"tuxedos" poems
I remember his smile
His embrace
His touch on my fingers
As he played beside me
We made such beautiful music
Why did you have to go?
I loved watching you
Prepare for concerts
The calone you always wore
Always making sure
The tuxedos were fitted right
You would play the melodies
Of your life for all that would hear
Just as suddenly it was over
The music lost its magic
I played one last time
As I closed my eyes
I began to cry
I felt you next to me again
As I finished the song and quietly stood for the final bow
I saw you
In white
In front of you crystal piano
Smiling at me as you played
The same melody
Now it lives on on me.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 1:29 AM UTC
Are you my penguin?
Yes. . . this may surely sound odd
But, the beauty of the basis of this question
Is true
You see, these simple little lovely tuxedos
They waddle around the forever winter
All by there lonesome
Until they spot another little tuxedo
Roaming the winter flakes
They fall in love
Rub their icy beaks
Together they are one
They waddle together now
Have little tuxedos of their own
Raise them, then grow old together
Never leaving one another's side
That is the love I feel
That is the curious little emotion I carry for you
I have penguin love for you my dear
I've known it a very long time now
So I ask you, my sweetheart
Are you my forevermore?
Here to stay until we are old and crazy?
Are you my true love?
Are you my penguin love?
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
In comes one every week,
tracking into my home the filth of the streets:
some are patterned like cows,
some wear tuxedos,
some have turtle shells on their backs.
One looks like a whole spice rack spilled out on him.
Barn cats, alley cats, stray cats, exotic cats—
she says no to none of them.
This home is wild and foolish like her mind.
That compassion pours out like acid on my bones.
Then I’m forced to shoot her down
with words that fly out like bullets,
and more mouthfuls
and more mouthfuls of bullets
that all but ricochet off her iron clad will.
You turn so perfectly
down your roads of passion.
Creep on through the stop signs I put up
and mount on my head the horns,
the ones we pretend we can’t see,
the ones that let the bullets soar,
bullets to **** you again,
horns to undress your sister.
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 4:37 PM UTC
For the first time on campus, Sisters on the Runway will strut and pose for domestic violence awareness.
Sisters on the Runway will be hosting its first annual fashion show from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. tonight in the Business Building. All proceeds will be donated to the Centre County Women's Resource Center, Layla Taremi president of the organization, said.
Sisters on the Runway is a national student-run organization that raises awareness about women and children who reside in domestic violence shelters. There are over five chapters throughout the nation, each supporting the same cause to local shelters. It was founded in 2009 and has grown since then, Taremi (sophomore-marketing) said.
Aside from the fashion show, which is the biggest fundraising event that the organization hosts, Sisters on the Runway is also responsible for other events. The organization hosts a chalking event where they write facts about domestic violence on sidewalks using chalk. This is a way for them to raise domestic violence awareness, Taremi said. It also hosts a walk where all participants walk a mile in heels for awareness.
The show will consist of eleven female models and three male models, Edie Alexander, the event planner, said.
Alexander said the show is expected to showcase clothing from Connections, Dwellings, Diamonds and Lace Bridal and Harper's, who are also their sponsors. Looks Hair Salon will be responsible for hair and makeup for the models in show, Taremi said.
"There is no theme for the show,” Taremi said. “It will be a wide spectrum of clothing."
The male models are expected to walk the runway showcasing suits and tuxedos, Taremi said. Originally the show was not going to include male models. It wasn't until the owners of Harper's decided to contribute to the show by donating some men's apparel for the fashion show.
All the models participating have been building up their confidence for the runway, Alexander (sophomore-recreation park and tourism management) said.
"I'm excited for our first annual fashion show, I hope this brings more awareness to the Penn State community," Vice President Lauren Shearer (sophomore-supply chain management) said.
The organization’s goal is to get a lot of people involved through different events to help raise awareness of domestic violence, Shearer said.
"We’re trying to push people to come, not just Penn State students, because it's not an issue that doesn't only affects college students,” Alexander said. “It affects everyone as well."Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
summer, spring, winter, fall,
it always carried a whiff of cleanliness, like lysol,
bleach and daffodils had made a not so secret love
child.
there were never any marks. no signs of mistakes,
accidents, humanity.
the floors glistened like the sun beaming off a black
convertible.
the windows, you couldn’t even tell they were
windows. not without the panes.
transparent like the shores of the Mediterranean.
I never touched anything.
I held my breath among glass, ornaments, picture frames.
afraid one intake would show up like a smudge that could
never be wiped off, no matter how much one tried.
she fits the house. like those china dolls, polished to perfection.
blonde hair rolled in unison curls. no frizz. never any
fly aways.
face just like those windows, eyes raging in a storm too far away.
his room was the only one i could sink in.
legos scattered
(i always stepped on the yellow ones)
clothes fuming with dirt and almost manhood.
his posters crooked, carrying characters dressed in
armor, or tuxedos, animated, weapons in hand.
his bed, never made, incasing the last impression of his body
(he always slept on his side)
a spot of drool still visible, blankets holding his scent.
soap, laundry detergent and oranges.
game controllers trashed, bite marks, dents, too many battles.
i finally breathed when i walked in.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 8:06 PM UTC
I see you
I've seen those eyes before
Drowning in patched-up paddle boats
With promises of tomorrow slipping down your face
Like saline shipwrecks fleeing harbor
And greeting the ocean floor with damaged handshakes
And now you're hopeless
Focused on could have been's and maybe one day's
Knowing one day
Swelled up storm clouds
Could slide through your cheek bones
Like sunshowers preventing your skyline parades
But I see you still searching for rainbows
Covering your face with two handfuls of imagination
Daydreaming of days where technicolor dreamcoats
Become wrapped around your soul
Like tuxedos for the bold
I've seen those arms before
Deafeated willow branches in the moonlight
Rebellious to rise upright
And now you're tired
Only fired up when your flesh
Converts to kindling on a campfire
Building sparks that shimmer for seconds
When your light deserves a lifetime
But I see you still inclined to shine brightly
Trying to assign meaning to your life with two inspired limbs
That can freely build bridges or climb mountaintops
Clinging onto hope with sturdy fists
Exploring the peaks of your potential
I've seen those legs before
Tattered toothpicks on prom night
Frozen in stage fright on the dance floor
Pressing muted prayers with each footstep
Into creaky floorboards waiting for silence to ensue
And now you're nervous
You're certain those two left feet can't possibly find the rhythm
So your shoes are the victims of bashfulness
Fearing one false step will uproot your jitterbugs
And place them alongside the butterflies in your stomach
But I see you still owning your insecurities
Because you know you're alive just fine
I see you
You are who I envisioned you to be
I see you
Brushstrokes of imperfections shaded in perfectly
I see you
It's more than just your typical hello
It's a phrase for all of us to speak solely with our souls
It can make you feel at home at the center of your bones
When all your hope is lost and there's no where left to go
So when I greet you
Listen carefully
This is a reminder that your eyes can be thunderous
Your arms can be victorious
And your legs can be ambitious
Your presence is necessary for this discussion
And your essence is accepted here
Let me speak your spirit into existence
Seeing is believing
And believe me
I see you
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
I walked into the ballroom - surrounded by tuxedos and long revealing gowns. An orchestra was playing a song from Our Town. People stood together, as if protected from their fate. I looked towards the door, but I knew it was too late.
Too late to leave, too early to stay.
Play me that sad song the one we used to play.
Song called, "Evergreen" from another lifetime ago. Do you remember the way I held you as we danced so slow.
Where are you - is it too late for you to get here?
Is it too soon for you to believe?
I can see you standing against the wall - would you like to dance with me?
A piano is playing, an older man tickling the keys. playing a song for dancing, playing a song for you and me.
"Touch me in the morning..." We stood close together, through the window we can see the stormin'.
"Then just walk away..." Your arms around my neck, my arms around your waist.
"We don't have tomorrow..." I kiss your lips, I feel your tongue...
"But we had yesterday..." The piano stops and the orchestra is silenced.
The doors open and we walk our as one - tuxedos and long revealing dresses, piano man and the storm.
I put my arm 'neath yours - you place your head on my shoulder. The orchestra begins to play a song as we walk through the doors. The music fades as we walk in the rain - we walk towards a tree and we stand beneath it. The roots of our love keeping us warm - keeping us close.
Lightening and then Thunder - striking 100 times for you and me. While the old man sits by the piano - playing that old song for you and me.
Together through life - each other's stories run together like the days and nights of our time...our tree has blossomed and its growing so fast - if we don't have tomorrow our yesterday will keep our memory alive forever.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
Take my hand - you've got to
feel fun time's heading
closer
Futuristic daydreams
are at hand -handy!
microchipped wild
boys and girls
on rent - hardly paid off -
dance! Roll the dice!
Flicker eyes!
Adrift on the dimlit
flourescent
effervescent
reflector rays°°°°you're
never lost or at loss;
Coloured circles glide
across the dancefloor______
bouncy boots swoon, high heels
crack, remastered barefoot Tribe~
Enjoys momentary revelations!
Latino lovers attracting
honey dew magnetic more-s
rain coats off - smiley coasts shine on~
those cunning shenanigan freckles
pressed redhair beauties against
needy torsos in ecco-leather jackets
electrified silhouettes stunning
like elves un-fading beauty
transforming tuxedos
of a tight
night; a jingle of
Prague crystals into
one dancing wave submerged
by the vicinity of hissing tongues
-been- beaten by fierce kissing
in a stronghold ballroom
frenzy - polarized
beatings - hi-s and bye-s ; a
stroboscopic syncopation
ecstatic hips,
space shuttle
trips
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Vibrations coursing through ones body
Crazed mazes and uncontrollable sensations.
Weird feelings in the air and strange tuxedos that don't even fit them.
But who cares, the vibes are sent by what you feel reflecting upon what you see.
You make them.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
your "friends" that we meet,
i forget their names,
my calloused palms are greased,
by their squeezing hands
i remember one's a banker,
or he could have said a thief,
his ******** words were flanked,
by my misbelief
i was held hostage,
you were a smiling drone,
i remember when i lost
to Stockholm Syndrome
their Heirloom Suffix changes,
on tuxedos and trust funds,
my rental wears just fine,
i'm not the danger
shorting stocks on tuesday,
while playing ball in hand,
what a shame to lose me,
busted seams this man
I am not a banker,
I am not a saint,
I cannot to be trusted,
I won't place the blame.
I am not a proxy,
I am an astronaut,
But this distant world you live on,
Is far from my plot
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC
Oh the mutedly loud
The warmness and romance of the space;
Red velvet,
Dimmed lights,
Set tables,
Candlelight,
Waiters in tuxedos.
A mingling party.
Wine and cheese,
Contrast with compliment.
I feel as if to walk out the double doors to a sweet scented garden under the stars, with a stone path, sides outlined by glimmering candles.
A night to remember,
For I'm with loved ones
At a unique event.
Feb 26, 2011
Feb 26, 2011 at 1:55 PM UTC
I'm thinking of how I return to the spot in the disco ball moonlight
and I'm catching my breath.
I always noticed people who are uptight
using humor as a mask.
This masquerade is filled with gowns of glitter
and tuxedos of black and white.
We dance, we chat, we drink our beloved manhattan and gin.
I'm more than excited to be at the masquerade,
Though I'm hit by past behavior of craziness and belting profanity.
I didn't mean it.
Just want everyone focused on my glitter so I now still wear a mask.
Can we still dance?
Can I have one more drink?
Can they learn to move forward?
Behavior is like a masquerade.
Dress to perfection, and don't drink too much or you'll end the night with humiliation and grief.
Play with your boa but don't chase if it doesn't catch his eye.
Don't lay a hand on her if she refuses a dance with you.
Be kind to the others at the ball.
Smile and whatever is hurting inside,
put a mask on it.
We don't need to ruin everyone's time at the wonderful masquerade.
Some may or may not
Forget.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
I want him to have a beard.
I want him to read.
I want him to feel the weight of words on his chest.
I want him to always feel his heart skip a beat when I tell him I love him.
I want him to know the value of ‘I love you’.
I want him to be educated.
I want him to look through things.
I want him to overlook superficials.
I want him to be tall.
I want him to be sportive.
I want him to be well built.
I want him to take care of himself,
I want him to take care of me too.
I want him to worthy his family.
I want him to put God first.
I want him to have ambitions.
I want him to feel comfortable with me through silences.
I want him to be home, my home.
I want him to have black hair.
I want him to be social.
I want him to be proud of me.
I want him to have brown eyes.
I want him to make me believe in forever.
I want him to appreciate the little stuff.
I want him to make me feel safe.
I want him to give up his soul to singers singing their sorrow.
I want him to value the little things.
I want him to wear tuxedos.
I want him to wear dress shirts and ties.
I want him to find comfort in pain.
I want him to despise smoking.
I want him to see that enjoying your life is beyond partying and getting drunk.
I want him to keep his promises.
I want him to see women as equal to men as 1 is equal to 1.
I want him to like kids.
I want him to be committed.
I want him to understand the emptiness I feel inside,
I want him to fill it.
I want him to be brave.
I want him to be protective.
I want him to not be ashamed to cry.
I want him to support me.
