"twee" poems
A little, twee serenade for you,
Or perhaps a sonnet for others,
I'm not asking for anything extravagant like, "I do."
Nor do I want you to scurry off beneath your couvers.
Where brother, art thou.
Although, to me, you're more of a sister.
To cradle you, here and now;
Under the galleria of lights, never to deter.
But...you're madly in love with another,
I know.
And it pains me to ask you, for I am not your prince, but a stranger.
It's probably too late, although...
I've mustered up a fragment of hope & courage to ask thee,
Will you go to Prom with me?
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
Was dit my sonde
om te droom, te wens?
Was dit wreed om te
verwag dat jy my
iewers in jou soet
woorde sou vind?
Kyk ek dalk na jou
met die oorhoofse
afwagting van 'n kind?
Sal jy met sjarme
my kan vermaak of
is teaterkuns
'n masker vir jou haat?
Ek smag na jou taal,
jou moedertong in
my uitgehongerde mond.
Oh die beeld-
wat ons
met sulks silwer stem
kan skep!
*** sal jou brief my vind?
Sal daar 'n tuin ontstaan
as ek jou antwoord naslaan?
Se jy sal bly, net vir my!
Se my brandewyn asem
het jou inner kind bevry!
Se net jy is lief vir my-
en ons sal saam
die tonnel-oog wereld
met soet liefde en
dronkmans woorde verlei.
Skryf saam met my in
hierdie silwertong,
en kyk *** die wereld
in afwagting verstar.
Die liefde wil blom
wanneer twee skrywers
bymekaarkom.
Die wereld raak nat,
met die geuiter,
van ons silwer tong.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
met a man once
and he took me to a steakhouse
the type where tuxedo men come back
with a twee bite-sized piece of meat on a plate
he ordered my steak for me
and though it glistened
the slab barely satisfied
the crack in my teeth
i was starving
and he kept talking about
business deals
and networking
to the type of cars that make him hard
which one of these thousand ******* forks
is best to stab?
making friends
with a bunch of pruned men
chatting business
he introduced me
she speaks Spanish
how exotic
raw and juicy
STEAK
sure does go well with potatoes
i started ordering loads of wine
when they all agreed that it was time
to make America great again
i downed even more down my throat
‘till I was seeing spuds in Versace
drinks for everyone!
we ordered like five bottles
so drunk
that I started mooing
but if this gasbag ever hopes to get laid
he’ll need to go to the slaughterhouse for that
meanwhile, let the bartender do the milking
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC
Het was herfst en vakantie. En vakantie en herfst.
En het was herfstvakantie.
Blaadjes hingen in de lucht.
Veel blaadjes hingen er, maar vooral veel liefde.
Al hing die niet, maar sprankelde en glinsterde.
Weg zijn de blaadjes en de straatjes van toen, maar kortbij is de liefde van toen en nu.
Die sprankelt en glinstert. Nog altijd, en voor altijd.
Naast elkaar in het busje als twee sterretjes naast elkaar aan een donkere koude hemel.
Het flesje de regen van de nacht.
De popcorn mijn hersens die wegsmolten.
De aanrakingen van lippen de zachte streling van de wind.
Ik denk dat vallende sterren is wat wij zijn.
Wat zijn we anders dan vol vuur en liefde vallend voor elkaar?
DREAMYWANDERER
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 10:27 AM UTC
**** jy die **** van yster-gordyn wat val en die aarde omhels ten laaste sy afwaartse versnelling.
Dit maak seer mamma...
Gewere word neergelê as ń universiële teken van hoop en vrede , maar verlang na ń lid van die geledere.
Dit maak seer mamma...
Ons was almal naïef; in ons drome was daar plek vir twee,
Ń eindelose see waar ons kon wegvaar van die ontbindinde spoke van gister, waar ons ons hande in soutwater-poele kon was iewers langs die kus van versoening...
Dit maak seer...
Niemand sou kon raai dat die jare se snellertrek en loopgraaf grawwe jou eens sagte vel kon magnetiseer nie... *** kon ek voorsien dat jy ń bietjie van die geweld gaan steel het om vir jouself te hou nie. *** sou ek weet dat jou vingers jeuk sonder die dooie staal wat dit streel nie...
Een skoot
Twee skote
Drie skote
Ń eenman vuurpelaton reën op my neer en dring deur my ope arms...
Jy het nog altyd ń plek in my hart gehad, maar nou het jy dit beset met lood en alle onskuld uitgerook met brandende kruit...
Dit maak seer...
Dele van jou hang nog swaar op al die plekke wat saakmaak en seermaak en trek my af grond toe...
Eina...
Liefde ek het altyd geweet ons het mekaar se ruë gehad... ek hey net nie geweet jy was besig om ń rooi kruis vir jou fissier op myne te verf nie...
Dit maak seer mamma...
Koebaai
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC
canyon wren
sings her sweet song
perched upon
the piñon-
for my love
who lies beneath-
the cottonwood
twee twee twee
tsheeeeee.
:)
r ~ 10/3/14
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 5:46 AM UTC
Yster slyp yster
en staal omhels
in n magtige bymekaarkoms
Die twee spoed monsters
om mekaargevou,
maak liefde, om die trane en seer
Daar was geen flitse
in die donker nag nie
tyd het stil gestaan
maar die hartseer gaan aan.
Yster slyp yster
en dank die Vader
die ronde oe bevat nog kleur
en die gapende monde vloek my
Yster slyp yster
maar my seer is gespaar
vir n ander dag
en 'n ander pad.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
I opened the page and read through the book.
Its title was --Hello Poetry!!.
BUT!! and this is a big BUT!!
It turned out to be overall a PRETTY but juvenile competition as to who could write the most rubbishy so called
'poems' in the Universe!!!
But to my amazement there was an even deeper malaise.
It was a cover for a competition to discover who could write most nauseous strings of meaningless associated words praising the brain dead scribblers of this twee juvenile ******* with **** licking adjective after **** licking adjective.
Emotional cripples all!!.
Do any of you really belive the **** you write is 'poetry'??? REALLY!!!!
I mean---come on!!
www.beyondenlightenment.c0.uk
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 11:47 AM UTC
Iemand reikt me een hand
Als ik verstar
verdwijnt de hand opnieuw in de schaduw
Twijfelend blijf ik staan
Ik tast in het duister ..
Niets
Net als ik me omdraai
verschijnt de hand opnieuw
Deze keer neem ik ze zonder aarzelen in de mijne
En als de schaduw wegtrekt
kijk ik recht in twee hemelsblauwe ogen
en wil ik nooit meer loslaten
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 7:51 PM UTC
Oh, hello there.
I managed to slip away from my previous adventure,
With the knight and his beloved.
My beloved, too;
I suppose.
I've stumbled upon a peculiar thing, though.
An olive tree,
In the midst of this lush underbrush.
It's quite twee,
If I do say so myself.
Although I'm more interested in the treasure below.
A pristine white glows beneath.
I twiddle with the branches a little to find a lovely treasure.
I sit down,
Outstretched my fingers towards the snow,
And carefully pluck at it,
Delicately brushing along the olives in the midst
Of my glissando.
Yohan Heineken, I believe.
A baroque composer.
My thoughts fluidly sailing as the leaves of the tree rustle,
And the snow echos as more olives fall upon it.
Like...an orchestra.
The olives falling unto the porcelain, I mean.
What a beautiful melody it creates,
And my fingers magically gloss along the porcelain,
Carefully molding the remaining olives into the crevices my fingers have made.
Oh dear, I've become too passionate for this!
I carry on anyways, 3rd Movement and all.
The Tempest...
A lovely play by Shakespeare & a dazzling story told by Beethoven.
Or simply a way to express my current emotions.
The wind carried the melody...
...to the ears of the waking princess.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC
If I hedge thus a drooling wager and cash in
on my thrice-foiled cravings for her overdue bites
(plus a guilt-free laugh at his expense), I can
use minced steps to sidle around too-lively
trunks, and avoid the need to heed thugs
barking mad from within their crevice-laid traps.
How those bug-eyed brutes'll clamor and claw at me
to discard this protective wrap, clued in by my rep
of never bending willfully to anybody
but her. "Come on, shed! Get, uh, new set of scales,
for you we will — promise!" is how she'd stammer,
roughly translating their not-so-twee chatter,
if she were there. Rather, in that lavishly apt way
she has, she'll be away picking suitable pelts
to adorn her newly uncovered, quite public shame
while fending off an advancing clod, who won't go
easily, but who does go on ad nauseam with
a penchant for naming every ******* thing
that haps vitally across his cocky path. Beyond
a simple relish of mischief, I'm doing this (mostly)
for her benefit. How could a persimmon
be forbidden, as if he had permission to make
such bargains? He's dismissed it as an ungainly fruit,
and mocked its likelihood to "lava thy lips"
with an orange pulp, but in that chance smattering lies
the matter to inflame my soul. I'll feed her
the pudding-fresh flesh, and strip it down
to its delectably small seeds. In their splitting
I'll glean the silvery utensils to spill
a man's wholly worthless future. Let's tuck in.
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 4:31 PM UTC
They shared a mutual hatred for people
that disclosed unsolicited details about their relationshits.
Even though they spoke everyday
goodbyes never got easier.
brb, gonna sleep for eight hours.
What will you dream of?
You want me to say you, and I want me to say you, but I have no control over my dreams. You're only reserved for my daydreams.
They exchanged a plethora of photographs.
#thighhighThursday
Send.
I lIkE yOuR sOcKs.
It wasn't long before they perfected the art of taking selfies in the shower.
Send.
LeT's PlAy NaKeD tWiStEr.
Sometimes they broke the unspoken rules they'd agreed to.
The rules that banned them from getting too cutesy;
or twee as he liked to put it.
Cuddling is just hugging laying down.
For much longer.
Cuddling is just horizontal hugging for a long time.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
my eye lids are heavier
than canvas shopping bags
after a particular gratitious shop
(fret not, i bought your biscuits)
and my heart is full of jangly
indie twee pop with a stomping bassline
that makes me want to dance with
tears in my eyes at times,
happy ones,
the kind that makes old(er) people in
old or stereotypical things proclaim
'turn off that infernal racket'
'what is that god awful noise'
etcetera but less circuituously
look at me world, i'm happy
look at this ******* smile
look at it
look at my yellowed teeth and tell me that i'm not a woman
look at my hair and tell me that i wasn't born with it
look at my face and pretend you've never seen anything so confusing
wait the last one didn't work did it
let me try again
give me the key to the city and i'll give you the key to my heart
okay the last one was a lie but
you get or can hopefully at least begin to grasp the point,
I can recommend some secondary reading if you're interested in reading around the topic.
but yes, where was i?
ah yes,
i'm on the crest of a sugar high
and i think i can see my house from here
i can see the ruins and the new developments going up
and from up here, as always,
everything is pretty ******* beautiful
there's so little air
no wait
another lie, sorry,
there's empty space with nothing in it
not even gas particles
only me and my feelings and
so little room to move in this tiny car
but i'm safe and i'm well
and i'm strapped in tight
and i can see my house from here.
honestly, it's that one right there.
i can see myself at the window,
eating a bagel with margarine
and wondering how the hell
I ever got so high off the ground.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
1. Understand Weather.
(Strangers on a bench,
Looking up.)
“Cirrus, I think.
Cirrocumulus?”
“Stratus surely.
Or altocumulus.”
(You must also hate the cold
And the sun,
And always wish the current season
Was a different one.)
2. Never Be Honest About Stuff That Hurts.
Pain so bad
Can’t even **** –
“How are you, Arthur?”
“Brilliant, thanks!”
3. Have An Opinion On These People
Katie Price (Feminist? Witch?)
Kate Moss (Goddess? *****
Stephen Fry (Snob? Wilde?)
Frankie Boyle (Offensive? Mild?)
4. Never Talk About Money.
“So.” An American asks. “How much do ya make?”
“I…I…Oh My God look at that dog over there that has a face like a pancake!”
5. Learn How To Apply The Class System To Cigarettes.
Pipe – Monty Withnail
Silk Cut – Comfortably Middle.
Lucky Strikes – Probably not British.
B&H; – Shops at Lidl.
6. Secretly (Or Openly) Enjoy The Royal Family
“So, did you hear what they called the baby?”
My boyfriend shrugs and says -
“I don’t give one tiny ****
“They named him George. Isn’t that twee?”
“Aw ******* hell, I had a tenner on Louis!”
7. Hey Jude.
If all else fails,
At the end of the night,
Sing na-na-na
And it’ll be alright.
8. Never Complain About Your Meal
“Hm. These mussels look a bit suspect.”
“How’s your meal, Sir?”
“Perfect!”
9. Always Hate The French, (Even If Your Own Mother Is French)
Numberplate 'F'
On an articulated lorry.
“Stuck up…onion…bastards.”
(I’m sorry mum, I’m so sorry!)
10. ‘Jerusalem’
Mime a sword in your hand,
Bang your chest with devotion,
Wave the sword about,
Sing with emotion.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
The people regrettably frown
on Congress men with their pants down.
Poor ****** was caught in a lie
concerning unzipping his fly.
Despite having just wed his bride
****** wanted some on the side.
Now both sides of the aisle are atwitter
that his twee-tie was a babysitter.
He gave poor Ms Pelosi a fright
when she saw that he hangs to the right.
He looks in your eyes when he lies
but I doubt anyone is surprised
He was known as a distinguished member
now a registered ****** offender
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 6:10 PM UTC
Ek die lieplapper
Fladder in die wind
Soos ń herfs betaste blaar
Wat in die dwarrelwinde
Tolbos en die reels
Van swaartekrag verag
My kop is op ń blok gesit
Soos die twee vir ń stywers
Wat inner kompaste volg
Na waar die hart mag lei
Sterk oppad na iewers
Maar word deur nikse
En nerense verlydelik gefly
My V formasie vervorm
, vlieg vêr vooruit
Tot waar ek sig verloor
Van veilige jolheid.
Ek verkoop my vryvlieg siel
Aan die voëlwip en sy wag
Onbewus van die somer
Wat oor die waters op my wag.
Ekt my siel verkoop aan
Die winterson...
Prysgegee, môre se geluk
Die stofwolk op die Horison
Môre trap jy oor my
Windverstrooide oorblyfsels
En neurie ń afskeidslied
In jou binnenste.
Jy koester dalk ń traan
Of twee.
Vir die gees van ń
herfsblaar lieplapper
Wat in selfverwyt besterwe
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
Just who the hell
Do you think you are?
In your house that is so
Twee
Just who the hell
Do you think you are?
YOU
are
NO
more different than
ME
Just because
You have a car
Just because
Your old man works
YOU
think that these entitle
YOU
To all those extra perks!
WELL
**** YOU ALL
**** YOUR WAYS
THE TIME HAS COME TO RE-APPRAISE
~
I am angry you were nasty
I am angry you were cruel
Surprised
YOU
didn’t march us
to the
***** Ducking Stool
And what exactly was the crime?
In the safety of your home?
Were there far too many children?
With a natural freedom born to roam?
Did not one of you ever stop to think?
What went on behind
Closed doors?
Or were
YOU
Indignantly repulsed?
Fervently abhorred?
Well … Let me tell you for nothing
My father was a ****
Yet
YOU
hid
behind your curtains
Surely
WE
were
WORTH A PUNT?
I even fulfilled your small town prophecy
When I learnt to rob and steal
It was never about the money
It was only ever about the thrill
Seven little vagabonds
Seven little ***** of sin
“Be careful where you step my sweet”
“For, they do not hold our Lord within”
Mr Roberts …
“How dare you walk these streets?
Glowing with civic pride
Did you not know your
wife’s back home with her pumpkin leg’s spread open wide!
Oh…. Yes … your brother was often a frequent guest
While you brown nosed
on your
Monetary quest”
Mrs Philips …
“Hubby … taking the boys to camp again?
He sure likes to drill them hard
Does he make you take it up the ****
Does he leave
YOU
His
CALLING CARD?
I could go on … with tales of pain
I could go on … with tales of woe
But
That is
NOT
MY PURPOSE
For it was so very long ago
I just want to make you realise the pain left in those children’s hearts
They really were so much more
Than
the
Sum of all their parts
So next time you cast aspersions
With
your
Judgemental eyes
Remember
Each time the knife’s stuck in
**A
Little piece of that child dies …**
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 9:11 AM UTC
You are singing silence out in the yard,
the newly empty nest hanging overhead,
like cliché clouds of grey, foreboding so.
Twee words feather dust the ironclad guard
with your feelings locked in its bear trap jaws,
hold them long enough and they will starve.
Stoicism has its cost.
Oh Ghost bird, how can I fix what is wrong
if the tune is subdued? Sing it slow.
Let the words bend at the edges,
allow your voice to crack and crow.
There is beauty in its breaking,
a love in the nakedness of it all.
...
Muted light shown though like saltwater
spraying through holes in the canopy’s hull,
kissing your eyelids with a warm familiar glow.
Twisting paths of gnarly branches pass
towards either dark clouds or blue skies
and you are drowning under all its mass.
Confusion has its cost.
Oh Ghost bird, how can I fix what is wrong
if the tune is subdued? Sing it slow.
Let the words bend at the edges,
allow your voice to crack and crow.
There is beauty in its breaking,
a love in the nakedness of it all.
...
I meet you underneath the dogwood tree,
arms around arms, my forehead against yours
the rain now falling ever so softly under the sun.
I am pleading, let go the injured doe, yelping there
in the grasp of your iron bite and in the daylight
let go of what holds you in the dark of night.
Romance has its cost.
Oh Ghost bird, how can you fix what is wrong
if the tune is subdued? I’ll sing it slow.
Let the words bend at the edges,
allow my voice to crack and crow.
There is beauty in its breaking,
a love in the nakedness of it all.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 12:25 PM UTC
*deze weg in het donker
vochtig van de regen
lang door het begin
omringt door zwart
behalve midden in
alleen loop ik, hem
en het einde is zoek
wie zal het terugvinden
wanneer begint het begin
of zal ik het verslinden
wanneer harten niet te controleren zijn
zijn monden het juist te vaak
maar luisteren, zullen zij nooit
bij het uitsteken van mijn stopbord
is het tegenovergestelde raak
zoals deze eindeloze weg
gespleten in twee*
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 6:54 AM UTC
Jij bent een kat en ik niet,
je kijkt in het donker, terwijl ik niks zie.
Ik heb haar alleen op mijn hoofd,
en kijk naar buiten terwijl jij vogels rooft.
Je hebt vier poten en ik heb er twee,
Ik roep "kom" en je gaat met me mee.
Twee oren, twee ogen, dat hebben we allebei wel,
maar ik ren langzaam en jij kan heel snel.
Het grootste verschil is toch dat ik kan praten,
met woorden en letters, dat kan ik soms haten.
Sprak jij eens een zin daar,
dan ben ik benieuwd naar.
Wat zou je dan zeggen,
met mij overleggen?
Of hoef je geen woorden, maar gebruik je je mauw,
om zomaar te zeggen "ik hou ook van jou."
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
Bo op 'n berg
Met my bobbejaan gedagtes wat terg
Die eggo van my mania skree terug
Wat soek jy hier?
Ek drink uit die rivier
Ek sink my oë in die rooi son
Ek **** alweer
Die donker wolke
Die reën wat kom
Ek laat my gedagtes so dans
Plek tot plek
Gras van Kees
En mens en vlees
Sny deur my
Woede en naaktheid
Die lag van 'n sekere malheid
En die sagtheid van jou moeder ken
En dan meer bring ek twee
Van my na die tafel in 'n oop gesprek
Met my leemtes en my onbeheerbare
Soeke na wat ek herken binne my donker gate
Ek dwaal verlate
In riviere van die samelewing
Die masjien wat liggies trap op ligte wat skyn en verdwyn
In die strate van spoed en bloed
Die woorde uit die bek van die dier
Die ongetemde kwaad van primate
Wat stoei met homself en sy produk en sy bestaan en sy wêreld en sy alles
Tot hy verval en wegkwyn
Verdwyn agter 'n swart gordyn bedoel vir die son en sterre
Waarheid en verlossing
Waar vind ek die antwoord vir alles?
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 5:40 PM UTC
some where in my house sits a cute little monster
in dragon like pose
on top of his purlioned
and just found lying around,
trove of treasure.
fifty seven odd socks
(i counted the others)
and three pair to boot shoelaces and metres of string
an inch of fragrant ginger root
a tie patterned cleverly with clowns
a beĺl that swallowed it's ding
used tissues galore
fifteen duplo men,
in various stages
three circus lions sans,
their cages
a sherrifs badge
about ten dollars roughly,
in loose change
a tiny baby dulldozer,
to shift it all about silverware, cottonbuds, lipsticks,
hundreds of chinese takeaway chops sticks
mr potato head's nose,
a squad of g.i joes
a ping pong ball that
has lost it's zing
a ring of keys for,
no longer locks
pencils, crayons, texta pens
all in a woodwork,
pencil box.
now this monster is cute
and he is twee
he loves all his treasures with cheery equanimity fussing and fixing
his stash he wanders about just out of sight
looking to add to his *****
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
spiky hair that I clutch too hard when I'm drunk
and you write twee that makes my heart both sad and leap
with the joy of a pied piper
and you
and you
and you
and you have a cute smile, shy, teeth
"I was in a band for two weeks in college. I wanted to get ******
and you play the only song you wrote in college for me
nd. you wrote a song
for a girl you met on the internet
and I closed my eyes when you played so you wouldn't get self-concious
and you play Bright Eyes
and I like you
and you like me.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
I've read more poems on this site
Than I've ever read before
Does that leave me satisfied?
No, I just want more
As soon as I get home from work
I pop the pooter on
To see what's new and popular
And what my friends have done
What wise words from Frank today?
How is dearest v?
Bernie's busy, Edward maybe
John and g, lp
All human life is here
For all of us to see
At the risk of sounding trite or twee
I do enjoy your company
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC