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justoneman May 2019
I’m sick of all these love songs
Written about another
Sonnets and odysseys
Desperate for a Lover

I want to enjoy the silence
Nihility subdue
Equally alone
As I am with you

I try to reflect Compassion
A metric of good health
Psuedo-neo Truism
Learn to “Love Thy Self”
slr Oct 2018
Sweetheart you need to be have a flatter stomach
Put down that soda pop
Or one day it will make you pop
Put down those puff pastries
Or one day they will make you the Pillsbury Dough-girl.
Take up crunches and sit-ups
And just ignore when your body screams for food
Take up ******* in and waist trainers
And just ignore that ******* in all day weakens your muscles pushing you further from your ideal

Hey good lookin’ you’d be prettier if you had smaller thighs
Stop eatin’ them donuts
They turnin’ you too dough
Stop ordering your pizzas in larges
They turnin’ you large
Start doing some squats
Just ignore your back screaming in pain
Start running sum more
Just ignore that bigger thighs mean a lower risk of heart disease and premature death

And a simple request from everyone else: make sure your hair always looks like a girl from a movie, that your skin is flawless, you dress perfectly, are always happy, smiling constantly, have an aesthetically pleasing Instagram, be in an adorable relationship, know all the newest music and shows

You know what

just be perfect
but
not to perfect


-love society
Don't let society tell you anything about yourself. You are you and perfect just how you are.
Pierre Ray Mar 2012
There once was a black man... Old at heart, he fought verbally and accordingly with bold words, which abbreviated and arbitrated great art! He spoke of activism. Not just racial, and economic racism. He fought against demonic injustices for you, yes, made me see. He stood for principles of non-violence. Acknowledged corrupt government

mileage, European knowledge and college. A philosopher, teacher
and preacher as well as a civil rights leader. When he spoke his words of fire indeed chiseled and inspired. Causing some to conspire and also perspire! Born January 15th 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia. Named in honor of the German protestant Martin Luther. Bachelor of Arts

degree in sociology. Making a mark in doctoral studies, systematic theology. June 5th 1955 This King married Corretta Scott in Heiberger,
Alabama for many to see. Proceeding with four children: Yolanda, Martin Luther the 3rd to be! Dexter Scott and Bernice to increase the peace. Despite the European police, the movements and stressed

protests, the silence, ****** and racial violence. The segregation and interrogations in force, instead of integration of course. Black mishaps, lack of differences in relapse perhaps! Plagiarized and slandered, demised by some of the wise. Accused of communistic ties. Blinded
by others’ eyes and of our world’s twisted lies. Montgomery, Georgia

bus boycott, 1955 was the year. However, forever in disguise, our fear of tears was apparently adhered. From here to near, also all those dear. Mere letters he wrote, from Birmingham jail I quote! From the slums, some of sums, hail and prevail! A creation prevailing into a deriving and thriving nation. Mr. King’s vision of a dream, mission,

opposition, optimism and truism, on our wars, welfare and more. I suppose this sounds honest and fair. Mr. King’s theories and worries in emotionalism, evangelism, humanitarianism, racism and socialism. Nobel Peace Prize won in 1964. Regretfully, you may have heard of this before. Government conspiracies and indecencies. Assassination

and discrimination, allegedly, by James Earl Ray. On April 4th, I
almost choke, because for him, his blood did soak. Some thought this **** was a thrill or forced by will. Others still procrastinate in hate! However, forever Martin Luther King was and still is one of the late greats.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
of course the age of scientific positivism
was glorious,
the hopes for curing the lamentable ivory cavity
the hopes for anaesthesia in surgery,
it was all there, with all the great minds...
but then our age came along with humanism’s negativism,
and i mean that sincerely...
if you take a concept, like god, and give it to science,
the best it can do in its parameters is take 1...
divide it by the nth term and say something like
0.000000000000000000000000000000000000000001
in relation to something else, which its a part of...
i wish i was deeply religious on this point,
but a catholic school education reminding me
to start early with ethics minding only one ethical decision,
i.e. abortion brought feminism with it...
but as one orthodox christian girl said: even without
legal rights between us... you must accept!
eh... why?
god does not belong to science, science deals with numbers
and a few words...
imagine the book of genesis: and in the beginning was a number...
any random number... let’s say six... and six correlated
with aries, taurus, gemini, cancer, leo, libra...
well that’s half missing...
this argument is starting to make me look silly...
this whole word word word... let’s quantify vocabulary for quality assurance...
it’s the q. and q. relativity, the q-q in terms of saying
(that's the coordinate parallelism between science
and human-ism, where the former states
two essentials - space & time - the latter states
its two essentials - quantity & quality;
now imagine einstein working in the humanistic medium,
it would sound something like... 'hmm
of a french novelist's output i can say as much
as: eat your j. keats and have him too):
the closest i came in comparing the greeks with the jews
is to claim that the students of the kabbalah are like the greek philosophers
in the vein of democritus... who took to a, b, c... x, y, z equivalent to atoms...
albeit phonetic atoms that gave us BIG physics of the planets
and meteros and newtonian linear(s)... and little physics... quantum stuff...
like why the romans wrote el... the greeks lambda and the hebrews lamed...
ah you know trivial stuff.
all i’m saying is that scientific atheism, in terms of using words
is, too coherent... if you want real atheism, you have to turn to the humanities,
james joyce is perfect... we don’t live in an age of scientific positivism,
we live in an age of humanistic negativism...
all this talk of extinction and nuclear weaponry,
it’s almost like a scare tactic to allow certain professions mechanisation
by robotics... i know it’s real... would the newsstand sell insensible newspapers?
again... if you deny something you’ll only end up doubting it later,
so with sartre trying to escape the cartesian dialectic if a complete and utter failure,
by denying something it’s hardly possible to erase it, make it extinct,
the faculty of memory does not allow this to happen,
so doubt re-enters and the doubting thought process revs up,
the negating thought process is only momentary, a nano-second if you will,
doubting takes aeons to consider itself un-doubted;
so i ask... coming from a scientific background, why would we
care to push scientific positivism further, given all the discoveries and
ease-of-life assurances when there’s this bulging and growing
humanistic negativism, entitled: we are the 99%! hmm?
science will not make economic strategies go away,
nor will humanism... but with humanism, at least there’s a human face
saying something... rather than science itemising everything
to fit 0 next to 1 with a dot between and call it: a tenth of a metre.

p.s. there's only one doubt of denial and it's unconscious,
because denial is a safety mechanism that automates
to provide a blockage against the world events:
*******, ******... war...
denial is automation... doubt is nurturing...
regret... well... that's natural concerning choice
in events not engaged with; honestly, there are people
who have regrets not engaging within the napoleonic wars,
thus they idolise napoleon... a bit like the neo-nazis
and the third ***** scenario... they can deny certain
aspects of the third ***** mechanisation didn't happen,
but they can't doubt it, because doubt-in-itself
is a sort of thrill
(that's covered by a blatant truism in argumentation,
which is denial, which technically robs it
of the doubt cherished for the thrill)...
'****! it happened! it really really happened!'
and then regret comes in and says: 'but you weren't there.'
then nostalgia kicks in... and that line from w. burroughs
about how you got to be an ss-man in a concentration camp:
gauge the cat's eyes out... yes, the one you petted for a month,
fed and gave affection to: gauge... the... cat's... eyes... out!
dass ist ein anführer befehl!
jeffrey robin Jul 2010
it is better to write a GOOD POEM
badly

than a BAD POEM
well
Truism
An axiom is a sturdy plant
You can asphalt it with lies
But it will always be an axiom
And break to the surface in
Time for reckoning
matt nobrains Jun 2014
this is a poem about happiness.
this is also a poem about how great life is, see? here's a metaphor
comparing nature to the faultless
form of a pedastalized lover,
here's a description of the
effect of changes in air pressure
and localized temperature
fluctuations
on physical matter in a given area.
here's a bland truism that
anybody can relate to.
here's a couple rhyming stanzas
about the ethereal shifting of
connecting threads which
cause all life to dance upon
the cosmic stage like food poisoned marionettes.
here's an ode to the wrinkles of
my ******* and
the bits of fuzz that occasionally
find their home in my *****.
here's a sonette to the drop outs
doing better than me
here's a dirge for the businessman
that hangs himself
and a jubilee for his widow
who earns nothing off his death
because he left his entire estate
to his catamite.
I'm writing a symphony in color,
notes of fermenting wood
dogshit and coffin dust.
the violas swoop and drone
the piccolos trill fast enough
to excise your gastrointestinal system
the barotone sax wheezes
and the timpani drum rumbles
(the flutes sit motionless because
**** flutes)
the pianists fingers are bleeding
hes banging with stumps now
his face contorted in ecstatic glee
as if the face of god has parted
the clouds just to scrape his gums
clean with his dietous ****.
and lo faint is the whisper
which climbs and slithers
between the
false,
bash upon life with both hands.
here is life here is death
let me show your life
let me breathe your wretching
like squandered
like roots in the soil,
paint your everlasting cave drawing
in the face of your kitchen
and dance around a fire
let the embers lick your heels
til pagan viciousness overtakes
your quivering form.
gasp it in
SøułSurvivør Sep 2014
Bzzzzzz    ^#^
                              :
                  ­       :
             :
  :
:
wherever      :      you go...
... the pesky **fly
SWAT!!!
Badshah Khan Mar 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) - 64

BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem

Oh the Loved one, Who is my Beloved!
In the deserted land, there is a Sacred Mountain’
Fondly, called as The Mountain Of Light’s (Jabal Al Noor) '

Where my Divine Creator Imitate His Own Light'
And carefully guarded by the Numerous Angels,
Towards the Sacred Mountain (Jabal Al Noor)!

My Beloved visits daily towards the Peak (Jabal Al Noor)
Where his rest place Cave (Hira) itself based.
He climbs at rosy dawn, towards the sacred peak,
To freely meditate towards his Divine Creator!

Allow me, to unfailingly follow you;
Until the Cave (Hira) entrance,
And comfort Your attractive Paws as your feet dust.

I devotedly follow You, Oh my Beloved!
Towards the Cave (Hira);
Upon the Peak (Jabal Al Noor)
Don't look down for stack of crude stones,
Or don't be worried about any cruel thorns.

At Dawn, Very difficult to track the visible path,
I dearly want to live as his dainty shoes'
Hence, He can climb carefully every glorious day.

Let my Beloved’ peacefully sit and Meditate
Let Him recite, The One and Only (Iqra Bismi Rabika)
Thru the Dear Angel (Jibreel),
Therefore, He can reveal the Divine truth!

I will wait respectfully outside,
Until He solely speaks, the divine truism.
Therefore, I can correctly grasp;
Through My Beloved the eternal truth (Noble Quran)!

The unknown truth of the Divine Creator (Allah)
And His Eternal Existence (The Noble Throne)
Upon the sacred Mountain Of Light’s! (Jabal Al Noor)!

Allah Khair..... Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem

Ummah Thurab - Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust)
Ignatius Hosiana Jan 2017
Even when I know they're but unfinished stories,
accepted pain and acknowledged sorrys,
virtual realities reflected from mirrors of a lost paradigm
and engineered metaphorically vocalized  pantomime
even when I know that they're not the end of the road
(that there're even many more miles to walk)
or even  blossoms of life within a spectral pod
but merely a beautiful view of the vast and
rough ocean from the calm of a floret mental dock
through tinted glasses in pink of perception with utmost optimism
a fairy born of refraction through a phantasmal prism
even when the universe disputes the truism of a magic wand
I still fantasize about holding your hand
and matching with you through thick and thin
for better for worse, against the torrents from foe and keen
in turbulence of rage and storms of tears till we find laughter
until the bruises of souls and hearts shattered find mending
in the enema of our blending so we can have a happy ending
even when I know forever and for always is just a true lie
and we are likely to more than anything make us cry,
I still believe in pulchritudinous endings, in happily ever after
in you and I, in the beauty of wilting roses and those in the rain
in sticking together through the pleasure and pain...
Even when I know love is just a word,
we can lend it every meaning we've ever dreamed
I still believe in real romance, in the broken being fixed
in forever being now and now being forever
in never saying never, in you and I
truth or lie, do or die... roads and bendings
long as it's with you, I believe in Happy endings...
Wade Lancaster Sep 2015
A good game needs rules and planning.
Nothing revels humanity so well as the games that play.
Actually you revel yourself best in how you play.
And so it became that.
A truism;
perhaps we are not that original, we are fascinated with the human past. And It's the human future which intrigues us most.
Seems we cannot understand us.
We cannot abide the thoughts of stagnation.
We seek to change into the heart of what we are, but... change into what?
We are hardly original.
Therefore, what will be your rewards?...
For playing the game...
I believe if we fill our life with positive there is no room left for negative. Mastery of your own game is never at the expense of another. That would be negative.
ALPHA Mar 2013
Visions of wildfire fill the room as bodies mold into one another..

Heat seeks the beings of the surrounding..

Slight intentions of sweat fall, dripping off the intention and capabilities of what's next..

Rhythmatic vibes intertwine making us one..

Barely knowing from whence you came..

It's nothing more than you this moment seems to crave..

Crazed within my essentialized demeanor..

Not even Vegas could headline the escapade deemed 2 gamble with his every chance at lady luck..

Dancing within winds of a harlots dream..

Loving more than what the moment leaves..

Surpassed within a present that creeps back into reality..

Awake..

Placing lost pieces of a puzzle onto a map with no "X" spot..

Senseless to the coldness of alone..

In fear of a love that urns to grow...

Traveling within closed eyes not attempting to mesh the fairytale and reality into its own..

Within the embodied presence his rapture reigns over the passion that bleeds seamlessly from my aura pentrating his soul...

Taking and receiving life as a whole..

Hungry to allow his ownership to suggest and define all meaning as ****** reaches its desired aim within seeking,

Believing in his queen still it is within me to urn for more than whats being given..

Where passion meets the aphrodisia of desire to transpire the truism of love..

Now. Then & Forever.

Alpha.
Kevin Castro Apr 2018
He reached into the paper bag his friend handed over and pulled out a small picture frame.

“Do you want it?” his friend asked.

He turned it over carefully to see what was in the frame. Through the glass, he saw a beetle mounted in cotton, displayed along with a strip of paper that held its name. It looked like something good to have hanging in his room.

“Yeah, but why?” No one just gives away nice things. At least no one gives stuff away without a reason.
“Why, what?”
“Why are you just giving stuff away?”
“Oh,” silence, “I just don’t need it.”

It was a non-answer, a truism, something people say just to get people to asking questions without lying. That’s not enough, he thought. If there was anything he knew about his friend, it was that he liked to talk.

“Wait, so why don’t you need it?”
“Just take the whole bag. Maybe just give back the 3DS games”

He turned the frame around. There was a mark in the back, like someone tried to open it up with ballpoint pen that ran out of ink. Whoever made it gave up after one try but still managed to leave pinholes in the cardboard.

“Are you sure?”
“I think you’re asking too many questions for free stuff, guy”

He looked through his friend’s bag, wondering what else was inside. It was clothes, mostly, and ruffling through it wafted up a scent. The smell and the fabric, it was decidedly feminine to him. He had more questions, more thoughts to investigate.

A car, pulled over next to them. “My ride’s here,” his friend said.

He looked at the beetle. Its wing casings were a sickly yellow. He saw a few writhing brown dots come from under it. He felt sick. Maggots, he thought.

“Carlos,” he called out, handing back the bag, “I’ll keep the beetle”

His friend turned back, took the bag and left.
Francie Lynch Mar 2015
There are great periods
In our lives; passages.
Agreed. Truism.
I'm at that age, where,
In an average life-span
Of one, such as I,
Either one or both parents
Are gone. Are going soon.
I know, there are many
Exceptional, wonderful,
Depressing and ******
Stories,
But the aggregate is
Right on with this.
So, if you're young,
Twixt, middle or aging,
Go give Mom, Dad,
Granda and Granny
A hug, a kiss, a handshake,
A touch, and
Just tell 'em you love 'em.
topaz oreilly Jan 2013
Wood Pigeons make perfect sense,
when they scatter through my hair,
sometimes the image is wavered,
but there's a certain glow of pride
that enfolds within this short life.
For my best laid plans
I'll re-thatch my roof,
to shelter my bantams
lulled into the truism
of the gilded cage.
bleh Jun 2016
when i was young
i never intended on living to adulthood
    i didn't have any dramatic plans for my death
    but i hadn't planned for the contrary, either
and so
time rolled on, the way it does
and through pure neglect
i found myself here
   alive today

and the years keep passing, the way they do
time's funny that way:
it increments in loops;
      another year forward,                
      another revolution of the same.

when i was younger
i didn't believe in the future,
i still don't, but now i find,
that the present tends to stick around.
and one's seeming imperative thoughts and actions,
one's urgent sparks of actuality,
aren't flames of some eternal logos,
but are more
the random shower of a Catherine wheel
spinning aimlessly on a pike

and so, through sheer inertia
the world keeps on turning
and you with it
till one day
you stop
and are left
disorientated and thrown
into a wall

i'm not sure what i'm trying to say here,
or if this maudlin sentimentality amounts to much
but if i had any truism
from my time spent,
it would be this:

the self is a clear plate of glass
onto which meaning condenses like steam
at first invisible to yourself,
you become aware of your shape through
the foggy coalescence of the things you cherish.
but sometimes,
those meanings become too much to bear
and they condense
into a liquid
and silently drip off.
then
maybe you wait,
slowly drying out,
for the process to hopefully start all over again
but in the mean time
you're left there,
gently and vacantly
estranged
translucent

and damp
i'm not really sure
clinging on to dead meanings is too painful
casting them aside and just carrying on is too painful
and it all becomes
softly and quietly
utterly absurd
and while Camus says to carry on in loud defiance,
all the endless spinning tends to just leave me
winded and nauseous


   “a line allows progress, a circle does not”
but time's a spiral
and a spiral's both


anyway

happy birthday, everyone
John F McCullagh Jan 2019
Dearest creature in creation
Studying English pronunciation,
   I will teach you in my verse
   Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.

I will keep you, Susy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy;
   Tear in eye, your dress you'll tear;
   Queer, fair seer, hear my prayer.

Pray, console your loving poet,
Make my coat look new, dear, sew it!
   Just compare heart, hear and heard,
   Dies and diet, lord and word.

Sword and sward, retain and Britain
(Mind the latter how it's written).
   Made has not the sound of bade,
   Say-said, pay-paid, laid but plaid.

Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as vague and ague,
   But be careful how you speak,
   Say: gush, bush, steak, streak, break, bleak ,

Previous, precious, fuchsia, via
Recipe, pipe, studding-sail, choir;
   Woven, oven, how and low,
   Script, receipt, shoe, poem, toe.

Say, expecting fraud and trickery:
Daughter, laughter and Terpsichore,
   Branch, ranch, measles, topsails, aisles,
   Missiles, similes, reviles.

Wholly, holly, signal, signing,
Same, examining, but mining,
   Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
   Solar, mica, war and far.

From "desire": desirable-admirable from "admire",
Lumber, plumber, bier, but brier,
   Topsham, brougham, renown, but known,
   Knowledge, done, lone, gone, none, tone,

One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel.
   Gertrude, German, wind and wind,
   Beau, kind, kindred, queue, mankind,

Tortoise, turquoise, chamois-leather,
Reading, Reading, heathen, heather.
   This phonetic labyrinth
   Gives moss, gross, brook, brooch, ninth, plinth.

Have you ever yet endeavoured
To pronounce revered and severed,
   Demon, lemon, ghoul, foul, soul,
   Peter, petrol and patrol?

Billet does not end like ballet;
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
   Blood and flood are not like food,
   Nor is mould like should and would.

Banquet is not nearly parquet,
Which exactly rhymes with khaki.
   Discount, viscount, load and broad,
   Toward, to forward, to reward,

Ricocheted and crocheting, croquet?
Right! Your pronunciation's OK.
   Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
   Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Is your r correct in higher?
Keats asserts it rhymes Thalia.
   Hugh, but hug, and hood, but hoot,
   Buoyant, minute, but minute.

Say abscission with precision,
Now: position and transition;
   Would it tally with my rhyme
   If I mentioned paradigm?

Twopence, threepence, tease are easy,
But cease, crease, grease and greasy?
   Cornice, nice, valise, revise,
   Rabies, but lullabies.

Of such puzzling words as nauseous,
Rhyming well with cautious, tortious,
   You'll envelop lists, I hope,
   In a linen envelope.

Would you like some more? You'll have it!
Affidavit, David, davit.
   To abjure, to perjure. Sheik
   Does not sound like Czech but ache.

Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, loch, moustache, eleven.
   We say hallowed, but allowed,
   People, leopard, towed but vowed.

Mark the difference, moreover,
Between mover, plover, Dover.
   Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
   Chalice, but police and lice,

Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.
   Petal, penal, and canal,
   Wait, surmise, plait, promise, pal,

Suit, suite, ruin. Circuit, conduit
Rhyme with "shirk it" and "beyond it",
   But it is not hard to tell
   Why it's pall, mall, but Pall Mall.

Muscle, muscular, gaol, iron,
Timber, climber, bullion, lion,
   Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
   Senator, spectator, mayor,

Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
Has the a of drachm and hammer.
   *****, ***** and possess,
   Desert, but desert, address.

Golf, wolf, countenance, lieutenants
Hoist in lieu of flags left pennants.
   Courier, courtier, tomb, bomb, comb,
   Cow, but Cowper, some and home.

"Solder, soldier! Blood is thicker",
Quoth he, "than liqueur or liquor",
   Making, it is sad but true,
   In bravado, much ado.

Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
   Pilot, pivot, gaunt, but aunt,
   Font, front, wont, want, grand and grant.

Arsenic, specific, scenic,
Relic, rhetoric, hygienic.
   Gooseberry, goose, and close, but close,
   Paradise, rise, rose, and dose.

Say inveigh, neigh, but inveigle,
Make the latter rhyme with eagle.
   Mind! Meandering but mean,
   Valentine and magazine.

And I bet you, dear, a penny,
You say mani-(fold) like many,
   Which is wrong. Say rapier, pier,
   Tier (one who ties), but tier.

Arch, archangel; pray, does erring
Rhyme with herring or with stirring?
   Prison, bison, treasure trove,
   Treason, hover, cover, cove,

Perseverance, severance. Ribald
Rhymes (but piebald doesn't) with nibbled.
   Phaeton, paean, gnat, ghat, gnaw,
   Lien, psychic, shone, bone, pshaw.

Don't be down, my own, but rough it,
And distinguish buffet, buffet;
   Brood, stood, roof, rook, school, wool, boon,
   Worcester, Boleyn, to impugn.

Say in sounds correct and sterling
Hearse, hear, hearken, year and yearling.
   Evil, devil, mezzotint,
   Mind the z! (A gentle hint.)

Now you need not pay attention
To such sounds as I don't mention,
   Sounds like pores, pause, pours and paws,
   Rhyming with the pronoun yours;

Nor are proper names included,
Though I often heard, as you did,
   Funny rhymes to unicorn,
   Yes, you know them, Vaughan and Strachan.

No, my maiden, coy and comely,
I don't want to speak of Cholmondeley.
   No. Yet Froude compared with proud
   Is no better than McLeod.

But mind trivial and vial,
Tripod, menial, denial,
   Troll and trolley, realm and ream,
   Schedule, mischief, schism, and scheme.

Argil, gill, Argyll, gill. Surely
May be made to rhyme with Raleigh,
   But you're not supposed to say
   Piquet rhymes with sobriquet.

Had this invalid invalid
Worthless documents? How pallid,
   How uncouth he, couchant, looked,
   When for Portsmouth I had booked!

Zeus, Thebes, Thales, Aphrodite,
Paramour, enamoured, flighty,
   Episodes, antipodes,
   Acquiesce, and obsequies.

Please don't monkey with the geyser,
Don't peel 'taters with my razor,
   Rather say in accents pure:
   Nature, stature and mature.

Pious, impious, limb, climb, glumly,
Worsted, worsted, crumbly, dumbly,
   Conquer, conquest, vase, phase, fan,
   Wan, sedan and artisan.

The th will surely trouble you
More than r, ch or w.
   Say then these phonetic gems:
   Thomas, thyme, Theresa, Thames.

Thompson, Chatham, Waltham, Streatham,
There are more but I forget 'em-
   Wait! I've got it: Anthony,
   Lighten your anxiety.

The archaic word albeit
Does not rhyme with eight-you see it;
   With and forthwith, one has voice,
   One has not, you make your choice.

Shoes, goes, does *. Now first say: finger;
Then say: singer, ginger, linger.
   Real, zeal, mauve, gauze and gauge,
   Marriage, foliage, mirage, age,

Hero, heron, query, very,
Parry, tarry fury, bury,
   Dost, lost, post, and doth, cloth, loth,
   Job, Job, blossom, *****, oath.

Faugh, oppugnant, keen oppugners,
Bowing, bowing, banjo-tuners
   Holm you know, but noes, canoes,
   Puisne, truism, use, to use?

Though the difference seems little,
We say actual, but victual,
   Seat, sweat, chaste, caste, Leigh, eight, height,
   Put, nut, granite, and unite.

****** does not rhyme with deafer,
Feoffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
   Dull, bull, Geoffrey, George, ate, late,
   Hint, pint, senate, but sedate.

Gaelic, Arabic, pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific;
   Tour, but our, dour, succour, four,
   Gas, alas, and Arkansas.

Say manoeuvre, yacht and *****,
Next omit, which differs from it
   Bona fide, alibi
   Gyrate, dowry and awry.

Sea, idea, guinea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
   Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean,
   Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion with battalion,
   Rally with ally; yea, ye,
   Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, key, quay!

Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, receiver.
   Never guess-it is not safe,
   We say calves, valves, half, but Ralf.

Starry, granary, canary,
Crevice, but device, and eyrie,
   Face, but preface, then grimace,
   Phlegm, phlegmatic, ***, glass, bass.

Bass, large, target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, oust, joust, and scour, but scourging;
   Ear, but earn; and ere and tear
   Do not rhyme with here but heir.

Mind the o of off and often
Which may be pronounced as orphan,
   With the sound of saw and sauce;
   Also soft, lost, cloth and cross.

Pudding, puddle, putting. Putting?
Yes: at golf it rhymes with shutting.
   Respite, spite, consent, resent.
   Liable, but Parliament.

Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew, Stephen,
   Monkey, donkey, clerk and ****,
   Asp, grasp, wasp, demesne, cork, work.

A of valour, vapid vapour,
S of news (compare newspaper),
   G of gibbet, gibbon, gist,
   I of antichrist and grist,

Differ like diverse and divers,
Rivers, strivers, shivers, fivers.
   Once, but *****, toll, doll, but roll,
   Polish, Polish, poll and poll.

Pronunciation-think of Psyche!-
Is a paling, stout and spiky.
   Won't it make you lose your wits
   Writing groats and saying "grits"?

It's a dark abyss or tunnel
Strewn with stones like rowlock, gunwale,
   Islington, and Isle of Wight,
   Housewife, verdict and indict.

Don't you think so, reader, rather,
Saying lather, bather, father?
   Finally, which rhymes with enough,
   Though, through, bough, cough, hough, sough, tough??

Hiccough has the sound of sup...
My advice is: GIVE IT UP!
Not one of mine but I thought it a fun look at our funny language
The Noose May 2014
The truism of a fading facade
Diminished novelty
And vanished reverers

Blinded by an idle fancy
Treading on the periphery
Of disgrace
Closer to horror
Than to ecstasy

The vacant spaces
Are growing dimmer

Tangled in high lonesomeness
In your kingdom of grey.
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
It may be a truism but optimists cant escape it....
No one is right all of the time.
The only difference there has ever been is the frequency between  being wrong and right.

When an optimist falls in the woods only the pessimists will notice.
Is there greater strength in optimism or greater height to fall from?
Is attitude enough or is it deceptive?
Francie Lynch Apr 2016
I attended a house concert last night. I go to about three a year. The hardest working musicians in the business. The fella last night was from Newfoudland. Drove to Victoria, then to Sarnia, my hometown. Drove thirty-three hours from Regina... in one day. Old and new friends were present, all of us living the middle-class life.
He sang a song, Money Can't Make You Happy.
That's not a truism. It's an opinion. It sounds... eh...
Go for a walk, but you need to cover your feet.
Watch the tele, you need a room.
Have some We time; Your place or mine?
We relish our North American Middle-Class Life.
It's true... money can't make you happy,
But I'd be unhappy without it... some of it.
Later, as I was getting in my Kia,
The Newfoundlander was getting into his Volvo,
With happy tail-lights.
Ottar Mar 2014
walking goes better with one foot in front of the other,
left, right, left, right or right, left, right, left it is about
the cadence after all.

breathing goes better by blowing out to make room,
bad air out, fresh air in, bad air out, fresh air in, bad air out
it is about sequence and consequence, do you believe?

living takes your breath away at times,
walking is not always possible when you are on your knees,
gripped by disease, missing limbs but still embrace life,
frozen in a catatonic state not wanting to move for fear
for fear, for fear grips mens prostate, and
takes women's rooted relationships away
glean what life means from the women, men
when you have a job and no place to live,
when you have friends and they have a couch to give,
for a week or two, and the lessons you have learned
from the life you have lived, that has broken you
busted you in two, your ideals don't match up with success,
what a truism of altruism, give it all away and you will get,
patience now it has not happened yet...and you wonder if it
ever will.

Stay away from bureaucracy, become an entrepeneur,
gain a skill that will always put food on the table,
run with your ideas when you are able, and remember
there is no finish line, you just run the race.
For Peter, my son
Satsih Verma Aug 2017
Almost reached.
Your tongue slips;
Then you fall.

The cyclone,
develops an eye, to hit.
You become blind.

An outcast―
became a star
in dark sky.

Why the elite,
of choice or exhibit―
wants to wear rags?
Too many religions
Too many interpretations.
There is truth in their folly.
Each religion beautiful in its own way.
Each one incomplete by itself, each naming
The Infinite Light, - God, Allah, Yahweh or Buddha rendering
A human division when True Light is anything but divisive.
The blessed mother Mary, the crown jewel in Catholicism,
Was she Catholic? - I only ask of you the truism
Found in this simplest of questions.
In her life, the word Catholic never even existed.
The Infinite Light appears in all religions - as fluid
As the Love that each of the religions seem to know.
In the common threads between the religions an echo
Reverberates through the world enlightening those who realize
That Faith is unanimous and Love is something that we can materialize.

So the question, no matter how it's asked it is always the same -
Do you believe in God?
I do not mean - do you believe in some religion's fairy tale,
I mean - do you believe that there is some power greater than ourselves
Which is The Light, The Infinite Light that created everything that
We know of and all that we can ever know of?

I like to think of it like this;

We as human beings utilize only a small portion of our brain.
If you place the human brain under emotionally charged situations,
Such as, meditation, joy, stress, fear or physical trauma - then the neurons
In the brain begin firing resulting in an enhanced mental clarity.
You may say, 'So what, just because you are thinking more clearly -
It does not mean that you are communicating with the Infinite Light.'
But you must also agree that sometimes unfathomable answers to what seems
Like impossible questions occur in these moments of clarity.
Biologists call it 'Altered States'; Gurus call it 'Higher Consciousness';
Psychologist's call it a 'Super Capacity for Sensation or Feeling.'
Some call it Psychic, others simply call it crazy.
Religions call it answered prayer.

I say it is simply an adjusting of the brain to learn what the heart already knows.
Each of us already has the knowledge given unto us by the Infinite Light -
We only need to open our minds and hear our inner self.
So please don't dwell on the differences.
Find Peace in what makes us all the same.
Don't you get tired of the current news? Each story mixing up an already inflated population of angry people. We must learn to see through the design and ignore their hateful influences.
Pagan Paul Jan 2020
.
There is a presence here,
can't you feel it crackling
through the evening air?
Creeping into the mind
as an invasion by consent.

A candle flame flickers
as an errant string thrums,
a note of announcement
and precedent to an army
set to join the invasion.

There is a presence here,
can't you feel it cloying
at open waiting ears,
seeping over the babble
as an intrusion most welcome.

A chord breaks silence
as a voice slow gently hums
a prelude to old new songs,
an accompaniment to a jangle
as the errant string conforms.

There is a presence here,
can't you hear it calling
to the blood in your veins,
freezing the moments solid,
speaking at corpuscular levels.

An excitement of particles
agitate an expectant atmosphere,
curved air starts to resonate
an apocryphal truism that
there is a Presence … here.


© Pagan Paul (15/01/20)
.
A poem inspired by Presence open mic nite.
A place that gifts me 10 mins a week to
perform my poetry to an audience.
10 of my most appreciated minutes per week.
.
It's a good day to live, to die, to try and write
I might even say it's a good day to wonder
outside of Pandora's keyhole
but you'd think it was a euphemism,
an alchemy when in reality it's a truism
as real as this.

If you'd told me the secret
let me in on where you keep it
we could do away with injustice
as you do away, every day.

In Lancashire
which is where the cheese is from and
on some promenade or off on the side
they're going to frack

Westminster backed the money men
and now we're ******* in knots
so
tell me how local is local when London's
disloyal?

I'd ask a Royal
but there's never one about when
the **** hits the fan,
well
not since Princess Diana
but
that's another sad story.
Carlo C Gomez Oct 2019
Ashes of my son
in this bottle
wash ashore
to remind us the years are fragile
and too quickly they're no more

Strands of my daughter
on this brush
remain a lovely brunette
and a none-too-kind truism:
we begin to die from the very outset

A stone's throw is all we have
Lori Jean Dec 2014
Since childhood, the mind chose bright.  Ignore the darkness; view the light.
Blame yourself, and make it right.   Prove your worth.  Here on earth.

Age advances, still not swayed.  Heart so caring, it paves the way.
Padded feelings, locked away.  So imperfect; it’s hard to stay.  Here on earth.

Cry for love, but don’t let in.  Once exposed, you’re ******* again.  
Judgmental mind, expectations tall; yourself and them, doomed to fall.  Here on earth.

Slice the vein. Blood freely flows.  Scream in pain.  Let no one know.  Much easier to let them go.
Isolate.  Deny your hate.  Create your fate.  Here on earth.

I see your heart; pure or not.  You cannot hide.  I cannot stop.  
Your tear is mine; so deeply real.  I try to flee.  Your pain I feel.   Here on earth:

The aging mind; whose thoughts can’t find.
The child wails; as evil impales.
Cancer thrives; please don’t die.
Old age ensues; so sure to lose.
Anarchy spreads, the souls are dead.
Wrong is right.  Condone the plight.  
All weary from the useless feuds.  Just spare from me your platitudes.  HERE ON EARTH.

Truism is commonplace.  Cliché, banality; the human race.
Do not attempt to state my pace.
(Did you figure out the redundant place?)  

Do you care enough to read my face?  Are you smart enough to avoid the bait?  Or, weakened is it just too late? Here on earth.
copyright 12/1/2015 Lori Jean Vance
TERRY REEVES Feb 2016
HEALTHY YOUNG PEOPLE SHOULD NOT READ,
ONLY SEARCH FOR INFORMATION WHEN YOU NEED,
SOMEONE ASKED ME: 'WHERE DO YOU GET YOUR IDEAS FROM?'
I REPLIED: 'YOU TALKING, ASKING ME IS ONE,'
IT DOESN'T EVEN MATTER IF WHAT I SAY IS WRONG;
TIME IS SHORT, YOU READ MY WORK WHEN I'M GONE,
YOU WONDER WHAT'S MEANT WHEN THE PASSAGE COMES ALONG,
MAYBE ONLY I KNEW THE QUESTION WILL HANG IN THE AIR,
YOU'LL WRITE YOUR OWN WORK AND THEN YOU'LL CARE;
IT WILL BE LIKE MAKING LOVE FOR THE FIRST TIME,
YOU STARTED OFF WITH SUCH SPEED AND ENTHUSIASM,
YOU REALIZED WHAT THEY'D TOLD YOU WAS A TRUISM,
WHEN IT'S OVER, YOU MAY THINK IT'S AN ANTI -******,
IF YOU DID IT RIGHT - YOUR BAPTISM FOR NOTHING LACKS.
Francie Lynch Aug 2017
May I take this opportunity to be plain and simple.
I've learned by speaking less, listening little,
Reading and watching more.
Let's begin with the beginning, something simple,
Birth.
It's universal, a de facto truism.
We've caused it, done it, feared, dreaded, cherished it.
Birth is like unto us a parable.

Which brings me to religion. From being ditch water
to the moon landing and beyond, we've pursued the ideal through
knowledge. One  of our earliest stories tells we paid dearly for it
too; otherwise we'd have grasped thunder and forgone tresspassing on foreign lands.
A favorite quotation convincingly talks about turning into dust. I've seen the hate and violence, and the bodies unearthed weren't even dust. The ragged clothing looked more like us. I think the most confusing quote is about being in an afterlife with your body.
Why? Who you gonna swim with?  

                  Vestal ****** ******. Maintains an Eternal *******.

The poet said, Why worry about death. There's nothing to
worry about.

Hmmm!

So, then, what's up with death?
Well, what I know for sure, is that it's a lot like birth,
With one fatal difference.
nivek Sep 2015
its a truism
if you are a smoker
you will smoke your way to death

but what is not said
is the fact that it will not necessarily be the smoking
that kills you
digress from this river that flows into a straight line. the following here
   will be that there is another body waiting at the brink of
      another figure lacking in speech: brook as excursion.

this plaintive leitmotif this afternoon. everything smells
        of old furniture. something this is trying
to preserve wrung out of suspicion, shorn out of air
        and unrest. when I begin saying it, and when I become
what I want to become, I will fold you in a manner

of houses. tell me of the footfall before I plunge.
   outside my home you will be waiting

for a question because you liked the idea that
       askance is the heart of all assertions.
and I will slowly begin to realize that imagination
   as machine, has not failed me.

when moved by the sight of you,
   gradually dissipate.

when halted by the inching step of
   your basis,
take a moment as evidence

and use as ground for furtive contest.

when there is evitable cipher of silence,
     I will phrase gestures into something like a metaphor
would induce

    when there is meaning, there is the moving away
and coming unabashed, pendulum your way into two walls
   as weathered as this house. Your face, a thousand adorations.
                  your heart a truism in the heat
   of naivety in place of a wild embrace.
              your hands this evening, tremulous, nervously seeking
to be one with my measurement: this thing that has nothing to do with me,
      except we have such fondness over allowing sorry states.
that we have use for what we have no use for. This thing,
   a fragment so foreign to me,
                            like hearing my name disintegrate, as if a thing
     of obsolescence, as everything is.
Megan Sherman Aug 2017
And so I cried for Love, it's Love I cried,
In fathoms like an ocean pure and wide,
And who on Earth can, lucky, say they find,
The juicy pulp of Love, its fertile rind,
What laurels are there beautiful enough,
To crown Love's skies, paint them like Van Gogh,
It's as if a mystery to, sultry, spy,
Into truth of her priceless charity,
And so I ride Love's chariot, in to day,
And see saints and angels going on their way,
Weaving Love like golden, magic threads,
Between us going soft with gentle treads,
And who of us can say they've fathomed more,
Than Love, irresistible to adore,
Love a pure and rarest of all oceans,
For Love is life and life a sweet devotion,
And so I cried for Love, no treasure vain,
For passion's flower blossoms for Love's rain,
Who would forgo her tribulations, pains,
For Love without suffering fakes, it feigns,
To be a truism when it's known by all,
That to be lift by love one must first take tumble, fall,
Till Love's light shines, a beatitude hath us rapt in thrall,
Her dearth does the righteous mind appall,
But luscious Love does ever find its way,
To Hearts all charred and scarred by their dismay,
With her music in their hearts the saints uproar,
It's impossible to tell who's singing more,
Her Psalms and pieties to soul devote,
A blessed one never by Love smote,
For being the most ravishing of babes,
Not dark could sully him, nor ravages of age.

— The End —