"spoiling" poems
She has lost count on how many nights she spent alone,
spoiling her thoughts while sipping her whiskey at the balcony
looking at the stars and the moon with intimate longing,
and wishing to be one of them as if she was one, once
They say that to live is the rarest thing in the world,
as for her, life is always a puzzle with one missing piece,
an endless labyrinth with no way out, let alone the dead end
an unsolved riddles with no absolute clues, let alone the answer
Sometimes at times like tonight, she'd let her mind wander
to streets she has never walked before and people she has never met,
with language she barely understands nor familiar with,
thinking maybe solitude is not a bliss after all—it's an agony
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
You made my dad a grand father
But he doesn't mind
You've been the son at the back of his mind
You made my ma a grandma
And made her heart glow
Funny she's never loved something that made her feel old
You made my malla and me uncles
It feels kind of cool
To think now after being spoiled we'll be spoiling you.
You made Akki a mom
Or you made it official
I don't think she's been anything less than maternal.
You've made James a dad
And a fine one at that
Time will prove that i'm right and of that I'm glad.
Welcome to the family!
We were born into it too
It's wierd at first but it grows on you.
And we will do our best
To make you feel one
Friend and a loved nephew son and grandson.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 6:41 AM UTC
Tiny hands barely able to hold a bottle,
now drink out of one,containing toxins.
Tiny ears that used to hear bad words and coo,
now spit them like wildfire.
Tiny mouths that would be forced to take icky medicine,
now pop pills and insert drugs into their being.
Tiny eyes looking at life as a breeze,no cares in the world,now turn into
eyes that crave attention but don’t care what we have to do to get it
We are spoiling the pure bodies we once had.
People are sleeping around,
when I remember the worst thing you could do is hand-hold.
We take the things we had as kids,
and ruin them.
We honestly take the cuteness and turn it into ...
well that's for you to decide.
You pick if your morals are guided with a compass,
or thrown away like garbage.
Who am i to judge?
But I've also learned,these days,My darling..
This is adolescence.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 6:43 AM UTC
I always suspected electricity
Ran rampant through my veins
To make me dazed and dizzy
But unable to sit still
It made me prone to flights of fancy
So I left giddy trails of sparks
Blazing proof of my restlessness
That once brightly caught your eye
Once your gaze had found my own
My moods came in swooning flares
And you crackled alongside me
Filling my aching, empty silence
With shiny, blessed noise
We burned so beautifully
With my electric fire
And your trilling declamations
Light and sound intertwining
Like thunder that had finally caught up with its lightning
It seemed like Nature's order
A completion of the whole
Two halves that followed each other
Unthinkingly and automatically
So one day when I found silence
It felt like Earth itself was splitting
Panicked, I burned more brightly
Stoked the fire just in case
I feared that I had dimmed
And been the cause of this new quietness
So when I still heard nothing
I thought my efforts insufficient
And I ran my highest currents
Until my wires nearly melted
Thinking the sun and I were comparable
And anticipating a response
And still I heard no trilling
No crackling at my side
So I wondered if perhaps
I had shined beyond your limits
Swiftly, I contracted
Reined in my flares and doused the fire
Thinking sudden darkness
Might just shock you into sound
I finally heard the faintest popping
Not quite the rending that I wanted
But a break from quiet all the same
Afraid of spoiling the moment
I leashed my electricity
Kept myself dim so I could hear you
Though I felt the writhing beneath my skin
It finally became unbearable
So I flashed like wild lightning
Lashed out and struck the ground
Hoping for your thunder
A dark and roiling storm
Swirling raindrops and clouds colliding
And deep, ugly noise
All I wanted was your thunder
But in the end
It was only me yelling
Screaming out for downpours
Alone
Listening to my own echoes
Waiting for you to harmonize
In the end
I was always waiting
Wondering when you'd chosen silence
Wondering why I'd let you dim me
Wondering how it was we'd ever burned
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 1:45 PM UTC
Too late
to turn back from the flurry
of painted snowflakes
on a gossamer wind.
In a
whirlwind they spin
up and upwards
to the timeless lands.
Frozen
specks of crystal;
perfect and unimaginable
melt on my face.
Shadows
fall and they turn
grey and the painter leaves
his canvas unfinished.
A soft
white sea has emerged
below my feet
and immersed the world in white.
Foamy
to wade through and yet
impossible to resist
spoiling the untouched.
Then sun
arrives, and he brings warmth
and light, and so
the sky’s daughters melt in all
their sweet virginity
and the ground is rendered wet
once more.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
The Christmas rush has started, and the countdown has begun
Advent doors are opened, but look what you have done
You've ridiculed the Bounty bar, and your spoiling all the fun
Why buy a Celebration, if your not happy after one ?
What's behind the cardboard doors, what did you all expect
A gold ring perhaps, or the keys for a corvette?
Why bother with an advent, when you have no respect
There's no need for chocolate genocide, or coconut neglect
You shouldn't be so outraged, with your Christmas Celebrations
I don't understand the malice, or the advent hesitations
If you don't want a bounty, buy heroes or sensations
It's hardly a matter for Interpol, or the united nations
Celebrations are your choice, there's no cause for your regret
The outcome is quite obvious, why are you so upset
Are the pictures not a clue, to what your gonna get ?
No rarity of Bounty hunters, so don't mess with Boba Fett
Are Maltesers that much lighter, in a Galaxy far away
Maybe you will find Mars, in between the Milky Way
A Twix or Galaxy Caramel, they we're for a different day
But you've dissed your celebrations, and no longer want to play
Some YouTube clips have surfaced, and I have read the blogs
I think it's just pathetic, seeing chocolate thrown down bogs
Your creating your own misery, as well as yule time logs
You won't be very happy, when your toilet blocks and clogs
On day two you still complained, and you wanted to resist
Is that because the chocolate, was not on your Christmas list
Would you be pleased with mistletoe, if you never did get kissed
Christmas spirit has been lost, with your Snickers in a twist
Some people are just morons, that's the message that they've sent
Their expectations are to high, and cruel jokes are never meant
Why is Bounty not as good, to start of an event
A Snickers in your calendar, doesn't mean a ruined advent
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC
Your sun stroked fingers
smooth my dusted galaxies
spoiling orbiting blues
with swipes of stardust.
You kiss meteors, murmur
how you savored snippets
of Jupiter's moons in the
spaces of a poetic eclipse.
Adorning Saturn's rings
in your nebulous tombs,
rekindling your smile with
flames of lovers past.
The memory is still buried
within my core, a pounding
resonance that evokes the bloom
of summers kiss on Earth.
A welcome release for the
nights wandering stars.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
Gloomy morning attempts,
lazily an abstract,
on the damp canvas
eastern sky extends,
halfheartedly smearing,
dark monsoon clouds
along with some white and grey patches,
then slowly, warms up to a red mood;
as if by a second thought
adds full of flight of birds,
for an effect.
Avian splay, what a display!
The sun visibly gets pale,
upset being just a part of the picture,
unable to dominate, as his usual practice.
Not at all pleased at the emerging picture,
he sulks at the prospect,
of more dull, vain clouds rushing in,
spoiling the composition with their-
chance megalomaniacal dominance.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 1:48 PM UTC
Time moves on and people revert back to their old ways leaving chaos in their wake.
Spoiling memories, past and future.
I am not a toy.
I can't be tossed about the room. I don't work on demand.
I am Pinocchio.
A Marionette without the strings.
Free to walk the world.
Free to sing.
Free to dance and move to the pace of my own drum.
I spoil no one.
I am me.
I am independent.
Stop trying to tug at non-existent Nylon strings because I will not be controlled.
I don't like to be ordered about.
Left feeling lonely and sad.
Used.
I do what I don't really want to do.
We fight on new levels each time we are together.
I cover up my tears and woes.
Put on a happy face.
Im sick of the stormy weather.
I break promises and I lie to protect crimes and sorrow.
I am a Monster.
Dec 31, 2009
Dec 31, 2009 at 6:11 AM UTC
I. The event wall:
The quarters going coloured:
Red, yellow, limpid azure,
white unalloyed;
at the center, a dark void
lightening, radiating outward -
never breaking the event-horizon.
Reverent circumambulation
by tradition, is done clockwise.
II. Reading the tiles
Is peace in expansion
or contraction?
Incarceration. Staring at the tiles.
Acceptance or rebellion?
Time doesn't tell.
III. Prospect
You are free now:
making a mascot of you,
we have set you free.
While singing paeans
to your greatness yet,
we bemoan how
coolies and ******* are
be-spoiling our home.
Rest in peace!
We'll wait for Christ.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
Hell shimmies when I am blunted ;
When I take a knock to the senses
When I am skinless,
singing stings
and misdirected by pain
If I had trained better
I'd be deep sea
Sussing distant messages
Operating with slight tremors, vocals and movement
and only when correct...
I'd be home
I'd be instrument
Not an act
Not a pet to society
No mood fool ;
flaked,
flooded
and littered
Rapped at by experiences
Attack reacting
An embarrassment
Watching my own pattern spooling
the same sums
and spoiling with repetition
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
*take me to your serenity..
so you feel joy in the deserted ..
give me a privilege and a name ..
in order to reign in your heart and in it excite plump body ..
can't run and hide from the conscience ..
could not bear the will of passion flame ..
the soul has long been frozen and can't be extinguished to felt ..
i want to give a bear hug to a small shoulder and crushing the faithfully ..
creeps passionate embrace your body with longing coals ..
kissing your thin lips deeply until it burn your desire..
**** your tongue wild until unsatisfied romance ..
licking strong passion in your chest until bubbling subsided ..
shake your wild fantasy to spoiling you with endless fondling ..
your night is ocean impression that never fade..
wading and paddling memories together ..
beautiful, warm and whole in your arms..*
┈┈┈┈»̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶ ƦУ »̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
hadirkan aku dalam heningmu
agar tenang engkau dalam sepi..
beri aku sebuah gelar dan nama..
agar dapat kubertahta dalam hatimu dan berkuasa dalam tubuhmu..
tak dapat nurani untuk berlari sembunyi..
tak sanggup kodrati diri memikul rasa..
lama jiwa itu membeku dan padam hingga tak sempat merasa..
inginku peluk hingga remuk pundak kecil kesetiaanmu..
mendekap gigil gairah tubuhmu dengan bara kerinduan..
melumat tuntas gelisah bibir tipismu hingga bergetar lunglai..
menghisap liar asmara lidahmu hingga terpuasi..
merengguk hasrat peluhmu yang berjatuhan hingga terpulasi..
menggagahi kencang gairah didadamu hingga membuncah surut..
menyetubuhi manjamu dengan cumbuan tak berkesudahan..
malammu adalah samudra kesan tak berpudar..
mengarungi kenangan dan mengayuh kebersamaan..
indah, hangat dan luruh dalam dekapan..
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
“I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier ’til this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer. I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been. V.”
- Virginia Woolfe
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
When love hits two people
It's far beyond their capacity
It's not a choice.
Like God, bored in his kingdom,
Ordered the angels
To stitch them together
As one piece of fabric
Through thick and thin.
Then the Devil, jealous of such union,
Does his best to set them apart again.
He tries loosening the threads,
Uses scissors to rip them.
He even makes little unnoticeable holes
Just to damage the cloth.
But they must be smart
They must see through his villain attempts
At spoiling the embroidery of love
God sewed on the cloth of their heart.
They must resist.
Sometimes they do
Sometimes they don't.
F.Z.N
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
pale sickness
you're white as a sheet
draining illness
your clammy white skin
rots
deathly light
the diseased white sun will bleach your bones
after the doves pick them clean
sickly white
your cracked teeth clatter out of your skull
dominos in a dead white jar
trembling hands the color of spoiling milk
carefully cradle an almost translucent infant
mother and child
both far too weak to feed
the only thing that grows here is decay
white mold thrives on your hoarded white bread
while outside the safety of the white picket fence
there is not a single soul who does not
recognize the white of an unburied skeleton
under a full moon
Jan 29, 2022
Jan 29, 2022 at 6:44 PM UTC
Riding in the car
with sweaty palms
playing loud,
fast songs
Getting a bit jittery
and maybe a tad bit anxious.
Wondering when it will be
that I can get High
with you next to me.
-On my way to you,
-my drug dealer
-who only deals the finest touches
-and most esquisite caresses
My vision is getting a bit blurry
and my thoughts stray from the road
to thoughts of your face
and I get that message
that I get to see you soon
so I slow down
and take that exit off the hiway
turn around
and tell you to head my way.
You get in the car
and the smiles begin
the hand touching and knee grabbing
and its a wonder
that I can still drive
in this altered state of mind.
We speak some words
about this and that
nothing too funny
yet we laugh until our sides hurt.
Im in love with you
my drug dealer,
my ultimate healer
my mind eraser.
The chemicals start flowing
and I wonder if im spoiling the moment
with scientific physioligical thoughts
validating this thing called love.
The chemicals
that start at the brain
flow through the heart
and down to the genitals
then down through the legs
and back up to the heads
(yes, both of them)
and I can’t get over
how much we feel the same way
and how
even to this day
things have not seemed to change
Hoping I don’t ever build up
too much of a tolerance
to the chemicals you make me feel
my wonderful man,
with the drugs you deal
and all the pain you ****
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 3:26 PM UTC
Rhyme, the rack of finest wits,
That expresseth but by fits
True conceit,
Spoiling senses of their treasure,
Cozening judgment with a measure,
But false weight;
Wresting words from their true calling,
Propping verse for fear of falling
To the ground;
Jointing syllabes, drowning letters,
Fast'ning vowels as with fetters
They were bound!
Soon as lazy thou wert known,
All good poetry hence was flown,
And art banish'd.
For a thousand years together
All Parnassus' green did wither,
And wit vanish'd.
Pegasus did fly away,
At the wells no Muse did stay,
But bewail'd
So to see the fountain dry,
And Apollo's music die,
All light failed!
Starveling rhymes did fill the stage;
Not a poet in an age
Worth crowning;
Not a work deserving bays,
Not a line deserving praise,
Pallas frowning;
Greek was free from rhyme's infection,
Happy Greek by this protection
Was not spoiled.
Whilst the Latin, queen of tongues,
Is not yet free from rhyme's wrongs,
But rests foiled.
Scarce the hill again doth flourish,
Scarce the world a wit doth nourish
To restore
Phœbus to his crown again,
And the Muses to their brain,
As before.
****** languages that want
Words and sweetness, and be scant
Of true measure,
Tyrant rhyme hath so abused,
That they long since have refused
Other cæsure.
He that first invented thee,
May his joints tormented be,
Cramp'd forever.
Still may syllabes jar with time,
Still may reason war with rhyme,
Resting never.
May his sense when it would meet
The cold tumor in his feet,
Grow unsounder;
And his title be long fool,
That in rearing such a school
Was the founder.
3k
Custom made world
All made of plastic
Counting twist or turns
Everything is spastic
High definition views
Playing with our eyes
In a different place
Reality is a crime
Trapped in our electronics
We can not walk a line
Children with no manners
Living is a lie
Spoiling our ambitions
Charging everyday
Respect is really lost
Pictures are to say
Transmissions cross the airspace
Signaling the cost
Humanity is all but broken
Everything is lost
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
If I have children
Who have children
I would be the Best
and the Worst
Grandparent
I would teacher my grandchild
How to ride a two-wheeler
A month after they graduate to training wheels
Their parents would be so mad
But I would just laugh
And give their children ice cream
I would give my grandchildren cookies
to eat before dinner
I wouldn't be spoiling their appetite
Because cookies are real food
I would teach my grandchildren piano
And give them a drum set
My own children would hate me
As the sound of un-choreographed noise
Sounds day and night
If my grandchildren stayed the night
I would let them stay up later
Then their parents allowed
and feed them all types
Of sugar and candies
Before returning them home
I would do everything
A parent would faint at
But
My grandchildren would love me
I would be the Best
and the Worst
Grandparent
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
I'm a table, I'm a bench
I'm an appliance with many uses
I'm a dead girl in the front seat
of your Cadillac
Was hoping to get dicked down
by your Master Sword but
cell connection's kind of spotty
I'll clean it with my pics because I want to eat
spoiling your paradise
tie me down and school me
make me clean your mess
is this what you want?
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 5:01 AM UTC
“What can a poem do?”
—————————-
***”A poem
is a not a tourniquet
when you’re bleeding.
It’s not water when you’re thirsty
or food when you’re hungry.
A poem can’t protect you from an airstrike,
or from abduction, or from hate.
It’s hard to write when our words feel
like they’re not enough—they can’t do
the real, tangible work of saving lives,
or making people safer.”***
(see (1) Maggie Smith)
<~>
as is my wont,
I write,
as is my Natted~inhabited,
retiring to the local watering holes of
Cerebrum & Cerebellum,
them regular haunts,
where all requests are mailed, processed, satisfied & marked;
‘return & render to the sender, who’s on a cerebral ******
and that request?
‘give me the words’ (2)
those ‘to do’ words, floaters, direct to top of list,
those ‘can do’ words, that can effect the affect,
spare the despair, realize the fungible, concretize cures,
soften hard waters, giving a worsening worn life fabric a
curated baby blanket feel, a 4-ply human tissue of
‘words that tell me everything’ (2)
salve solution verbs that bounty-wipe spills in entirety,
vacuum up spillage spoiling of 17 days of terrible nouns,
uncovered-unknown rages caused by inflicting prepositions
released a hatred rising,
safety rebury it deeper, drug & destruct the sleeper agents,
and let me start over again with
‘telling me everything by saying nothing’ (2)
the pausal silence, the quieted spaces tween the heartbeats,
where ‘reflection,’
the noun,
and its world of alternations,
reflection,
the noun,
look inwards, but shining outward,
this, this!
is where the poem goes to do!
enervating & arresting
its contradictory powers
rock you into wild docility,
possessive and submissive,
contradictory interferences,
smoothing the roughness,
closing the gaps it opens,
healing the caused truthful cuts,
with words that tell you
everything and nothing,
open the holes, filling the gaps,
that is what a
poem do,
in and by
the manner it is spoken…
<~>
“Sometimes a poem is the stone you carry in your pocket—the one you rub when you’re worried. Let’s fill our pockets with poems.”
(see (1) Maggie Smith)
Oct 24, 2023
Oct 24, 2023 at 10:10 PM UTC
Monday
Why?
Can I rename you
You have lurked since Friday
Spoiling the fun
Friday!
Now there's a day
Not enough of them
Well bacon butty time
That will raise a smile
And my cholesterol
Sod my diet
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 5:29 AM UTC
A meal in the morning is made to sustain till noon.
A meal at noon keeps dinner in tune.
The schedule is precise with each meal separated,
By the ticks and tocks of a internal clock.
Yet here the feast has begun.
Too soon for lunch, too late for breakfast, yet just in time to spoil the dinner,
Just as the apple spoiled the dawn of man.
And here my feast has begun.
My insatiable heart, attacks my mind,
Images of what is and what could be make me blind.
The prospect of another taste, spoiling the old bond.
The place where a feast had been done.
The budding plates wisked into my thoughts,
I remind myself,
She's the only one.
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 11:02 PM UTC
dimble dumble,
caught a, thimble thumble
of precious morning dew.
dimble dumble, took his thumble thimble,
full up to rimful.
on his nimble rambull
wooly stu,
careful not to lose,
a drippity drop
of the delicious dew.
they flimble, flambled,
up and overed,
down and undered,
till dimble dumble,
with his thimble thumble, filled to rimful,
on the wooly rambull... came to stumble.
his face a crumble,
as the rimful,
roamed and overflew,
the thimble thumble walls.
a dribble drabble did scribble scrabble,
down the rambulls hide.
dimble dumble
chewed his bottom lip
and cried.
"do not fret my little pet, look there is still enough inside"
wooly stu decried.
"i'll be more staid,as we ride our fortunes, soon will be made."
so,dimble dumble
and his rambull crew,
with thimble thumble recovered,
from the tumble.
on they skedoodledaddled. being careful to protect the remaining morning petal's dew.
after a while, time,
flew with dove like grace and dimble dumble,
with his dudes came
to the the very place, of the rimble romble rumble
and royal rapture rap parade
dimble dumble
and rambull stu on bended knee
and really humble
presented their
thimble thumble
not quiet full to rim still
but delicious and felitious morning dew
to the king awaiting
his purchase and perview.
before its spoiling,
it was boiling,
his kettle singing,
songs a ringing,
to the beauteous,
but not so bountious, morning dew.
dimble dumble
watched the
thimble thumble steam
and bubble blip away.
hands flipping flapping
nose jinkling wrinkling
as the fog blew,
his way boiling dew,
tea leaves darjeeling
with daphne blossoms
was the flavour of the day.
dimble dumble
with thimble thumble
empty now
and too, wooly stu
caught a peek of teacups platinum
holding royal blossom brew before the butler,
with a silly stutter,
sent them on their way,
with dimble dumble
all a fumble,
with a thimble thumble
of goldenboldens,
as his hard work's
reward that day.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
A few miles inland,
Told to lock all windows and doors,
There is Chlorine in the air,
As England remembers Soviet Russia,
Chemical spills tickling the throat of the century,
Stinging the eyes of the children
Bored in the beer garden of Britain,
The roads are all blocked and the whiskey is watered down.
People leave slower than ever,
Swimming in pools of exhaust fumes,
CO2, Radio 2, M52 bound,
Vehicular nightmare wound,
Lost in the A-Z of our Father’s arteries
Reversing through his varicose veins,
Stopping short of starry futures,
Air pollution spoiling meteor showers.
An end, an end,
Over and Over again.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC