"tittle" poems
Well I was afraid
but almost everyone already knows
I guess I was too afraid of nothing
They knew it was me
But they played along
Cuz they wanted me to feel safe
That's more than my family has ever done
"Love doesn't have to be anonymous"
And sometimes it is not
and those sometimes
are likely to be hurtful
That was the knowledge behind the words
Cuz I went up there anonymously
and express my words out to the crowd
My name wasn't Estrella
It was "The voice"
I had my voice shown
and no one cared about the flaws
on the contrary they heard me!
Completely Heard Me!
Just for the words I said
and not cuz they had to
They had my back against anyone
Anyone who didn't
I have never felt that way before...
No one stood there
and heard me that way
and knowing who I was
played along to protect me
Maybe that's the family I needed
The people I needed all this time....
But the most important thing
Was that he was proud of me
And that he inspired me to do it
He gave me the words
to express from my heart to my voice
I guess I felt special
He made me feels special
More than anyone else! ! !
He gave me the tittle of
THE VOICE
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
THERE is a queen in China, or maybe it's in Spain,
And birthdays and holidays such praises can be heard
Of her unblemished lineaments, a whiteness with no
stain,
That she might be that sprightly girl trodden by a
bird;
And there's a score of duchesses, surpassing woma-
kind,
Or who have found a painter to make them so for pay
And smooth out stain and blemish with the elegance
of his mind:
I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their
day.
The young men every night applaud their Gaby's
laughing eye,
And Ruth St. Denis had more charm although she had
poor luck;
From nineteen hundred nine or ten, Pavlova's had the
cry
And there's a player in the States who gathers up her
cloak
And flings herself out of the room when Juliet would
be bride
With all a woman's passion, a child's imperious way,
And there are -- but no matter if there are scores beside:
I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their
day.
There's Margaret and Marjorie and Dorothy and Nan,
A Daphne and a Mary who live in privacy;
One's had her fill of lovers, another's had but one,
Another boasts, "I pick and choose and have but two
or three.'
If head and limb have beauty and the instep's high and
light
They can spread out what sail they please for all I have
to say,
Be but the breakers of men's hearts or engines of
delight:
I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their
day.
There'll be that crowd, that barbarous crowd, through
all the centuries,
And who can say but some young belle may walk and
talk men wild
Who is my beauty's equal, though that my heart denies,
But not the exact likeness, the simplicity of a child,
And that proud look as though she had gazed into the
burning sun,
And all the shapely body no tittle gone astray.
I mourn for that most lonely thing; and yet God's will
be done:
I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their
day.
3.9k
The nature’s unpleasantly clean
Green and brown and full of wheat:
Bending wheat
Straight wheat
The wind blows
Bending and straight wheat flutter
Straight ones move out and don’t come back
Bending ones shift but always come back
When new crops grow out:
Straight ones tittle-tattle
While bending ones mind their own business
Arrogant people stand straight and empty
Intelligent people bow their heads because of their mind’s heaviness
Better to be dense rather than hollow
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
ME ALRIGHT!
She watches as
I write.
The soft wheeze of lead
leaving words in its wake
like seagulls following
the trail of a ship
clamouring after
the refuse of the mind.
Soon the page is
littered with words.
They crawl across the page
in their best 4B.
It pleases her to see
the graphite leave these
tracings of me
upon...beyond...the white.
She looks at the journey of my hand
as if writing were a magic rite.
She asks if she can
draw.
"Sure..." I say
and the words cease.
I just put the tittle
on an small i and j.
The words splashed across the page
like puddles of thought drying in the sun.
I hand her the pencil.
She shakes it and shakes it.
And shakes it.
"What's that for?"
I dare to ask.
"The pencil is too full of words.
I want a pencil full of lines."
"I see..." I say
even though I don't really.
Well, it seems to work for
nothing comes out but line after line.
She lost in the little planet of
her intense concentration.
She throws in the odd curve
and a wonky circle every now and then.
The lines look confused
not too sure just what
they are doing
on this scrap of paper.
I ask her what
the lines mean.
"The lines are you of course.
See...?"
"I see..." I say
although I don't really.
But indeed in this
drawing I am
very much
as she sees me.
The page never lies.
These are scribbles that were my eyes.
I have as it happens
eyes five
stuck on the side of
what appears to be a head.
And yes only one leg.
One leg with seven toes.
An abstract alien
bird father.
It takes pride of place
sellotaped to the fridge.
"Yep...that's me
alright!"
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
Speculation proved
contagious,
misinterpretation
crept silently on patchwork soles
(odds n' sods messily stitched,
tittle tattle did no favours)
like a flu it spread,
hushed curiosities rested
outside ol' Hutch baker's door,
where even a freshly oven'd
batch might strain an ear
or five to net nearby tongue trading,
seeds straining on their brows.
Even those Mother hens
had a cluck or two left in them,
rumours about the
'Dust mite Martyr'
as she was dubbed,
“Does she have no shame,
sitting pretty in Matrimony's dress?”
one heaving checkered breast commented
titling her beak
to gain a better look -
At that shriveller slumped,
an examiner of the cobbles
with such a religious stare
her lids traced stones
within the darkness,
a traveller -
wanderer not to be trusted,
especially not
with bloodied lilies tangled
within her gleaming mop.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 1:58 PM UTC
Oh all the poetry in me head
Many Masterpieces never said
Melding works of the dead
I am the writer you'll take what is fed
Eat up these delicious words
Unleash upon society tasty verbs
Unorthodox I'm a writing nerd
Strive to push boundaries of absurd
Open imagination like a can of worms
Squirm from emotions as they turn
I am fire feel me burn
Down to be taught that's why I learn
I'll write the book you turn the page
Knowledge hits your mind like a 12 gauge
Not a prophet more a Pervy Sage
I have magic in me like a Mage
King of Poetry label me with a tittle
Potential to perform like an American idol
To evolve always grow to me is vital
To not reach full potential is suicidal
Join me on my journey feel the rub
Kissed with gifts from heaven above
Feel you..heal you..I will not shove
Me Head Flow potent full of love.....
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
The Blue of which night where did you burn and for whom? The thick of which black did you live in and dissolve? The midnight of a reed-pipe where its song exhausted? You were a dream,really a forlon,lone cloud The very nostalgic moon-light that sought my soul and my self // The land of flowers had wept along and so did my birds and also my words The songs of my green paddy-leaves where the noon-sun melted Expected your coming after the hot-days The presence so much needed for so long! // A visit shaking the bamboo- field with leaf-long hands fluttering,you smiled With your eyes of a black serpent A fragrance you did drip a in my nerves Hearing a crackling moor-hen afar! Whose tear-drops are there for my thirst? // A wind is coming on so friendly my girl Where have you gone,leaving me as one lost Like a stork in the water-way I have been waiting here for you The knife-tongue of a rigorous plough Cut through sweetly my youth so hard May my spirit for ever be the spirit of my black and deep earth Wont you be here to reap what you sowed? We must ever be here and for ever!! (translated from MALAYALAM language ,INDIA, by the poet (girish puliyoor) himself. the original tittle is OTTAKKINAVU.)
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
teacher teacher, oh no what have you done as a college girl? What did you do to disgrace your families name? what regrets do you hold, if any? What mistakes did you make? is that man in the uniform as truly honorable as the uniform makes him look? Should I care for that man, respect him because of the tittle he carries, because of the tittle I was told he earned? Should look up to that man in your little picture frame because he s gone, what things did he truly do or for that matter didn't do? oh my teacher teacher, I have so many questions but, it is not my place to ask but only, to ponder. For my teacher what will become of you, once you leave will my peers remember you for the way you taught, or for your picture frame, which would you want to be remembered for? oh my teacher teacher, I cannot help but wonder what will you move on to? Or wha did that man mean to you, what did he represent, obsessiveness, or smiles or even tears? oh teacher teacher, what secrets do you hold? oh my teacher teacher, why do you do what you do, do you regret this here occupation? oh my teacher teacher all I want is a glimpse of your brain for you are all to complexing than any boy I have yet to me, so dear me me my teacher teacher what is it you withhold , an ending or a chance? or fr that matter is is neither? of my dear teacher teacher, what is it you ponder?
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC
It stirs my soul to say I am slave,
for thee, daddy, I shall mock ideas of freedom
cast forth by common and devilish cultures,
for thee i shall embrace another sort of freedom,
freedom under constraint,
constraint willfully chosen,
by infinite grace, ever applied in totality, to me,
freedom that says,
before I was a slave to sin,
now i am a slave to righteousness,
and joyfully so,
for being moved by your spirit,
i am ever able, when before i was helpless,
to choose that which pleases
the abundant master,
the master without end,
the existing one,
El Ro'i , the God who sees me,
me a slave chosen as friend,
me a friend adopted as son,
me a son lavished as heir
to that which i deserve not an inkling, or mite,
not jot, nor tittle,
not a word or breath from your lips,
none of that which you spoke or breathed into being.
Oh, God! I am a slave!Ever shall I be!
Thank you master that i be, ever slave, ever to thee.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
Boyfriend number 1
Moody, tall & grumpy
Heard he's got 8 kids
****** glad he dumped me.
Boyfriend 2 & 3
Interchangeable, doing battle
Fighting for my affections
****** tittle tattle.
Boyfriend 4 heartbreaker
Mastering his art
Olympic flirt, lothario
2 timing man **** ****
Boyfriend 5 flash Harry
A ladies man, so he reckoned
Metallic Ford Capri
He was gone in 60 seconds.
Boyfriend 6 & 7, Hammer Horror
How the **** did these begin
Beer goggles and cocktails
UGH! Just let me catch me skin.
Boyfriend 8 from Down Under
Bit angry, bit thick
James dean Lookey likey
Married him too quick.
Boyfriend 9, pious
Quiet nature boy
Once married grumpy ****
Terminated contract, lack of joy.
Boyfriend 10 professional
Public Sector, comprehensible
Politically correct lifestyle
He thought I wasn't sensible.
Boyfriend 11 is The Man
Mild mannered rampant ram
Sizzling hot attraction
He accepts me as I am.
Now the chase is over
Got him, Bingo, I've won
Hellfire he's got 5 kids
******* glad I've been done.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
How much longer must we stand here
As the waters continue to rise
We are a people, a Holy nation
Waiting on the coming tide
With the knowledge of what we hope for
Having confidence in this
That our God and mediator
Will judge all in His righteousness
While here we all must suffer
As this earth is not our home
Making clear we have another
As the Spirit testifies in moans
Awaiting the day the good Lord frees us
Letting him have his way and will
Relying on his word to daily free us
Till every Jot and Tittle is filled
How much longer must we stand here
As the waters continue to rise
We your people, your Holy nation
Waiting daily on the coming tide
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
Masterpieces nailed to the sides of train cars
As they pass it becomes a flipbook
Made of names so grotesquely caricatured
(down to every last tittle and tisten)
They would become beauty through definitions
Written themselves.
It is scrawled onto napkins
Hoisted over the neon city
Crudely lined and curved into cardboard signs
Lofted between vagrant fingers that hadn’t touched a green thing in years.
Safety in the colors
Born from the rust of the river which runs when we walk
And fermented through years of gunfire
Which coincidentally spell out our names between the holes
And deteriorate when obscured by some passing train cars
That I cannot help but to stop and admire.
This flipbook of broken law and clever rebellion
In its own right, a masterpiece in pieces
In its terrible condemnation, erased
And the artist dies again.
Jan 7, 2011
Jan 7, 2011 at 5:22 AM UTC
dead babies.
college.
music.
clean.
***** house.
*****
linda.
gabe.
gabe's teeth.
gabe's ***** teeth.
school.
friends.
leaving.
new orleans.
new orleans.
change.
change.
very worried.
adderall.
drugs.
more adderall?
shower.
clean.
clean.
emoticons are kinda lame.
sleep.
sleep.
want more smarts.
want more dumbs.
dumb dun dun.
tittle tattle rattle pattle goo.
************
attention.
attention.
more please!.
your dumb.
that's a defense mechanism.
air:
more of.
less again.
stop that.
stop stopping that. stop stopping stopping that. think about clouds. what will it be like in a year?
maybe people think I have weird hand gestures. maybe I'm thinking about them so much that they look weird. maybe I'm thinking about thinking about them too much too much.
oh god, hum. sing. play around the room. something already.
Don't look at me you ************
go. back. ***
I'm sorry. stay. look around.
I love it when your around. Your really amazing.
Do you like me?
Stop calling me so much.
Hey call me. Can I call you?
What are you thinking about?
I'm tired. I can't sleep. will you talk to me about my problems. problems are dumb. I have too many problems in my little head! I can achieve EVERYTHING
Hold me! Stop asking me to hold you. hold me? hold you? hold hands? Don't touch my hands. stop looking at them.
no, just no. sleep. shower.
clean breaks. will make me brake.
Feb 17, 2010
Feb 17, 2010 at 1:29 PM UTC
I miss those playful smiles
when we stood side by side
I looked up and you looked down
Our eyes met as if for the first time
You reminded me of other times
When you touched my hands
as we waited for the doctor to say
that I could go home with you
Where we could be a family for the first time
You told me that..
you touched my hands and you felt
my soft breeze of love touch you
I remember how you once said that,
My eyes sang to you a song of love
Where those lies.
Was it my imagination
What was it?
I have the right to know...
Was it that you forgot the things I can clearly remember?
I don't understand
Was there someone else
Was the another reason
I demand an answer to your departure
You were my first word
Yes dear Daddy that's how much I love you
Too much that I still remember that you are my father
Even if another man sits in your place
that is your title
you are my father and I cant change that
Its been so long since I've tried
To forget
To forgive
To Love
All I could do was remember
All I could do is feel the pain
Ill I could do was Love someone else
But now I met Jesus, The one God
And Ill never forget because that will make me forget YOU
I cant judge you and not forgive, because I've been forgiven too
All I can do is Love because that was his mission...
I want to let you know that I'm here waiting
For you to come up and claim your tittle
Dear Father, you are stranger to me
But it is up to you to change that
Dear Father, there is someone in your place
and forgive me but I love him and I respect him
But I love you like I always have...
I'm here waiting for our eyes to meet again.
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
What passing grief for those who fall in battle?
Only the merest murmur of the press
A paragraph between the tittle tattle
With all the latest news of someone's dress.
A soldier's single death is not dramatic
No bugle call, no serried rank and file
There's no glamour in stress that's post-traumatic
Compared to new pics of an actor's smile.
I never served in war. I have no right
To take the part of soldiers or their kin
But maiming, burning, death or loss of sight
Deserve attention and remembrance in
A land that still sends doomed youth off to fight;
A land obsessed with how stars get so thin.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 8:53 PM UTC
Knock, and it shall be opened unto you,
If you, indeed, are true.
If so, the Bridegroom's door will open wide
To let His guest inside.
Knock, but beware if true, indeed, you're not;
For not one tittle or jot
Shall pass the Lion guarding, at attention,
The door to God's dimension.
He'll bounce you off the doorstep with a roar
Like none you've heard before.
Oct 18, 2022
Oct 18, 2022 at 11:40 AM UTC
I am not a king
I will never claim to be
I am not the guy
everyone worships
I am the guy the king calls
when He wants someone dead
I am the assasin that creeps in the dead of night
A gun ever present
always on my person
scars from past fights
covering my body
my face
Scared and mared
A recovering
forever recovering
coke addict
a man not afraid
to Beat the **** out of someone
and then get paid
A hitman
A killer
a monster
the beast under your bed
I am not worthy
of a tittle such as king
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
Robert told Olive
And Olive told Dee
That Emma likes Peter
But Peter likes me.
And Stephen saw Jamie
Tell Anna and George
That Vicky kissed Edward
And Clarence kissed Maude.
But Peter told Edward
And Edward told me
That Vicky saw Stephen
Tell Clarence and Dee
That Robert kissed Emma
So Anna told George
That Olive likes Jamie
But Jamie likes Maude
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 10:25 PM UTC
My love,
my sweet delirium,
my dopamine flower,
my nocturnal obsession,
my daylight thought procession,
how do I bare a split second of your truancy?
Your hair, your skin, your eyes, your spike heels, your leggy fluency,
are but a little tittle tally of your unnerving inventory :-)
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 6:47 PM UTC
i have an ongoing
love affair
with words
that roll around your
mouth
luscious, langourous
lilliputitian letters
sensual syllables
slick- sliding off
the tongue
ecstatic explosions,
erupting, erogenously
exciting, eager exclaimations,
of enraptured exualtations
organic, original orientations
of teeth and tongue
producing oodles,
of apogeic anomolies
my affair
accomplishes much
for little
it is you see
just a not so secret love
of letter, line, jot and tittle.
a casting eye upon a word
and i am set rushing
down a path
reserved for those
with terms, descriptive,
and names.
that in themselves,
decry
wordlove.
lexicographers and bibliophiles
phoneologists, linguists, polygots,
jonguluers, wordsmiths scribes
poets.
all possess this
heartstringed
tangled knot,
spiderwebbed
feeling,
for words.
which, we then,
endevour to spin,
into inkstained beauty,
to ensare
ourselves ...and others.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
No time to Shilly or to Shally.
No time to Dilly or to Dally.
If all you’ve got is Tittle-tattle
I’ll just up and go Skedaddle.
Got no time for Hugger-Mugger
Won’t put up with Argy-bargy
Rigamarole will have to go
Outside to eat yellow snow.
ljm
Jan 30, 2022
Jan 30, 2022 at 6:03 PM UTC
The stakes are higher than some of my
worst friends on herbal fire
because every time I toss a buck to
Luck,
that homeward bound ****
who sits outside my door
and whistles at golden ******
I lose even more
of my soul
from which I shovel the monetary coal
that stokes my furnace
and keeps me humble,
earnest,
and whole.
I want to let the ***** man in
so I can hear him confess his sin
and let him attempt to begin
a transformation
into a muse
that I can use
to write my information.
I wish I could write
of ice cube light
but all that comes to wish me good night
are the kisses of blurred sight
pecked by the fright
born of hesitant insight.
A kiss.
A kiss.
More so a bite.
Beggar,I beg of you
if you are true;
Whisper to my hands
the plans
you can have them to do.
Because I'm tired
of being a liar
who screams on soap mausoleums
and puts exhibits in false museums
of how his heart
goes into his art
but all he really adds is the ****
part of the flesh
stolen from the mouth of Descartes.
Were that Luck were behind
every inky tittle and line
I wouldn't have to waste all this time
trying to weave together this rhyme.
I want to be my muse.
For now, though,
she'll have to do.
V^V^V^V^V^V^V
She knows better than I.
She does, she does, she does.
She knows better than I.
And she,
my muse,
makes me want to die.
She does, she does, she does.
I give her my eye and
never
ever
does she return my sky-blue eye.
"You don't even want it!"
I cry.
I cry with my one eye.
Screaming and tears.
Screaming tears.
Tears scream, you know.
I like to put on little shows
with my lil' screamers
and charge love
and harlequin femurs.
Exchange for tickets.
Exchange for a show.
And I cry like a proper ringleader.
There's no business like show business.
There's no business I know.
A quality show
Would be my muse killing me slow.
Maybe with her poetry.
Maybe with her face.
Maybe with a knife
keeping sickly pace
with the beating
of the heart
of a headcase.
Or maybe with outer space
like rumors of second base
with black lace
cast off
with grace.
I want the world out of my headspace.
There's no room for her there.
She knows she can fit.
She does, she does, she does.
But I keep forgetting.
I do, I do, I do.
I hope she kills me slowly
before I do,
I do, I do.
I do.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
You're a person with a standard,
Of your life, I look to become a part.
Me you'll never find meandered,
For you, I'll prepare the custard.
You may call it a pudding if desired,
Or you may just consume that.
But you be well-mannered,
I need you humble & well-behaved.
Sep 19, 2024
Sep 19, 2024 at 5:37 AM UTC
I'm weak when you're around
Feels like falling to the ground
Yesterdays are moments to forget
Tomorrow, what could I get ?
I can't focus on anything,
I want to but it's not working
It's killing me little by little,
It's like a song but what's the tittle?
My heart is in pain,
It feels insane
I want to go back in time,
When I never knew your name.
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC