"stun" poems
'Di ikaw ang tipo kong laro
Umayaw na kasi ako
Sinubukan ko na kasi dati
Ayon, talo lang lagi
Pero heto na naman ako
Parang tanga ang loko
'Di mapigil ang ngiti
T'wing naiisip nang ang balat mo'y dumampi
Pucha, totoo ba?
Na-SS mo nga ba?
Taena, mukhang ako'y na-stun
Ng walang kalaban-laban
Langya, GG
Hindi good game, kundi gagi
Diba humindi na tayo sa sakit?
Ano na naman 'to? Wooh bakit?
Noob na 'ko eh
Weak, walang silbi
'Pag eto sa wala na naman nauwi
Sarili ko lang pwede ko masisi
'Pag in-game
Please wag mo na ko buhatin
Aasa pa sa GM ang tanso na manok
Pa'no, marupok
Mabel, pasensya ka na
Hayaan mo, ang 2019 ay papasok na
Baka lumipas din
'Pag hindi, patay, "I have been slained."
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 3:20 AM UTC
You taught me how to be pro,
It's not like I was ever proficient,
Tibbers goes where he pleases.
But of course you knew that,
You've always been 100 percent-
Cheesey. And because of that,
You sound silly all the time.
Well, okay maybe that's a lie.
But you are a true goof ball.
And I know I'm a dork, but
You catch me when I fall.
And I love that about you.
Shh, that's supposed to be a secret.
Oh yeah, I mean.. it's not like I meant it.
We all know he's an idiot, right?
Wrong. But I won't keep going on.
What am I saying? My words are all over-
The place. Look me straight in the face.
I want you to know that I want to embrace-
You. But I'll give you your space, it's okay.
I don't need it.
My heart is
Complacent.
You are my-
Inspiration.
To land that stun.
You know I will.
We'll get the ****
Don't say you're done.
We got this Thunder Lord,
Now don't be blunt.
Tell me your opinons,
You know I want to hear em'
Whether it's about past topics,
Or about what I'm writing.
Tell me what you think about-
Anything, just don't get toxic.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
I walk with my head down, I've outgrown this town,
I know my way around but it's boring now,
I'm snoring now, ignoring clowns that surround me, how
Do I break out, find some glory now,
See the globe, rewrite my story, develop some clout,
Enveloped by doubt...can't seem to figure it out,
Developed my sound, need to deliver a shout, no fuss, gotta row,
This **** bridge fell in the moat,
Forget a paddle,
I'm still building a boat,
Don't doubt though, I'll break out now, might be slow but expect a middle finger as I go,
Not gonna linger, stay sharp like iguana fingers,
Depressed and full of stress, my best is yet to come,
Inhibitions, lack of rest keep my ambitions undone,
My dreams have been oppressed, my soul remains repressed,
But instead of being stunted I'll stun, refuse to just regress
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 11:43 AM UTC
1532
From all the Jails the Boys and Girls
Ecstatically leap—
Beloved only Afternoon
That Prison doesn’t keep
They storm the Earth and stun the Air,
A Mob of solid Bliss—
Alas—that Frowns should lie in wait
For such a Foe as this—
10.4k
.
A hard-on
doesn't count
as personal gro
wth.If you want
to hear the pitte
r - patter of littl
e feet, I'll put s
hoes on my cat.
This isn't an off
ice , it's hell wit
h florescent lig
hting.How do I
set a lazer prin
ter to stun? I m
ajored in Libera
l arts. Will that
be for here or t
o go? Too many
freaks, not eno
ugh circuses. I
have a comput
er, a ******** a
nd pizza delive
ry .Why should
I leave the hou
se? Stress is wh en you wake up scr
eaming and you re alize you haven't fal
*** asleep yet. I like dogs too . Let's exch
ange recipes. And yo u r c r y b a b y
whiny- assed o pinion is? Al
low me to intro duce my selves.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
I wake up in the morning and put on a pretty dress,
My goal is to stun, amaze, and impress.
I make it about halfway through school without fuss,
But around 5th period I’m written up because cleavage isn’t a must.
I’m getting punished for my own set of double D’s,
Because the men around me get erections from a passing breeze.
If kids in high school can’t control themselves,
Why should I be the one punished for my huge shelves?
Why are men not taught to respect women,
But I am told I look slutty once again?
You’d think boys would be more than their ***** by this time,
But as of now cleavage is still a crime.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
You were so hot I spun twice to see, call me a fan
Your regal youth made my blood boil, call you peter pan
*You were like a boomerang I wanted to throw away but you kept* coming back to me,
*And maybe I've always been scared of hurdles and you were my biggest one, 'cause I just can't* get over you, you see
I thought you were like a paradox:
Cool as ice and hot as molten rock
You were like a magician with words, drove me so crazy I was pulling out my hare,
You steal my heart like a pirate captain when I sea you standing there,
But you didn’t have any morals, I deserve to call you whoreible
Yet you still think you're cute. you know? leaving my house the way you came would be adooreble
I discovered your texts to her on my birthday, the cake was ruined with my tiers
You caught my Eye with your animal magnetism, but you’ve been a cheetah for years
What? you think this is a game? No, you don't have a clue!
You had a monopoly on my life and now your name is taboo
You said you needed some time and space to yourself you were the only one in the galaxy I Wanted,
I guess life never turns out how you planet and since you left I've been feeling haunted,
Why did I believe you were a great catch? Just because you **master *****
You made me think we could smash; every second felt like a brawl
Loving you was no gouda, though I swiss you now that you’re gone, it isn’t easy,
I said goodbye, It’s not you it’s brie, sorry that was cheesy.
You gave my life flavor but you were just a masked spyce that made my life sour like limes
I know I need to chili but you have really bad taste and we’re out of thyme
I need a holiday *from your lies, my patience is running short
I’m better off with you gone, and leaving you is my last* resort
I guess we didn't have that spark no need to be astunished,
all I know now is: IT IS TIME YOU WERE PUNISHED.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
The Butterfly is blessed with beauty and grace.
The Spider is eerie and withdrawn.
She flutters around to find Her perfect place.
He captures the heart of His next pawn.
Their souls never finding peace.
One day, He sets His elaborate trap.
Frightened and out of the whim,
She is caught in His web and a sudden hap!
The unfamiliar face captivates Him.
His world comes to a cease.
They look into each other's eyes,
Both hearts beating as one.
He sets Her free and sends Her to the skies.
She is left to be stun.
Her own feelings begin to increase.
These two creatures are different.
Their love was forbidden and never to become.
Despite the belligerent,
The devotion begins to succumb,
And the sorrowful souls were release.
"Please merciful goddess of the moon,"
The begged and resort,
Fearful that their passion would end so soon.
"Do not **** our love in sport."
Wishing the hatred would decease
The answer was to be entombed.
Their love was certainly a hider,
And from the start it was doomed.
It was a love between the Butterfly and the Spider.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 4:53 PM UTC
505
I would not paint—a picture—
I’d rather be the One
Its bright impossibility
To dwell—delicious—on—
And wonder how the fingers feel
Whose rare—celestial—stir—
Evokes so sweet a Torment—
Such sumptuous—Despair—
I would not talk, like Cornets—
I’d rather be the One
Raised softly to the Ceilings—
And out, and easy on—
Through Villages of Ether—
Myself endued Balloon
By but a lip of Metal—
The pier to my Pontoon—
Nor would I be a Poet—
It’s finer—own the Ear—
Enamored—impotent—content—
The License to revere,
A privilege so awful
What would the Dower be,
Had I the Art to stun myself
With Bolts of Melody!
5.6k
When you are attacked by boredom
You are invited by devil's kingdom
In case you yield to the pressure
You stand to lose Divine pleasure
Every job will bore one at last
We must with dexterity outlast
Fun may be absent many times
Expected joy, soul never claims
None can win ever or lose always
All have surely their glorious days
When failure comes and attacks
A shrewd soul, prayer alone backs
After doing a particular work or task
We must ask for more and not bask
We must derive peace and celebrate
The Almighty is there to compensate
Let us make up our mind to hard-work
Surely our life will never at all go berserk
If our motto is to do duty with sincerity
Our mind is given by Heaven true clarity
Today, make up your mind to do the best
Do your portion skillfully by being honest
Rewards and results will stun your life
God will rescue you from every strife.
mvvenkataraman
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Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 8:32 AM UTC
Tonight’s the night
when your throat swells tight,
your breath falls short,
your costumes don’t fit right.
Tonight’s the night
friends will surely mock,
your hair’s utter chaos,
your knees nervously knock.
Quality is demanded,
perfection from each night;
it’s subtly commanded;
it solicits stage fright.
Hiding from view
behind glamour and grace,
lingers that time-tried spew:
“Get those nerves off your face!”
From backstage, a call:
“Everyone take your place!”
You’re not ready at all!
Just breathe, steady pace.
Silently whispered lines
across a tongue of cotton,
but then the spotlight shines!
And all these worries, forgotten.
Because tonight’s the night
when your smile will glow,
your beauty stun
and passion show.
Tonight’s the night
you’ll become like a star,
Creator-made,
perfect just as you are.
Nothing else compares,
not applause, not stares,
when you dance for your Savior,
who loves you, who cares.
Tonight’s the night
audiences will applaud,
but you know what they don’t:
it’s not you, but God.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 5:17 PM UTC
put me to sleep dear valerie
quench me with dreams so sweet
kiss me goodnight dear valerie
i'll wake up with cold feet
let's dance in trance dear valerie
held up in the sky so high
take my hand dear valerie
let's march toward the blue sky
stun me wih love dear valerie
i long to feel that warm delight
mend the bond dear valerie
you make the wrong seem right
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 2:52 AM UTC
1
in the fish market of religions
and faiths
and suppositions and declarations
and fierce revelations
much of the commerce is done
on the principle:
*Who shouts loudest
and shouts longest
and shouts often-est
gets to empty the most pockets
of bewildered customers*
(You always empty their minds
first)
2
You never lose in this fish market
Even the quiet ones
the ones of mild manners and timid ways
can trawl a good number
of faithful customers
3
You can sell fresh fables
or smelly old tales –
they are all good commerce
4
Of course some slap you
right in the face
with their fish:
That too seems to catch customers…
I think you stun them with one blow
and they remain stunted all their lives
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 5:11 AM UTC
August 10th, you seemed so distant
Not quite as distant as the barrel of one gun
The gun that fired the shot that would stun
The scientific world, from Rutherford to Niels Bohr
To find out esteemed fellow scientist Moseley was no more
But before that, in 1913
X-ray spectra was naught more than a dream
Before diffraction through crystals became the truth
The wavelengths needed a meaning, and there was proof
You developed a mathematical system without flaw
One so great, it was named "Moseley's law"
Mendeleev had the right idea, but not a plan
Could not arrange the elements the way that you now can
Without you, my sir, we would not have had this premium
To enjoy the elements technetium, hafnium, promethium, and rhenium
These gaps that like stars littered the periodic table
Were filled with ease, and the cosmos became stable
You had set the foundation for crystallography of x-rays
A method of determining arrangement that is still used in modern days
The first machines in use were those for which you had the design
But their widespread use you could not see as there simply was no time
For during a battle, as you made the phone set run
A bullet took your grace away, a scientist dying young
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
A sprinkle of beauty,
to deny being pretty?,
Sunned by His grace,
shown in her ways,
A drop of stubbornness,
something I'd care less,
Shy or humble,
Resist what she's able,
To make me rage seeing her diamond tears,
To turn me blue as I see her suffer,
To cure my heartache and my fears,
To stun me as I gaze upon her,
Though I've crestfallened hard enough,
Will she realise what she's made of?
Unsure of what my Lord had created,
A curse...or a blessing which will never sate.
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
Never withdraw,
for that is surrender.
Such impact from question,
such hate from contender.
Uncomfortable mission,
The deed is now done.
The silence is haunting.
The silence does stun.
An answer is spoke,
it glues one it both.
A pulse gives up pulsing
as words are now oath.
Heart is to blossom
from seeds that do lay.
Yet nothing's eternal,
and the heart always pays.
Creating false hope,
dancing with fate.
I allow myself less
than my heart would now take.
I'm teased with elegance
beyond what I've known,
like a cancer with spite,
you've dismantled my throne.
Woeful misjudgements.
Harsh disbelief.
Your mind can not poison
what love can not chief.
But dear do I love,
despite all the rest.
I'm aware of mortality
too much, I confess.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
To Isaac (JOLAI? <3)
Who has come to my heart
And charmed my body and soul
And who has turned a bridge
Into a rainbow for us to walk on
Another year has passed for you
It's time to cut the cake and celebrate
And once again I start to think
Of the things about you that I appreciate
Happy Birthday, and many years to come
Who knows what our lives have in store
Happiness and lots of fun
Making the both of us stun
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
For far too long we have been victims of police brutality.
We came in peace but got treated like criminals on the 21st of October.
These are the very same men and women who we trust to protect us.
But they failed us dismally, barricaded us from expressing our concerns.
You could see the visuals all on TV, it was all too hard to believe.
The revolution will not be fully televised, it will be tweeted.
For far too long we’ve accepted the government’s mediocrity.
For far too long we’ve been victims of police brutality.
Your teargas, rubber bullets and stun grenades will never stop us.
Our parents were sold dreams in 1994, we’re just here for the refund.
Now it’s time to finally bump the cheese up, so what’s the hold-up for?
History is repeating itself in South Africa, what a time to be alive.
They’ve become worse than their oppressors but they won’t oppress us.
Sorry for the inconvenience, we are just trying to change the world.
We will keep protesting in Jo’burg, Pretoria and Cape Town until we’re heard.
There’s no amount of police brutality that can dampen our spirits and no gun you make can **** our souls.
Our parents were sold dreams in 1994, we’re just here for the refund.
Now it’s time to finally bump the cheese up, so why is there a hold-up?
Hold up, we’re tired of being victims of hate, fate and police brutality.
We came in peace but got treated like criminals on the 23rd of October.
For far too long we’ve accepted the government’s mediocrity.
Your riot police, rubber bullets and stun grenades will never stop us.
Sorry for the inconvenience, we are just trying to change the world.
When burning buildings come down, I just hope you’ll be ready for us all.
When burning buildings come down, we will effortlessly heed the call.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 6:21 AM UTC
Soup should be heralded with a mellow horn,
Blowing clear notes of gold against the stars;
Strange entrees with a jangle of glass bars
Fantastically alive with subtle scorn;
Fish, by a plopping, gurgling rush of waters,
Clear, vibrant waters, beautifully austere;
Roast, with a thunder of drums to stun the ear,
A screaming fife, a voice from ancient slaughters!
Over the salad let the woodwinds moan;
Then the green silence of many watercresses;
Dessert, a balalaika, strummed alone;
Coffee, a slow, low singing no passion stresses;
Such are my thoughts as -- clang! crash! bang! -- I brood
And gorge the sticky mess these fools call food!
2.3k
scratched walls,
horrifying screams,
of dreams,
electric chair stupor,
in the boudoir,
breathing lunar air,
it’s a psychotic affair.
dilated pupil,
the brain was being a cupel,
men in white coats,
injecting drugs,
in bodies like slugs.
soaked bodies in bath tub,
gazing on the ceiling reading what’s written up.
loonies conspiring against the medic,
through the power of psychedelic.
eyeing each doctor from the corner of their eye,
sitting on their chairs high.
burning with desire,
cold as a wire.
the breakout began at noon,
headed by a loon.
followed by a goon,
in the end of june.
the loons,
wanted to escape to the desert dunes,
running away from the chemical fumes,
dodging exhume.
electrocuted,
injected,
infected,
discarded and rejected.
the loons had taken over,
the goons had won.
they were stun.
terrible turn of events,
it was all in their mind tents,
still sulking on the beds and their wheel chairs,
dreaming of the answers of their prayers.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
Well I used to pick you up after work and we would go drink beer and eat pita bread sandwiches while we played pool all night long until closing time .
You had a Martin Guitar and a voice to sing that made the angelics cry . You were friends of Maggie's fame , the Angel from Montgomery . Together the two of you would sing and stun the audience . The people couldn't believe it .
You were my Girl Friday next to Sunday's release . You were good enough on weekends but the rest of the week not .
So sing The Song Of The Turtles as Blind Joe Death dances away . I found out the hard way it takes seven days to make a week .
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 9:14 PM UTC
In God We Trust, For He Invented Reasonable Doubt
In Courtroom of the State of New York, Part 62,
where the only decoration extant,
in gold leaf letters,
a magnificent joke,
In God We Trust.
Words so incongruous
to the real time drama,
a poorly acted Law and Order episode
of which I partake,
(as Juror No. 1,
ergo you may address me as
Mr. Jury Foreman),
they stun me into stupefaction
every time we enter and the
Bailiff pronounces with much gravitas,
"Jury Entering"
A potpourri of a dozen Manhattanites,
with wisdom acquired
by the singular virtue of
having attained the robust age of 18,
noteworthy for being free of
criminal record,
having been nominated
to sit upon the jury that will decide
the fate of one Eric B.,
for what he may have done upon West 11th Street
one Summer night in
June Two Thousand and Eleven,
If adjudged guilty,
New York State can take,
incarcerate him for up to
15 years of his life
Predicate felon by the age of twenty seven,
Eric's resume consists of
four felonies,
two misdemeanors
a wife and two little children,
and a partridge in a pear tree.
Facts turgid and muddy,
Eric tells a story
one juror calls a confection of lies,
no one murmurs
much disagreement in the
tiny, overheated room
we have been sequestered to
replay
the 2012 version of
Twelve Angry Men.
But I am not his peer,
nor am I a seer,
common sense says
if appearances are what they seem to be,
he aided and abetted
in the forcible taking of
a nice Connecticut lady's cell phone
with his brother who just happened to be
released from prison earlier that day
A convoluted tale
ripe with inanities is told,
upshot is our defendant's tale,
his robust defense,
portrays him as the unluckiest man
in the whole world,
a good Samaritan,
*{chasing after the thief,
** ** his bro}*
against whom events have conspired
In Manhattan can be a harsh place,
where the natives
a tough lot,
tougher than the Indians from whom
they stole it all.
Our bridges we sell to out-of-towers,
all it takes is one to say,
what the heck,
reasonable doubt is
a ***** to overcome
so let him go
Jan, 2012
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
Box has me press-ganged.
‘Please read. I can help you:
recall nausea and fuck-buddy
depravity? Dee-press-shun.
‘Suffer the shirk? Cancerous
pressure talk taking its kind
time. Makes the clock scream
****** at twelve. Tick, tick,
tock—it’s time. Open, take and
swallow. Feel much better now?
‘Take another! Toss it down
the hatch. It’ll stun you alive
until dead. You’re chastised, kid.’
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 3:49 AM UTC