"spotlight" poems
The split personality which exists within us,
constantly battling for the spotlight of your mind,
feeding off your acquiescence to their imposing forces.
Beating like a drum at the sides of your skull.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
Do I relate to the post-postmodern
True-life voodoo incomes are hard-earned
If I put a hyphen between words
Does that spawn a new one like lovebirds
Isn't love the same word that I saw
Don't crows live like bandits and outlaws
Don't they have the outlook of bourgeois
Carry stolen crackers in their claws
There's no change that I couldn't change
Every change that I change always stays the same
I wanna sing with a slingshot serenade
I wanna donate change to a masquerade
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
So give me all your red green yellow blue
If you can find a pool then I'll refract with you
You're a mirage and your favorite color's see-through
You're my fata morgana from this point of view
Are there any words for my freakshow feelings
Isn't sugarcoated terminology appealing
Wouldn't it be easier to represent the meaning
Of a hard to swallow concept with an arbitrary ceiling
Cryptic cultish crease in the catalog
Paranoia backtrack to analog
I can run much faster than I can jog
Magic circle summoning Chernobog
I can break the barrier of sound and space
With these essential elemental explanations in your face
But it doesn't matter everything I say will go to waste
Because the power of the mind is putting power out of place
Hindsight reflecting, teenagers texting
Late to the punch with the big money flexing
Let's settle this with a match in the ring
Or a match to the rope of a cannon firing
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
I wanna hypnotize and paralyze
I wanna make them think that I'm their size
I wanna break their spirits drink their blood
I wanna **** their souls I wanna **** them good
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
When I was younger, I used to think I was going to be a Star.
Under a spotlight where everyone knew my name...
I was five.
Now, I want shadows and to be as far away as possible.
Hidden and far from consequence,
And even further from myself.
Where my name is not a name,
But just another word without any true meaning.
When I was younger, I used to think I was going to be a Star.
Now, I want to disappear.
I should have jumped overboard when I had the chance.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC
She lives a quiet life,
she tiptoes around,
she whispers when she speaks,
she hardly ever makes a sound.
Although her words are quiet,
her mind is very loud.
She has so much to say,
but no one listens for soft sounds.
She's an invisible girl,
who doesn't want to stand out,
she just wants to be heard,
without having to shout.
Sometimes the loudest people,
aren't saying much at all.
Empty words and promises,
just leave their mouths and fall.
But whispered words fly high,
and catch peoples attention,
they're intriguing, so amazing,
but only when they listen.
So look outside the spotlight,
because often the real star,
isn't anyone on stage,
but the mind behind it all.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 2:31 AM UTC
Every blue patch on the sky keeps an eye,
cherishing clouds dancing, hovering over.
The songs of deep blue ride the heady air,
only to be stunned, all of a sudden,
at the first sight—
sung down on a perfectly placed mural.
The Queen of Sheba tiptoes this way;
King Solomon leans to the ground,
only to find seas of silent blooms
musing, dipping in sun-kissed dews—
on gently tilted roses that will not fall,
not from this picture-perfect, navel-high!
Velvety, the rose rises from the ground;
the forever-green Earth hangs low,
in the dew on the rose that will not fall.
Blossoming, eyeing an acute high,
evermore hopeful to scale upward,
toward the faraway, awaiting heaven's pool.
There, the spotlight does not move—
neither north nor south, nor up nor down—
until Queen Fathima, the Queen of Heaven,
steps on the "as above, so below" slope.
There, the newly resurrected Earth will be primed,
its minted atoms vibrating beyond bounds,
rising, for the first time, atop the navel-high.
Perfectly wrapped, the atom's circle finally turns on—
the stepping stone that holds no pi-decimal hole.
Pure Scientia hangs on the door of Paradise,
awaiting the numerically perfect Queen Fathima to step.
God willing, she will work in beauty:
the most sought-after, perfect works of art—
the lost masterpiece, not in translation,
but hidden within the pi-decimal abyss of Earth's depth.
Lo, the gleaning Sleeping Beauty peeps,
trailing the role model Queen.
Fathima—the first woman to enter Paradise—
walks the walk: perfect, straight, numerically precise.
As if she always knew, back from the Earth,
of the murals ahead, hanging on Paradise’s wall,
mathematically exact!
Mirrors of imagination, new wonders on Heaven’s way,
etched in the murals at the golden section, navel-high.
She zooms past the ever-spinning atom’s perfect span,
cemented at the entrance of Paradise.
Yet leaves no footprint—
for she never did, even on the sublunary Earth.
A new wonder blooms in the classic old eyes:
oh, Pi, still irrational, still pondering,
at the measured, eternal navel-high!
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
I waited…
Waited for the music to stop
So you would stop all your dancing.
I waited…
Waited to get your attention
While the attention was on you.
I waited…
Waited my turn to be seduced
While you seduced another man.
I waited…
Waited for the dimming spotlight
So the spotlight could shine elsewhere.
I waited…
Waited on your flirtatious kiss
While you kissed every man that night.
I waited…
Waited to partake in your lust
While my lust played me as your fool.
I waited…
Waited for the music to stop
So I could stop fantasizing.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 8:30 PM UTC
That got your attention
Didn't it?
Even though I am a stranger
Who couldn't possibly know it to be true
And worth is subjective
Arbitrary
Those who know you would disagree
And point out your merits
And you would weigh yourself
To realise that not all parts are equal
Who am I to say such things?
And yet you take the time to read it
Reread, incase you misread
In reading you contemplate it's truth
You are my puppet, and me your puppeteer
How could you be such a sheep!
Why are you amused?
Why does insult carry more meaning than praise?
It's easy to hurt.
Sticks and stones may break your bones
But words can make you think you deserved it.
We are social beings and so
We look for validation
But insult stands out
It leaves a branded mark in our brains
And so we spotlight it
Unfairly
Unjustly
It's easy to be sad.
But it's fulfilling to be happy.
Being positive is hard
But it's worth it in the end.
How could I possibly know?
I couldn't.
But I do.
And soon you will too.
What are you doing now?
You are reading!
Now you are smiling.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
Being an actor or actress
Doesn't mean you are on broadway,
Or a star of a hit reality TV show.
Being an actor or actress
Means you step onto the stage
And give it your all.
You accept the spotlight
Not as a blinding piece of equipment,
But as a sun shining on you,
Bringing you to life.
When you hear the term
Break a leg
You form a grin,
Knowing it's not literal.
When the laughter
Of a crowd on opening night
Encourages you and gives you hope.
Being an actor or actress
Isn't about the flowers
Or the repetitive good jobs after a show.
Being an actor or actress
Is about the butterflies you get
Before you go on stage.
It's about the energy you feel
When you and your cast
Do something spectacular
On stage.
Being an actor or actress
Is an outlet from the real world.
It allows you to step onto stage
And forget about the boy
Who broke your heart,
Or the money struggles,
Or the bombs going off
In other countries.
It allows you to step into
A new and exciting universe,
Where nothing else matters except,
Being an actor or actress.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
I
She exits herself on the
Sofa. Blanket, dog, and bits
Of a poem on a pad of paper
On the table, like a half-eaten
Piece of homework.
Shades of wine on her sleeping
Lips. Exits herself; space-walks
Outside that frame of mind she's
Been expected to hang herself
On the wall within; she knows
There is more.
There has to be more.
II
She has to be more.
Like so many writers, she falls
Asleep working. Sometimes
Works to fall asleep.
Digging her way through
Herself, mining for words,
Hacking away at painful pasts,
Gathering emerald experiences.
Diamond doubts and ruby
Regrets all fuel her poetry.
And she reads, spotlight kissed;
Audience adored,
Goosebump summoning; hairs
On arms and necks stand up as
She whispers directly to me.
About me. Because of me.
In front of everybody.
To music, and I've brought a box
Of pins, and between each of her
Every word, I drop one. And I
Swear to the gods, you can hear
Them all. Like the unsteady
Ticking of a clock too cool to
Care.
III
Poetry jewelry; set with stones
From her innermost. Chips of
Gold from her heart melted
Down to a key pendant she
Holds in her hand; chain dangling,
Eyes closed, forehead resting
Against a door she knows it is
Time to open. Key in one hand,
Pen in the other,
She
Enters
Herself.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 6:34 AM UTC
"Everyone wants happiness. No one wants pain. But you can't have a rainbow without a little rain."
Spread your wings and let's fly,
Can't reach those dreams it is so high,
What to do know?,
Let's smile and end this pain together.
We are each one's cause of euphoria,
Smile like there's no tomorrow,
Why are you full of sorrow?,
Why sudden change of emotions?,
Are you not happy?.
Look at the sky,
Don't be shy,
I know you've been waiting for it,
Don't always look on the ground,
You're not too low to look on it,
Feel free to look high,
And exprience the feeling of being on the top.
Imagine the things that you want that others can't imagine to you,
Your life doesn't depend on them,
It depends on you,
You are the only one who can decide,
Your life doesn't belong to them.
If it rains,
Accept it,
Don't blame the weather,
Don't blame yourself,
It's not your fault,
You just don't know on how to love yourself.
All of this are connected,
Don't ask and you'll be headed,
It is not time for your assumptions,
Why predict someone else's life if you can't even predict your own life.
Shut up and enjoy your life,
Have fun tonight,
Coz the next day what if there would be no more light to be seen,
Sun that brighten up your day,
Darkness that guided your life,
Who are you?
Sentences that are out of context,
What will happen next,
Shadows that are getting even more darker.
Coz there's a light,
A beaming spotlight.
Be the person you want to be,
Shout and tell them let me be,
Freed yourself from sadness,
Let go of your blindness,
And then there's happiness.
Don't pretend that you're okay,
Coz you'll end up hating yourself over
and over again,
Life is about up's and down,
Deal with it and tell the future that
you're going to be fine and pass all of this failure you've done this present.
Sunshine comes to
all who feel rain,
Rainbow can't show up
if there's no little rain,
Learn to stand up,
and you'll be okay.
Don't be pushed by your problems;
be led by your dreams.
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 8:36 AM UTC
Earthquake Poem
3/5/2014
What do you suppose an earthquake does?
Sure, there are the shakes and scares,
Seismic shifts accompanied by tectonic tears.
But ditch this global perspective,
Figure out what rips those ripples, detective.
Let’s see you pound at the ground.
Hit it hard, ‘til you hear a heavy sound.
Is that enough to fissure some asphalt?
Tell me, could you bring this spinning planet to a sudden halt?
I can’t say for sure, what an Earth-quake does.
Though I’ve been a victim,
Earth isn’t where my quake was.
An Earth-less earthquake,
On a planet whose name I’ve learned to forsake.
Wynn’s world wandered ‘round someone else’s orbit:
Drawn to its gravity like grapes grow on a vine;
Brightened by its solar system’s shining smile, so divine;
Emotional tides tugged in and out;
Guided by its mysterious moon’s midnight meandering about.
That’s right – an orbit with its own time flow.
Time that could stomp its heels and steal a spotlight,
Time that could manipulate a moment like jello, mayonnaise, or some other squishy substance,
Time that could crash course, while standing still,
Time that could reveal something you never knew.
What do you suppose an earthquake does?
A quake could be anything that makes you shake.
Think of quaking in fear, as an unknown figure draws near.
Think of a jittery heart, that’s been bit by a bullet.
Internal tears,
think of organs bleeding,
Think of needing,
solid ground,
but falling and time keeps stalling.
When a quiet little quiver promises to deliver,
its slight shock signal straight through the middle.
When a molten magma core fizzes its manic madness,
like a shaken soda.
When an epic eruption carries out its upward excelsior,
Rejecting the spinning without a stop.
Oh, the mountains will tumble,
The hills and valleys, they’ll crumble,
And gurgle in the raging rivers’ rumble,
As volcanoes churn out violent bubbles,
Stirring up all kinds of troubles,
For one person’s personal planet.
For one person’s personal planet,
These violent forces of nature can’t compare to an Earth-quake,
When the ground you stand on begins to break,
When you realize your senseless stability is fake.
When that little quake knocks your Earth awake,
It’s reality coming alive to take, and take, and take,
Because for love, you put everything at stake.
What do you suppose an earthquake does?
I’ll tell you – it leaves a wrecked world with a cracked core and scorched surroundings.
Just because.
Just because, love on Earth always comes with a quiet little quake.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
this is a medical emergency ossified
in utero part the hair to cover
pink earwax scar innervated this
cochlea this ******* that steals
the spotlight and rooster’s comb
braised sockets for teeth wired through
the rafters kissing corner braces
shallow chromium double-eye poke
like a pile of face bones stacked
paul bunyan forest slide and jump from
the peak to the pool shallow and
undisturbed to dunk your face and
see future pure voodoo spirit board
and voice box locked with tongue-ectomy
removal of cough through neck hole
cardboard cut stickers in half to
write ***** I’m done.*
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
TO PUT the art and talent of Mindanaoan fashion design into the spotlight, Kagay’anon fashion designers put their hands together to organize the 5th Mindanao Fashion Summit at the Limketkai Center Rotunda from August 4 to 6, every 4 p.m.
“Being a core event of the Higalaay festival, the opening salvo, the Mindanao Fashion Summit can really highlight fashion designers here in Cagayan de Oro and also in different points of Mindanao to let everyone see what they can do in the world of fashion design especially now that there are only so few opportunities for these designers to show off their works to the public. This is why we have the Mindanao fashion Summit because Kagay-anon designers believe that even if they join national fashion shows like the Philippine Fashion week, most of them still aren't getting the right encouragement as a fashion designer.” said Robbie Pamisa, the overall organizer of the event.
The Fashion Summit is a three-day event composed of seven sub-categories such as the Mindanaoan collection, the Menswear collection, and the Ororama orange collection for the first day, the Guest Designers’ collection, the Fashion Institute of the Philippines collection and the Loop Lifestyle Fashion Show for the second day, and the Holiday Grand collection for the third day which will serve as the culmination of the fashion event.
Mindanaoan Fashion designers from Cagayan de Oro as well as Davao, Butuan, Iligan, and Bukidnon have come to showcase their talents. Some of the fashion geniuses of the event include Alma Mae Roa, Angela Soriano, Ann Semblante, Benjie Manuel, Boogie Musni Rivera, Gil Macaibay III, John Mark Magellan’s, Joshua Guibone, Juniel Doring, Kiko Domo, Mark Christopher Yaranon, and Mavy Cooper de Leon.
One of the highlights of the event is the Oro Fashion Designers’ Guild and the Designers Assembly featuring a collection of clothes using Mindanao material such as the Mindanao silk. Sponsors such as Ororama and The Loop Towers will also be showcasing their products in the fashion event.
“Even student fashion designers from the Fashion Institute of the Philippines have been encouraged to participate so that they will be able to experience how a fashion show works. This is also a way for us to fulfill our mission to be another avenue for fashion designers to show what they have,” Paisa said.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC
Walk onto a stage called life
and take a look around.
There's much to be found in such a small space,
more to give and much to take
as the curtains called and you're pulled into this performance.
Stare into the audience and pray for applause
but what if you're met with silence?
Spotlight on you as your hopes are ejected
and you my friend have just been rejected
and that is a hard thing to take.
So take a seat, a rejection seat.
Front row to your failures as they come In-ter-view.
Call it the Dragons Den the Lions Pit
and yet they ask me what kind of animal i'll be
as i sit and daydream about Spiderman in a suit
listing qualities of make believe
as he's forced to fill in a CV just like me;
not that i'm a superhero,
i'm just saving face you see,
it's just an amusing thought to ease the anxiety.
And the voluntears they come in turn.
Call em that cause they come momentarily
to remind me involuntarily
that sometimes i do need help and not all things are easy,
not all things are meant to be.
So i take a seat, will you take one with me?
As you watch that relationship sail
and wonder how did it fail?
Bon voyAge is irrelevant.
Whether it be school crush folly to divorcee
it's a learning curve right?
Hard when it seems the only thing you taught me
is what it means to feel lonely.
It's cold in that place called the one way street,
so take a seat. Pull up a chair to something that's no longer there
and share in despair as you stare at your feet.
But you will raise your head eventually.
Adopt the thinkers pose, indulge in some feelosophy.
Cause a friend once said to me that rejection is a time for reflection
and i tend to agree.
So tell me, as i stare into the face of rejection
why is it that i see my own reflection?
Am i cursed to take this personally?
It's always the shoulda, woulda, couldas that get to me.
Do they get to you?
If so take a seat.
And are you sitting uncomfortably?
Cause you shouldn't be.
Take comfort as you stare along row upon row of chairs
that stretch along beyond you and me.
Side to side, across from and diagonally.
Filling the Feartre.
There's many to be found in such a small space,
more that give and much that take
and though this may be the closing scene
there's another show tomorrow
and you and I will receive our standing ovation,
just take my hand and stand with me.
Cause this seat was only ever meant to be temporary.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
It's a dance
It really is
Skip and prance
Lifelong practice
Loop of songs
Never ending
Of various genres
Life is playing
There's the spotlight
World is awaiting
Pressure of eyes
Silently watching
Take your place
Assume your position
Execute with finesse
And flawless precision
Spin your pirouettes
Don't get dizzy
Maintain your poise
In this revelry
Along comes a partner
Present as a duo
The game now altered
From when you were solo
Two bodies now
Move in unison
Reciprocate and reply
Through steps made in heaven
Flighty feet
Intertwined bodies limbre
Sweet little performance
Elapsing into forever
With grace of ballet
Each other you'd catch
Intimate display
Think you've found your match
There'll come such time
Both will not be in sync
Episodes of missteps
Push you to the brink
Alone again
Or switch of partners
Find solace in groups
Still dancing for answers
Dancing with others
Much you can learn
From hip hop to the waltz
Together or in turn
Try to adapt
To different styles
Soak up all you can
May take a while
I've danced all my life
Can't say that I've mastered
Fair share of jeers
And accolades I've garnered
Always clumsy
Exceedingly awkward
Tripping and falling
Barely proceeding forward
It's just this dance
One with syncopated beats
It's just this prance
That my gait can't meet
It's just this stance
I often use as retreat
I realised in a glance
That I have...but
two left feet
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
Four walls; a pair of cupped hands.
Jaundiced like an open eye; an open cove
Prescribing solitude to those whom solitude cannot withstand,
And I choose this cold corner which is furthest from the door,
To be where I am not, before
Your proclivities become my own, I write. I write,
My window holds my breath and frosts the world,
The moon in his amber gown, dressed in chatoyance and spite,
Godspeed; dark, dark shroud for naked skies!
Six floors, walls, doors from you am I.
I couldn't write when the sun peered in,
Her inquiry evangelizing the specks of time left upon the glass -
I've heard it all before; God's shining face leaves none unloved (unseen)
but his spotlight has no starlet; so who can see me up here?
We can't see from windows, dear.
I'd live and sing for the cloudless hall
The nursery of misanthropists crawling on the grey cobblestone
And the lilt of the wind on the rose; through squares nice and small -
The peevish moth shudders at the sight of itself obscuring the day through the glass.
It seems we're always in the way.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 5:40 PM UTC
i'm broken spaces,
unnamed multitude faces:
see wholes as fractals.
i'm rubbed raw and sore,
i'm ***** waves on the shore:
rampant and rascal.
lost in the spotlight,
yet so defensive for fights:
though impractical.
i'm wanted by you,
yet i question what is true:
you falter and stall.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
The night starts off with a bang
She enters the room
And the spotlight starts to change.
It hits her as she walks through the door
An aisle splits down the center of the dance floor.
She starts to walk towards the stage
And then the music slowly plays.
The lights go up and the music plays
She dances around this tiny place.
The spotlight fades and she quickly turns
He’s never seen someone with such grace.
He grabs a mic and starts to pace.
His lips open up and he starts to sing
A song about a forgotten place.
Tonight we gather in this dance hall
Everyone is looking for a way to let their feelings out.
It takes two to tango and I think I’m ready
To sweep you off your feet.
We’ll count the steps as one, two, three
And act out a story between swaying bodies.
A small twist here and pirouette there
Is all it takes to make this kids heart start to race.
So let’s start this off with a twist
and end it with a dip
As we start to move you’ll feel the rhythm
Start to move you as it takes control of your hips.
They dance the night away
And he continues to sing.
All this dancing has all
But burned a ring into the floor.
They keep moving circles
Counting out the steps
As one, two, three.
That final move will be one
That will forever remain in history.
He lifts her to the sky
And then she starts to see
In his arms is where
This dancer was meant to be.
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 10:15 AM UTC
She dances,
Alone.
In such grace and poise
Positioned in between the tallest buildings
And she poses
For the camera
The bright flashes
Or on stage
In the spotlight
Twirling and twisting
Not a hair out of place
Not a step out of line
Not a breath unplanned
Trained to be accurate
Self destructing, but so well collected
The most beautiful dancer the world has ever seen.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 12:57 AM UTC
There are demons in your closet
It is obvious to me
You left the door wide open
Setting those ******** free
Anger lashed out first
With razor sharp claws
Shredding the unsuspecting
Without hesitation or pause
Beneath him is resentment
Forever locked up tight
Hidden within for years
Now more than ever, ready to fight
Betrayal weighs heavy
Taking up the most room
Can’t sweep it under the rug
There isn’t a big enough broom
Don’t disregard the guilt
Or forget about shame
These two big players
Are leaders of the game
Amidst the whirl wind of chaos
And the fury of rage
A broken heart exposed through fear
Makes its way to center stage
Vulnerability is waiting
She can keep your closet clean
Nourish you with love
Making those demons less mean
As the spotlight shifts its focus
There seems nowhere to hide
Will you crawl back into darkness?
Or simply swallow your pride?
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 1:28 PM UTC
Always in the spotlight,
but coddled by the darkness
A bright, colorful flower
that never wanted to bloom
She pulled the sheer, black curtains
over her eyes,
welcoming the night
An arrow shooting into the Midnight moon
swallowed whole by wicked sin
Flirting with the Devil
and soaking in the evil serum
She turned her face away from
the beacon in the night
never to return again
Leaving to the world
just a ghost of a little girl
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC
Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose
California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise
Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore
The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky
Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod
Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise
Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed
Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge
Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung
Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV
Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind
Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)
Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!
Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85
The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll
Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!
Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ
Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track
Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch
A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel
Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC
He lays down **** like a shadow
Thrown by a movie spotlight
He eats passion like he is
******* the juices of the last peach on Earth
He walks proudly like a naughty child
Who made a clean escape
He talks integrity like a lion
With a human child in his mouth
He pushes imagination like
A clown in a silent temple
He lays down ****
And it’s all over me
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 6:47 PM UTC
Food for thought
Savor in flavor within structural tone
A former Competitive Bodybuilder who could hold his own
He exercised to gain and ate to maintain
It was dignity and honor in appreciation of aim
Being a Competitive Bodybuilder requires all intensity
But it was about winning on the stage spotlight being a reality
Yet beyond Bodybuilding, there was something about food and preparing a very exotic cuisine
You will see down the line in what I mean
The former Competitive Bodybuilder felt that being a Chef was always his dream
Now it will be a reality like a running stream
But to be a good Chef you need the right education and Mentor
Yes a Chef for sure
Bake until rise
Savor the taste with the right ingredients being the surprise
Being a competitive Bodybuilder, one accepts the challenges in being the best
But when it comes to a Cuisine Chef, it will be the food critics who will contest
Patrons that will eat a Chef’s dish will be the true confess
So ovens over the world
There is a Chef to make your taste buds swirl
What will he prepare?
That is something I won’t share
You will have to experience for yourself
Taste I am sure you will enjoy
This is a true story of a Chef
He has cooking to do with not much time left.
Ship Ahoy!
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 4:29 PM UTC