"token" poems
I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Disappointment
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 12:06 PM UTC
Casualty: my interest fading
Once waxing moon now seen waning
And I did concede your irksome warning
And watched as the rest played out
So let bygones be gone, fallen out by the side
Of this road, worn down, still restless, keeping straight
Eyes glinting off token little bits of hospitality
Mother nature being so inclined at times
The stress so unnerving, I hardly doubt it
But tension is eased once it comes to acceptance
And I accept in full, finding time to unwind
Winding stretch of lonely road, dotted here and there by
An occasional landmark
Or a lonely tractor pulling behind it
Iron bars, old and rusted
Found in their hold
Bales of hay or
A small little pond
With a bench beside it
Holding initials carved against the grain
With a heart surrounding
As mine beats slower
At last, the sun begins going down
And the moon grows brighter
Even in its state
And my feet move faster
Though my body is withering
I feel this separation growing
As my mind takes flight and leaves me
Behind, in the twisting twilight
And alone, I walk along
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 6:31 AM UTC
is Corrie ten Boom´s Favorite Quote.
The Master Weaver’s Plan
My life is but a weaving
Between the Lord and me;
I may not choose the colors–
He knows what they should be.
For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side
While I can see it only
On this, the underside.
Sometimes He weaves in sorrow,
Which seems so strange to me;
But I will trust His judgment
And work on faithfully.
‘Tis He who fills the shuttle,
And He knows what is best;
So I shall weave in earnest,
And leave to Him the rest.
Not ’til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern, He has planned.
by AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Based upon research, have discovered that more than one person has been credited with authorship of this poem. For now, have decided to list it as “author unknown” until there is further clarification. Corrie ten Boom.
These words said Corrie ten Boom, the author of many many books. I feel honored and humbled that I may show you this poem she constantly presented in her life as a token of love to God and let you know about her. As Corrie ten Boom said the true author of this poem is still unknown. I am only the one who gives through.
with love, Sylvia Frances Chan
Wednesday, 20 December 2017
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
I saw a carving from Bethlehem that you had given my Nan,
She showed me a photograph of you, you were tall, with a golden tan.
The carving it was inscribed, 'with love from your brother Tom',
I knew my Nan had looked up to you, when all was said and done.
My Nan she was a little girl, when you were called away,
With her mother she waited eagerly for news, day, by day, by day.
In her eyes you were a hero who had gone off to the war,
Your smiling face, and uniform, were the last things that she saw.
She dreamt of the day that you would come back, striding through the gate,
she heard her mother pacing, though she didn't know your fate.
She heard her mother weeping but didn't want to know the reason why,
In her stomach she had a feeling that something was awry.
Then her mother sat her down and told her you were dead,
She told me she went dizzy, blood rushing to her head.
She told me she cried out your name, her heart it was pure broken,
The army sent a telegram, but it was really just a token.
You were just a boy of eighteen years when you were forced away,
I wonder how many mothers would cope if their sons left today.
They couldn't give you a grave, there was nothing left to bury,
You were blown to pieces in one hit, with bombs dropped in a flurry.
You only lasted for three months in your short, tough, army life,
My Nan died aged eighty-four, after a life of grief and strife,
She pined for you throughout those years and missed you everyday,
Her hero, her brother Tom, who left and went away.
She worried that when you fought, you longed for her and home
And worried that you were consumed with fear, and if that fear had grown.
She wondered if you had called out "Mum" and if your blood was swept by the tide,
how desperately she had wished, that she had been there, by your side.
The reason I know of you today, is that girl who became my Nan,
Who kept your memory alive as she always did back then,
I tell my sons about you Tom, I hope it's the right thing to do,
And I hope that they will love me as much, as my Nan had loved you.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
You are a sailor if life is a vast ocean..
Here sail-n-surf,very thrilling notion..
Heart does trade with silly emotion
Desires ditch reality,if you lack devotion
Trusting too early is not so very wise..
People turn strangers in their uprise...
Be an artist not the tyrant of ur life
Anger at its apogee, cut like a knife
In dejection time,even silence is noise
Enduring other's hatred is a better choice
Speech is razor-sharp,can easily slice
Before making a decision,think twice
Eyes turn coy when the truth is caught
Just keep it simple n filter ur thought
Like weather, experiences are cool n hot
Hardwork is perennial but luck is not
Deeds are examined,so keep the token
Progress is still when hopes are broken
Pain is felt when own soul is shaken
Just believe in God when all is taken
Pearls come out during ebb at the shore..
Money gives gold but manners shine more
Success is urgency,patience is the cure
Nothing stays forever,expiry is for sure
Life has its fragrance,life has its taste
Laughter is healthy, worry is waste
Love is water, dilutes colour n caste
Polish your soul,skin goes ashes at last
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 2:59 PM UTC
One early morning along the quiet forest floor, a little mushroom popped it's head out of the ground. Looking in wonder, he pushed passed the dead leaves and dirt to reach for sunlight below the canopy.
"STOP!" said the forest. "You have been unruly. We have seen you try to grow with discord and disregard, denying the order. And what are you, alien? Identify as plant or animal!"
The little mushroom responded, "But I only did as you did; made a home. Like the rooted trees pillar in our leafy halls, as the moss nestles among the rocks, or how the birds nest in their hollows, why am I so different? I am both you and me."
The forest inhabitants pondered. In this time the mushroom grew and died. It took too long for the trees and the birds and the moss to agree by the time their fellow forest friend had passed.
The trees, too slow to interrupt, cried out to all, "What have we done?! we may not have thought him as beautiful as the rest of us, but the mushroom was a part of this forest!"
As a parting token, the little fungi grew a network of strands below the trees roots to support them all, feeding and protecting them even in death.
With it's dying breath, it dropped it's spores, to which would grow bountiful among the forest floor, among the trees and the rocks and moss. They had not known it, but the little mushroom was a part of a greater fungi, miles across. It had been there as long as the forest, keeping the trees company since time began, before humans, before us.
Only the trees had the knowledge to understand the little mushroom, but their voices were too quiet, too slow. So the trees let the mushrooms grow in their branches and on their logs to give them a home.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 1:35 PM UTC
I was treated like the VIP,
A cat and a big fish,
A hook and a big Six,
whilst visiting madam bow-peeps
rotisserie of *****
Always receptive,
Wearing open silk
working 9 to 5am.
With a little overtime,
hot funk never satisfies,
She had the way-with-all
to feign, delight; even interest,
before negotiating the price,
Two shekels,
She was classy,
kind of slick,
she tickled my ears
for nothing more than kindness,
a small token in exchange for a smile.
She popped on a tune,
as she took off her dress.
The petting started
her two hands tugging with the zipper of my jeans.
A woman's touch... Ha HA,
the rich sultry kiss of *****
tight and tasty;
***** like a ripe tomato,
Sugar fried and drunk.
She opened her legs,
her hair smelled like shampoo,
She was on her belly,
knees tucked up
as I took in the fruit,
deep holes filled with **** and shabby fingers,
hollow spit and angry poison,
head spinning to the groove,
loud and high,
The bed squeaked
and a single light bulb dangled
like a loose tooth,
Ten minutes and
two ******* love songs!
Sick and spent up,
I got dressed to leave,
I said with a poke,
"I couldn't get laid,
Not even in a ***** house!"
And now I'm back in the cold again,
only dirtier.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 4:50 PM UTC
Sabi
My Bosnian honey
The rarest of beauties
Truly an Unicorn amongst steeds
With fleet feet
My heart races towards you
Like a rag of mustangs
Wild and free
As you are
As you make me
Though I'm a world away
I can feel your heart beside me
Beating
Thunderously
Like hooves kissing open earth
If only in spirit
It alone sustains
Our kindered hearts
Amongst the world's stampede
With wise words you used to mend
My open wounds past sustained
My debt remains unpaid
Having little to my name
I declare my love
My commitment
My everything
As a token of my endearment
As an answer to your affection
My dearest Sabina
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC
Tolerance is a form of intolerance:
public acceptance, private disdain,
the pretense that humanity is one's to allow.
Acceptable operating parameters
are not to be defined by support,
and certainly not by a token indifference.
To tolerate is to glorify one's limits.
Feigning acceptance of the beyond,
true character remains just out of reach.
Better to hate openly and honestly
than veil it in the robes of community;
...better yet, see tolerance for what it isn't.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
Somewhere there is a nurse putting clean sheets on what was once someone's death bed. Somewhere there is a police officer laying awake at two in the morning contemplating breaking his thumbs so he won't have to pull another trigger. Somewhere there is a body bag taking the shape of a person. Somewhere a warden has accidentally called a prisoner by their first name. Somewhere there is a man getting ready to pay for his glass of whiskey, his '1 year' AA token falls out of his wallet onto the bar counter. Somewhere the glass is completely empty, somewhere it's overflowing. Somewhere a therapist sitting in an empty session reading the local newspaper's obituary section wondering what she could've done. Somewhere a bullet has fallen in love with a heart, giving a whole new meaning to the 'kiss of death'. Somewhere the girl that never speaks is raising her hand but immediately putting it back down after the sound of her classmates' laughter bounces back and forth from the back of her mind to the front. Somewhere the silence at the dinner table is making a dent in a child's suit of armor. Somewhere a 70 year old man starts skipping instead of walking, he stops taking his medication. Somewhere there is a mother too drunk to sign her daughter's permission slip. Somewhere a man has stolen all of the flowers from a grave, so he can somehow feel as though he's being missed. Somewhere a child is asked what she wants to be when she grows up, she realizes ''myself'' isn't a good enough answer. Somewhere a mirror has been mistaken for a stranger. Somewhere someone is being loved by another person the only way they know how to love; whether it's through kisses, bruises, sleeping too closely to the other, or fifteen missed calls. Somewhere a man is falling in love with the automated voice inside of a voice mail because at least she will listen to him. Somewhere a 911 operator is walking into her house, hearing screams that aren't actually there. Somewhere these short stories are being broadcasted on the news, printed in the paper, whispered to a friend, or rotting in the back of someone's head. Somewhere I am whispering all of these things to a silent room full of people, none of them look up.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
Awesome power is it natures wrath
To devastate all in its path
Twisters, winds driving rain
Leaves no place to look the same
In a way as it gathers pace
Never in a human place
Hidden killer out at sea
Land urge where it wants to be
Building strength, gathers speed
To destroy any breeds
The one i recall in this worlds arena
This phenomenon called Hurricane Katrina
Louisiana, New Orleans
Was subject by one so mean
Her awesome might hammers home
We are not on this world alone
The sights viewed all around the world
Natures torture from her living swirl
To consternate these Southern Lands
The rains and winds spew from her glands
The aftermath and splatter view
Killed so many, survivors few
City blocks submerged and broken
A legacy of natures token
New Orleans Jazz continues to play
Although nature won this day
Resilient folks, awesome place
Human nature won this race
Undercover we will rise
But in mother nature we will not despise
She gives us life, we share her hope
To view her strength, we can not gloat
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 4:46 PM UTC
I see Thoreau as a token
You and my airplane ticket.
I never get it why you only declare your love for Thoreau
Instead of something darker, Hunter S Thompson,Marijuana
Or me.
Traveling in Denmark now, I guess you'll eventually head to the Netherlands.
Where your true colors shine through your eye socket.
Oh, so I still admire you
Dreaming of having a walk with you beside Walden
Having Arizona ice tea in the dessert
I beg Thoreau to win me an airplane ticket to
The unknown
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
The children they run, jump through the Sun,
...scream at the Horse for nary the fun.
What have you seen? What do you believe?
Did you get burnt on St. John's Eve?
Which day is it? Oh what the time?
Who be the meaning of old fabled rhyme?
Can you see stars? Oh great the heavens...
...can you see stars, so great the heavens?
Can you see stars? Oh great the heavens...
...can you see stars, so great the heavens?
Shh, here she comes, break black -the night!
...washed away the horse with infernal delight!
One is left ****** burnt, torn, pieces broken,
..and Momma, please Pappa; one's life merely token.
The children they run, jump through the Sun,
...ritual of the fear, for New Age begun.
Can you see stars? Oh great the heavens...
...can you see stars, so great the heavens?
Can you see stars? Oh great the heavens...
...can you see stars, so great the heavens? *
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
Good sir, one thing I owe to you: to tell you that I hate thee true.
Your sly advances show for real that I am but your body's meal,
to be deliciously consumed, and have my sanctity be doomed.
Repent, oh Devil, back to Hell! Sink back into your slimy well
where from its spout burst tongues of fire to feed your wretched, black desire.
And if you do not go today then under Earth and dirt you'll lay.
I'll see that you ne'er have a breath until you've met your certain death.
You call yourself a pious soul, yet crying's God's name you take me whole.
You choke me up in your embrace, and tell me I'll be filled with "grace."
Thy love is but a dark snake's skin, which when once shed shows what's within.
Thy hands like teeth about to clench. The stink from out your mouth doth stench
-just like the rotting fumes of graves and poisoning the prey it craves.
Ah, sir, if you are even that. You pull your tricks out of a hat.
But I can see the trickery and magic so it's plain to see:
you do not love me for myself, you'd use me; put me on a shelf
- another token that you've won.
But put quite simply, sir, I'm done.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
I tried
to throw it out
along with the bubbles,
the yellow duck,
and the knickers the dog crudely
chewed
pushed it amongst silled plants,
now it stands,
between Thick Cut Marmalade
and Chlorine Free Baking Cups
a token, painted green with white
Maori dots, symbolizing
the small dreamings
of a tortoise
and since this house
is my body, see
how I have placed you
in the kitchen
and I cannot get beyond,
the simple meaning,
of daily needing
love like water, air
and how I don't seek
to see it fully
yet often find myself
checking if its there.
Jan 18, 2011
Jan 18, 2011 at 12:14 PM UTC
She said,
"Before you get in my britches,
you'd better fly,
give me a gold coin,
tell me how beautiful I am."
I replied,
"Honey, you're beeeeuuuutiful!
Here's a gold coin.
Sorry, I can't fly, but
I'll start taking classes next week."
She smiled,
winked, and
walked away
with my token.
Guess, that wasn't good enough......
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
Corpses proliferate in soaring violence; heirloom of franchise and eminence— perish in erosion.
Timid denizens of derision, cynicism in roaring silence — optimism’s paling vapor—commodity of Indecision, our halcyon days forgotten.
Chosen token of audacity; the onyx maladroit feigns, prevaricating beneath the Sacred canopy.
Etudes of apathy; attrition unlamented; streams of guile— quixotic squall conversely merge — veiled conceit, eloquent arrow of equivocation.
The policy of attenuation.
Treason’s vine obscured beneath the blind surf of consent.
© 2014 & 2016 W. S. Warner
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
I search for some decor
to pretty up my house
A headboard, some dead boards
or maybe a couch?
The said so to do it
on public TV
my kitchens not pretty
as pretty as can be
But what will the neighbors
think of my design?
they'll report to the magazine
that it's beautiful and sublime!
Some ship lap, some sconces
all wrapped in a bow
i will trend till tomorrow
then die all alone
Rip it all down
Says Chip and Joanna
They are more popular
Than Hanna Montanna
They live on a ranch
an take millions to make
a spectacular suprise
for a couple to take
We all laugh an cheer
at Chip's child like antics
Which makes great TV
as Joanna gets Frantic!
Do Chip and Joanna really
care about you?
As long as the station
gets ten million views
They tell us to fix it
even though it's not broken
go shop till you drop
and spend every token
Buy that cool sign
made from cheap yellow plastic
The richer get richer
but, our wall looks fantastic!
Do not give in
to the big corporate greed
there are sick, hungry people
and starving mouths to feed
so every cent spent
on the corporate wealth
helps the richer get richer
and we go to stealth
Wake up and see vanity
is causing distress
don't give in to pressure
of this corporate mess!
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
Balcony Life:
Sometimes I just watched outside, and it was a glorious day.
Children actually played. Groups sunbathed and basked in beer
Ice-cream vans were heard not far from here
Above a plane heading somewhere etched its mark
traced in nothing but just plain blue sky,
for miles, as far as the eyes could see.
Up the motorway, the sun ignites on speeding sunroofs
Toward the Campsie Fells set in a haze of bottle green
The white trickle of yesterdays snow cut like some dyslexic ancient symbol
A place for misspent youth and baking trays on icy days
A hot cheap brand coffee in a chipped petrol-token mug
Perched on weathered wrought iron painted brown like last year
Meant so much in that moment grasped and shaped like glass with glee
I remember that there is life in this here estate sometimes
Watching as you do,
from your own slice of life on your patch of balcony
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:24 AM UTC
'tis a sad sad
tale of woe
of which I sing
of gods and godesses
and their lessening
how forlorn
the goddess Ceres
once loved by all
and wooed by many
when unprovoked
and unforeseen
a war was wrought
'gainst fair queen
caught unawares
her throne assailed
her forces scattered
'twas all unfair
cast down she was
from lofty throne
no longer crowned
no more beloved
pierced thru
with many thorns
belittled
and besmirched
her reputation
and now her station
lost far beyond
re-incarnation
silently
she slips away
lost
and near forgotten
wounded
and rarely seen
her sullen thoughts
of malice reign
shamed and bleeding
plotting her revenge
till time and chance
provide the proper
circumstance
then all the thorns
that pierced her thru
she shook as many blades
and hurled
those bitter barbs as one
'gainst Hades' mighty gates
shaken he
from his dark slumber
his rallied forces
armed in numbers
their banners raised
on solar breezes
as trumpets blare
thru breathless reaches
voices shout
in protestation
slide rules locked
in astrometric
calculations
oh see how Ceres
scorned and mocked
has wrought
her rotting vengeance
on Pluto's frozen rocks
"Oh woe to thee
my Persephone
flee thee now
to thy father's house
for thy husband's hearth
hath been broken
and Hades' home
now just a token
My lofty edifice
a shattered wrack
an' all that's left
'tis a humble
wretched shack"
Pic Poem
https://www.pix-star.com/media/cache_local/download/23fc881b88e812947b061094f5694d32/JPlutoThouHastFallen-e52.jpg
.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
I want to write you a poem.
It should be funny and witty!
It will declare our love with a token!
It should be endearing and flirty!
Not at all, *****
It should be about, You and me!
Could it be possible?
You & Me!
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
Come in and enjoy the Night-Light Hotel
Where Pillows and Perfumes meet and relax
And Therapy takes either Bond or Belle
And Goldfish blow this Friday's Bubbly Sax
Here upon registry your Token awaits
The Flannel up-hook which you strip and wear
Then wait for your turn as your Number rebates
A little whilst knowing your Musk reeks there
I for one made this Malicious Decide
And tempt my ****** to swallow this Treat:
Upper-Lower Left; Upper-Lower Right
Then descend into Base - Heh! Heh! Heh! Heh!
Stud or Salome, let Conscience give choose
But trust me to say I am a Man too.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 11:12 AM UTC
Alone. She has no home. No where to go. Who can she trust? Mistrust. She's been betrayed. Delayed. Mistrust. Betrayed. A mistake. A trust. Him. I love you. A hug. I hope I'm not bothering you. Betrayed. Rumors. i loathe you. Disgust. I thought I could trust you. Betrayed. She's dealing. Learning. That this is life. She's feeling down. She's been deceived. A sad clown. Plowed down. Betrayed. Broken. She lost her will. Her token. Sullen. Now who can she trust?
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
Drona was a great teacher of archery
He taught it to Pandavas and kauravas
Arjuna was his favourite disciple
He liked him for his pious principle
Drona promised to make him the best
In any form of archery test
One day A tribal came to Drona
And requested him to teach the craft
The master asked him for his caste
The tribal revealed the fact
Drona told him he would teach only the upper-caste
And leave the place in great haste
The Tribal,Ekalavya, Made an idol of his master
And became an invincible archer
Drona and Arjuna came to the forest
The former considered the tribal was the best
Drona asked for the tribal’s master
And surprised to find the answer
And demanded his right thumb as a gift
Ekalavya offered it as a token of great respect
Jan 4, 2011
Jan 4, 2011 at 5:57 PM UTC
Gliding in air
was an eerie delightful hue
hanging high above violet and blue,
for eons no one had knew,
the peon pest probing around
the howling zoo,
rhyming and roaming
hiding and hoping
flighty the ronin
ran,
groping every moment he could come to
as a token to his gallantry
the guidance to his apathy
decided to devise his only strife
to live happily
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 1:53 PM UTC