"talkers" poems
The pigeons are sad
The pigeons saw that
The future comes with bad
The pigeons were telling that
The prophets born here
The prophet know that
It is the land of kind
, welfare and tied
The religions at that land
The assembly of religions
The peace between nations
Were established there
Here was the prophet David
Who the mounts the trees ,
The stones and the birds,
Repeated his prays
He governed with justice
After him ,Solomon was gotten
He governed with justice
The welfare had increased
And the peace with there
The Romans occupied it
And the injustice appeared
The killing and the theft
Were actually increased
Here was born Jesus
Who invited to peace
At shortest and clear
That was not admired
By Romans or Jewish
Who were there
They planned to **** him
The land became unfair
The decreasing of welfare
The increasing of fear
Till the new nation appeared
The new religion increased
It called for justice
It led to peace
The Muslims achieved a victory
As they built a great glory
And they blockaded the land
The patriarch man said,"
We didn’t give the keys
Except to your leader
Who is justice’s famous"
They wore one of soldiers
The smartest cloth
They introduced him
As the prince of Insurers
as the caliph of Muslims
The greatest patriarchs said,"
That is not the man we did
Actually knew and have red
At our book that mentioned
Him actually as we saw awake."
The leader of soldiers ordered
To sent a letter to the caliph
At bright city wide distance
As he wanted to keep blood
Out of bleeding
He wanted not to ****
The innocent people
He didn’t want to bore
His name over death
His religion ordered them
To save the innocent people
To the caliph to came
The caliph and a servant moved
The leader of the greatest land
At that time, at that moment
From the kind and light city
He read the yassin of holy
Quran that equals twenty
Minutes
For riding the donkey
And his servants walks only
Then the caliph got off only
And the servant rode the donkey
And they read the yassin for away
To count and know time
And mention the God only
Then the caliph and servant also
Walked with their donkey
To rest it also
They keep reading yassin only
Till they reached near the holy
City that mentioned with holy
In Quran with great respect
The turn is on the servant
To get that donkey rode
And the caliph would walk
He said," my prince! I must
Get down and you must
Ride that donkey"
He said," then I will be called
Injustice caliph led the insurers
To be injustice at every talkers
And it is your turn
If the air came to me smelt
With good smell than yours
If the water I drink
Have more delicious than yours
If I created from mud
Made of silver and gold
I will rode that animal
And you must go walker
Ride it my good insurer"
The soldiers saw him
They did great clutter
They wanted to salute him
The patriarch said with amazed,"
See what is that noise?
He looked and said
That is him , that is him!"
The patriarch went and looked
He counted patch in his
The cloth of the greatest prince
Of the greatest Nation motioned
At the ancient, at the present
He said," you are who is mentined!
You are the caliph
"Omar" was the caliph
He gave them the safe deal
That mentioned by his name
The patriarch gave him the keys
Of Jerusalem to him
The time for afternoon pray came
The caliph prayed out the church
The patriarch said
Why you didn’t pray at that
Place at the inner of the church
Omar said if I prayed here
The Muslims after that
Say "Omar" prayed here
And they took it
To be a mosque indeed
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 4:38 AM UTC
As Stong as the An African Elephant
Yet were are supple and elegant.
We are persuasive talkers so our words are very Eloquent.
Crafted From man's rib and An earthly element is How God made the first Wombman in the old testiment.
During the worlds development
We somehow begun to be irrelevant
Forgetting that we were designed as a help mate who is heaven sent.
We shed Bloods for days sometimes a months without dying.
Raising our children to Be Ladies and gentlemen whom are edifying.
In our wombs a human life we are able carry.
We are informational like a human dictionary.
We store resoureful pieces of data like a library.
Created with brown sugar, warm honey, cocoa and Gold.
Out spirits are Radiently Bold.
Our bodies are temples that can't be bought or sold.
We have a Story that must be hear and told.
We are the beautiful flowers in the month of May That Springs up and blooms in middle of noons day.
We flourish just as the fluorescent blue jay, Whose mood is Joyful and gay.
Our Skin absorbs the sun's Incandescent. Ray.
Some may say, Our hair is ***** but Actually, Our hair just happens to defy gravity
So we wear it upon our head proudly like a Crown
because Living in socitey's prospective of what you should look like will weigh you down.
You will stay stuck on being lost when you already have been found.
Be about your fathers business and know you are Heaven bound.
We are run life's race with meaning and purpose in our pace
Even our walk is embedded with grace
Nature's beauty smiles upon our face
As We Wear God's love like a Pure Gold necklace that's trimmed with lace.
The Strength we've gain
Turned us into warriors from living the through the most Excruciating pain
Thats the Reason we humbly pray as we sing and dance in the middle of the storm's rain.
Our humility will continue to remain.
We are women of Virtue
I wrote this to encourage you
Never let no one break, hurt or discourage you know who you belong to.
And who deserves a Woman of your statue.
For Being black Is Exhilarating
And being a woman is Breathtaking but Being a Black Woman is an Honorary Identity that is Legendary.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
It happens. Will it go on? ----
My mind a rock,
No fingers to grip, no tongue,
My god the iron lung
That loves me, pumps
My two
Dust bags in and out,
Will not
Let me relapse
While the day outside glides by like ticker tape.
The night brings violets,
Tapestries of eyes,
Lights,
The soft anonymous
Talkers: 'You all right?'
The starched, inaccessible breast.
Dead egg, I lie
Whole
On a whole world I cannot touch,
At the white, tight
Drum of my sleeping couch
Photographs visit me-
My wife, dead and flat, in 1920 furs,
Mouth full of pearls,
Two girls
As flat as she, who whisper 'We're your daughters.'
The still waters
Wrap my lips,
Eyes, nose and ears,
A clear
Cellophane I cannot crack.
On my bare back
I smile, a buddha, all
Wants, desire
Falling from me like rings
Hugging their lights.
The claw
Of the magnolia,
Drunk on its own scents,
Asks nothing of life.
9.1k
the hustle and bustle
of the morning shuffle
it's just enough
to keep you up
the stations and terminals
are coated
with sleep walkers
and sleep talkers
waiting for the inspiration
to come to life
that they always find
at the bottom
of empty coffee mugs
and tea cups
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
This world is full of liars
Cheaters
Frauds
Trash talkers
No good doers
And people who will hurt you
But with you they don’t even exist, with you I feel my worries wash away
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 1:57 PM UTC
LET
THERE
BE
LIGHT
a
fierce
sun ******
vapors
into
a
thunderous
sky
which
wept
sixty
sextillion
tears
creating
a
riddled
calibration:
the river
time
we
came
cells
devouring
cells
metastasizing
into
life
first
cruel crawlers
then
stealthy stalkers
wicked walkers
and
finally
THE
terrible talkers
blasphemers
bending
time
asking
WHY
it
flows
?
we
are
they
who
have
no
shore
to
which
to
moor
on the river,
time
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
1
Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!
Through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation;
Into the school where the scholar is studying;
Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now with his bride;
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or gathering his grain;
So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums—so shrill you bugles blow.
2
Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!
Over the traffic of cities—over the rumble of wheels in the streets:
Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? No sleepers must sleep in those beds;
No bargainers’ bargains by day—no brokers or speculators—Would they continue?
Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?
Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder blow.
3
Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!
Make no parley—stop for no expostulation;
Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer;
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man;
Let not the child’s voice be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties;
Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie awaiting the hearses,
So strong you thump, O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow.
4.8k
Back when it took all day to come up
from the curving broad ponds on the plains
where the green-winged jacanas ran on the lily pads
easing past tracks at the mouths of gorges
crossing villages silted in hollows
in the foothills
each with its lime-washed church by the baked square
of red earth and its
talkers eating fruit under trees
turning a corner and catching
sight at last of inky forests far above
steep as faces
with the clouds stroking them and the glimmering
airy valleys opening out of them
waterfalls still roared from the folds
of the mountain
white and thundering and spray drifted
around us swirling into the broad leaves
and the waiting boughs
once I took a tin cup and climbed
the sluiced rocks and mossy branches beside
one of the high falls
looking up step by step into
the green sky from which rain was falling
when I looked back from a ledge there were only
dripping leaves below me
and flowers
beside me the hissing
cataract plunged into the trees
holding on I moved closer
left foot on a rock in the water
right foot on a rock in deeper water
at the edge of the fall
then from under the weight of my right foot
came a voice like a small bell singing
over and over one clear treble
syllable
I could feel it move
I could feel it ring in my foot in my skin
everywhere
in my ears in my hair
I could feel it in my tongue and in the hand
holding the cup
as long as I stood there it went on
without changing
when I moved the cup
still it went on
when I filled the cup
in the falling column
still it went on
when I drank it rang in my eyes
through the thunder curtain
when I filled the cup again
when I raised my foot
still it went on
and all the way down
from wet rock to wet rock
green branch to green branch
it came with me
until I stood
looking up and we drank
the light water
and when we went on we could
still hear the sound
as far as the next turn on the way over
4.2k
Its as if
A solemn oath
To reminiscence
Had memories
Had dreams
Are you tired of me yet?
It just seems
A luxury given
Fluffed pillows
Explaining the simplicity of slumber
Had a memory
Your a dream
Are you gone from me yet?
It was fact
Actuality
Nirvana upon purple hills
Had memories
Haunted dreams
Are you done with me yet?
It was peaceful
A gloomy rainy day
A solemn oath
A luxury given
Fluffed pillows
Nirvana upon purple hills
Delicious night
Filled by yellow pills
Are you high off me yet?
Its as if
You were a memory
Within a dream
A haunted nightmare
So it seemed
Stuck in limbo
Or purgatory
No longer deserving your glory
Naive
Gentle
Kisses
Sweet and simple
Sent me flying high
Are you tired of me yet?
Leave me to runaway
I'm Wilson
Castaway
I am gone from you yet..
Nirvana on purple hills
Fought the fray
Are you done with me yet?
Roaming
To home im phoning
Airplanes
Night walkers
Street and sweet talkers
Getting high off me yet?
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
the collar on my jacket is frayed
but I have clothes on my back
(just)
the packaging is white with green print
but I have food in my belly
(of sorts)
the soles talk and leak when I walk
but I have boots on my feet
(for now)
so I’m OK
(I suppose)
***** deep into the Smart Price ™ life
this man, his daughters, his son and his wife
where all their food comes at discounted price
expired meat and rationed heat
sweepings and fat wrapped in plastic
the walk was wholly unexpected, but it was easy
leaving the town where the forward leaning walkers
were the slowest thinking talkers steeped in sugary urgency,
and all the way we **** giltterballs and Skittles
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC
This trail leads to the animal crossing
It fails to accommodate intrepid adventurers,
Bushy tailed explorers, mountain climbers,
Talkers to squirrels and chewers of pine pitch.
The divine medicine denies us the headspace to believe we're really dead,
The reclined estrogen felt good against twenty million years of insecurity
Golden-layered, factually flawed
It lay exposed for decades
Rusting innards and misfiring sparks
None of the heavy equipment does what it says
Robot arms move with intensity
No programmer yet programs tenderness
The limiting factor has always attracted the acting crowd
Always desperate for theatrical work they magically appear
When it's clear that they're needed
But heed the warnings, they're known to be cheaters; the people who say so could also be wife-beaters
No need to wait for a stereotype
Follow the one you haven't lost touch with
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
There's a calmness to the air of the trailer park
As the dumpster in the back slides to the right
Underneath is where our Super Hero has his lair
And where adventure starts out every night
For years now it's been the same old routine
Belches as he wobbles to his feet
Throws the remote down on the beer stained couch
Scratches his rear at the same time picking his teeth
Yes, the night belongs to Beer Belly Batman
Who spends his time fighting petty crime
From spitting on the sidewalkers to mouth full of food talkers
Putting them back in their place and back in line
Sure he used to be a top notch crime fighter
Evil forces he always did foil
But after years and years of beating crime up
The beating on him has taken its toll
If the neighbors music is to loud feel free to call him
Nothing he likes better than knocking heads of unruly kids
Hey Punk! Pull Your Pants Up! Is his favorite motto...
Giving Super Hero Wedges like nobody's biz
I don't know about you but this much is true
I always feel a little more safe and sound
And sleep that much better at night
Knowing there's a White Trash Super Hero around
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
I'm at a place where the gangsters greet
they come together like crackers and cheese
at the table they speak
over coffee they preach
their opinion on the economy
peace and war
carried out intelligently
I see and see
all these old men, well older than me
who came here to discuss
matters that do not pertain to me
slick talkers, joke crackers, wise guys, old guys,
new kids on the come up
anxious from the sun up
all in the midst of a local diner
where the buffalo roam
the herd travels together
to mix the latest words
I wonder what they're doing
the business they're discussing
this is the place where they meet
the gangsters of the city
in here they're at peace
but to educate the street
it's violence they teach
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
sun girls:
they’re all bright eyes and warm hands, they’ll kiss you on the cheek. beautiful freckles. glowing skin, sunflowers and paintbrushes gripped tightly in their hand.
moon girls:
dark clothes and a eyes-closed kind of grin, beat up sneakers and an arizona iced tea, hair that shines, they sparkle even in the dark. soft kisses that taste like spearmint.
mercury girls:
smooth talkers, could convince you to do anything. big eyes and round lips, hair tied up or tucked behind their ear. late night walks and quiet conversations.
venus girls:
lipgloss and breathless laughing, soft hands and tummy. kissing their girlfriend randomly. a voice like honey. hypnotizingly lovely. muffled music and strawberry lemonade.
mars girls:
quick winks and subtle smirks. would **** for you. a love deeper than the ocean, strong shoulders and collar bones. ****** knuckles healing over and tight hugs.
neptune girls:
dreamy girls, hazy around the edges. tilting their heads to the side and sleeping soundly. delicate hands and cherry chapstick. hot cups of tea served with knowing eyes.
saturn girls:
sharpened pencils tucked behind their ear. serious eyes with a hint of laughter. tapping their toes and paying attention. books piled high with the pages well loved.
jupiter girls:
moving their hips and applying lipstick. a smile that electrifies you and lips that entrance you. has a hundred admirers but loves the one girl she can’t have. red lights and excitement.
pluto girls:
confidence that carries through the air. tastes like energy drinks and lightning. crooked smile messy hair. continuous movement with no time to talk. gesturing hands and shuffling papers.
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 9:16 AM UTC
Sasha wakes me with a soft and slender touch.
Five long, black, fingernails,
Move sly and slow as sleepy snails,
Carving curvy pink ski-trails,
Down the middle of my back.
I want you…
She whispers lip to lip,
… to wake up and **** me right now,
And she tickles my ear with the tip of her tongue.
It’s these dreams, she murmurs,
Last night I was locked in a small room,
One window,
Distant noise from a street,
A king size bed with a clean red sheet,
Five men, alpha males of every age,
Soft talkers with rough hands,
Each had their way with me,
In every position, every act imaginable,
Sometimes two and three at a time,
My ecstasy was paced and deliberate
And seemed to go on for hours,
Despite every satisfaction,
I begged them to continue,
Insisted they use their mouths, hands, words,
My ****** was perpetual,
An endless spring tide,
Each swell higher than the last,
There was a moment I was sure
I would suffocate from pleasure.
Was I one of them, I asked, hoping I wasn't.
No but I felt you somewhere, watching, she sighed.
You need to take me now and quick, she said,
This is a rare opportunity,
A celestial arousal
Jesus, this ****** is from God, she said,
Bend me anyway you wish.
Recall every fantasy you have ever had.
Now is your time.
Lay on the mattress, I ordered,
Stomach down flat
Spread your legs,
Arms up above your head,
As if you are about to dive into the sea.
Grasp the sheet with your fingers.
I will enter you in one motion
You will feel only the *********** and my body weight
We will rut.
My knees will push you open,
My hands will find the center of you,
You will barely have to move.
I will come if you touch me
With any bare skin, she said,
And pushed the blankets to the floor.
I am possessed she confessed,
Turn me into anything you wish.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
I hate how they never warn little girls
to beware the pretty boys
with eyes like gleaming jewels.
The boys with soft smiles
and music in their laugh.
They never warn
of boys with pretty faces
and blackened hearts.
The boys that leave little girls
crying in the dark.
The ones with words like honey,
sickly sweet.
The princes with big money,
who we dream of sweeping us off our feet.
They never speak
of boys with danger in their eyes.
But beauty true blue.
Little girls are never told
of boys of silver and boys of gold.
The little kings,
with angel wings.
The little beast neither soft nor sweet.
The beauty bombshells,
the golden adonis’s.
They never speak of boys
who run like the winds
under their feet.
The boys who shine
like the stars in the sky.
The boys with the world in their grubby mitts.
The boys with lips like cotton candy,
and sins warm and rich.
The ones who have our
stomachs doing flips.
The ones who seem to have it all
shoulders back, standing tall.
They never caution of
little boys with clever minds
and nimble fingers.
Of boys with Shakespeare's sonnets in their hair
and love songs in their whispers.
But little girl,
I am telling you now.
Beware the pigtail pullers,
fear the little Romeos.
Heed the heartbreakers
Shun smooth talkers.
Little girl,
don’t give in.
Little girl,
fear their sins.
Little girl,
run away.
Little girl,
don’t stay to play.
Little girl,
don’t stop and stare.
Little girl,
don’t twirl your hair.
Little girl,
please, listen to me!
Little girl,
loath the charming pretty boys.
For they are like roses
and like roses
they have thorns.
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 7:51 PM UTC
This is for the doers and the seekers
the straight arrows and the tweakers
this is for the movers and the shakers
the hungry, unemployed and the money makers
this is for the girlfriends, and the secret ******
the ungentlemenly men and the ones who still hold doors
this is for listeners and the hearing deaf
the right wingers and for the liberal lefts
this is for the child who's awake at night afraid
and for the parents who'll regret not being there one day
this is for the academic scholars, and the high school dropouts
the meek, quiet talkers, and the ones who curse and shout
this is for the homeless and those braking banks to afford their mortgage rates
the healthy ones and the ones who's lives are in the hands of the fates
this is for the elderly and ones who's lives are not yet found
this is for you my brothers and sisters
for it takes all kinds to make the world go round
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 3:55 PM UTC
there is no saying goodbye to an addiction,
each day may be a new and exciting adventure,
you succeed, one day at a time, in affliction,
reach way out, open hand and up high, a joint venture
stinking thinking,
stumbling steps come in flights of twelve,
don't punch the pylon, and stare down cars,
shout at the sky if you must,
he who hears you can trust,
then the particles so small,
they turn inside your head and all of your nerves
into a cosmic squall and
you stand in the eye, watching
LIFE chaotic go by,
you see yourself live
and you see yourself die,
some one swears at you,
and kicks your feet,
someone else yells
"get off the street",
you reach out and up, but no mercy,
no maker to meet,
if this is hell
you exist in it,
now if some one would spare some change,
you could stop tripping over your own feet,
if they let you on the bus.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
You really know that I have a crush on you
still you pretend like I'm just a passerby
Yesterday you became
my best talkers
my best sharer
my best friend
And you know that
I want you to be my best lover
Still you pretend..
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 10:22 AM UTC
[These statues were exhibited at the Metropolitan Museum after the sculptor's death. The figures alluded to are the famous statue of Abraham Lincoln, and the monument in memory of Mrs. Henry Adams, the original of which is in the Rock Creek Cemetery at Washington. --Max Eastman]
POET, thy dreams are grateful to the air
And the light loves them. Tho' they murmur not,
Their carven stillness is a music rare,
And like the song of one whose tongue hath caught
The clear ethereal essence of his thought.
I hear the talkers come, the changing throngs
That with the fashions of a day surround
Thy visions, and I hear them quell their tongues,
And hush their querulous shoes upon the ground;
Thy dreams are with the crown of silence crowned--
Though they feel not the glowing diadem,
Who sleep for aye in their cool shapes of stone.
Nor ever will the sunlight waken them,
Nor ever will they turn their eyes and moan,
To think that their brief Poet's life is gone.
The tender and the lofty soul is gone,
Who eyed them forth from darkness, and confessed
His spirit's motion in unmoving stone.
His praise upon no mortal tongue doth rest;
By these unwhispering lips it is expressed.
Soon will the ample arms of night withdraw
Her shuffling children from the twilit hall--
From that heroic presence, in dim awe
Of whom the dark withholds a while her pall,
And leaves him luminous above them all.
Then are ye lost in darkness and alone,
Ye ghostly spirits! And the moment rare
Doth quicken that too sad and nameless stone,
To move her robe, and spill her sable hair,
And be in silence mingled with the air;
For she is one with the dim glimmering hour,
And the white spirits beautiful and still,
And the veiled memory of the vanished power
That moulded them, the high and infinite will
That earth begets and earth does not fulfil.
2.2k
Rooms and rooms open and closed
For the regressed and depressed souls
Writers and blighters
All scotch and lighters
That search in earnest for truth
Doors and doors ajar and afar
To be entered and left by creatures
Walkers and stalkers
All botched and talkers
Misleading their way through life
Corridors and corridors long and narrow
Paced and rested by jokers
All jubilant and chokers
Laughing into space for eternity
Floors and floors large and small
Stood and wandered by lovers
All romantics and dull
Longing for love in an instant
Hotels and hotels sprawling and nestled
Visited and departed by society
All happy and sad
Wanting to sleep and wanting to mix
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
While introspecting
I came closer, to myself
Being distanced
I forgot the language
In which scripts were written
Became myopic
And veered farther
Enjoying being away
Lost in the din
Never realizing
I was being swept away
From myself
While my soul yearned
For a rendezvous
I was oblivious
Seduced by the glib talkers
Became gullible
And yielded to the manipulations
Was a hallucinating ride
In the scariest roller coasters
Mind in a jumble
Entangled in the web of lies
Now, I have come back
From the brink of oblivion
To myself
Once more to listen
To my soul and heart
A union
After a struggle
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
You useless man, Socrates -
I think you need a shower…
I don’t know what the Athenians
find in you but as far as I can see you’re just wasting time
hanging out in the market places
and at dinners and symposiums
where all you do is stay late drinking nights
and talk about philosophy, and ideas
and of origin of things and justice
and nature of human beings
and such useless, impractical things;
and you bring not a cent home
and I can’t count on you for regular support
as all women and good wives might expect of a husband;
and you can’t even hold a good argument with me
for all you do when I use my Xanthippe’s questioning method
against your so-called Socratic method
all you do is mumble and tumble
and use words like shrew and nag
when all I’m asking of you is for you
to keep your part of the implied bargain in marriage
to put some food on the table
and bring some silver coins for the future of our three children:
Lamprocles, Sophroniscus and Menexenus -
have you forgotten them? Do you even remember their names?
And so you bring no money
but instead all you give me are empty words
and lofty words and airy words
and words coined in your head
and you put silly ideas that’s just confusing our children
and if not for me taking the children under my wings
they’ll just turn out to be mere
talkers and market-place prattlers
and hangers-on and leeches at other men’s feasts.
They may have a place in misguided history
if they follow your way
but they will bring weak bodies to their wives
when it is their time.
I don’t want them to be talkers,
and idealists and philosophers, Socrates –
I want them to be responsible
and I want them to bring meat and coins home
regularly and steadily, Socrates.
Socrates, you old man, I don’t care what they say of you
in the Greek world –
I haven’t had proof of your worth and value
here at home, especially in the kitchen.
You useless man, I think you need a shower;
maybe this water from the chamber-pot will wake you up.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 1:27 AM UTC
We live in a world of talkers,
Of shouters, of debaters, of know it alls.
Listening is a long extinct creature,
Unheard of by a species that has devolved to simply wait their turn to talk.
Conversations no longer flow like rivers,
Instead they are puddles:
Started, then abandoned to become bone dry.
We live in a world of talkers,
All raising their volume to be heard,
Shouting that their opinions are fact.
No being is exempt from the epidemic,
The infectious itch to crank the volume dial right
And scream that the other talkers are wrong.
We live in a world of talkers,
Of screamers, of bigots, of smart alecs
In a universe not made for this noise.
The voices get louder, the status updates get longer, the protests get deadlier.
We live in a world of talkers
And soon we will live in a world of mutes.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
I've heard every line in the book,
Sweet talkers and liars
From both sides of the tracks.
I can tell without looking,
I can smell the lies on them.
But there is no lying in your lines.
You lighten the weight of the world with your words.
If I could do for you what you do for me,
I'd do it for all eternity,
But I'm not eloquent like you.
I spent more time getting into trouble
Than learning in school.
Before you, It took two glasses of wine
For me to loosen up.
Another cup to get me ready for bed.
I used to wake up with wine on my breath,
But what you do is so much better
Than three glasses of wine.
You are three glasses of wine,
Al Green on the stereo
Capable hands working the kinks out of my shoulders,
And A warm mouth delivering kisses to my neck.
You are a miracle worker,
Because you never fail to make me smile.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 9:23 PM UTC