"tactfully" poems
Though life exists but
death is sure
Is called Universal Fact
Going against nature
is followed by calamities
is called Universal Act
Nature deals tactfully with
those not abiding by its rules
is called Universal Tact
(Written by Kishan Negi)
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC
"Go forth, little one." I said as I reached my hand up-towards the heavens. A single **** escapes my unclasped hands towards the sky, and then beyond. Soaring tactfully on the cool breeze.
"You're free at last." And at that very moment, the last of my ***** were given.
Fin
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 9:28 PM UTC
HE always gets the higher rank,
Not just HIM but any
Of the fall soldiers.
What do they fulfill,
That you are missing,
Are you troubled behind closed doors?
You have a youth of your very own,
Standing right here,
Tacitly craving just a loving expression.
You wound me when you advise tactfully,
that I should vacate,
So you and your vernal pibe,
Can take in abortive entertainment.
Little did I know,
Lounging in the same environs,
Was a taboo in the posh palace.
I would reflect,
Reimagine & rationalize.
If you neglect to
You may find a solitary soul.
My heart hopes for the highest,
But days past tell me otherwise.
Humans argue, fuss and struggle,
But those who,
Value and treat unconditional loves,
Warmheartedly get the real pleasure.
If I ride off from this declining,
Tormenting cliff, like a lost knight,
Know why.
&
When things get distressing,
Maybe then you will understand.
Love & Art,
Offspring
1991-20??
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 3:39 AM UTC
whilst waltzing towards the purple moon
here's a bowl of lavender tea
swallow it up, tactfully
mulberry chill. Voila !
afternoon revealed
Honeymoon concealed
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
Shuffled Deck; the first Card:
XVI: The Tower
"Now, that's foreboding."
*Destruction of a thing familiar,
a thing tactfully constructed
a thing that's held dear;
Oh dear.*
The second card:
Page of Pentacles
"Time for something new."
*Enthusiastic exploration;
skillful, practical, and imaginative
a new approach to things;
beginning anew.*
The third card:
Queen of Swords
"Don't mind the Sword."
*Nurturing of new ideas;
honest, beautiful, intelligent and true
she always carries her sword,
that she may smite Betrayal.*
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:13 AM UTC
Dear Ambidextrous Man,
I hear you write words with both of your hands
How does it feel? How does it feel to fight with your hands?
One scrawls your joy, while the other your pain
Together they paint a dull world of gray
Luxurious, lovely, lustful letters
Flirting together on fragile lines
Thick contradictions dancing around
Weaving in... and weaving out...
Potent words piercing the pages
Eloquent chains that tactfully twist
Clashing together in colloquial cacophony
A civil war complete with friendly fire
Black... White... Black... White.... Gray
Dear Ambidextrous Man,
How does it feel to fight with your hands?
Awfully good...
Awfully good...
Awfully good?
--Christian J. Clark
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 2:47 PM UTC
My eyes have been opened
To what's in front of me
Seen now as what it truly is
No more notions dipped in honey
Or hopes dripping poison
Slowly killing my peace of mind
Taking away the last piece of my smile
That remained genuine
You're oblivious
To the restless emotional tide
You stirred up the first time you said Hi
Or the way you engulfed my mind
With feelings I thought I got rid of yesterday
But I was tossed back to sea today when you spoke
You don't know
How hard I tried
Tactfully I kept a veil over my eyes
So I wouldn't see the blatant lies
Appearing untouched by your smile
If only in public
For in private I continued hoping
...you would open your eyes
And see I was worthy .
Undeserving you were of my thoughts
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
Because,
I love you dearly, but
I think you're an idiot.
So delicately strumming on
My heart strings
So tactfully selecting your words,
The ones that will burn the most, hurt the most, yet,
spark the fire the most -
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 7:47 AM UTC
I want to roll over in the night and feel your enchanting presence.
You're intoxicating.
I want to feel your arm flop over my torso in the night, and hear your sleepy whimpers.
Being with you makes me weak in the loveliest of ways.
Why, I could lie awake and listen as you breathe, watch your lungs as they tactfully rise up and down, for hours.
You, my dear, are mesmeric. Trance-enduring, and ever so magnificent.
You're the exact thing i've been fantasising about. You're the escape I need to keep myself sane in the audacity that's more commonly known as reality.
You're my one and only.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
I'm masterfully crafted
and tactfully wrath-fed.
I’m attractive in bed,
but not in your head.
I've tragically bled
and I've practically been dead.
My brain has painfully exploded;
I've basically imploded
a million times again,
a billion times in pain,
it has made me insane
and has made me less vain.
I've paid to be the same,
but I'm so full of shame
that I can't live again.
I've been trying to train
to figure out this brain
to not feel so ashamed
so I can live again
so I can love again
so I can feel again
anything but this pain,
so I can treat a man
as best as I can.
Caught between amazing and crazy,
could seem dazing and hazy;
could have been brazen, but I'm lazy.
I'm not phased, it's just me,
not all that I can be;
I'm just too unhappy
with my lack of identity.
I'm stacking up pity
for the ****** up activities;
all the ******* tragedies
that have happened to me,
that darkened me,
and hardened me.
It's not your ******* fault
so why do you get an assault
every time I get salt
in a wound, I attack;
afraid to go back,
I tend to lose track
of when my words turn black
and there's no going back;
if I let my voice leak
and accidentally speak
while upset and weak;
under pressure, I freak.
*What the **** does that mean?*
Am I not who I seemed?
Am I no longer a dream?
Sorry I break at the seams
because I'm sadly an empathic
and I know it’s pathetic,
it doesn’t fit the aesthetic;
I guess it’s genetic,
but madness is poetic.
My chaos is magnetic
yet I’m not apologetic
because I’ve done my time
just read this rhyme
and you will find
this deranged mind
is a product of the grind
of falling behind,
because I was pushed down
instead of helped up
now I’m trying to come around.
fighting against my genes
to accomplish my dreams
and stop the screams
that are behind the scenes
that flow and stream
glisten and gleam
as if soaked in blood.
They come in floods
and do not scud
they’re thick like mud
and hold me hostage
and are essentially caustic.
I know I’ll find my way
through the pain one day
then I’ll be able to say
that I can stay
instead of running away
and do I ever pray
that later on you may
forgive my crazy play
and I will continue to pay
for the mistakes I’ve made
that will forever weigh
on my conscious, it’ll lay
like a cloud, dark grey.
God help me, some way.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
To cab drivers
I can confess
My sins
And my tests
Of the day
I play back
The scenes
And the cracks
On the heads
Of jacks
Blackened
In the rants
Of bloodied fists
And kisses from
The black
And the cabbie
Will always react
Tactfully
And with respect
Appropriate giggles
And gasps
And i'm forgiven
In the back
Of a cab
Where i can
Get it off my chest
A post mission
Digression
Where we tally
The score
In a tip
To explore
While i get
Higher than before
On the plant of the lord
Until adequately floored
Reaching the destination
They open the door
And i'm free of the lorn
Through my cabbie
I'm born to freshness
A 40 percent tip
For my new found grip
And i'm off to trip
Into bed
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 5:36 AM UTC
Moving shapes
Of hulking, blackened,
Highlighted shadows
Going every which way
Without the slightest
Clue as to
Which way
They’re going
Or coming from
And they’re painted
And draped
And covered in straps,
Shreds,
Trails of furs, leathers,
Plastics of every sort,
And it gets hard to sort
Them out,
The monsters
From
Their
Costumes.
How much depravity
Is enough or too much
For the depraved
Before the irony
Is too clean
To waste on themselves?
I’m standing in the
Midst
Of a mist
Of sweat and ****
And my jeans
Are soaked to the
Shins with *****
Or sweat,
Or ****
Or hopefully blood,
And I’m staring into
A shifting cloud
Of tall, thin, cold
Glasses of water
Waving skinny limbs,
Twisting and flailing
As the show
Is put on for the
Other bony, ragged
Appendages by their
Androgynous semi-owners,
Draped in furs
That are just as
Flea bitten as
Their desire to
Create substance
Through the flagrant
Display of debauchery
And purposeful
And tactfully
Tactless
Effort
To prove
A lack
Of substance.
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 10:27 PM UTC
stripped down to a nakedness she's not the hands to cover
plundered by a lover
a rogue who's undercover
tarnished and possessed
in slavery undressed
taken to the gallows with a noose around her neck
the hanging will be public
her snap to death cathartic
and she'll be made a mockery in front of people manic
their illness like a flood
a passion for the blood
they stand and sink their feet into coagulated mud
she was just their silver
some money they could pilfer
pay their dues in stolen goods that they could not deliver
tactfully selected
made to feel accepted
then callously rejected
in treason's name erected
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
If there was a quest for the saddest shade,
I'll gladly give the address of my place,
Never-fading dull and gray;
But Gray,
with a little effort
would give-away the key to a divine delight;
That you hadn't known was always there in white;
The white that was tactfully jeopardized;
If you know gray,
then you know the scent of first rain,
Nostalgic yet refreshing.
If you know a jeopardized white,
you know sadness in disguise
Just like the way you smile
with your stabbed bleeding heart;
May 28, 2022
May 28, 2022 at 1:31 PM UTC
Insanity is what she is,
Clarity is what she please,
Mortality is what she sees,
Voracity is something she ease.
Mendacity is what she speaks,
Tactfully is something she weaks,
Alchemy was never in her clique,
There kicks in her cavity.
Calumny writes above her head,
Casualty says around her dead,
Pageantry living on her bed,
Banditry was what she hid.
Centrality was all she craved,
Depravity waited for her traced,
Fatality made her braced,
Gallantly now she fazed.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
Doctored in genetic cauldrons
for wine seeking solace in perfection
engineered tactfully within testtubes
of formulae
extracted and compressed
its testicles removed
the grape rendered impotent.
how strange
that we surgically implant
and speak to inner workings
to consumerise
everything we need.
chickens battery farmed
cows turf grassed
pigs in poultry cages
men in monkey suits
playing god in the paddocks of doom.
maybe we should
just leave things alone
and nature will be fine.
Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
Moving shapes
Of hulking blackened
Highlighted shadows
They’re going
Every which way
Without the slightest
Clue as to
Which way
They’re going
Or coming from
And they’re painted
And draped
And covered in straps
Shreds
Trails of furs, leathers
Plastics of every sort
And it gets hard to sort
Them out,
The monsters
From
Their
Costumes.
How much depravity
Is enough or too much
For the depraved
Before the irony
Is too clean
To waste on themselves?
I’m standing in the
Midst
Of a mist
Of sweat and ****
And my jeans
Are soaked to the
Shins with *****
Or sweat
Or ****
Or hopefully blood
And I’m staring into
A shifting cloud
Of tall thin cold
Glasses of water
Waving skinny limbs
Twisting and flailing
As the show
Is put on for the
Other bony, ragged
Appendages by their
Androgynous semi-owners
Draped in furs
That are just as
Flea bitten as
Their desire to
Create substance
Through the flagrant
Display of debauchery
And purposeful
And tactfully
Tactless
Effort
To prove
A lack
Of substance.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC
I used to strongly believe that you could never know too much
That no matter how dangerous a piece of information, it was always wise to touch.
But then the pieces became jagged and the sharply broken pained to grasp
And I suddenly was struck with the realization that nothing ever lasts.
These delicate little pieces of information I once so coyly sought out
Were now being traced as the infectious seed that caused this very drought.
No more smiles or rainbows, the red curtain has now been drawn
Or perhaps a curtain has lifted and I can see all the goings on.
And the scene isn't pretty. Whichever way you wish to look.
The sun was much brighter, when I skipped pages in this book.
But now that I've read into all there is and know just a tad too much
The facade is broken, and the glass pieces hurt to touch.
At the ripe young age of twenty, take or give a couple days
I've learned that ignorance is bliss and to never stare fully at the grey.
Tactfully draw the line where white meets black.
And never too closely analyze the grey.
For you may find out too much.
And it will steal your happiness away.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 12:24 PM UTC
A strawberry red bale
that gratitude was dale
but her waist ran a bijou
a chestful day in May
and her thigh was derry with such a motif
that was ye trumpet from Sunnyvale tonight
where her sweet tooth went ravishingly bare
while incredible vibration she'd shareware
indeed, a variation hypnotically sound
like her chestnut roasting bonfire where
tactfully dressed in love attire
we happen to know that travel so far
with the web now our thoroughfare
and dire by dawn fit her ankle again
that entail her sprangle
though her selfie is the grandeur soon
with foetuses In her bottom.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 6:15 AM UTC
everyone loved the party
everyone left their drinks out
everyone slipped their appearance and personality
into everyone's cups
and everyone drank
deeply
not even tactfully
everyone was so obviously interested in everyone
because everyone was glowing
dragging everything distasteful they saw in the mirror
back into their wardrobe
to wear when they've finally won
or lost
everyone desired everything and everyone
so they made themselves appealing to everything and anyone
they shined themselves so much that they glowed
it showed their own self misery but i cannot deny
that it made me want everything
i wanted to share a small space
too small for clothes or regrets
but just large enough for sparks that come
and fade faster than i wanted to
i wanted everything
but that is with life you may only choose one
until then i'll shine myself up again and glow
and stow away my regrets
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
A while ago, the mirrored me,
in my reflection looked tired, you see,
This went on and on, oh my,
The time has really passed me by,
It's with regret I now accept,
However long, I've ****** slept,
Without being so tactfully told,
That I'm not just tired, but getting old.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
To see another sky, another river, I
wanted to be as free as you always say that I am.
When just yesterday, a
letter stole my speech, a whisp
of the person I was moments before-- one full of
promise and expectation. I was now a
passenger whose flight was delayed. A woman
undesirably caught
between hometown comfort, and hometown purgatory in
which I couldn’t locate Hope, until you, and a
faint voice within, whispered that dreams grow with a gust,
strengthened by adversity. Of
course, the wind
still disheveled my hair, and stripped away at walls that I
built up, tactfully, for rejection. But this too will disappear,
with a greater gust, bellowing high above me, like
A robust cloud of thickening smoke.
Anna Blake
The Golden Shovel Reference
“I Try”
By the Staves
“I am a whisp of a woman, caught in a gust of wind, I disappear like smoke.”
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
Veered inadvertently
struggling with consequence
a creative solution presented itself:
transform Shame into something tangible
to ask said manifestation a pressing question
As I felt the burden of its physical presence,
I turned my head 180 degrees
and tactfully inquired:
Could you please move over a little to make some room for Guilt?
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
Absolutely astonishing (and amusing) is the aftermath of this
Bonanza, beyond baptism. Blackened, broken and bleeding,
Corpses collapsed copiously, carelessly
Disrespected down to the depths of their deaths, now dreaming,
Enticed, ever in eternity.
Funny is this funeral of fibs fabricated from unfaithfulness.
Ghosts gaining the Grave's grand greeting,
Happy to hoard the
Infested, incommensurable, inacceptable,
Jaded and jinxed,
Kind of kin who kept
Lies lingering, leading on their lover.
My mirror mentions memories,
Narratives knitted with needles
Obtaining obsessive obscurity,
Painted with pillars of impurity,
Querried by the quaint quadruped,
Reassured of rest and relinquishment.
Sorry now is the sayer but
Time ticks tactfully.
Ugly is the untruthful, of the utmost unimportance,
Vexed and vulnerable,
Without a widow in the world,
Xenon exemplifying,
Yellow bellied,
Anti-zenith czar.
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 1:46 AM UTC
sandy toes and muddled mind, piano notes echo through the waves
clasped hands and closed eyes, pirouetting feathers hold my gaze.
fallen down, gasping purple lilacs,
tactfully joining fragments,
once again
to create something original
an ever constant evolution of the soul.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 11:55 PM UTC