I want him to get along with the people I love.
I want him to be the missing piece that completes my puzzle.
I want him to be my source of peace.
I want him to hug me tight, and never let go.
I want him to want me.
Or maybe I don’t want any of those things, maybe I just want him to fall for me and catch me as I fall for him too.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
The Night hosts her socials for the monsters inside and out
In the moonlight we come dancing, clinking bottles, wandering about
We are goblins, ghouls, mummies, witches, zombies and misfits alike
Dressed up in our finest tuxedos, pearls, lace, bloodstains and the like
The Daylight wont have us, but the Night plays hostess to our monster bones
She slips into her midnight blue party dress and she puts on the Ramones
And we dance
we dance
we dance
O, we are the dark psychopaths, the feared, the soulless creatures
We companions by the moonlight are shaking, stammering vultures
We are friends in wayward trudges, we are spitting, foaming vermin
We are in love We are the World's rejected kin
The ghouls and the witches and our old zombie friends,
The World's most dark and repulsive in clear-cut diamonds,
We monsters aren't alone in the night, drunken, broke and hideous,
Charming and disgusting, we are the Night's beloved insidious
In the night, we are happy, giddy, wasted children
We are the Fiend Club, we are the monster brethren
Until we are caught, disfigured, drunk and red-handed by the Daylight
And we make our way home, to crawl under the floorboards and sleep until twilight
Until the Night's long fingers slip an invitation under the door
And we will put our party dresses and our tuxedos on once more
*O, the moon is out and the Fiend Club has woken
The Night is young and we are broken*
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 4:53 AM UTC
*Round tables and cocktails
Cuisines and Champagne
Candles and moonlight
Whispers and laughter
Tuxedos and dresses
Flowers and kisses
Jazz and piano
You and I*
•
© Raphael Uzor
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
four feeble pairs of wings
flapping, beaks preening
imaginary things.
mom bird looking old
pop bird real bold
their four offspring
are being told
"avoid the black birds
the biggest and the blackest"
they perch on the rooftop
near the gutter, cheeping
loudly all a flutter
even in the bird world
the squeakiest young'un
gets the greasiest grub
diving, landing, more
feeding on demanding,
mom and pop bird are
in charge, "beware of wings
size, LARGE"
finding a wet garden bed,
beaking the broken ground till
tiny pebbles and tiny insects
feed the hunger digest the rest.
Young wings no longer frail,
flight and landings
dive and lift, glide
and swoop, and land alight
on the edge of a solo flight
until the three birdboys and one birdgirl
find a mate, each
(And give mombird and popbird a wel-deserved rest)
oh and as for the three bad birds
in all black tuxedos, they were chased
and they raced away from six fast
fearless finches
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
(a poem I wrote for Auntie Annie’s funeral).
Well you’ve all taken your time… while I’ve been waiting here.
I’m about to trip the light fantastic in all this sparkly gear.
And, because the aches and pains have gone, I’m about to strut my stuff.
I’m dressed in Rose Organza with feathers and pink fluff.
I’m surprised at how well I feel settling into this ‘other’ side.
I’m sure I’ll calm down after some frivolity, then take things in my stride.
For now though the spirit is upbeat testing my wings; making appearances near & far.
First though, a dance contest, tonight at Bridlington Spa!
Yes, I’ll be tripping the light fantastic… I’ve two partners in the wings.
Both husbands in smart tuxedos, brushing up their moves and things.
And I’m hoping we’ll cut a dash on that shimmering stairway to heaven…
Well, Wally was probably a six point five. And *** (my first love)… A SEVEN!
But seriously…my body had reached the bitter end and my memory was little better.
Who was who - and what was what - was touch and go, and… let a
ninety two year old tell you with chair, zimmer frame or stick…
that the thought of stepping comfortably - toward that light… FANTASTIC!
… and even more seriously…
I’ll look out for all you kids… with a word or voice on the wind as it whistles through the trees.
Catch a glimpse in a crowd… “Was that?” NEVER?!. But It might be just my scent on the breeze.
But for us to be in touch again, however brief, we must be ready and enthusiastic.
I’ll prompt you to think of me as I trip toward that light… FANTASTIC!
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 5:10 AM UTC
For gory guys and glamour ghouls
The Night hosts her socials for the monsters inside and out
In the moonlight we come dancing, clinking bottles, wandering about
We are goblins, ghouls, mummies, witches, zombies and misfits alike
Dressed up in our finest tuxedos, pearls, lace, bloodstains and the like
The Daylight wont have us, but the Night plays hostess to our monster bones
She slips into her midnight blue party dress and she puts on the Ramones
And we dance
we dance
we dance
O, we are the dark psychopaths, the feared, the soulless creatures
We companions by the moonlight are shaking, stammering vultures
We are friends in wayward trudges, we are spitting, foaming vermin
We are in love We are the World's rejected kin
The ghouls and the witches and our old zombie friends,
The World's most dark and repulsive in clear-cut diamonds,
We monsters aren't alone in the night, drunken, broke and hideous,
Charming and disgusting, we are the Night's beloved insidious
In the night, we are happy, giddy, wasted children
We are the Fiend Club, we are the monster brethren
Until we are caught, disfigured, drunken, red-handed by the Daylight
And we make our way home, to crawl under the floorboards and sleep until twilight
Until the Night's long fingers slip an invitation under the door
And we will put our party dresses and our tuxedos on once more
*O, the moon is out and the Fiend Club has woken
The Night is young and we are broken*
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
Reckoning gaze, learning ropes, knotty pine encasement, knowing what the box looks like from inside is preeminent inimitable. I was so certain last year would be it. Likely even, I thought the same the year before and years before that, all whilst whittling away, planks of this coffin, scratching to get out. Sealed in a fate, this vampiric rising, doomed to eternity of night crawling. Yet, by no means has glamour of Hollywood realm flickered any sheen, this direction. Not all vampires can afford tuxedos. Grosgrain lapels, and red satin lined capes do do wonders for former stars of silver screen, but this succubus prefers his naked lot. Apparently, malignant rogues who lie amongst worms don't always have the wardrobe to go with it. New Year's resolution: a tuxedo, perhaps some tails, and somewhere to wear them.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
Everyone,
take up your pencils and paper,
guitar strings and shoelaces,
bow-ties and tuxedos,
your make-up and plastic,
and ready yourselves for the hardest fight yet.
Everyone,
paint on your smiles,
spray your last drops of perfume,
eat a hearty breakfast,
be sure to grab your briefcase,
and ready yourselves for the final battle.
Today,
we fight.
We fight for the rich and the poor,
we fight for the victims of natural disaster,
we fight for your low grades,
your six-figure incomes,
we fight for ourselves,
for a brighter future,
we fight for genocide,
we fight for holocaust,
we fight for disease and famine,
and for religion.
Everyone,
take up your weapons of choice,
cry out your war cries,
dig deep down inside yourselves to summon the rage.
Fight for me,
fight for yourselves,
for everything you believe in.
Fight for love,
fight for war,
fight for peace,
for hatred.
Everyone,
whatever you do,
fight for something.
Because,
I tell you now,
I have lost my vision,
I have lost my purpose,
I have stopped believing.
Fight for me,
fore I have been taken captive by this game we call life.
Feb 14, 2010
Feb 14, 2010 at 1:11 PM UTC
I have always dreamed and hoped for a Princess,
a princess so priceless not worthless,
Someone magnetic not robotic
Someone with a gigantic and elastic figure,
So I can be less dramatic,
and be more romantic,
As I take her to Atlantic,
With my loyalty,
Someone I can wake up to with my poetic poem,
Placing her head on my chest,
Reciting a magnificent poem,
deep down from my heart,
As the melody of my voice ,
trigger through her veins,
Making it sweet and sour
to the beat of her soul,
As it sails,
Feeding her with some chicken alfredo,
to prove to her am not a ******
As we Sip together from a jug full of gip juice,
I may not be Rod Zimmer,
But I will take you to Zimmerberg
As we linger away in my hummer ,
Sooner, all through the whole summer,
As the sun rises,
u put on your giant over sized sweater,
While I pull off my tuxedos,
Putting on my tommy Hilfiger Boxer,
Holding hands,
On one lane,
making each steps count ,
As the memory stays,
having a sunset walk on the beach,
Gazing deep down at the sparkle
in your liquid blue eyes,
As it radiates to my soul,
You can't deny,
My smile warms your heart,
Under your sponge bob cover,
We are two heart beating on one rhythm,
Let my rhymes be your wine ,
as u read every line ,
always get high,
relent on my lines at bedtime
cause they wil never decline.
As they will always fill the unspoken words that
were never said within time.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 5:30 AM UTC
Have you ever tasted the spicy barrels of a firearm?
Although self-control may hammer her heart in rhythm with contemporary recollections of a distant Northern community; I have resigned myself to proclamations which can never be repeated in the streets of Miami.
I know that tropical storms can be relentless, especially where tuxedos are triggered by intense and acoustic fields of romantic death.
So, tell me, what are your co-ordinates? It is important that you pump your lever in a forward direction, because the troposphere hinges upon all of this anthropological turbulence.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 1:18 AM UTC
give me-the bowie knife of repartee,
nothing more satisfying than the
quick stabbing, a good blood letting,
in your genteel face, no hellish
moderated pace, the energetic plunge
of a quick lunge into the woebegone,
long after you count the meter tempo’d
use fingers and toes, but needing to hold
your nose, to include that extra
grace note, that belies denies the harmony
the tules and rules of calling order
to control the roost, sine-one
is a victim of a
down and virtuous ***** verbal slashing!
count my syllables, never,
let my stanzas run free,
like an African tiger,
with the goat of format
mounted in between his teeth,
bloodied and dripping dead,
the squealing of hyper innocente,
silent after cries of, kind sir,
me thinks thou protest too much!
we can squish and twist our holy words,
into formal tuxedos of cantankerous
arrowed arrogance,
but know this,
roses are read, them
violets, blue, have
turned millions of children to avert their
eyes from anything thereafter that was classified, notarized, canonized, sanctified
as the write rules of poetry
peals of pearls are born with parentage
of a lousy
grain of sand,
the words etched in the
lines upon my hand,
are lifelines of sidewalk cracks,
discarded candy wrappers,
the twisted ends cigarette butts,
used as proof that ash and dust are the
genetic source material of uncommon
great composition, given to those who
love the common touch of leaves of grass,
thstbeneath the heat of the sun that
exposes the nothingness of bitterness
know no one can run from the golden
visibility, of a sun, talent in pursuit of
egoism is a long road to a short history
yeah.
(faster than a speeding bullet)
Feb 18, 2025
Feb 18, 2025 at 3:28 AM UTC
Thank you for coming along for the ride,
Take your seat sir or madame,
Ride in style,
Take a seat,
it's guaranteed to be worthwhile.
Just stay sitting
enjoy the feast
of ravishing delight
feast your eyes
upon the merriment
simply gaze upon this sight:
The coyotes
they bring the howling
catcalls and beer nonetheless
Simply dashing in tuxedos,
Simply smashing up the guests
Tumble over chairs to see
the magical attraction
of the heat between your knees
that fantastical reaction
Simply dripping with disease
that undeniable distraction,
With the sparkling eyes
and wandering hands
she slips her fingers
in
to a come hither gesture
what lies in store
what lies in wait is in the measure.
Follow her to the depths
assuring your destruction,
instead to find
you find the light,
dysangelion satisfaction.
Jun 15, 2011
Jun 15, 2011 at 11:27 PM UTC
There comes a time in every young girl's life
When she wants to marry and be a young man's wife.
There comes a time and you need to remember this to the end.
It's good to be lovers but first you have to be friends.
One has to be the ying to the other one’s yang.
One has to be the umbrella to the other one’s rain.
There comes a time when she wants a white gown and maids with frilly dresses on,
And a groom and groomsman in black tuxedos and wearing Stetsons.
There comes a time you need to know marriage is about more than a bride and a groom.
It's about being together and letting your love bloom.
Try to keep things moving at an even pace.
Hold on to your love tight while giving it space.
Never hide anything, leave nothing in the dark.
Keep things interesting, always looking for that spark.
You need to be the air that the other one breaths,
And be the tree for the other one's leaves.
You need to be the strength for the other's weakness within,
And be the savior for the other one's sin.
When mining for love, there's one thing you need as a tool.
When excavating true love, you need the golden rule.
You need to be the left to their right, the right to their wrong.
You need to be the melody to their song.
You need to be the up to their down,
And help to keep the other one's feet on the ground.
Your dreams should be theirs and their dreams should be yours.
Keep this in your heart and your love will always be pure.
You have to be there for their every need,
And be the ground where they plant their seed.
So if you want to make it through all the years,
You have to feel their pain and share their tears.
Just a little word from the wise,
Take turns on who has to compromise.
So when you're walking down the aisle, remember something so true,
You are no longer one, now you are two.
But once you say I do and it’s over and done,
You’ve come together as two and now you are one.
There comes a time when a young girl finds a heart of gold,
And she finds a lover that's not afraid to be bold.
There comes a time when a young man reaches his goal
And marries a young girl that touches his soul.
STANLEY HENDRIX
07/2008
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC