"ste" poems
My Mum has five kids
and first one was Paul.
Oh look it's a boy so
we'll give him a ball.
The second was Ste,
a year younger than me.
Then there was Wayne
and oh what a pain!
Now the fourth was a girl
and so her hair we'll curl.
The fifth, it was Gary
and the last one she'll carry.
So four will wear blue,
it's just what you do.
Did nobody check if
this **** is true?
I'll prove this is wrong
when I show you my thong.
You see, I prefer lace
and blush on my face.
But seriously though,
these rules are so dumb.
How the ****
will I tell my Mum.
For twenty five years
I hid it away.
Where do I start
and what do I say?
I showed her my nails,
I'd painted them red,
My Sister piped up
"Are you off yer head"
So the best thing to do
is just show her it's you.
With a smile on my face,
she'll see that it's true.
Poetry by Kaydee. ❤
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC
..
I Li
ke Li
ste ni
ng To Music
In A Vo lume **So Hi
gh** That I Can't Hear
My Own Thoughts.
Or so I think...
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC
Sun-dried it was, with freckles and pimples each individual size and cause
Mixed with strange colors from the blue UV
A canvas for sweat, where I’d sleep, drink and eat
The surface I treat like a marble dream I walked upon without slipping
Like those shoulders I gripped when you made me feel little
And I begged you for more
Was I cinnamon to you, not perfect all the time like her
The vanilla that she is, pure and classic
She is the real porcelain inside and out while I am ceramic
My cracks don’t show at all, then all at once
But the scariest part is that I haven’t fallen yet, I live on
And you’re on the other ******* side
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 5:39 PM UTC
Dear Diary, you're completely full of **** You are that streetwalker who passes by with a faux smile and a greeting that defines Charlatan.
"Hello! How are you?"
Well, Diary, I'm broken and full of rotting organs and a brain just screaming for serotonin and a conscious that wants to shove a knife in your chest and a heart that's too weak to do it.
"I'm doing just fine, thanks."
Charlatan Diary, you're nothing but a shallow waste of ink. Waste of ink waste of ink wasteof ink wa ste o f ink wasteofink.
May 6, 2011
May 6, 2011 at 9:51 PM UTC
Me doops and me was woking da street in a bomba reggae style
When to me suprise a goodaz said com and ste a wile
Me doops say nii but me says yes
cause how can i refuse *"no ***** dress"*
Inside her bungaloo i went for da **** but tasted poo
Oh no i say, dat dont taste good, a ****** now i really shuld
Too late she says you got the Klanga!
now i wish i didnt bangha
Me days are long and ful of strife
I lost me kids and me wife
me nips do hurt and so my wanga
Buts thats the life
of a Bomba Klanga
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
Pai n voi ces b od ys c o r p s e s gu ilt hat re d ang er sad ness blo od gu ts ste nch de a th he ll peo ple ene mys all ies fam ily lov ed o n e s fri ends se arin g pa i n b r ok en b o nes to rtu re N O mer cy
men tal sani ty L O S T m in d br o k e n HIM I am HIM n o i c a nt b e ple as e just
ki ll M E?
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 4:02 AM UTC
In the back of my head
I know every conor I've
Memorized each and
Every curve I've
Calculated
Precisely
In the midst
Of all the chaos
I am only tuned to
To the sound of her
Feet lightly pressing
Against the ground
Each m o r n i ng i
Count every ste p
If I ever get to 10
Maybe thn I will
Open my mouth
And empty the
Way I feel of
her beauty
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
A miracle of meetings, one chance that life presents
Lost souls of a poets heart, within your own contents
Is it a dream of muses, drifting between events
Or mystic forces influences, inside their own segments
Poets are forever lost, when they've fallen from life's tree
Lonesome wanderers in the night, but to a high degree
Luna's fate awaited her, a muse that's known as Ste
A smitten world created, set between two lovers plea
Poets who will take the chance, is more than just a rumour
Songs are sung within our words, a touch of written humour
Captured hearts are worth the world, if only they'd met sooner
Floating seas of tranquil bliss, Ste found his lovely Luna
Chances seldom come along, so take them while you can
Fate intervened when Luna came, and found her poet man
Distant stars that are found, life sometimes has a plan
The Muse of Ste's completed heart, when her and Ste began
There's nothing more prolific, than muses hearts combined
Especially if your soul is lost, and your hearts confined
The love of a true poet's words, will sometimes be aligned
One chance fate has taken, two hearts are now entwined
Nothing is as truthful, when lovers have to wait
A void of words are mingled, infused as they create
Two souls are united, chances are not too late
Even lovers can be found, if you choose a poets fate
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 6:26 AM UTC
o reči moje
od uglja crnje
prošarane
zviždukom zmijskog jezika moga
zar ste se vratile
da sudite meni
ili onako šeretski
oko groba mi plešete
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
Picture perfect like a ballerina waving her arms;
deep gorges and rolling valleys, a morning smile,
but the armies of pain tried to make her forget
She lay awake watching for birds too blind to fly
She wanted to wear her slippers
But the hot embers of war remained
She wanted to twirl on extended toes
But the holes she penetrated had no end
He had thought himself as a fallen prince but she
could not accept cruelty as fateful romance; only
furtive, plaintive, pointed glances remained;
wanting to shatter glass without breaking form
over every new set of lustful eyes
She knew he had never kissed a storm
A black swan; she hated that she had no concern
or seriousness until after it happened and yet he
was also a black swan swimming eagerly towards
her sweet lips
She kissed him as if it was a mistake
He was consumed with fantasy; another knight
pursuing his prey; she knew he was already in love;
it was too easy to hurt a man; every naïve inference
he followed was in reality her rigid body saying no
Ste remembered who slayed her pride setting
in motion the earth’s plates beneath the ocean
that shattered salty skies with its ruthless
obsessive deluge crushing the future
Nothing would ever be perfect again; or was
it that she realized it never was; she knew
normalcy could never reveal her criminal side
or what she would do with a man who knew
how to touch her
She wanted to be wildly melodramatic, but
the elevator would not descend for those
who could not control themselves; the
reflection in her wine glass reminded her
how quickly it would sink into the ******
mess she had become but at least it would
know why being strafed, shot and left for
dead had become so important to her
All this and his lips were still moving, prying
open her mouth so he could pleasure himself;
such a man was not what she wanted but
it was time to let him be a man and she was
willing to donate herself to the cause; if only
he knew how to do it
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
I shared a beer and sympathy with a gnarled, obsolete man
Whose wizened visage spoke of unwise choices.
He spoke wistfully (though apropos of nothing) of an abandoned diner
Near the terminus of a truncated and decommissioned road,
Its parking lot an unhappy armistice
Of cracked tarmac and scrub grasses,
The building still sporting caricatures of the proprietors
(The artist a devotee of the Bob’s Big Boy school)
Though time had robbed them of the odd eyeball,
And a shoulder or elbow had faded surreptitiously into the background.
Much of a large sign remained as well,
Appearing to be nothing less
Than some leviathan’s abandoned crossword puzzle,
Fairly shouting “THE B ST DA N STE K
BETW N SYR C SE AND OT T WAOR Y UR MON Y B CK!”
Nothing else remained, my companion intimated,
Save the odd abandoned farmhouse and vestigial fields,
With long unmended barbed-wire fences doing their level best
To contain the ghosts of bygone and unlamented cows.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC
a strong bora
sends the boats in the port
rocking and clanging
people keep clutching
their hats
tightly to their heads
their skirts to their thighs
we take windblown photographs
of each other
before the harbor bay
the wind is not as wild
as on the funny drawings
on those picture postcards
that show everything flying
through the air
but things are bad enough
to bring tears to your eyes
and to make us turn our backs
on the rest
of Trieste
and dry our eyes
over coffee and coke
in a small bar
around the corner
* * *
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
(R)emember
who you ar(e)
no matter
the mold(s)
you have to
ste(p) into.
B(e) their
an(c)hor
tha(t)
never
tilts
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 2:43 AM UTC
i don't. know. the.
word; there's
the s
in
K
& the }}} p e e l
all i taste is in
(vain)
she's said
she so [rare] ly
| standsstill |
& i know
those things i
need.
there is no 》get》ting 》
#there w/her
besttojust
for. get.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 12:14 AM UTC
Who's that over their smoking a biffter?
O yes it's her, on the lash with her sister.
I took a detour this way, this must be fated.
Had a **** poor day but now I feel elated.
Known her half my life and still not kissed her.
On this flat awesome earth that god created.
Alright girl! Not seen you for ages,
lets hit the town, and blow our wages.
Lets do it now, for too long we've waited.
Don't say tomorrow and leave me all deflated.
This is just the first of many great stages,
on this flat awesome earth that god created.
Lets catch up on wasted years.
Lets have a laugh and share some tears.
Grab your coat I'll get you dated.
Leave your purse I'll get you wasted.
Were going out for beers!
On this flat awesome earth that god created.
Yes girl a new day is dawning,
I don't care if you're too old for spawning.
I'm coming round to get you naked,
get you up the stairs and get you mated.
And then in the morning,
I'l have you again
On this flat awesome earth that god created.
Amen!
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC