-e-x-i-e.
I whispered because I didn't want to embarrass him, I thought if I talked quiet enough no one could see my lips break around the words in shock.
I was 5 when me and mom left him.
The number 5 is my most unlucky number it always takes something from me, like my dog, she was in my arms on the fifth of may when heaven called for her to go home.
Dad came the next day to burry her, the hole he dug was to shallow.
Days after her funeral foxes came and
scattered her bones across the field.
It was a treasure hunt to find all of them, I tried to save her one last time.
I should really give that man a call.
I'll do it tomorrow , or I'll wait for him to call.
I'll count to four before I answer.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 4:50 AM UTC
I was once asked to spell the word Depression
Now that was an interesting question to me because lets face it
Who does not know how to spell depression
It is three syllables
It is ten letters
It is just once word
Or at least that was the answer he was looking for.
I was once asked to spell the word Depression
I thought for a second and said
"Which way would you like me to spell it"
The teacher paused and looked at me quizzically
"What kind of question is that"
He chuckled
Like he thought I was dimwitted he repeated himself
"I would like you to spell the word Depression it is rather simple"
And now this is where I got to chuckle and say
"Sir, I believe what you are asking is a question I cannot answer, because to me Depression is not a three syllable, 10 letter word. Depression is when my sister comes home to a dead father, and Depression is when my best friend get diagnosed with Cancer. You see to me the Depression you are asking me to spell is the same Depression That gets you laughed out of a hospital. The same Depression that gets you a handful of 'cheer up's' and 'Get over it's.' and maybe even some 'Oh just be happy's' But last I checked when someone has Cancer, we do not tell them to "Just get better" or when someone is sitting in the ER with a cracked skull, we do not tell them to 'Just give it time, you're fine.'"
The boy sitting in front of you could not "just give it time"
When his mother died in his arms
And the girl that you pass through the halls could not "just be happy"
After she had true love ruined for her when some man did not Understand the word "No"
And your dad who calls every sunday cannot "cheer up" because the love of his life has died and his own son does not care to come see him on his birthday
So Sir when you ask me to spell Depression I ask which way because
I spell Depression D-E-A-T-H
and I spell Depression A-L-O-N-E
and I spell Depression S-I-C-K-N-E-S-S
So Sir I spell Depression S-U-F-F-E-R-I-N-G
And I define it as misunderstood for something in ones control/
So do not tell me it is simple to spell and do not tell me I am stupid when I ask in which way you are asking because to me
Depression isn't a simple
Three syllable
Ten letter word
That you use to define those who you do not care to know
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
Death I see, that ugly spectre,
Coarsely overshadows youth.
Lame, they look for interaction
With the bondman. Shame, forsooth!
Drowning in the dams of liars
When they could be shining lights!
They believe what e’er is told them,
****** in by the TV sights.
Culture told them there’s no future,
There’s no healing for despair.
Bet they never read the Bible –
Words of LIFE spelt loud and clear.
There’s no need for this attrition
Of our children. Give them truth.
Let them listen to the old ones –
Hard they learned the facts of life.
By the power of scripture they have
Overcome the skull and bones.
Into joy and peace they’re marching.
Youth could follow in those zones.
Up to them to stop and listen.
Perhaps the media got it wrong.
Find a person in their nineties,
Who survived the wars and so on.
They are old because their attitude
Enabled them to plunge right in,
Boots and all in right perspective,
Shake and move, the truth to win.
They’ve believed in right and beauty,
Principles and sacrifice.
Not for them the great self pity
Serving death – man-trap device.
Rather they’ve bent over backwards
To embrace another’s need,
And serving, felt the great dynamic
LIFE FORCE. Yes. They were a breed!
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
"There are animals in the road"
the traffic reporter said
"We're not told what they are
find another route instead"
And so I got to wondering
though I wasn't going that way
what the mystery beasties were
that were on the road that day
Were they a herd of wildebeeste
who took a wrong turn on the veldt
or perhaps a wayward mule train
delivering some sacks of spelt
Maybe a team of trainee reindeer
diverted from the North Pole
or a bunch of llamas from Peru
that fell through a wormhole
Or bears, or wolves, or lions
could be zebras or kangaroos
surely not beached aquatic mammals
or elephants trumpeting the blues
Exotic beasts seemed unlikely though
it was more likely cattle or sheep
though it could have been migrating badgers
moving goalposts somewhere safe to keep
Cynthia Pauline Jones, 27/10/13
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
My smile
Once lost her beam.
To vices , the vicious and vile.
Her crown
Fell down
At once,to drown
Deep in the ocean blue
My lips expelled
Dangers and woes.
My heart
Like my face spelt 'red'.
Words weighed void, equating emptiness.
Darkness
Darkened darkness.
Wars
Rumoured wars
Could not revive her.
Lost in the dust...
My smile
Had no chance of survival
Till I rose
To praise the beauty
Of the morning sun.
It's scattered reflection on and on.
To see
The wetness underneath my feet
An evidence
Of the rain being
Blessings from
A planet of many waters.
To hear
The sweet tweeting
Of little birds.
To see the wind swaying the heads of the trees
The beautiful petals of an emerging flower.
To behold
The fluffy royals
Floating in the skies.
The gorgeous setting
Of the morning
Into noon.
Then my crown
Resurrected
Banished, from the bottom
Of the sea.
Re-coronating my smile
No longer exiled to drown.
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 7:05 AM UTC
I
This is the night mail crossing the Border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner, the girl next door.
Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.
Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,
Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.
Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from bushes at her blank-faced coaches.
Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.
In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in a bedroom gently shakes.
II
Dawn freshens, Her climb is done.
Down towards Glasgow she descends,
Towards the steam tugs yelping down a glade of cranes
Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnaces
Set on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.
All Scotland waits for her:
In dark glens, beside pale-green lochs
Men long for news.
III
Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from girl and boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or to visit relations,
And applications for situations,
And timid lovers' declarations,
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,
Letters with faces scrawled on the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to Scotland from the South of France,
Letters of condolence to Highlands and Lowlands
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, the adoring,
The cold and official and the heart's outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The typed and the printed and the spelt all wrong.
IV
Thousands are still asleep,
Dreaming of terrifying monsters
Or of friendly tea beside the band in Cranston's or Crawford's:
Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,
Asleep in granite Aberdeen,
They continue their dreams,
But shall wake soon and hope for letters,
And none will hear the postman's knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?
4.7k
The oceanic wind did not rescind but instead it found its form.
Gathering in strength and gaining much in length at the centre of the storm.
Building attitude it would not exclude from the frigate sailing true.
But with its destination now a defication the seas discarded with the crew.
Land-Ho, it came, did this hurricane bringing with it such a wave.
Like none had ever seen was this water screen that was bound to misbehave.
Throwing all aside like an unruly bride who was aiming to get her way.
And what lay ahead was a heap of dead as the big one came to play.
On its way inward it had done no good to the vessells on the sea.
Throwing craft around and causing men to drown it wasn't going to let them be.
Breaching many shores like unruly ****** the waves would spread there grisly pox.
From the nearest beach to the out of reach destination of inland docks.
Catastrophe - spelt with a capital C was the headlines in the news.
Every seaside place had a weary face that was filmed by camera crews.
People died that day many swept away as the nearest towns did flood.
Even tracks were failing with the trains derailing while water washed away the blood.
Many homes were wrecked as they did disconect and the oceans did divorce.
With those like you and me as they watched TV as the waters swam there course.
Many got up high and watched their fellows die on this day that would not be.
Forgotten very soon as before high noon we were dismantled by the sea.
It's all over now and we will somehow continue with our lives.
We'll bury our dead and we'll count the heads of our lost husbands and wives.
They'll be laid to rest and we'll then invest in the massive clear away.
But when that wind gets up it'll hit us in the gut but all we can do is pray.
The world cannot be tamed and does not feel ashamed when it strikes from out of the blue.
However we prepare nature doesn't care and will do what it must do.
We think we're in control but we're just on parole from what nature has to throw.
And we'll hope that day never comes our way but we can never really know.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
My revenge is spelt with a "J"
and it comes from the mouths
of lawyers and judges
and vigilantes who seem to think
that they can spread their so called "Justice"
to the entire world
with nothing but a pocket knife
and determination.
My oppression is spelt with an "F"
and it comes from the mouths
of politicians and protesters
and just about anyone
who will call for "Freedom"
to their family and friends
despite not really knowing
what it is.
My ignorance is spelt with a "B"
and it comes from the mouths
of hedonists and grandparents
and teenagers
who would rather carry artificial bliss
than try to make it
so that they can truly be happy
with the world as it is.
My love is spelt with an "L"
and it comes from the mouths
of everyone
be they doctors or murders
or mothers or children
and it is spelt love
for that it all that it is
and could ever be.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:22 PM UTC
i never told you
you make me smile
beneath my blanket
when you're away
and make my phone ring
but after the conversation
i look for the black paint
and pass it over your words
can't tell why you sound so dim
in the court of my insecurities
i needed to understand
a side of me
you helped me explore
made me explode
your hand upon me
midnight hour
was a promise well spelt
a language self taught
i am one of your choices & i fear when you leave this roof...the world may steal your choices and leave me broken..tearing down my understanding of peace...
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 5:53 AM UTC
*song shadows
soul and mirrors
will we ever see clearer
sweet life
oh the fragrance
the righteous mind
un-sees the danger
so many soldiers
so many women
are all of our fathers
really little children
move swiftly
into the windy recesses
the mind regresses
all the time
damp and wet
the owl cries
so long tomorrow
farewell goodbye
dunk your head
in liquid splendor
i am tender as the snow
pouring down from heaven’s fiefdom
morning's hunger is dissipated
by moonlight kisses and salty lovers
salves of calendula upon our skin
swim in juicy wonder
listen and dance with thunder
the fireflies swim through burning skies
making arcs and triumphant cries
what a silly blunder
all the noise and all the cover
hiding your heart in violet garments
streams of satin in your slumber
stroke the liberated arrow
weave the gardenia’s shadow
streams of consciousness and beauty
looking into eyes of human strategy
human shadows
start to suffocate us
instruct the timber
plundered
strumming humid arias
looms of butter start to melt
svelte and spelt
slews of wealth
heaven's belt is loosely tied
striated like the mind
grinding hind legs
selves neglect entry fees
sleeves of grass
embrace strands of ice
with a lover or two
on the side*
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 9:55 AM UTC
I hate you girl.
And I will never say
I think about you so much
Its funny how
I fell for you
But at the same time
I hate you
I always said
You were perfect to me
But you weren't
You were ugly
My friends said
You were the best
But they lied,
You weren't worth it.
People said
I still love you, but
I loved you.
(Read from bottom to top)
By Moore Dagogo-Hart.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
Some things are certain.
Tonight the moon will rise only to be replaced by the warmth of the sun
again in the morning.
You're never as certain as the universe.
And even that could cease to exist at any given moment.
I keep searching for you in cracks in the pavement, in graffiti ridden alleyways
and in my most terrifying moments, when I cross the street looking behind me
instead of in front.
I keep thinking that you're going to be somewhere asking me to stay
or saying you love me or some other sentimental ********
Truth is I'm a traveler. I don't stay in one place too long.
I don't make ties that can't be easily broken with the razor blade
that has become my only friend.
You don't understand and how could you?
You've been stuck in this one horse town your whole life
and you only gravitated towards me because I had tattoos
and silver metals sticking through my skin that spelt out rebellion.
You didn't see me as a flower, but a dandelion.
You wished on me, for a new life, a new love and a new thing to make you feel alive.
But all ghosts can do is make you think of death.
I'm a sad ghost of a girl I once was or maybe who I'm going to be.
And sooner or later I will find you in a crack in the pavement or over my shoulder.
And you won't ask me to stay, because you'll know better.
You'll tell me to look forward.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 2:27 AM UTC
as on a musical score,
our parts are dictated,
spelt out in dynamics,
in rhythm, in pitch, in
timing, in tone.
our fingers are being manipulated
across the instruments of our lives,
abandoning the very soul of our existence.
but observe how a little improvisation
in this large chorus of soulless players
does no harm.
it's liberating -
like a line that cares not for rhythm nor syntax nor sound nor length.
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 2:02 PM UTC
I understand just what was said
She said it how she meant it
"Whaduh bidnit idit a YOU who ma baby daddy id?"
Just typed it out and sent it.
I kinda do the same thing
and in the 8th grade spelling bee
Spelt it just the way it sounded
don't care 'cause YOU don't know ME!
Johndissed.
J-0-H-N-D-I-S-S-E-D
Johndissed.
(Bing)
I'm not bothered.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 12:21 AM UTC
Your rhymes were a bin bag thrown
in the trash, couldn't even write a
sentence, dyslexia of meaning
and ****** up sentences that
weren't even spelt write.
Couldn't even spin a line,
as it was meant to be straight
but your words were more wavy than
a bad perm.
There isn't room for a failed wanna be,
alone in your room ************
hard,
But your more empty than the raisin
***** your trying to spit out of...
Non consequential wording that doesn't flow
down stream,
more like your floating bloated
breath releasing putrid gas
that stinks more than what they were belching out.
I never insult the cadavers of dead lines,
but your words were buried even before
you opened that hurse of dead beats.
a handful of rhymes that were more powerful than
your buried career,
sorry you were a foot in the grave even before you
opened your mouth.
Song I wrote after I used your girl..
I wasn't the one she wanted it was you,
but I gave her what she wanted
and that never included you..
Every thing you wanted I stole,
and gave her fake wishes that were
tarnished but she never looked beyond
the moment seeing the stitching
of us was more fake than the smiles I gave her.
I knew she wanted to be with you,
but I was the salesman of woman..
While you were the boy next door, I was the salesmen
showing her fake dreams..
Don't worry you can have her after I've used her enough,
I'll even trade her in for a good price..
Ye, she'll be broken..
But everything is always defective
after I've rode it enough...
Her crown maybe cracked,
but she'll be yours even though she'll be thinking
of me even though your in her, I'm the length
she'll remember but she'll be your crack queen.
Now this is enough of wording.
and I'm moving on to the next one.
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 7:43 PM UTC
Green chain fence on either side
Concrete path for bikes to glide
Rapids churning far below
****** Bridge is were we'd go
Spray can pictures on its span
'Ozzy' spelt in mangled plaid
'Iron Maiden' painted red
To ****** Bridge and then to bed
Tired laughing, crying fits
Flashing censored body bits
Gladiator crayfish fights
****** Bridge on summer nights
On this bridge all kids would go
To feel the sun and swim below
Now it stands all alone
To ****** Bridge I'll always know
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
Always and forever you change just like the wind
Lost in your world with feelings I have sinned
Whispers of your love tease through the night
Awake in the morning you live in my daylight
Yearning to find the place where you might be
Solitude in this world I live, forever empty
Agonising emotions are with me all day
No tablet for relieve never going away
Drained emotionally my life on my own
Freezing winter winds chill to the bone
Only you can fulfil my true love’s destiny
Rekindle my soul’s love for an eternity
Enriching my heart with love to be filled
Visions in the past my hearts blood you spilled
Endless games with the feelings I have sinned
Realizing always you are invisible just like the wind
Title of the poem spelt down the spine of the verse.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 4:42 AM UTC
Cancer
a thousand words
can be presented for this hell
*****
a thousand words
when written cant be spelt
*****
a hatred motive
a unwanted key
*****
cancer is more than deadly
it's a disease
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
Pains, despair,
A fallen hero in disguise;
a smile that lies
an angel that bleeds
a heart some tears
I think it'll suffice
Pride, shame
tears in my eyes;
I wish, I pray
but nothing to gain.
I sleep unscathed
with nothing to lose
i wake up each morning
by paying my dues
a hungry, a sate,
a bird of prey
winning the battle
and losing the war
I sleep, I wake and over again
to live is evil just spelt backwards
I'm daft I'm stoic
sometimes a tippler
You sleep you wake
and over again
I'll die like you
but just not today
perhaps someday
when my work here is done
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
Just the other day I remembered
when we headed to Hastings on a road tour
I jumped the fence like a tomboy
An older lady wasn't very impressed
Her exclamations spelt "Not a lady enough!"
On thorny paths we looked for love
The moments when my heart raced like a truck
Slowly but surely, plainly but with a drop of passion
Like a saint I was naive and unsaved
In mortality we promised a life of love and death
A suave, you said it felt so right, I in heaven
Bonded in ways above ****** forms, we entwined
In divine spirit and soul, sunk in expressive concoctions
I bought you flowers as a dork, as my masculinity faded
A disbelief that any man will burn my slow coal
Never shall we fit the normality of socialisation
Our way is our wave and precious than gold or silver
The black sheep of the institutional functionalism
Let's leave the dotted circles and wander alone
Deep in the aisles of the forests and jungles we came from
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC
I fellowed sleep who kissed me in the brain,
Let fall the tear of time; the sleeper's eye,
Shifting to light, turned on me like a moon.
So, planning-heeled, I flew along my man
And dropped on dreaming and the upward sky.
I fled the earth and, naked, climbed the weather,
Reaching a second ground far from the stars;
And there we wept I and a ghostly other,
My mothers-eyed, upon the tops of trees;
I fled that ground as lightly as a feather.
'My fathers' globe knocks on its nave and sings.'
'This that we tread was, too, your father's land.'
'But this we tread bears the angelic gangs
Sweet are their fathered faces in their wings.'
'These are but dreaming men. Breathe, and they fade.'
Faded my elbow ghost, the mothers-eyed,
As, blowing on the angels, I was lost
On that cloud coast to each grave-grabbing shade;
I blew the dreaming fellows to their bed
Where still they sleep unknowing of their ghost.
Then all the matter of the living air
Raised up a voice, and, climbing on the words,
I spelt my vision with a hand and hair,
How light the sleeping on this soily star,
How deep the waking in the worlded clouds.
There grows the hours' ladder to the sun,
Each rung a love or losing to the last,
The inches monkeyed by the blood of man.
And old, mad man still climbing in his ghost,
My fathers' ghost is climbing in the rain.
1.9k
Ah, you ask
what the origin is of the word pharaoh
Let me assure you first
such questions need to be asked
and you have come to the right person
for I am an antimologist
one specialized in the study of the origin of words
1
Let us consider....pharaoh...pharaoh...pharaoh...
Ah, I have it...the answer retrieved
from the safe confines and treasuries
in the deepest recesses of my mind....
The pharaoh
was so called
for these rulers were,
in spite of the scorching heat and unforgiving sun,
these rulers were always fair
and never became dark
and so that clears the mystery of the first half of pharaoh
2
And moreover, it is revealed in the papyri
and graffiti in the tombs
these Pharaohs could row -
even as Rulers these Pharaohs could row -
you know
row, row, row your boat
and they could row
the full length and breadth of the Nile
And thus from the 2 Divine attributes
of FAIR and ROW
came the title: PHARAOH
3
But....but...but! you say
Ah, I know, I know - you are about to ask
why then is the word spelt as PHARAOH
and not as FAIRROW?
Ah, such questions you have this morning -
what are you on?
Too much sugar and candy floss last night?
Well, you are lucky as I’m not only an antimologist
but also an IsDorian
and so I shall dispel your doubts at once:
It’s simple - remember they were Ancient Egyptians
and these Ancient Egyptians did not know their English well
and so instead of the proper English FAIRROW
they gave us the mangled PHARAOH -
and let us not be too hard on them
as you also recall this was all in the infancy of human civilization
and we shall be graceful enough in our maturity to accept these errors,
for after all, these Ancient Egyptians were but as children
in the History of Human Motion
And I hope I have now dispelled your morning perturbations
as I rowed you over
the rivers of knowledge of antimology, IsDory
and the secret knowledge of FAIRROW and the PHARAOH
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 5:12 AM UTC
it confuses me daily that so many people are having ***
even at this very moment, i'm sitting in a book store
sipping coffee that burnt at first sip
where are they? in their homes? in public?
i'm avoiding it, not on purpose
that's just how its worked itself out
there in the moment with them its exciting
adrenalin in pumping and all thats left is to strip
yet i won't let it happen
i feel the rush and the chills but that's it
the closest i've ever got to feeling what you call 'horny'
it all started with a cuddle
he said it best himself, don't cuddle, you'll catch feelings
no ****
probably could have went a few more years
but he was drunk and all he asked was for me to stay
to cuddle
and that's what we did
all night
i woke to him in a slight sweat and it happened
i then knew what you are supposed to feel in those moments
after that, he messed me up
now i can't handle him grabbing my hip to move me out the way
he can sit too close and there it is again
what the hell?
and other people have felt this since they were preteens?!
i would burst
what i don't get is why it never happened again
other boys/other girls
kisses/bites/touches
no one makes me feel the same
that feeling is what has been missing
why i couldn't say yes
i feel nothing with them, so i sit there fully dressed
he won't get too close
it's funny because he doesn't remember us
we were laying nose to nose
on new years, what i wanted happened
we kissed in the mix of the dozen lips
we got home and yet nothing happened
i didn't want to take advantage of our blurred visions
one day i hope i get it
the feeling he gave me
he may never say yes
but i'll always have that feeling
**** demisexuality
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 3:37 PM UTC