"stocked" poems
Fat, fat, fat.
All I see is fat.
I am the "chunkiest", the "chubbiest", the "roundest" and the "ugly pig".
I might as well be a rat, the biggest of the big.
Fat, fat, fat,
All I see is fat.
I am "just right", "average", "normal" or "perfect size."
They lie every single time, and hell, just 'like that'.
Fat, fat, fat,
All I see is fat.
I am "too skinny!", "I wish I looked like you", "wow! Size zero jeans?!" and "underweight".
Yet, I refuse to touch this cold, stocked plate.
Fat, fat, fat,
All I see is fat.
I am "awful", "dying", Miss "eat something" and "throne of bones".
Yet, this body will never be my souls rightful home.
Fat, fat, fat.
All I ever will be is fat.
Even in a long gown and stuck to the end of an I.V pole,
With doctors and psychatrists and loved ones crying and begging me to just "recover, please come home!"
I am still fat.
The hospital bed is empty,
My bed is left untouched,
There is a silence as the wearers in black all sob and stare silently at the body in the ground.
Devasted and hushed...
I see them, but can no longer speak.
No longer able to feel, no longer live,
Forced to watch time pass and hearts mourn...
Their days now heartbroken and bleak.
My best friend doesn't speak, she now sits alone,
My mother sobs every night, family reminded
so often of my presence,
The one who secrelty loved me has loved no more,
Even my pets still wait outside my door.
Those who knew me, only can remember me in the things left behind,
Even the sun itself rarely shines.
Dead, lost, gone.
I am no longer fat,
But I also no longer- belong.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 12:59 AM UTC
The church bells chime,
Suddenly the door flew open,
There came my gorgeous bride,
In an embroided white dress,
A veil on her face,
Red lipstick on,
She walks down the aisle,
Her father gives me her hand and leaves,
The reverand speaks a few verses,
But when we share our vows,
I was so stocked and there was so much I could've said,
But I had to stop myself.
I thank God that you came in my life,
You are my angel,
That sparkled my life.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
sometimes i feel like i’m two creatures caught
b
e
n
e
a
t
h
skin
sharing one body.
my tongue rough- sandpaper, broken glass, too many curses
while the lips around it burn with apologies
fleshy brooms sweeping up the messes
of another woman.
i feel like there are two animals
each fighting for their right to shine through
they’re voracious in this battle— it surprises me that their clawstalonssteeth don’t break through the thin expanse of flesh to the outside.
i have two women living within my skull
one wildroughfighting— slinging glasses and insults.
face paint, bones and bottle trees, fire and ash
wet pine needles under bleeding feet.
the biting creature who leaves bruises on the lips of men.
the warrior, Artemis. laughdancing through flames.
a bear, a wolf, a cat, a bird.
animal in nature.
the other fights with words.
elegant, gentle, soft, break able-- everything the other
cannot afford to be.
goddess of the hearth, she feeds her comrades like children
keeps fires stocked with woods
and binds bleeding arms.
this woman carries pitchers of water
writes sweet letters to missing friends
and opens her soul to many lovers.
am I some crude splice of these creatures?
am I a ******* of these mothers— each passionate
one biting, brackish tides, slow moving rivers, still ponds
the other a warm, clean bath?
am I both simultaneously, or am I wearing one face while the other
watches behind mine eyes?
I am the moon—
full and loving, dark and hiding
and something in between.
yeah, that sounds about right.
something in between.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:07 PM UTC
“Withdrawn from Salem Public Library”
“Salem Public Library, East Main Street,
Salem, VA 24153”
A happy book, thought-stained, and often-read
An anthology of Russian poetry
Salem, Virginia must be a marvelous town
A library stocked with poetry, and stocked
With poetry readers who have turned again
And again to favorite pages here and there
Long-ago poets murdered by the Soviets
But finding love at last in Salem, Virginia
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 4:39 PM UTC
There is hope beyond a papery pharmacy
that is stocked with ink and sheepskin
The clerk is finicky and silent, and elixirs evaporate
as you browse the papyrus shelves
There is hope beyond this paper pharmacy,
so abandon poisons crafted by pen-laden fingers
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 3:22 AM UTC
*We bask in light when morning comes, yet tremble in the night.
Halloween must be the cause to give us such a fright.
Ghosts and goblins haunt the streets where moans and chains abound.
Ghouls and vampires lurk in shadows, scared of holy ground.
Werewolves stalk unwary victims. Frankenstein is loose.
Ogres, trolls and spectral zombies hanging by a noose,
Gorgons with their "stoney" eyes and bats with leathery wings...
Mummies wrapped in yellowed cloth with rotting flesh that clings,
Pirates, gangsters, space invaders, just to name a few,
All in search of "Tricks or Treats"(or just a head...or two).
Beware the time when darkness comes. Be sure the door is locked.
But most of all .... to just be safe ... keep lots of candy stocked.*
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 10:41 AM UTC
I needed to do some shopping
On poem ideas I was running low
So I checked out the local flyer
To the downtown poet store
Just to see what they had on sale
Some of my friends they call me cheap
But why pay full price if you don't have to
On all the rhyming words I need
The front page slapped me in the face
With the Spring Cleaning Sale Galore
Everything I needed was half price
So I headed straight to the store
I ventured up and down the isles
Filling my basket with the best of rhyme
Getting a few extras of every word
So I'd have them when the time was right
I stocked up on love and encouragement
The right words I carefully chose
Because in my experience
You can never have to many of those
I even took a few from the back
Down a darkened isle where the lights were low
Being a poet my mood can rapidly change
And what words I might need you never know
With my basket full of wonder
I felt my day of shopping done
Confidant and ready
To go home and continue writing poems
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 5:23 PM UTC
(Inspired by This Is the House That Jack Built)
Crack House
This is the house that police raided.
This is the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the pervert stocked with ****
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the gang armed with scorn,
That kidnapped the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the homeless man that begged at morn,
That waked the gang armed with scorn,
That kidnapped the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the panhandler all forlorn,
That supported the homeless man that begged at morn,
That waked the gang armed with scorn,
That kidnapped the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
This is the cardboard sign and clothes all torn,
That belonged to the panhandler all forlorn,
That supported the man that begged at morn,
That waked the gang armed with scorn,
That kidnapped the baby recently born,
That annoyed the pervert stocked with ****
That bought from the dealer with the street popcorn,
That distracted the cop,
That alarmed the ****
That bought the wimp,
That injected the needle
That lay in the house that police raided.
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 8:20 AM UTC
Here now by many paths convoluted,
Ever trying the thoughts new, acted on.
Heeding just,streams conscious flowing,
Changed and morphed in an instant blinking.
Hair long,then shaved, now streaked orange grey
Suits to jeans,tore them,robes spiritual,now **** pray!
Was straight,turned metro,for all open,but curious still,
Body clean,got pierced, now adorning pasts tattooed!
Gurus, philosophies many, still a fool ever journeying.
Heard Bach,reggaed to Marley,wood-stocked,now fused.
Loved intense,let go easy,Kama sutras experimented on.
Traveled afar,lived as a local,now a foreigner everywhere,
Hip-pied from smoke to grass,yoga to parties raved hard.
Against wars, sat in for peace elusive,fought all,now stoic,
Never shocked or surprised,took all as came,now strong.
The set mind,everchanging,the physical a compliment cosy,
Unrecognizable now,existing totally, being happy, normally?
Many shout, freak! I smile,walk on to my home in Bohemia!
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
I sought satisfaction in stupid sheepishly and shallow strides.
Scared subconsciously, I swallow and sustain substance for pseudo self esteem strengthening.
I seemed of in service to slumber and stinging sadness, shots sank like ships, submerging into the sea of my swarthy stomach in seconds.
I somewhat sympathies as a sailor, sweating, struggling and swimming in slipping sobriety saturated in my sulking style.
Scanning swarms of serial swindlers, striking sculptures stances of self-doubt.
I stammer in a storm of slurs, ******* down my safety, stopping myself at the stoop of the saloon I see a seductive silhouette staging the space.
She stroke my sight, standing sanguine in scarlet, soul sold in high heels.
The smoothest sculptures in seven square miles were subjugated into scree and I was ****** in submission.
Stubborn staggering suitors, stand shaking silently as she is stopped by sharks stalking and snarling sycophantics.
So straightforward in suggesting their secret starvation to strip sensations, seem by seem, like a sub-par **** cinema scene.
They step and speak short.
She smokes off, stranding the scree in smoldering slaughter.
Its sad this soul-less sanctuary soaking up sorrows.
So self inflicting, and so satisfyingly side splitting.
She sported her spurned, scorned off into sadistic solitude and stained sticky stigma, sobbing to sleep.
So spent from simple stocked, stored and supported senescence of ceremonial subjection of ****** status.
I savior my sincerity, and stretched out of this strange stadium of stooges.
So long scarlet sanguine I sang softly, as she stole my sight suspiciously in sync with hers.
Sacrificial seconds split from smearing stolidity to sharing a smile.
That's simple satisfaction, so I seen scripted in sitcoms and shows.
Supporting sapiens in stasis to see sappy stunners on screen, to stare snoopy, as stabs and slashes strike socially into socialites of so called sanity and sovereignty.
To sweetly pay salvage as slaves of soppy studio slander.
Such is this sorry Saturday night, I am solidified in sedation.
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,
And sair wi’ his love he did deave me;
I said there was naething I hated like men:
The deuce *** wi ‘m to believe me, believe me,
The deuce *** wi ‘m to believe me.
He spak o’ the darts in my bonie black een,
And vow’d for my love he was diein;
I said he might die when he liked for Jean:
The Lord forgie me for liein, for liein,
The Lord forgie me for liein!
A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird,
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers:
I never loot on that I ken’d it, or car’d,
But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers,
But thought I might hae waur offers.
But what *** ye think? in a fortnight or less,
(The deil tak his taste to *** near her!)
He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess,
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.
But a’ the niest week I fretted wi’ care,
I gaed to the tryste o’ Dalgarnock,
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there,
I glowr’d as I’d seen a warlock, a warlock.
I glowr’d as I’d seen a warlock.
But owre my left shoulder I *** him a blink,
Lest neibors might say I was saucy;
My wooer he caper’d as he’d been in drink,
And vow’d I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
And vow’d I was his dear lassie.
I spier’d for my cousin fu’ couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recover’d her hearin,
And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl’t feet—
But, heavens! how he fell a swearin, a swearin,
But, heavens! how he fell a swearin.
He begg’d, for gudesake, I *** be his wife,
Or else I *** **** him wi’ sorrow:
So e’en to preserve the poor body in life,
I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow,
I think I maun wed him to-morrow.
3k
On
The counters of poetry
I dock and lock myself
Then
I scope on the bottles of liquors seductively
And spellblind by their syllables
I took the shakers and hybrid
The Similes
The Onomatopeia's
The Nemesis'
The Near-Rhymes
And The Triadic-Lines
Then I gulp fourteen shots of Sonnets
From my paper-glass
And glug a paradox
Or a foil-sigh
Trice,
The knots
Bundling my eloquence
Will exonerated itself
And torpidity will cuff my consciousness
And the droplets remains in my paper- glass
Will impel me
To quest for myriad of them
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stock on a comedy chair
Then
When the
Limbs of time tread
Will I rush to the counter
Like the athletes at Olympia
And hybrid
The Blank-verses
The Alliterations
The Limericks
The Litotes
The Aporia's
And The Dysphemism's
And
Gulp countless
Yet measured shoots
Of Ballad,with my paper-glass
And unravel the oratories
Of sacred secrets,eclectic enchantment and regrettable reflexes
Aside,or injects the world
With my rugged pins of eruditions
Bestowed in me by the liquors of poetry
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stocked on a comedy-chair
Again
I will rush
To the counter,and hybrid
The Exaggerations
The Personifications
The Imageries
And The Caesura's
And
Gulp uncounted shoots
Of Epic's from my paper-glass
And
Eulogise my steam and wit
Yet,I'm drunk
And deeply drunk wholly
By a might that mortify me so much
That I've become a slave
In the awe of my servitude
Now and then
Will I weep and wail terribly
Each morning,each noon,and each night
For the great demise of myself
And for an emancipation
From the perpetual counter-cells poetry
I'm drunk,and deeply drunk by poetry.
Deeply Drunk
©Historian E.Lexano
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
You me the dog our kids
White fence
Two cars kids toys
Elvis on the radio
Wonderbread and bananas
Pinesol on hand / Folger's at wake
A granite island counter
Our lives are now a life
Our lives
Fat red bowtie on 'em
We're yamaha piano keys played all night
Presents under the tree
Pantry stocked; cars washed; bedtime;
And now becoming domesticated
Isn't as nightmarish
As we thought
It would be
In college
It's bliss & bliss & bliss &
Going well & better
than Mom n Dad
& saccharine &
Dreamy
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
The Searching Yeti and UFO/
Stocked home love of youth and foe/
mysteries of deep, songs that bellow/
I'm waving wheat surrounding crop circle/
and I Am The Bed with Fibonacci flower
holding on to summer showers
The hot oil tuned in chopped green thyme/
wrinkled strips sandy brown sugared lines/
tossed on foul fried, lemon and vinegar /
long or short grain I'll be the same integer/
I Am The Bed of rice soaked in what you savor
The breath of air/
Vibration! Everywhere?
Pitter Patter Crescendo Flare...
Ready for rivers of precipitation /
before Pen and Paper dissemination /
I Am The Bed dried wide open
Streaming to the notion ocean.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
As potential grew, a desire to write, disclosed to few
Imagination immerse, but yet to thirst for knowledge, accrued ambition address
All aboard the express, thoughts of Harry, a plot to marry
From fanciful flights to greater heights
Capturing such visualisation, twas the formation
Characterisation, of wings to soar, with metaphor
From Dumbledore, yet taking shape
Professor Snape, assume the plot, lest thoughts forgot
A forest to roam, a philosophical stone
Such creative flair of which to share
Joining of the dotted line, artistic mind
Transporting train, journeyed acclaim
Of whom to impede, the will to succeed
The ability to write, the capacity to teach, the desire to reach
An impetus for change, a literary role, a priority
Of which to seek with tenacity
Beyond horizons, beyond confines, stand undefined
Awe-inspire, great readership, a due reply
To simplify, a noble shift, outstanding writer in the midst
Dynamic plot from pen to page, persistence through to published stage
A realised dream, challenge overcome
A victory won definably, stocked supplies to library
Broomstick flight phenomenon, a mystical tale was to become
Would generate, the bus of Knight, to render right
A rebuilt life, a legacy made
From chosen craft to final draft, a world of creativity
The right to type, to innovate, an intriguing wait
A shining star that would liberate
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 3:10 PM UTC
Central park Nevuary. 3rd.
There's a noise like I never heard.
Humming and grunting.
Guess Ill go hunting.
trolling they call it.
Candy.apples are bait they tell me .
Lucky I'm stocked up with the caramel kind..
Why? Don't have a clue.
Creeping on my belly to the clearing ahead.
Therel"s a huge checkered table cloth . Checkered I said
Sir. Are there more white squares or more red type squares sir.
Trolls sit cross legged in front of a candy apple pile.
Stuffing their faces a minute a mile.
Trolls are a fiction or that is the tale.
These trolls wash down apples with hot ginger ale
I wish I would stop dreaming this dream.every time
I eat mango ice cream.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
Ads for Christmas specials
Litter magazines and such
Oooh another Christmas Carol
Tiny Tim has a new crutch
A Christmas Story musical
The Rockettes on TV
I'd rather watch old re-runs
Of Andy Williams 'neath the tree
The stores are stocked, the lights are bright
There's tinsel everywhere
There's Romney and Obama Christmas tags
I mean is this really fair?
There's Kingdom of Thrones nativities
And guess who plays the baby
There' s something wrong inherently
When you stop to buy it...maybe.
Christmas got away from us
It's more commercial than I've seen
There's more crap on the shelves these days
Than there is at Hallowee'n
It's only just September
and I'm already done in
by my Christmas Season overload
I can't believe the state I'm in
What happened to Goodwill to Men
And Seasons Greetings at the mall
They've been replaced by anger
And gift cards that are given out by all
This year I have decided
to change how I celebrate this silly thing
I'm going home to bed right now
And I will Hibernate till spring !!!
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 4:51 PM UTC
The hp deathstar had all but sqaushed are rebellion.
And the pub falcon was being looked for parked in front of everycyber bar across the net so it really ****** cause capt Gonzo
was really thirsty.
We had taken refuge on endor for awhile untill
thoose fury bastards got pissed over a simple misunderstanding
they sure were some horney little teddy bears .
In thinking over were to hide there was mention
of eurainus to which I replied.
Get your mind outta the gutter man.
you just said eurainus.
Cp bathsebo and R2 Swanson said s0mething to which
I jokingly replied hush the men are talking once wasnt to smart.
Ever been kick to the grown by a steel high heel shoe
hopefully the numbness will wear off.
Master golden had taught me much
but that was many drinks ago.
How am i supposed to remember that far back
yesterday was a blur.
So **** it lets kick his *** already jack skyhorner said.
Darth Elliot was mighty the battle was hell.
I would have joined in but someone had to rob the liqour
cabinet besides Honzo Gonzo a bit of a hangover.
As the stormtroppers aproached screamed like a 13 year old girl and ran to fire up the pub falcon.
As the others said what about jack I said im sorry but he's gone
it was brutle i took out as many as could.
But Jack would want us to move on.
Just then Jack appeared and said nice scream gonz.
We blasted across the gallaxy with no direction cause ya know
how guys are about asking for directions.
Fully stocked and and reloaded so to speak.
Drath Elliot was amighty foe.
But no match for the outcast girly screaming
Capt Gonzo
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 1:45 PM UTC
I'm a doomsday prepper
Afraid of zombie lepers
And nuclear line steppers
So I spend my life preparing
Instead of repairing
A civilization that is constantly crumbling
I focus on post-apocalyptic rumbling
My self reliance
Met my defiance
In an alliance
Of deadly appliance
When I have no faith in the government
Because they might make preparing futile
For the disasters of my wonderment
I don't copy their community style
They'll just die when the world ends
So they're a waste of the time I spend
I tried to look above
To find love
But a giant tidal wave
Blocked the sun's rays
And I could feel the Earth quake
Under my shaking feet
So I decided it was a mistake
And to avoid what's sweet
I will no longer be a misfit
After the apocalypse
I will be more comfortable than everyone else
But will I really keep my resources to myself?
I say of course
From my high horse
I fantasize about being right
So others will see the light
Of a nuclear blast
And see that I last
They'll beg to see my stocked shelf
Yet I will offer no help
I'll say my memory is hazy
Didn't you call me crazy?
Protecting my goods in that vulnerable hour
With a stockpile of firearm firepower
I prepare for an impending doom
That'll create some elbow room
Instead of friends I gather supplies
For a cataclysmic surprise
Where everyone dies
Then I'll be happy
Hunting and trapping
All alone
In a blast zone
Where someone once said
Life is what happens
While you're making plans
But the apocalypse
Is my promised land
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 4:50 AM UTC
Since I cannot cure my schizophrenia
I decided to end my owned dilemma
I looked for a rope to hang my head
But split in two, that old rope left me undead
But that was not enough to stop my will
In our kitchen, a shining blade
But I pause for awhile for the reason
That I might pass out undead
So I then looked for a key
To open the cabinet
Unsealed the gun that was strictly kept
To put into my head that one tiny bullet
Just one shot and for sure I’ll be lucky dead
I pulled the trigger it didn’t clicked
Then I realized I've never done any
I’m stocked in my lonely room
Chatting with nymphs, those god’s so holy
Then I began to chill while facing demon and ghost so scary
My world was full with delusions
I can fight no more this emotion
Since they cannot cure my schizophrenia
How I wished to end my owned dilemma
But how can I?
They don’t want me to
I was incarcerated in this empty room
No rope to hang this head
No blade to slash my pulse
No gun to point in my head...
written: July 01, 2014
Mysterious Aries
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 4:58 AM UTC
The walls stare at me
They will never set me free
I'll always be stuck here
Do you not see?
They're as white as snow
And this is why I know
That my smile will never glow
Even if they go
Really, I'm in an asylum
it's because I was crazy
I'm sitting in an asylum
I know I really am crazy
But do you know the reason why?
It's because he killed me
He shattered my life
And now I can't see
A crazy broken smirk
In the darkness I lurk
I will search for you
and probably **** you too
It's like a trail of dominos
I'll push you down
No sadness too low
Aww, come on, don't frown
Now the walls aren't white, they're stained with red
Yes it is blood, because I cut off his head
It's funny how they never saw me escape
Creeping, slipping out of the locked gates
The room was completely locked
Did you know how I got out?
I was never really stocked
They never knew what is was about
A mystery they'll never find out
How his head got cut off
Now the both of us shout
And then they turned soft
Really, I'm a ghost
And I'll feed on a host
To be able to ****
on my own free will
Maybe it's you next
I'll quietly strangle your neck
They thought I was missing
They haven't checked my room
They started on the names they're listing
To catch who began this gloom
Really, I'm in an asylum
No actually, I'm in my room
It's just that I am dead
but they haven't buried me yet
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
And now the good day has gone around
To somewhere near New Zealand,
(Which is all the better, for I hear they are in
Deep need of good days)
And the “goodnights” have come
And gone to bed with yawning lips,
And the empty loom is stocked with threads
To weave new dreams, good and bad.
Now I nestle in with pillows
And ice for one of my Icarus burns.
It is hard to express why the sun still
Shines in my chest, warms my shirts,
Smiles against my breast like a robin’s
Breast smiles gratefully back to the sun.
Today was a good day,
And tonight is good,
And the stars have not forgotten me,
Nor the moon turned her face away
In one of our play fights,
So I cannot help but fill with warmth,
Though our bright conductor has marched off.
I’m still humming yesterday’s song -
Which is like the call of a mockingbird,
A little bit borrowed, a bit absurd,
But after a long good day, I find
That I cannot say with my words
What is best expressed by birds.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 6:40 PM UTC
To be wed ceremonies
Traditionally brisk time
Wintery- divine sacred
rituals
She elevates every success to the
Sublime
Inner power bells of chime
Sometimes resistance
Need more patience
Internal flame Solstice
Too many humans come
with a price looking into
envision unto whatever will-do
Internal flame nowhere to be tamed
Who is to blame no red carpet
Why do they call it fame?
Winter Solstice chilled wine
Shared/unpaired/homebound
On- our- own- time
Christmas time prayer of hope
Feeling land-locked on tight rope
All disguises internal flame bruises
Masquerade party
On a deserted Island all booked
But where are the people shell- shocked
Dreams are dangerous internal fire
Sleepwalked no life desired
Some people have it all well- stocked
In the apartment minds go deadlocked
Looking out of a window if we can only
see the same beautiful sky
So many endangered species
no
wings
to- fly
Looking at the bottom
the big family dish
My only wish
Seeing our loved ones
In a starfish*
Jul 9, 2023
Jul 9, 2023 at 11:07 AM UTC
I am getting so sick,
Sick and tired of the day to day.
The same motions,
Zombie potions keeping you awake.
The reports are stocked,
The chairs locked in the upright position.
In a sea of fake smiles,
Judging Trials--always graceful disposition.
Yeah, the grass always looks a little greener on the other side.
Yeah, the grass always looks a little greener on the other side.
Well good morning to you,
how ya doin' on this nice, sunny day?
Are you ready now,
to sit and **** and ***** your life away?
Well my boss's boss,
he will toss and turn late in to the night
And it's a wonder how,
I see it now through my father's eyes.
Yeah, the grass always looks a little greener on the other side.
Yeah, the grass always looks a little greener on the other side.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
My doors are always open, they swing both ways.
You can come in and be welcomed, leave just the same.
There is always some food in the frig,
the cabinet is usually stocked.
You won't find anything fancy but if you're hungry, it will hit the spot.
There are two stacks of fire wood, in case you're here when it's cold.
One is for a quick fire, the other for all night long.
Upstairs is the extra bed, clean towels too , on shelves,
extra razor in the drawer, case you need to shave yourself.
Now the beer is in the bottom drawer of the frig out in the shop,
yes there is a bottle behind the toolbox, case you needing a shot.
I really only got a few rules , most folks have heard before.
Take what you need, leave what aint yours.
Help with the chores if you get a chance,
clean up behind yourself.
When the time comes at you again, help those that caint help themselves. Welcome.
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 11:10 AM UTC