"umming" poems
Noctilucent Dust
Ignites the
Grand skies
Humming twilight
Tapering moonlight
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 5:51 AM UTC
A new day is dawning
Been waiting for weeks
Cashed in my pay cheques
To pay for the tweaks
Drawing, deciding,
Doubting my needs
Umming and ahhing
This lust i must feed
Booked the appointment
There's no turning back
Go under the knife
Would you look at that!
Followed the steps
and handled with care
The bigger the better
But same face and hair
Mid-chest attention
They all think I'm dumb
But not enough's changed
So I'll have my *** done
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 1:57 PM UTC
[for Pradip]
Poet, you wish for a sunshine poem...
Rainbows, you know, are the ones you bring.
All hearted, in loneliness, you walk your path
Disclosing unexpected beauty, words painting
Infinite music in aquarelle lights,
Picturing, for us, love for worldly mankind.
Consider, thus, Poet, that your
Humming song, of sweet tones,
Across the skies draws the
Tangible alliance of
Tolerance
Oh, and understanding,
Poet!
Awaken in our hearts,
Driven by good will,
Hence on empathy,
Yauld is our looking
Ahead and around, with
You.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
Tis the hour when They creep—
Humming tortured lullabies—
Every night, before you sleep,
You should offer your goodbyes.
Leaving fervent trails of death
In every moment you draw breath.
Viral: in a Hellish way.
Eager to feed off your decay.
I know that you can’t see Them now;
Not where you are, anyhow…
You mustn’t let Them see you know,
Or nothing will be left, you see.
Under shadows They will wait;
Readying Their final blow.
Never let Them eat your eyes!
I’ve seen what use They have for those!
Granted, They are good with lies;
Holding you within Their throes.
Though this is true, you must resist—
Must not give them up, my son—
As, though you may be on Their list,
Rarely is there only one!
Even if the nightmare dies,
Some will remain to find your eyes.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
She told me she's an artist
And it was sad to see
Her mouth make 'Umm's as she thought
Her brush strokes torturing me.
I didn't love her, no indeed
But she was good and so I feared
That one day she would have to find
That pain would oft 'umm' as it neared
One day she made my portrait
It was not good but I suppose
That for one who 'ummed' and erred
It was beauty in dead clothes.
One day she called me seeking feeling
And comfort with soft words
She failed to sell a painting still
But I just ummed and erred.
We did not speak for many months
But she came back one day
At my doorstep children stood
About her by her way
She asked me for forgiveness
And I begged it in return
For few may sell their paintings
But good people never spurn.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC