"strategies" poems
Events Marketing
Inform your followers on the latest update of your business. Whenever there are business engagements, such as trade show or conventions, business owners can notify their followers by uploading images on Instagram. Taking pictures and tagging subscribers in the specific location can boost visits and sales. It is important to be creative in taking pictures. Photogene and ColorSplash are the two most commonly used editing application in Instagram. In event marketing, VIP discounts can be offered to subscribers.
Contests
People are looking for excitement and rewards. Holding a contest as an activity is an exciting engagement to attract audience.
Geotagging
Instagram users can use the feature of geotagging in order to tag a specific location as to where the images were shot. For business, customers can be more familiar with the location of the business with the geotagging feature.
Remember that today, the most successful people are known to take advantage of the social media.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 5:02 AM UTC
Korean fashion experts have shared their know-how with Malaysia.
At the "K-Fashion Conference for Malaysia" in Kuala Lumpur on Feb. 16, a group of Korean professionals gave lectures under the topics "K-Fashion Design Trend Transition & Forecast," "Digital & Online Marketing Strategies," "Power Brand and Concept Development Strategies" and "How to enter the global market."
The Korea Fashion Association, the Malaysia External Trade Development Corporation (MATRADE) and the ASEAN-Korea Centre organized the event to strengthen the competitiveness of Malaysian fashion brands by improving the added value of the industry through brand development.
About 50 Malaysian fashion industry companies and related government officials attended.
"There is growing interest in K-fashion, along with the high popularity of Korean dramas and entertainment shows, making this workshop even more timely and meaningful," ASEAN-Korea Centre Secretary General Kim Young-sun said. "The Malaysian fashion industry has huge potential as it is currently ranked in the top five in the ASEAN fashion industry."
On Feb. 15 and 17, Korean experts visited local fashion merchandisers for market research and consultations.
According to the ASEAN-Korea Centre, the Malaysian fashion industry has had massive growth with the expansion of Islamic fashion markets.
MATRADE aims to boost the industry as the nation's leading exporter. It has been organizing Malaysia Fashion Week (MFW) since 2014 to make the capital a fashion destination in Asia.
The second MFW in 2015 featured designers from more than 15 countries, and over 300 booths showcased the quality products of Malaysian fashion brands to the domestic and foreign trade, accodring to the organization.
The ASEAN-Korea Centre is an intergovernmental organization established in 2009 with an aim to promote exchanges among Korea and the 10 ASEAN member states.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 4:12 AM UTC
*i was looking at an old and tattered black and white photo of my grandfather
a man i never knew and wondered about
his existence
like a horizon of dissolution
his soul enshrined in my own
and like him and all creatures
ultimately i remain defenseless
against realities magnitude
while my father loved me as a child
he grew unkind over the years
and we where set bitterly against one another other
his tyranny and my disobedience
as i gathered strategies craft
by machinery of thought
and festering gall
he, the bully
got bullied back
by me and old age
as we in tandem set fire
to his sadistic golden age of disillusionment
and here we are now the living and the dead
still locked in a grudge
a recurring spirit of revenge
in a valley of tears
before i myself join the ephemeral legions
in a pile of stones and ashed corpses
are we not
a procession of long struggles and short pleasures
a history of terrors and creatureness
stooges bound by the wheel creation
crucified by desire
and the apathy of obliterations aftermath
an archeology of death
ruin upon ruins
has God
sinned against man
or bestowed his grace
mystified
perfect and beautiful
beyond measure
yet to be discovered
in an alternate reality?
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC
All is NOT well in the grasslands.
The animals are fit to be tied.
The actions of the crafty wolves
Have left the rest of them horrified.
"How will we EVER be able
To keep democracy afloat,"
The antelope asked, "if the wolves
Don't allow us all to vote?
"In many sections of these grasslands,
Shameless wolves are doing their best
To hold voter registration
Hostage, keeping voters suppressed."
"They aim to control voter turnout,"
The deer added. "That's their hope.
Their sneaky ways to manipulate
Elections push the envelope!
“They stall and seek petty reasons
To take names off voting lists.
Fair and honest elections are
In jeopardy if this persists.”
"It's so close to election day,
Our courts are reluctant to raise objections,"
The buffalo said. "Some of the wolves
Are even running in the elections!
"Humph! They stole a Supreme Court justice.
Then they rammed another one through.
Now they're still suppressing voters.
What more damage will they do?"
"Winnowing down voter rolls!
Their strategies should be illegal!"
The fox chimed in. Looking around,
He asked, "Where is our dear friend Eagle?"
The absent eagle wanted no
Responsibility tied to her name.
She couldn't stop the out-of-control
Wolves, and hid her head in shame.
-by Bob B (10-19-18)
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
Yes I go, yes go to seek a Great Apocalypse
One that will unravel the complex elaboration of difference
To articulate a perpetual aesthetic with violated codes
Of the experience of illusions of temporal stimulus
That are beyond all compass and soothe a fragmentation
Oh Great Apocalypse of beauty whose deception finds strategies
For youthful prodigality and binds me to your inarticulation
An embodiment of beleaguered and charmed fictions
Whose artifice is the governance of generous impulses
As such sway about me with a harmony of moral disquiet
Inadequate in description of the qualities of their oppression
Yet oh great apocalypse there is a plausible generosity
In these pale assumptions of impatience which carry
The obligations of a universally shared human existence
Compelling a projection of charged issues on competing claims
For the enigmatic logic of life
Yes Great Apocalypse now I understand all thought
From Everywhere and for Always
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
Don't knock what you've never tried
Lock box with a heart inside
Six shots from a forty five
Punk rock makes you come alive
Black-hawks in the clear blue sky
It's ad hoc but you can just get by
On Poprocks and cyanide
Tick-tock time to decide
What made you think that you could take me down?
The method's flawed, but the strategies sound.
What made you try to hold me back?
I hope you're ready for the counter-attack.
Backhand and you feel the heat
Grandstand 'till you take a seat
Kickstand just to keep your feet
Firsthand watch you admit defeat
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:01 PM UTC
The dried petals of a once green love
snake through the beige carpet--
along with potato chips,
along with icy *****
along with grey ash of cheapshit incense,
my empire soles trample in after work.
Susan smiles and tries to reheat the leftovers.
Our bulging bellies match from a marriage of coping strategies,
stretch mark'd and daydreaming of
other seasons; sweat on foreign sheets,
other napes; Mediterranean baby's breath,
other scents; a choice between gardenia and gasoline,
Susan's a liar.
Of deceit--I've grown tired.
Newspaper, newspaper bring me a bullet.
Doorbell, doorbell bring me a blushing nomad in need of bruising.
Ringtone, ringtone bring me DHS and an actual Friday.
Susan tucks me in to the Lullaby of the Infomercial,
her fingernail seeps into my lower lip.
I roll onto my side.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 2:40 AM UTC
I miss my first love
like a train I was supposed to catch years ago
I've made my home on the station platform
because now I'd rather just watch the trains go by
I miss my first love
like an appointment with a doctor
that could have diagnosed me with the early stages of loneliness
and cured me right then and there
instead the illness settled in
and every day I'm treating the symptoms while I search for a cure
I miss my fist love
like the bullseye on a dart board
I don't even feel like playing the game anymore
and my throws are getting more and more wild
getting stuck in the wall and the floor
I miss my first love
and the way I loved when I didn't know what love was
no tricks, no strategies
just me, and her, and whatever that was when we were
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
God doesn’t care
Is what you need to understand
He set the world in motion
Not hoping for your petty devotion
So don't get this false notion
That he loves you as a person
We follow the same rules as other life
We are ants on a higher level of complexity
If you die in a car crash
If you get cancer
If your daughter jumps in front of a train
If your children burn in hell
He does not care.
Or at least he certainly does not cry about it
Its how he made the world
So what can he say about it?
I'm sorry?
I didn't mean to?
That's not the right answer.
He knew what he was doing
And now we eat his pudding
(Creating laws for selection
And effective strategies for a positive outcome
Suffering is one of them -
The reason it hurts is why it ******* works!)
We are meaningless pieces of functional matter
Wandering the world
Hoping to find love and peace
Just so that we could **** and raise children with ease.
So
Where is this all going?
Making it way too confusing.
Is there meaning to the Anthropocene
Or is it just another random biological flourish
Like the 99.9% of species that so helplessly perished
No one knows
We will have to wait and see
Until then I think its best
To try and enjoy the scene
Just how God intended it to be
Let's just hope he doesn't make it too obscene...
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 3:51 AM UTC
I don't like what I get...
Reset!
My monsters got upset...
Reset!
Don't like how its going?
Reset!
**** so bad my phone I'm throwing?
Reset!
No need to ever fret...
Reset!
You think I'm lazy, you bet!
Reset!
Its just a game...
My strategies were lame...
I'll never take the blame...
I'll
just..
Reset!
Reset!
RESET!!!
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
A little birdy told me, hearts and souls are mouldy,
Walk with me, talk with me on this journey of doubt,
You'll question people and you'll question the drought,
of honesty people lie about, because It's time to scout,
For people of kindness on earth,
From birth, I think I've been cursed
It gets worse, as I rap this verse,
I'm trying to explain how life can be complicated,
Because we're all intoxicated, muffled in fumes of disease and fleas that cling onto your skin,
Use the energy within, and repel them this is where your journey will begin,
I've been searching for a moment or a pin, point in time,
When these rhymes and lines will be classed as devine, as I perfect and refine,
I'm just wondering how many times I can assign the same rhyme, so all sit back with a glass of wine, whilst I intertwine every line, lyrics so evil I'm committing a crime, maybe I'll get a statue, maybe a shrine, I need to switch it up so let's all decline, but you'll remember this verse as one of a kind.
Whilst I'm standing still over this hill, I think of moments in life that gave me a thrill,
But I remembered the pain and I remember the chill,
Of the cold dampened hearts that never seemed to spill,
Love or affection, like it's protection they need during the question, should I mention, you never gave me attention,
Like the worlds in one convention and I'm stood outside looking in,
I grin, whilst I use these forces buried within, to show people in verse what I mean, before the planet isn't green, before the seas collapse and wind is no longer a breeze,
We freeze in an ice block, tick Tock, tick Tock we stopped the clock.
But no body hears me so everyone listen up,
Stop what you're doing and please raise a cup,
For stopping global warming and extinction of animals, because we're all valuables on this tiny spec of galaxies,
Yet governments plan strategies, to profit from the tragedies, they keep us all living in fantasies, but strike in catastrophes
So let's help our families and all become one, before we've got none and everything we love and everything we feel is gone,
Putting a bet on the apocalypse, odds are 10 to none,
So hold hands with me now let's rejoice in song!
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 3:51 AM UTC
Reflections of my self, my being, my person, my soul,
Forever replayed, reshown, redone, reinacted
For the fact is
The strength that settles in my palms is ignited by the ignorance of man.
Oh man oh man how corrupt and vile does your mind be
Calculating and engineering plans and strategies
That will never leave your mind,
Free
To be or not to be
A mockerey
Of your confused biology, which hysterically
Questions your existence.
A gift so great,
Yet bronzed with your persistence to query the beauty I have given you,
Which is life!
Behind every man is a woman who loves and sacrifices their own needs and Necessities for happiness,
Clarity and justice.
A dancing cherubim dancing elegantly like a warm summer ray from your childhood Window.
Revitilises,
Re-energises,
Re-grows,
The root of your soul
As if the buds of may.
Honey toned, chocolate foamed
Milky light,
All pleasures for your delight.
Spread on to one body of immaculate perfection
Formed from Aphrodite's tears.
But the woman,
The woman possesses such omnipotent spiritual clasp on nature
That if she was to know,
Overstand
Or
Even accept a miniscule quantity of this knowledge
Then-man-would-be-woman.
To trap and encase a man like a rodent
Is to burn a ring of fire around his finger that leads life to his heart,
Where it beats impatiently to the tune of the womans song.
Skin soft, eyes lost
Sight of who I am,
Many different descriptions -although similar- still not the same,
But am I really to blame?
For the insecurities that you have belittled on me.
For my hair is long,
Then short,
Then short,
Then none.
My skin dark,
Then light,
Then light,
But not right
A constant fight,
A battle to aim for the right kind of existence but even still
I Exist!
And realise whatever you insist, still
I Exist,
Which is that gift that i hold in my being here,
Looking there
At my elegant stare,,
Which i dare
To offend the image, which you have sought to be womanly.
No longer do I fear my image
As it is a powerful icon of modern day life
To withstand the turbulent stresses and grind of strife
To help a man.
To have.
A happy.
WIFE!
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
Explosions in the sky
That certain rush of words covered with ideas I am not so afraid of
That simple touch of a pen poets picture as their current heaven
And heaven lies within the lies where real people exist and in-concrete dust flies
And flies surround the inner spaces between my heart and yours
Those inter dimensional cracks that keep us alive together
Yet those same cracks cause the
Explosions in the sky
When a million thoughts tremble under shattered glass
And glass becomes rain over a nation
That had no occupation
A station
Where all the emotions find a leak
Where all the leaks lead to leisure
The flood of blood narrated to form a spring out of Arab's fall
And freedom is attained with the sound of
Explosions in the sky
When betrayal becomes the living scenario of a very normal human being
Who believed that his sanctuary is in unison with his sanctions
Strategies structured his not so subtle approach
And after that he fell into her
Explosions in the sky
When a man loses his vision upon a mild smile
When a cry for help becomes an invite for suicide
Come…help me be the
Portrait of clay you'll form with your delicate hands
Shape my image
And imagine a shape for my form
Form a set for me to follow
Follow my moves for if I fall of your track
Track me back to the first point
The playstation of life saves checkpoints
Yet my life is full of glitches…
For when I look at you
I am supposed to be looking at you
But all I'm seeing is
Explosions in the sky
When a trouble-free man becomes the complex notion of a firework
Those little pieces of fiery smoke
Grabs it
And smokes the last buds of life out of his people
The governor governing the covers he created
To alienate the truth
I found in your eyes
And I shall never be mislead
Instead
I shall be steadfast and ready
For you
I shall be ready for you
And your
Explosions in the sky
When a poet has no words left to write
In the right time
Literally the speaker is speechless
He's too busy wondering in total observation
The explosions…
The explosions we create
The skies that unveil
And that little feeling of satisfaction
With the last bits of an ink written
Poem.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
Volume up,lights out
Tolerance up just to drown him out
Everyone's dancing in circles
She's stuck in the perverse perimeter,so no one sees her around .
Hopped off on circles & hallow cylinders just to survive when shes around
She used to come alive in the moon light
When the high beams shined she used to see the light .
Now she's struggling w strategies to leave .
Trying to find an amusing excuse to satisfy their surprise
Something like :
"I'm a vampire I need to get home before the sun rises "
Pass her a lighter , So she could add
fuel to the fire ;makes for better burn holes in her pantyhose
Chain link boots ,skin tight leather coat
Mustang Sally , make tonight your own..
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
It was considered expedient
To change the unit of measure
To change scale,
To make redundant all
That could be wasted,
Naturally.
Internal communications
Will contrive suitable verbs
To conceal the brutality of profit
To provide surety as required
To the senior management team
As for the rest:
To those whose insecurities
Are relied upon, whose
Middles have expanded, aged
Receded, human resources
Will issue notice of packages
And opportunities of relocation.
The restructure will require
The recruitment of some
Of the hungry young;
Fresh graduates on the newly
Introduced basic scales.
What of your work you enquire?
Those value added strategies
Of differentiation
Of corporate responsibilities,
Family friendly policies?
In this age of austerity
Such approaches, old man,
Are as relevant as a hard drive,
Or hard copy, this is a cloud
Sourced post-crunch
Twitterverse we inhabit,
This is a time for new prospects
This is cloud cuckoo land.
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 3:06 AM UTC
Mental debates of moving on and
Leaving the past, she dreams
Of working things out to make
Them last, she’s all too familiar
With solitude, its wonders,
Its dedication to her companionship
They walk hand in hand
Looking, staring at silhouettes, still vivid
and bright as the day that she first opened
Her eyes to Dalia smirks, truly hurt
She watches in awe
As he carefully places
The pieces to the puzzle of
A black and white field
Strategies flow easily from behind
The dam that is a set of porcelain eyes
Sworn to secrecy only for self fulfillment
Along the checkered floor she explored
Boundaries she had never encountered
He leads her as his pawn of choice
Through torturous escapades against
Rookie creatures and staggering Horsemen
They wane on her chances of successfully
Obtaining the crown of glory
He pushes her forward with a touch
Soft and soothing, no reason
To doubt his reasoning
She gives up the greatest of gifts, trust
In his hands she quietly moves
With no complaints, forward
Out toward a troublesome mine field
With every space she’s placed in
She’s laced with waste traced with her Demise,
he plays the creator,
How humorous it seems
The slightest sense of secure attachment
Provides a false sense of security
The way he touches her persuades
Her he’ll never let her fall
In his embrace she doesn’t see
The smirk of disgust as his face
Twisted, wretched and gruesome
Grins at the only pleasure she provides him
Empty bliss he can only wish to fill
His grasp, once tender and warm
Clenches down on her with splintering pain
With silent screams of despair
She comes closer to her peril
Glimmering crown, in the scope of her sight
The only sense of hope left in her mind
The next move can be her last
With only hopes of a clear road
As he once again guides her
Calm and steady with the kindness
He once displayed when she
Naïvely dreamt of how her life
Truly should become
Her struggles slowly ease away
From the pain she once felt
Never showed it even in the
Biggest battles he lead her through
Now she lay motionless alongside her
Fallen obstacles in complete darkness
Six cold silent walls surround
Her in her slumber until another
Cruel puppeteer falls across
The coffin of demise and despair
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
It is another Sunday in the winter.
I am properly tucked in my quilt.
I browse through the top headlines of the hour.
It says the temperature outside is two-degree centigrade and I quit
all ideas of leaving my quilt.
Sundays in winter were my favourite days
and letting me play on Sundays my cookies
for reading properly for six days.
Those Sundays, which seem to be distant memories,
are some of my best memories.
Saturdays were the days of preparation.
Arranging bats, ***** and bicycles, at least, four,
deciding time and venue for the action,
making strategies to sail us ashore-
were some important tasks to be completed before.
I used to sleep a bit early after setting
up a thousand alarms, in case I missed a few,
to ensure I woke up in the morning.
and then I would make a few
calls to wake up the crew.
Though while gearing up,
I would move as little as possible
my Mom would always wake up
and then I had to wear all the clothes ‘cause cold air made you susceptible
to sick and sick made you feeble.
Before I could leave home, I had
to close the door as slowly as possible
because I didn't want to wake up Dad
for he was predictably unpredictable
and it was too risky a gamble.
We dared not look into uncles 'n aunties'
eyes while asking our friends to come to play
for their looks could terrorize
anyone. We'd then go to the decided play-
ground on the shared bicycles without delay.
Quarrels to bat at the top,
the endless running around to save a few runs,
‘barking’ on fellow players lest catches they drop,
heated discussions on run-outs-
these memories still give me goose bumps.
The celebrations after winning the matches and
blaming each other for losing were
the customs of the day and
mom made ‘chicken’ and a good after-
noon nap - a perfect finish for a day to remember.
A lifetime has gone by
since we last played together
and bade each other goodbye
but those memories still lurking somewhere
inside our brains adhere us together.
I usually do not write about myself or my memories, which makes it special. Those days are some of my best memories. And in a cricket crazy country like ours, many definitely have similar memories.
© Devashish Kumar
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
Are there strategies to displace binge eating
with binge doing?
Wouldn't it be swell to get $ for binge coding?
something like:
poem.each do |word|
money = word.compose(your.wordstream)
end
More efficient monetizing of your thoughts.
More efficient cars and buses.
Correlarry: more paved roads, driveways and concrete surfaces,
therefore, more runoff pollution.
It's not the end game
yet, but a vast,
complicated middle game
with closed centers
and deep positional
Play.
Will our grandmasters make
a mistake real-time playing?
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
For in the algorithm of their minds lay deep strategies,
But it's a maze to a sepulchre,
a colonial mind with many rooms,
where other men are lorded to their satisfaction
For they stand in the courts, and declared to be like children
their smiles far from sinister,
but their minds create a haven like hell to those around,
though they decorate the sky like the western sun, they burn the roses with their palms like the Libyan desert sun
For their dearth of love, they carry out vengeance on the free spirited, they carry a ******* staff of justice,
they are the town criers declaring who ought to be colourful,
they crown the underserving and deserving,
their tongue a tidal wave of envy,
slander chokes their breath, loneliness fills their temple,
hatred distills their roller coaster pain.
Now I understand why roses wither,
But even the crumbs of love in these cactus hearts
will be taken away.
- Ola Bajo
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC
***you are leathered with residue
decaying the rust off your skin
with our initials crawling into
alabaster sheets that all I have really
felt while staring out at the streets
we're people fading by egotistical
lack of self confidence
even though I admit using
seducing strategies
possibly disgusted by my own
emotions
that I am placing ******
thrills on my own configuration
because it's humid and blatant
unkowling breathing ruthless sentiments
of our holy communion
I am splitting into a holy sin
drenched in blissful wartime rations
of water or passion
your cotton skin and these sheets
bold statements between white teeth
it’s all a fading mystery
you said I’m something childlike
your hands are stained cherry
and even if they were around my neck
I’d whisper your name like a vesper
simply waiting
for the day to come where it all fades
because you refuse to be a
young god
no matter how it seems to be
to me in all of my naivety***
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
The corridors are long with no diversions
The way in which we walk is already known,
Turn and go back will only hinder distance covered
Forward progression burns through the heart.
Whoever watching, why do we lose both ways?
Can we even rise over all the soul piercing strategies?
Take each step for money to be earned
Lose every shred of integrity, or stand still, be kind and wither
into a background number dissolving into the wallpaper of the inoffensive.
The corridor is long, it gets darker and less enticing
The way in which i walk is almost robotic in tone.
The choice to turn back is an illusion believed to exist
but i am unconvinced of this option anymore.
Hide or be hid, the choice is there to be made,
No footprint is allowed to influence, unless the influence is seen to
add to what our leaders have printed in notes.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 6:38 AM UTC
i’m the man who’s gonna wake up next to you
slipping away, a non-starter, her leg crosses over mine,
a right sided shakedown shackle, adhesion flesh as
tough as old yellowed scotch tape sticking stuck
no escaping, a known 6:00am risk when you sleep with
a pre-advertised holy roller, twist and turner woman,
making you into an unofficial woe-man (too)
left hand grabs the lamenting instrument, the beat up iPad,
to record your enslavement, a distraction from the bladder’s
faint morn winking at you with a Cheshire grin, muffling a
chuckle, at a predicament wonderful familiar, but unresolvable
this situation, a category of life’s small measure of annoyances,
invokes the wordy title, and a write-down list of pluses and minuses,
which I’ll spare which o’witch be the longer list
poems are where you find them, under your nose,
looking out a city bus window, but sometimes like flypaper,
they just come unasked and stick to you, the separating of the skin,
like a too tight bandaid, ain’t worth the pain and freedom gained
later, share this missive and her suggestion, she will prepare an
NDA (a non-disclosure agreement) or adopt other strategies like
pushing me out of the bed without warning when i am typing ,
to witch and to wit, reply,
ah!
another poem commissioned, and
*perhaps, name change too, needed,
making love in the morning*
12/14/19
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 1:40 PM UTC
I ain't afraid to tell the world,
That you make me,
What I hate most.
That the jellybean drops,
Slippin' from your lips,
Spread like,
Dollops -
Sweet butter,
On toast.
Can't hide my sticky fingers -
Drippin' your,
Candy residue.
Though, I plan to make,
The best of it,
Before the moon is new.
My sternest strategies,
'neath the night's eyes,
Light my ***** little schemin',
My plot to watch,
Your every step,
Before the moment,
That I steal you.
--
I've been eatin' jellies,
Since I was little -
Today, I've tasted so many,
But, the ones that slip,
(And, sometimes, skip)
From that head,
Drive my thoughts,
Out, much,
Too selfishly.
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 1:22 PM UTC