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Kurt Kanawa May 2014
endless
summer
trance of the cool breeze
careless
summer
dance of the  palm trees
you can
catch us
singing
beside
bonfires
or maybe
  surfing
the late
sunset
whilst
drinking
homemade
cocktails and listening
to the whistles of purple orchids
you can meet us by the golden shore
on sands that can't wait to get into your
toes and tell old stories about heroes
and  beautiful  women of  the land
who had hips that could rock the
molten lava out of mauna kea
you can enjoy the moment with us
leave your  worries and  your cameras
and lose yourself to the gentle swing of your
hammock and to the wishful kissing of the ocean
and to  the warm  blackness  that sings you to
sleep  to good vibrations that radiate out of
the strumming of my thumb that lullabies
the little brown child i carry in my arms
who the world named ukulele
"Like a river flows surely to the sea
Darling, so it goes some things are meant to be"
Cameron Godfrey Jan 2013
There's one rotten string on my Ukulele
That holds me back from playing
Behind it, an inexplicable frustration
But the explanation goes without saying.

Strum, Strum, Buzz, Strum
Why can't I just play the chord
Is something wrong with the instrument?
Beyond repair I can afford?

Maybe it's me, that's playing wrong
Why can't I strum that string?
I can't play my freaking melody,
So I guess I'll just try to sing.
There's probably a metaphor here but something is seriously wrong with my ukulele.
Jimmy King Oct 2013
I remember playing the ukulele
A year ago
With you in my living room,
My fingers showing yours
The chords you still had to learn
(A perfect excuse
To hold your hand)

Sunlight pouring,
As the rain does now,
Through the windows
Illuminated
The carefully moving corners
Of your lips
(An imperfect
Yet somehow reasonable excuse
To kiss them).

This morning
As our noses pressed together
And our breathing intermingled
In the bed where I lost my virginity
To the girl
Who taught me those same chords
(To the girl whose lips
Mine found an imperfect excuse to kiss
This afternoon),
I wished that I still had chords
To teach you;
I wished that the sun
Would shine through the rain
Madelaine E Base Jun 2017
I ditched my ukulele to go play by the sea
it was there that I'd thought you'd be
only waiting for me,
but you were late
just as you always are.
You're such a funny thing
full of quirks and meaningful laughter.
Oh, to what joy you bring me
it could fill up the whole sea.
In those days when we would lay be the shore,
sand between our toes and hope in our eyes,
it's there that we stayed and buried our hearts.
I loved you for who you were,
those deep, dangerous waters that filled your heart that once filled mine,
I knew it all to well,
and still I loved you, there by the sea.
The waves that seemed to crash against you,
and you struggled,
just gasping for one more breath of air,
and I still loved you.
I love you despite the fact that you despise your own heart,
but over time you let me in,
you showed me your own ocean of self-hate and hurt,
the demons disguised as barnacles that clung to your skin,
the sweet ocean air that filled your lungs and breathed your words,
and I didn't leave you,
and the memories we share won't leave you either.
It's here that you and I often lie,
and though one day we may die,
at least I ditched my ukulele to go play by the sea,
with just you and me.
© Madelaine E. Base 2017
Listening to too much Florence + the Machine and sad that I left my ukulele at home as I drive to the beach. How this came from that small sadness, I do not know.
Marian Jul 2013
The smell of hibiscus blooms
Fragrance the beautiful evening
From somewhere in the distance
The strings of the ukulele can be heard
Lone tropical girls dance to its beautiful melody
And I begin to play my ukulele too
And I too begin to dance
On that beautiful evening
When the sky had fallen asleep
With a faint sunset in the west
And the salty breezes blew
Across each beautiful palm tree
Such a beautiful evening I can see
Only in the silver cord
Of my mind's eye

**~Marian~
samasati Nov 2012
I believe in smiling at strangers. I believe in saying hello. I believe in shyness. I believe in fear of rejection. I believe in the need of affection. I believe in the need of reminders. I believe in candles, especially those that smell of vanilla or christmas. I believe in wearing small crystals around my neck. I believe in energetic vibrations. I believe in colours - I think each person has their own colour. I believe every feeling is valid. I believe in chapstick and I believe in mascara that doesn’t clump. I believe in nail polish - every colour of nail polish. I believe that the only reason we lie is because we fear something. I believe in poetry. I believe in bluntness. I believe in the intention behind words, but I don’t necessarily believe in words. I believe in travel. I believe in travelling solo. In fact, I believe in travelling so much that it is pretty much all I want to do. I believe in music. Boy, do I believe in music. I believe any kind of musical composition can change a person. I believe music can cure depression. I also believe music can feed depression. I believe a melody can say more than lyrics and I believe that lyrics can be what someone couldn’t put together themselves to explain exactly how they are feeling. I believe anyone can create a song, even though they believe they cannot. I believe a single note can sound like the most beautiful sound in the world. I believe if someone records a song when they’re in an ugly mood, the ugliness emits to its listeners and can drain them. I believe in art. Of course I do. I believe in acrylic paint. I believe in oil paint and watercolours, but not as much as I believe in acrylic. I believe in fingerprinting. I even believe in painting with your toes. And I believe in dancing; even if it looks weird. I believe in flailing your arms even, as long as it feels good and right. I believe in dancing ‘til you sweat, though I don’t like that icky feeling too much. I believe that a babe can be a very ugly person and a physically unattractive person can be a very beautiful person. I believe that people who smile are beautiful. I believe that people who frown are beautiful too, just in a different way. I believe that there are sincere smiles and there are manipulative smiles. I believe that some people just know how to use their eyes well. I believe in eye contact. I believe in engaging. I believe in listening and dropping everything else that is going on in your mind just to listen to what a person is trying to share with you. I believe in sharing - sharing cookies and sharing love. I believe in the frosty cold. I believe that it doesn’t have to feel as cold as it really is. I believe that people complain a lot. I believe that people often have too much pride to be happy. I believe that we should embrace our discomforts and shames, that we should welcome them wholeheartedly so that we can be happy. I believe in honesty. I believe in empathy. I believe in tea. I believe in jelly donuts but only on certain occasions. I believe in quirky bow ties. I believe in knit toques and mittens and scarves. I believe in dresses. I believe in flirting. I believe in coffee in the morning. I believe in big comfy beds. I believe in walking around your empty house in your underwear or birthday suit, singing loudly. I believe in singing in the shower. I believe in singing on the street. I believe in stage fright. I believe in meditation, though I don’t really strictly set times to do it anymore. I believe mundane activities can be done in a meditative state of mind. I believe in clarity. I believe in not judging people because everyone is human. I believe every human has something very interesting about them. I believe in boring people too. I believe in christmas music - not the radio kind, the choral kind. I believe in cheap sweet wine. I believe in Billy Joel and I believe in The Beatles. I believe in Regina and Sufjan too. I believe that the ukulele is a very overrated instrument. I believe in having healthy hair. I believe in moisturizer. I believe in getting to pick a coloured toothbrush at the dentist. I believe in thick wool socks. I believe in baggy sweaters. I believe in yoga gear but I do not believe in sweatpants. I believe that yoga is one of the healthiest things for a person - ever. I believe in buying a friend drinks or dinner once in awhile. I believe in collecting shoes and scarves and rings. I believe in chords but I don’t really believe in jeans. I believe in hot chocolate with whip cream but not with marshmallows. I believe in dorky Christmas sweaters. I believe in baking cookies instead of cake. I believe in eating disorders - I do not support them, but I do believe they are much more severe and various than most people think and I believe there should be better/proper help for those who suffer instead of the usual cruel inpatient/outpatient care. I believe in trichotillomania and I believe in dermatillomania and the severity and impact it can have on its sufferers. I believe in gardens. I believe in every single flower. I believe that everyone is always doing their best. I believe that most people love to struggle. I believe in hope. I believe in having faith in yourself. I believe in iPod playlists. I believe in gym memberships in the winter, not the summer unless it’s to swim. I believe in matching underwear every day. I believe in Value Village. I believe in singing in bus shelters when you’re waiting for the bus. I believe in dressing up according to holidays. I believe in Grey’s Anatomy and I believe in Community. I believe in skirts and dresses that twirl like the ‘ol days. I believe in longboards more than skateboards. I believe in plaid like most young people do. I believe in bows in my hair, but not as much as I used to. I believe in foot massages and hand massages. I believe in reflexology and reiki and essential oils and chakras and crystals and holistic nutrition. I believe in anxiety; even crippling anxiety. I believe in awkward romances. I do not believe in flip flops. I do not believe in Beatles covers unless they are really insanely good; then my mind is blown. I believe in having long enough nails to scratch someone’s back appropriately. I also believe in biting nails. I do not believe in telephone calls unless I am extremely comfortable with the person. I believe in blogs. I believe in journals. I believe in naming special inanimate objects like journals, instruments, technology and furniture. I believe in the idea of cats more than I believe in cats. I believe in sharpies or thin pointed permanent markers. I believe in temporary tattoos. I believe in streaming movies online. I believe in royal gala apples. I believe in avocados. I believe in rice cakes. I believe in popcorn. I believe in airports but I hate the LA airport. I believe in openly talking about *** but I don’t believe in making it seem shameful and gross. I believe there should be no shame regarding sexuality. I believe in reading some great books more than once. I believe in laying on the couch under cozy blankets, watching a great suspenseful tv show or movie. I only believe in having a couple bites of cheesecake. I don’t really believe in lulu lemon. I don’t believe many people can pull off the colour yellow. I believe in buttons over zippers even though zippers are easier, they just look kind of dumb and cheap. I believe in the sun and the moon equally. I believe in closets over dressers. I believe in staring out the window for a good hour or so.
Alice Kay Feb 2013
In the middle of the chaos,

a few strummed chords

play happily on
I liked your playing this morning Zeba!!!
Marigolds Fever Apr 2019
Little ukulele
Played daily
In the sun
Grassy regale
All for fun
Chipmunks, squirrels, birds
Know how it's done
Rabbits belong
To the nature sing song
Animals dance
To the melody happenstance
Imagine with the mind
Birds struttin just fine
Like they've had too much wine
If she creates
They will not hestitate
Music vibe
Can intoxicate
Percussion beat
Sound treat
For tiny happy feet
That live across the street
Uke bambino
Prancing merino
String plucks
Chickens cluck
Mini wooden instrument
Becomes a friend
To them
When she's walkin with that little ukulele
Ever so gaily
Written by Marigold's Fever 2019
Middle Class Aug 2014
Drown me in self pity
Fill me with gravel and confetti
And I won't scream and shout, or tell anyone about the sarcastic soliloquy

Dance me into a state of disbelief
Your unsteady heartbeat,
will without fuss or pout
Tell everyone about you and me.
Tim Benjamin Sep 2013
There she sits quietly in the corner,
Watching me
Longing for me to give her my attention,
Watching me
While I spend time with everyone but her,
Watching me

While I may pick up a guitar or two
Or tickle a piano every chance I get
She doesn't know that my mind lingers
And I find myself,
Watching her

Her smooth body curved oh so perfectly
To her perfect neck so long and slender
She was my first whether she knows it or not
And on the day we met
I found myself,
Watching her
Manda Oct 2012
It's nice to feel the warmth
The weather's never bad
Living surrounded by the wai
And by the sweet sounds
Of the ukulele.

Many people live aloha
Living proud of their culture
And friendly to another.
Ohana is important
And friends are part of it too.

A beautiful tradition
Giving of leis
To someone special
On a special occasion
Or just any given day.

It will be sad to leave one day
There's so much sunshine.
The mainland's all the same.
Here there's so much diversity.
I think I'll miss the food the most...
Here are the meanings to the Hawaiian words: "wai" means water, "aloha" means hello, goodbye, love; there's many ways to use aloha, "ohana" means family, and "leis" are traditional necklaces given for anything that comes up; birthdays, graduations, parties, even if you just haven't seen someone for a while.
Tyrus Aug 2018
Dear Body;

I really didn't think we were going to make it this far.
We just stood out too much.
Remember the first time someone talked negatively about your eyes? Your skin, hair, legs, arms?
Remember the time when we had to use your weight as data in math class? I think that's when I first started resenting you.
I began working you tirelessly, trying every crazy new diet, working you until you almost broke.
I didn't listen to you. I ignored you when you were tired, or hungry, or you just needed a break.
I rewarded you when you became a little smaller and scolded you when you became a little bigger.
I'm sorry.
They wanted me to hate you. They wanted me to hate myself.
To carry this weight of shame and embarrassment that did not belong to me.
Or my neck, or my arms, or my shoulders...which were always tense with fear.
Eventually...a ***** gets tired!!
Why should I punish you for being as you are?
That goes against everything I believe in.
We deserve better!!
Enough is enough *******!!
We've been through a lot...a lot.
Yes, I understand you might be tired, but we've only passed the first lap of the race.
I'll keep pushing you a little harder than I have before.
But this time, I'll listen to you. I'll feed you, and give you breaks when you need them.
I know you can handle , you're a tough *****.
I know you.
Its taken me 15 and 1/2 years to figure you out, but I understand you now.
And we're gonna be okay. Even if it's only just for today. Were gonna be okay.
Before I go, I want to thank you...
Thank you for letting me play piano and strum a ukulele, for allowing me to write poems and stories.
Thank you for letting me laugh and smile, letting me engage in mischievous things, having fun.
Thank you for telling me when something is dangerous, or I might get hurt. Knowing when I need to leave, back away, or that my body can't handle something.
Thank you for letting me hold and comfort the ones I love. Allowing me to be generous and compassionate.
Thank you for assisting me during tests, helping me retain knowledge and receive all A's.
Thank you for sometimes allowing me to do crazy things, and to sometimes be a little destructive and wild. You're always open to tying new things.

Thank you for being you.

I promise to listen to you from now on, I promise to celebrate you instead of shame you.

I promise that we're gonna make it. We'll be okay.
(This is an old poem I found in my phone notes)
I want this to become a big thing! Post your Dear Body poem, "tag" me in it somehow.
Body Positivity is important.
Please?
Marian Apr 2013
Two sisters walked by the tropical shore
And gazed at the sunset the west
On an island with the silhouettes of palm trees
They sat, and watched the pretty sunset
As it faded
Like a painting being erased from canvas
After that came Night and we danced
With the Sea Fairies
We sang the prettiest Tropical songs
And hushed the world to sleep
And we played on the Enchanted ukulele
And on the prettiest harp you ever heard
We sung and danced
And played on our ukulele and harp
All Night long
The next morning the dew
Like sparkling shining jewels
Kissed the hibiscus blooms
And waked them up from sleep
And the breeze stirred
The lacy green leaves
Of the majestic palm trees
Sunrays felt lovely and warm
On our cheeks
And the ocean never
Felt cooler
When we waded through
The singing waves that morning

*~Marian~
For my sweet sister Saumya!!! She is such a LOVELY beautiful sis and friend of mine and she has a heart of gold!!! :) :) <3
Tom McCubbin Apr 2015
I have not been anywhere,
done anything, thought anything,
and feel nothing.

At least,
that’s what my blank, plain-clothed
T-shirt would indicate to other people.
A man walking the earth with
no visible identity.

When I put on my Hawaiian shirt, however,
they believe my mind to be full of
pineapples, hula girls swinging softly in the
ukulele moonlight, palm fronds swaying
in the dacron, or is it rayon, ripples
of my baggy upper man.

Let others think what they might
of my images, or the lack of words
and logos.
My inner tag says that
I’m size “L” and that I’m made on
factory looms in China, that my buttons
are constructed to look like the
real thing–a round slice of bone or
perhaps ivory.

I am not so much anywhere on the
outside, even though there are places
I would like to go fling my few dollars.
Inside, however, I am lost,
pleasantly lost and hiding, within the
convenience of my unprinted shirt.
Marian Aug 2013
I sought the Lord
Beside the singing waves
Underneath a palm tree I knelt
The was shining brightly
The waves an anthem sung
The birds joined in the choir
Along with a ukulele
I felt His Presence right beside me
When I prayed I felt so happy
I read from His Word
No church was there
I just worshiped Him
Sitting in the cool white sand
The ukulele sung for me
And the birds lifted their praises
To Him
Our voices filling the air
Like angels singing in the clouds
I worshiped the Lord
Beside the singing waves

*~Marian~
Omi Feb 2015
My focus has been ****** since the day I was born
I was shot out of the womb, flipped upside down on my head,
And had my *** pounded until it was raspberry red

One would think that at that point in my life
My focus might have been on the colostrum
But being ****** to and fro is enough to pull anyones focus
Asunder, from the teet to the ceiling, to the wall, and eventually
Into pieces on the floor

My focus has been ****** since the age of nine
I wanted swing high on the swing set and play kickball with my friends
But my focus was torn by the torments of my ragged looks
The shame of my poor disposition
And the embarrassment of wearing my borrowed bra and donated clothes

My focus has been ****** since the eve of seventeen
When I thought that I was in love with a boy who never seemed to see me
I wanted to brush my fingers through his hair while we feigned awareness in American History
Or lie on his chest as he sang to me strumming on his ukulele
Which made it rather hard focus on geometry
But I was correct in my original assertion that he never ever noticed me

My focus has been ****** since the day I turned twenty-four
And I say that as I am sitting in class writing this story
Property is fun and law school is aight in general
But how could I possibly focus on executory interest
When failing out would ironically fair my nerves so much better?
Wrote this in class. I have officially checked out.
Redshift Jul 2015
never loved a boy.
the seventeen yearolds ask me what the last one was
I don't know.

I don't love this one either.
do I love anyone?
truly?
maggie W Apr 2015
It's not even romantic
But I'm going to write a poem of every boy I met.Not romantic,
It's not that I had met a lot of men.

On that morning
you played ukulele,
I sang along with the lyrics
Creep, Blur,anything

The morning light shined through your squinted eyes
I can still see the dust swirling, dancing in front of the sun-bathed face of yours.
Naive,friendly,happily
We were singing to each other
The other two are non-existence.

You are so warm, comfortable to be around with
A Belarusian boy ,aspiring to speak good Chinese.
You paint, you cooked and made desserts
Always at ease at hitchhiking
through Kazakhstan and China

I felt that you secretly want to try to escape from what you had
from Belarus to Czech, then to this mysterious Eastern world, a bit communist.
And then to Taiwan.

This is for you Ilya, a friend for only a day and night.
You're too delicate for me to handle as you have
skin like milk and heart of seven seas
Smile like a 5 year old in a swing.
Jasmine Marie Aug 2012
I dream of a society
Where the ideals of beauty
Are less focused on superficial concepts like one's waistline
Or how decrepit their smile lines made them appear
But rather one where the focal point of unanimous adoration is,
As corny as this may sound,
One's morals and where they land on the gradient of human compassion

In this utopia,
The elderly aren't seen as catalysts for repugnance and a wrinkling of noses
But rather as symbols of eruditeness and beauty
The type of beauty that influence or money can't obtain

And it may be conceivable that instead of wasting my days squandering over my physical appearance,
I can just fritter away the days
Strumming my ukulele along to the tune of my American dream

For I have yet to actually awaken from my adolescent slumber
Breifly enough to grasp my dream from the bubble floating above my resting head
And nestle it securely in my pocket
So it doesn't forgo me
In search of someone less complacent with bewilderment about their future
Who dreams of social and economic prosperity
Instead of someone who's apathetic at best about whatever career choice they've chosen for the week

Maybe that's just it
That maybe I don't want the conventional American dream of fame or fortune or recognition
Is it feasible that maybe my American dream isn't to rise from sqaulor into a soulless mansion
Whose corridors boast success
But lack warmth and presence?

I suppose that my American dream encompasses more than just America itself
It lives in the eyes of every human being on the face of the earth
It's nestled in the gaze of a starving child
And the stare of anyone who's ever felt a tongue's razor edge
And all I'd have to do is delve into their eye sockets and plant a seed
A seed of hope and compassion
Or whatever I deem fit

Perhaps I just want to shield myself
From the world's disapproving glances,
Those fleeting moments of eye contact that convey condescending judgement
Maybe I'd just like to make a difference to things sans the media’s snide opinion
But despite my juxtaposition to society's critical assessments,
I know that I can't run away from my fears or problems

So maybe I dream of a society
Where I can remain headstrong even in the face of opposition
Because I'm aware that not everyone's going to love each other
And spout sweet nothings about peace and understanding from their hind quarters
So maybe I'd like to help be a driving force
That wards off the world's shadows
So the sun can continue to shine on my American dream
My friend helped me write this for my Language Arts class, and so I thought I'd put it here.
M Aug 2016
The rain pitter pattering on my window.
The strings underneath my fingers, making that beautiful pastel sound,
from my ukulele.
This is what it's like to feel alive.

The warmth of the house,
The coziness of my clothes.
This is what it's like to feel alive.

Times can be tough,
Being alive can hurt,
But that pain that I feel,
Is one of the things that make me human.

Hot tea,
The effects it can have,
Make me feel like I will never
Need to feel the pain I have felt.

A sip,
Letting the tea sit on you're tongue,
The so wonderful burning sensation,
Until it's cooled,
And is gone.

This is the beauty of being **alive
Today
I bought myself
a little stingray
red and flowered
I bought myself
a ukulele
Elliott G Jun 2021
The Ukulele string snaps
a small stream of blood from your ring finger,
but it's not gloom or sorrow
but contorted contentment...
When you fill your cup
up to the brim with cream
and it doesn't go over
the edge.
When you peek around
the corner and see your
favorite store open,
with that one book inside
you've been waiting to grab
for years now, but you never did.
When you walk through the woods
when the scenery secludes you
from civilization;
the temptation to give into
the nightingale's melody which
slices the silence with its melancholy tune.
You breathe in the air
on top of the dune; sandcastles, sandhills
childish screams as you yell 'seek!'
giggles and yelps of excitement.
A newborn baby cradled closely,
the warmth spreads through your body
like when you finish a book, not a series;
a novel of great adventure;
the sigh of great relief.
On a cold autumn night,
when you wrap the blanket around you,
trinkets on your nightstand,
the pleasure of closeness' embrace,
the comfort of a lovers touch,
intertwined between each seam of your covers.
As the rain paints your windows crystal
your watercolors touch the canvas,
your jewel, Cupid's arrow through your heart
but it's not love, as defined in dictionaries, legends, or myths.
The breeze moves the window drapes
paint drips on your jeans and you laugh;
why not paint the walls crimson or azure!
Why not travel the world in a broke-down Van,
stopping every thirty miles for another can
of gas or root beer or what have you?
Why not get seven cats and name each one
after your favorite deserts?
What if you paint the sky orange?
What if you grew fins and sprung into the blue ocean?
What if trees were purple not green?
What if the Library of Alexandria was still here?
Swinging round and round;
the melody from the record player
grabs your arms and makes you fly
to the moon and back,
your laughs heard around the world...
Joseph Sinclair Sep 2018
There is a tendency among
those poets who may be very young
frequently to put in verse
those foreign phrases, or much worse
the now dead words of oh so ****** Latin
to boast of classrooms that they’ve sat in.

And just in case you’ve never heard ‘em,
Let’s reduce a few to ad absurdum.
It was amore a prima vista
until he left her for her younger sister
for, after all, who could resist her,
so moving on to secunda vista
he took that step and boldly kissed her,
behaviour that is hardly utopista.

The trouble with modus vivendi
is that it sometime rhymes with eye
but there are those who don’t agree
and think that it must rhyme with tea.
Who cares? It’s all the same to I.
Or should that be the same to me?

You may say it is not de rigueur
that I defend with so much vigour
what surely is no more than hubris
that I attribute to Confucius
for he surely ha detto tutto
albeit un po convoluto.

And everyone’s heard of carpe diem.
If not, then I have yet to see ‘em.
But I prefer to seize a waist
which may be thought somewhat unchaste
though far more likely to have shocked ‘em
would be to carpe in the noctem.

Perhaps you think it’s ipso facto
that I’m intolerant of lacto
unless it comes directly from the breast.
I think it’s better that the rest
of this is left to your own opinatus
for which I offer no blank cartus.

Then there’s the modus of my own vivendi
that I indulge in cacoethes scribendi
the itch to write for which I daily
scratch myself or play my ukulele
which is my form of modus operandi
before I pour myself a king-size brandy.

And thus we leave this boring dull citare,
by this time you have certainly grown quite weary
of any further venture into tedium
Or as ***** Harry might say, fac ut gaudeam
For after all a day senza sunlight
Might altrettante facilmente be night
hannah way Dec 2016
The way he sat
strumming gently
on four strings
with a light softly
touching his cheeks
I couldn't help but be
wrapped entirely
in his existence
falling hopelessly
into that sweet song
h.w.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
you really want to attack feminism? now's the time... disown the heritage of male circumcision (m.g.m.) - if you're really peeved off with feminism... stop circumcising... then watch the show.

a girl writes something like this:

My mind wanders too far for me to catch up
The world seems so foggy
I can’t find my thoughts                   -

well, no wonder psychiatry invented
secondary fiction -
dissected the individual into ego (brain)
heart (superego) and **** (id) -
or first person, second person and third person
narratives - she writes *my mind

but then writes a ukulele song -
between possession and dispossession the sigma
is riddled - one deems ownership but
is unsure what it owns on the pH (patent hyperbola-scale) -
the world ain't ******* foggy -
it's foggy because at one time to own the mind,
at another you don't, at one time you
own your thoughts, at another you turn into a robot -
thinking = a conscious affair to obstruct eating a
desert when fulfilled - as Heidegger put it (mildly):
we're still not thinking - the one antibiotic that
treats even the SS man's horrid actions:
um d'uh... i wasn't taught to think, therefore
i can plead the insanity parole - mm d'uh... you can't!
the biggest excuse in jurisprudence is lack
of thinking - people excuse their actions by
excusing their lack of thinking - apparently you
can commit genocide and be pardoned by
excusing your inability to think -
you can **** people, torture them, but be pardoned
on the grounds that you were without
the other essential synonymous with soul... thought...
you can walk free and pardoned when you
prove to people you never learned how to think
outside the schooling realm of up-kept Pythagoras
and 1 + 1 = 2 or a + b + j + e + c + t + i + o + n = abjection -
what a waste of time democratic law is -
never mind humans invoking theocratic jurisprudence
through angelic gossip (that won't help either)
of missing phallus - flap flap - flap flap -
go on, nose dive from the twin towers - pigeon **** for
words in the Koran's worth -
forget proving the soul, or god, do what Heidegger did
by saying: i doubt thought exists -
i'd like to define it, a soul is easier to define, something
not prone to destruction - proof of thought is harder,
too multi-tasked - existential Pandora -
it's hard to imagine people actually thinking when
given automatic tasks - no wonder they sometimes
slip on god's great banana skin - unlike animals
who only have an automaton of eating greenery implanted
in them - whether mammalian elephant tusk or
raw canine chew - their automation is reduced to
constantly need to eat - we have more luxuries -
a naturalist's ***-life is a monologue on the Savannah -
keen on dung-beetles, not so keen on oyster-******* -
i can just **** and laugh given i have my excess skin...
you need a sparring partner - because wanking
without ******* gave birth to Onan - why didn't Freud
spot the Onan Complex? oh wait... in the image
of the Gods... all the Gods have *******...
some dumb Iraqi shepherd cut the details off...
and so came the dominance of woman with what
became the ******* excess metaphorical with her excess...
and so the two factions clashed in Egypt;
oh i believe it... i believe it as in to not ridicule it...
too many serious people... terrorists... orthodox clingers-on...
why not believe it in order to spare yourself
the senseless gymnastics of wordplay governed by ridicule?
there's no harm in believing it... when you
don't have to practice the religiosity behind it with
the dress-code included
; mind i wear a t-shirt while
you wear the tux? we're going to the same opera,
and it's pretty dark in the theatre... ah... of course you
won't mind!
Corinne Tyo Jan 2014
Oftentimes I find myself having these random bubble bursts of thoughts-I want to learn Sanskrit…..what? Where does that even come from? Or Hey! Learning to sew would be neat. Or you know, I could really benefit from reading the newspaper.

And the thing that I struggle to understand is that when I have thoughts like this, is this an attempt to discover more of me or is this me trying to force an idea onto myself that isn’t actually me, but what I think I would like to be...

Think about it. If you came out of the womb and you had a catalogue and could then choose carefully categorized qualities in yourself, what would you choose? Sometimes it feels like then it would be easier then having to try and discover it for yourself. And I could go on about how no, it’s great that we have to go through this struggle to find it and I’ve learned all these things from my journey, but unfortunately, that is not this poem.

No one actually knows who they are completely ever. That’s a neverending journey according to...well everyone. But why do we fight so hard to find it?

If someone paid me to try one new thing each day, I would take them up on that opportunity but if you think at the end of it all, I’d tell you what I learned about myself, then you can have your money back because I’m not interested.

Not every experience is a learning experience and not every adventure has to mean something. I like rock climbing. I like blueberries and strawberries and raspberries. I take long car rides just because I can, thank you Hybrid vehicles. But I am not a rock climber or a farm girl or a lover of cars. I know that I am a person who is going day to day doing things that I like to do. So I may pick up my ukulele this day and I may never pick it up again for another year, but I certainly won’t be selling it because of that. I own more books than I can account for and haven’t read more than 30% of them, but I hate having to take books to the used book store and I love buying more. And so what does that make me?

I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter, because that is not this poem.
Marian Feb 2013
Under the shade of weeping willow trees
The air is filled with birdsong an anthem sweet and beautiful
The soft sweet song of the bubbling creek
The fragrance of honeysuckles drifts from the forgotten garden
Where daffodils, violets, and many other flowers grow
Mountains high and valleys low covered in the cloak of spring
Hunter-green cedars and deep-green firs sway in the dancing breeze
Even the lonesome desert and vast wilderness
With its pretty sunrises and sunsets bears its own beauty
Morning glories in the Enchanted Forest unfurl their soft sweet petals
At Dusk when all are sleep
Sunrays shining through the dew covered leaves of the majestic trees
Waves wash onto the sea of time where lots of creatures live
And where fishes and sea turtles peep up out of the ocean
Where palm trees grow their lacy-green leaves providing shade for all
Where rocky island cliffs hold treasures forgotten a long time ago
When pirates hunted for gold
Where old forgotten battleships are at the bottom of the ocean
And the people on them long since dead. . .
Pearls and treasures hidden from sight at the bottom of the ocean
Where dolphins sleep and play ready to save some swimmer
Sea-green coral and seaweed are pretty ocean plants
Seashells at the very bottom of the ocean
Seagulls sing to one another from the coconut trees and many other birds sing a
Tropical anthem blending with the sweet perfume of hibiscus and a lone tropical girl
Plays a sweet song on the ukulele
And the horse gallops on the sandy shore happily enjoying his freedom
And the world to all is beautiful
Tropical sunsets blazing dark goldish- orange with the silhouettes of palm trees
On the beautiful rocky island
And the world is hushed to sleep with the tropical lullaby of the singing waves
When the world awakes with dew the sweet hibiscus

*~Marian~
R E Sadowski Feb 2013
Like drinking water out of mason jars
Like reading through fake plastic glass
Like dressing in your grandparents bolts of fabric
Like holding an unfiltered cigarette
Or even better a wooden pipe…
Smoke swelling in closed mouths
And nostrils blowing in sailboat clouds
Down to the next not- Starbucks
To sit on a velvet couch with
Coral painted nails and a chai in hand...
You all can be like this.
With no workout clothes and
With at least two piercings in your nose
You all are like this soon enough.
Who gave you the idea to pick up the
Ukulele anyway?
Who gave you the idea to shave one quarter
Of your head?

We all did. We all are a
Fleet of individual sameness,
A want to stand out from the
Cookie- cutter looks,
But now we’re all cupcakes
With the same story but with
Different hooks
For hands, snagging the rest
Of us along.
With your identical twin lipstick
And Birkenstock feet.
The lack of shock we absorb
Gets lonely and depressing.
So lets all move to Montreal
And French kiss and knit
And maybe real soon the
Croissants will go stale
And it’ll be cool to live
In Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan.
Michael DeVoe Oct 2012
I want to live on a beautiful island
Where it's warm all the time
And on this island I want it to snow
Three months a year
And I want those three months to be
November, December, and March
And when it snows I need it to be seventy seven degrees
And I want the snow to stick
Here I imagine Jack Johnson, Jason Mraz, and Zach Gil will sit around playing music
They'll play from noon to around ten
That's when Kwali the local pool boy ends his shift keeping the oil out of the ocean
Kwali he plays the Ukulele and sings about beaches no one's ever been to until around midnight
When the perpetually burning bon fire dies down and the island falls asleep
As for the rest of the music here on the island
Every morning there's this old steel guitarist
He's from just south of New Orleans
A place called Under Pressure
Really it's just the hull of the broken fishing boat he was born on
But he calls it home all the same
And a kid who used to play trombone for the high school jazz band
But he picked up the harmonica after he found out chicks don't dig trombones
And the two of them sort of play old dixie
With a steel drummer who never seems to find his shirt in the morning
But you never really mind that
And on Sunday mornings this really old woman
Ssays her mom was Harriet Tubman
Which we all know is a lie
But she's got scars from head to toe so you might as well believe something
Man she wails
For two straight hours
She wails
Wails to God, to the heavens, to Jesus, Georgia and the first row of church
And when she wails her tears are a lost language from the tower of babble and we all understand it
And on Wednesday
Wednesdays
We waltz
We waltz to really old records
That we play on the only turntable on the island
That Mr. Lee drags all the way from his house to the community center with no walls
And the whole island shows up in summer dresses and Matthew Mcconaughey shirts
Even the one we call grandma
And her husband who everyone calls Uncle for some reason
Come dressed to dance
And we all leave our slippers at the door this place doesn't have
And the sand warms our feet while we waltz
Sometimes it's the Tennessee Waltz
And sometimes it's the Viennese Waltz
But most of the time it's just the waltz we all learned in eighth grade
Either way
Every Wednesday there is a beautiful girl
She's five five, maybe, five eight I don't know
I've been lying on my drivers' license since I was sixteen so I don't know how tall people really are
She's got south pacific features
But with my track record by the time I actually make it to my island she'll probably be a red head
We waltz
We waltz until the records skip
And our legs turn to Jello and all we can do is collapse in each other's arms
While the ocean tickles our toes
Our finger tips tickle each other's palms
And we let that guy in the moon do the rest
So when you see me set sail
If you can catch me you can climb on board
And if you can't
Then
Wave goodbye
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
http://goo.gl/5x3Tae
Edward Coles Jul 2016
The cello sings Ave Maria.
Distilled calm; blister packs
In a wet July.

There is peace in every grain,
So fine. Wore away the stone,
Three drownings in the sea.
Annihilation

To build a monument
We settle upon:
Our paradise recovery.

There is warmth after the rain.
Ukulele played on the
Gran Cervantes balcony.
Off-white scars;
Pyramids with no eyes.

Every stoner sleeps.
Every kind heart cries.

The Arc of Life sings a lullaby,
Still I cannot get calm.
In a wet July

A comfort to staying inside.
We tried, wore away our lungs,
Three renewals in the sea.
A leap of faith,

An old keepsake
We contrived upon:
Our lunatic discovery.

There is movement in death.
Pollen falls to the ground;
Exhale of recovery.
Dead-end joy,
Statuettes with no eyes.

Every criminal weeps,
Every kind heart lies.

The cello sings Ave Maria.
The strings that heal
In a wet July.
C
Josie Patterson Nov 2014
fueled by alcohol
swollen emotions,
the age of consent
and mistakenly stuck doors
the mutual understanding that comes with a singular passion
singular desire
just one time
but when the clock chimes
1:45
and curfewed kisses are few
you take my hands and sing
"i want to know you"
my fingers weave along my glowing screen
praying your given digits will be well received
and when my phone buzzes
i sigh
for i had tried to not let doubt cloud my mind
but i did not know you yet
and it rarely happens like this
when the clock chimes
6:00 Am
my rosy cheeks wait in the cold mist
a note on the table excusing my absence
a pale faced taxi driver goes through the required motions
to take me to your warm lips
with two hours of sleep
your makeshift bed is the port in a storm
and your slight frame is the sort that initially misleads
but it is powerful and exceeds expectations
the sweet sharing of bad puns
disney songs
and the unexpected "i love you"
the "you have beautiful eyes"
and the mess that is my hair do
i wake you with a warm hand to the hip
and a quick kiss on the lip
reassures me it was the right thing to do
the twang of ukulele
and its warm wood brush over my breast
its hard form against my warm chest
you sing for me
and the poetry that traverses your lips is magic
though slight
you have no trouble maneuvering through my wide rivers
and hidden valleys
my small forests
you flip me with ease
a playful tease
tracing racing and running
soon warm water runs over our shadowy forms
because though forever may be spent in bed
the real world obligates us to move
to shower
in our travels we find ourselves caught in drizzly public transportation
making our way to the place of your occupation
though we are eating for two
you order three breakfasts
making up for the meal missed
replaced with loving
surrounded by kissing
you drink coffee
a quick pick-me-up
i drink a london fog
to remind me of the sleepy morning
and a quick peck to the lips reminds me of the rest
a test of my willpower
my power to resist taking you then and there
though that may have resulted in your termination
so i resist my considered temptation
i take a slight deviation
for every story must end
every sentence
no matter how much love
we must wait for blood
because every hook up,
every sentence
must end with a period.
Juni Notte Feb 2018
I'm tired of feeling this way
just wanna play the ukulele
while sailing away
on a small little raft
to a faraway place
where all I can do
is watch my friend
rise and fall on these blue ocean waves
I'm tired of feeling this way
just wanna escape
just wanna sail away
with my little ukulele
to a place no one can find
Egaeus Thompson Jan 2017
My darling little one I am tasked.
Tasked with the idea of imparting what I know.
It might not all help,
But it is what I wish I knew.

If you don’ t already;
Pretend you like yourself,
Because if people think you are untouchable
They won’t attempt to approach you and tell you the negative things that you already tell yourself.

Take the time to listen to classical music,
You will like Toccata and Fuge in Dmin,
Trust me.

Don’t regret anything;
You are who you are because of what you have done,
Even if you don’t like the person you are now,
Use the present as a catalyst to become who you picture yourself being.

Fall in love with weird people.
They are a different type of person
And you learn much about how the mind works from them.

Pick up the ukulele.
It is bright and happy.
But only do this after your long stint as a metalhead.
People can say what they want,
But you have to be talented for metal
And if anyone knows about community and looking out for their own it is metalheads.

It is okay to be unhappy-
Even now I don't have the hang of this one.
But maybe someday
Maybe someday.

My tiny shining star,
The world will be cruel to you,
But it will be kind if you let it.
Take in the little things that give you joy.

But your Mum and I cannot wait,
To see the joys you experience
And the mistakes you make,
Because I will be waiting with tea and gumboots
And your Mum will be waiting with blanket forts and chocolate
And probably a better solution.

You will be an unstoppable force in this world
And I couldn't be more excited to meet you
GreenTea Jan 2012
So I have this friend
She's pretty cool
She makes lemon bars
and plays cribbage too

We play the ukulele
and dance to Datas song
who said that teenagers
can't get along?
Marian May 2013
Sadness carried on the salty breeze
The waves dance upon the shore
The cool sand feels good to bare feet
Seashells collected in buckets
Horses galloping on the shores
Enjoying their freedom and eternal ecstasy
Golden memories carried in the wind
Forgotten thoughts linger in the breeze
Pristine palm trees standing on the shore
Ukulele songs in the tropical air
Lone tropical girls dancing
To the everlasting song of the waves
Tropical sunsets silhouetted with palm trees
Lighthouses standing on majestic islands
And I'm standing here alone
The sun kissing my brown hair
Its rays reflecting in my blue eyes
And my fair cheeks feeling its warmth
Caressing my face
This place feels sentimental to me
And I treasure it above
The hidden ocean treasures
Buried under the foamy waves

*~Marian~
Lyra Brown Apr 2014
I broke a string on
my ukulele. It’s safe
to say, I relate.

— The End —