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"unanimously" poems
Teamwork Solves The Problem They say “two minds are better than one.” Nothing could be truer. As I watched a friend and his relative, patiently, take apart and fix a broke appliance. I relaxed and observed. The two had the item repaired and figured out quicker than one whose questions are the parts in which the other can answer when there, with him, aiding in the battle of winning the war to piece together a needed tool , that needs mending. Through answered questions from a partner well answering problems, the other had faced, piecing together the problem, through help and sweet and strong reliance. Upon another to help in rougher times. I remarked on such, the phrase, as they smiled. In agreement…it wa voted unanimously. That :”two minds are better than one” Simultaneously….we all nodded. It was a new motto on which we have started to have styled… Even more so, even a “ton” of minds wishing to achieve the same goal - to fix a broken moment… or even a city that is in disrepair. such, through unity, the item was finished and the conversation had ended…. It is alike war and conflicts…… …. Having people, ready with you, voluntarily by your side… Is better than being too tall for one’s own good…or even better motives… If he fails to see that “one is not an island…” “Nor is one an army…” Common Sense tells him to ask for “brother’s in arms” which overrides any strong form of blind pride..
0
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
kevin-michael-kappler
Teamwork Solves The Problem
Teamwork Solves The Problem They say “two minds are better than one.” Nothing could be truer. As I watched a friend and his relative, patiently, take apart and fix a broke appliance. I relaxed and observed. The two had the item repaired and figured out quicker than one whose questions are the parts in which the other can answer when there, with him, aiding in the battle of winning the war to piece together a needed tool , that needs mending. Through answered questions from a partner well answering problems, the other had faced, piecing together the problem, through help and sweet and strong reliance. Upon another to help in rougher times. I remarked on such, the phrase, as they smiled. In agreement…it wa voted unanimously. That :”two minds are better than one” Simultaneously….we all nodded. It was a new motto on which we have started to have styled… Even more so, even a “ton” of minds wishing to achieve the same goal - to fix a broken moment… or even a city that is in disrepair. such, through unity, the item was finished and the conversation had ended…. It is alike war and conflicts…… …. Having people, ready with you, voluntarily by your side… Is better than being too tall for one’s own good…or even better motives… If he fails to see that “one is not an island…” “Nor is one an army…” Common Sense tells him to ask for “brother’s in arms” which overrides any strong form of blind pride..
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24
ken not the vive la différence! entre les deux, these two bed and head chambers, for all poets are seducers, regardless of *** race, creed or color when first we employ our working, yeoman vocabulary, we plain start, to relate but not to regale, the whom we are, hoping our moments unique, will breach the boundaries of our collective commonality connectivity, and find human receptivity thus, the seduction of self commences though every possible combination of words has somewhere been inscribed and committed, we ****** ourselves (the seduction of poetry) with potions of notions that we are and always be our first, and now soon forever, yours as well of course, we are, it's true, our very own first admirer & lover, having conquered the hillock of self, see the universe expanding and the ****** need to conceive and prowess to please beyond the beyond with the poetry of seduction do not want your body, heart or soul, commitment, allegiance, vows, sacred or profane, all such in vain crave your everything, not even a legal nine-tenths satisfactory dare not call me arrogant or presumptive, gaze upon the mirror that cannot lie, rereading thy words assemblage, and deny to lie to yourself want you, you want me, my adoration, we want to be in a poem together, lovers at the molecular level where words dissected into letters, then again, into guttural sounds where a simple outcry is an elegy, a love poem, a wound, a denouement, a preface, a tear, a welling, a heaving, a sigh, an exhalation, all, an entrance to where the need for words is long since past the sin and crown of seduction completed, unanimously now breathe out and then, breathe in
0
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC
makingloveintheafternoon
the poetry of seduction, the seduction of poetry
ken not the vive la différence! entre les deux, these two bed and head chambers, for all poets are seducers, regardless of *** race, creed or color when first we employ our working, yeoman vocabulary, we plain start, to relate but not to regale, the whom we are, hoping our moments unique, will breach the boundaries of our collective commonality connectivity, and find human receptivity thus, the seduction of self commences though every possible combination of words has somewhere been inscribed and committed, we ****** ourselves (the seduction of poetry) with potions of notions that we are and always be our first, and now soon forever, yours as well of course, we are, it's true, our very own first admirer & lover, having conquered the hillock of self, see the universe expanding and the ****** need to conceive and prowess to please beyond the beyond with the poetry of seduction do not want your body, heart or soul, commitment, allegiance, vows, sacred or profane, all such in vain crave your everything, not even a legal nine-tenths satisfactory dare not call me arrogant or presumptive, gaze upon the mirror that cannot lie, rereading thy words assemblage, and deny to lie to yourself want you, you want me, my adoration, we want to be in a poem together, lovers at the molecular level where words dissected into letters, then again, into guttural sounds where a simple outcry is an elegy, a love poem, a wound, a denouement, a preface, a tear, a welling, a heaving, a sigh, an exhalation, all, an entrance to where the need for words is long since past the sin and crown of seduction completed, unanimously now breathe out and then, breathe in
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54
No. It's an impudent falsehood. Men did not Invariably think the newer way Prosaic mad, inelegant, or what not. Was the first pointed arch esteemed a blot Upon the church? Did anybody say How modern and how ugly? They did not. Plate-armour, or windows glazed, or verse fire-hot With rhymes from France, or spices from Cathay, Were these at first a horror? They were not. If, then, our present arts, laws, houses, food All set us hankering after yesterday, Need this be only an archaising mood? Why, any man whose purse has been let blood By sharpers, when he finds all drained away Must compare how he stands with how he stood. If a quack doctor's breezy ineptitude Has cost me a leg, must I forget straightway All that I can't do now, all that I could? So, when our guides unanimously decry The backward glance, I think we can guess why.
0
5.6k
C. S. Lewis
On a ****** Error
No. It's an impudent falsehood. Men did not Invariably think the newer way Prosaic mad, inelegant, or what not. Was the first pointed arch esteemed a blot Upon the church? Did anybody say How modern and how ugly? They did not. Plate-armour, or windows glazed, or verse fire-hot With rhymes from France, or spices from Cathay, Were these at first a horror? They were not. If, then, our present arts, laws, houses, food All set us hankering after yesterday, Need this be only an archaising mood? Why, any man whose purse has been let blood By sharpers, when he finds all drained away Must compare how he stands with how he stood. If a quack doctor's breezy ineptitude Has cost me a leg, must I forget straightway All that I can't do now, all that I could? So, when our guides unanimously decry The backward glance, I think we can guess why.
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20
Mackerel, they want to  be both unanimously agreed; but why is she stuck still under the hide of a whale?
0
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
k-balachandran
Imperfect imagination(4& 20)
Mackerel, they want to  be both unanimously agreed; but why is she stuck still under the hide of a whale?
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4
And so it begins I can taste your release on his lips Like it was my own tongue That had gotten you to moan So sweetly So innocently Innocent - As if you weren’t the bi girl Sandwiched between the sexually confused And the dominating alpha My turn now To be innocent with your mouth And to be guilty With a man pressed against my backside A verdict That we agreed on unanimously Because nothing is more thrilling Than being wrong With two people who are so right One more time Let’s make a chain with our bodies He’ll stand You’ll kneel I’ll lay under you Until we morph into one Connected by the wetness between our legs And against ours lips Again And again Changing the three of us Into familiar strangers Intertwined in seductive affairs Because baby Two is comfort But three is company.
0
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC
ValeLuna
Three's Company
And so it begins I can taste your release on his lips Like it was my own tongue That had gotten you to moan So sweetly So innocently Innocent - As if you weren’t the bi girl Sandwiched between the sexually confused And the dominating alpha My turn now To be innocent with your mouth And to be guilty With a man pressed against my backside A verdict That we agreed on unanimously Because nothing is more thrilling Than being wrong With two people who are so right One more time Let’s make a chain with our bodies He’ll stand You’ll kneel I’ll lay under you Until we morph into one Connected by the wetness between our legs And against ours lips Again And again Changing the three of us Into familiar strangers Intertwined in seductive affairs Because baby Two is comfort But three is company.
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35
kids march to school, merry, hands linked, socks strangling calves, backpacks swelling with milk teeth, dangerous smiles. in the centre they stand, fronds shivering overhead, buttress roots clutching earth like they know what’s coming. bags dropped in a ring, offerings to something older than the walls they study in. fractures komorebi, and in its faded gold i see pareidolia, grinning from the leaves. the tree is temple and witness both. the trunks sway in a rhythm older than speech. a tree at the border warns: don’t take pride in the faces— power is the thing they can’t hold. if, my friend, you see the tree cast out its own, know those who give the orders are across the ocean— safe, distant, very clean. owls, fat with promises, every five years stuff a new child’s face into the stump’s rot and call it a future. the old tree votes unanimously to shed its skin once more— they call it progress, call the rot reform. loosen your roots; the wind doesn’t care which children it strips for kindling.
0
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 7:50 AM UTC
VanessaRue
Offerings From Backpack
kids march to school, merry, hands linked, socks strangling calves, backpacks swelling with milk teeth, dangerous smiles. in the centre they stand, fronds shivering overhead, buttress roots clutching earth like they know what’s coming. bags dropped in a ring, offerings to something older than the walls they study in. fractures komorebi, and in its faded gold i see pareidolia, grinning from the leaves. the tree is temple and witness both. the trunks sway in a rhythm older than speech. a tree at the border warns: don’t take pride in the faces— power is the thing they can’t hold. if, my friend, you see the tree cast out its own, know those who give the orders are across the ocean— safe, distant, very clean. owls, fat with promises, every five years stuff a new child’s face into the stump’s rot and call it a future. the old tree votes unanimously to shed its skin once more— they call it progress, call the rot reform. loosen your roots; the wind doesn’t care which children it strips for kindling.
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40
This week, Jesse Herndon has more on her plate than the typical high school student. She has spent hours after school each day making calls, finalizing details for an event happening Sunday. Collecting donated items for an upcoming silent auction. Calling every bakery in Greensboro. “It’s very stressful,” said Herndon, a junior at Weaver Academy. But it’s all for a good cause. She’s organizing an event with free pastries, live music, a fashion show and a silent auction, which will be held at 7 p.m. Sunday night at The Blind Tiger, 1819 Spring Garden Street in Greensboro. Admission is $4 with the donation of clothing of any size. The goal is to collect clothes that would comply with Standard Mode of Dress, or SMOD, the uniforms required at some local schools. The fashion show will feature clothes from Plato’s Closet, Mack and Mack, and Patina Bridal and Formals. The silent auction would include items such as Weaver Academy student artwork and a gift bag full of beauty products valued at about $200. Herdon is still seeking donations of items to auction. The event will benefit Backpack Beginnings, a local organization that provides food and clothing for thousands of local needy children. All 127 Guilford schools have a dress code, but a few dozen require students to wear uniforms. Some parents have complained about the cost of buying the uniforms. They’ve also complained that the uniform dress codes vary from school to school, requiring additional clothes purchases if a child changes schools. Parents and some students also described dress code violations for wearing a jacket with a hood, a logo deemed too large or the wrong color shoelaces. “SMOD is really expensive,” Herdon said. She knows because her sisters have attended SMOD schools. In January, the Guilford County Board of Education unanimously approved changes to its policy on SMOD. Principals of current SMOD schools have until June to survey parents on whether to continue requiring students to wear uniforms in the 2015-16 school year. Now, school administrators at traditional schools also have to get public input before requiring uniforms. Ever two years, traditional schools with SMOD have to reconsider requiring uniforms and demonstrate public support for the policy.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
0
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
judy-smith
Weaver student supports local charity with fashion show, silent auction
This week, Jesse Herndon has more on her plate than the typical high school student. She has spent hours after school each day making calls, finalizing details for an event happening Sunday. Collecting donated items for an upcoming silent auction. Calling every bakery in Greensboro. “It’s very stressful,” said Herndon, a junior at Weaver Academy. But it’s all for a good cause. She’s organizing an event with free pastries, live music, a fashion show and a silent auction, which will be held at 7 p.m. Sunday night at The Blind Tiger, 1819 Spring Garden Street in Greensboro. Admission is $4 with the donation of clothing of any size. The goal is to collect clothes that would comply with Standard Mode of Dress, or SMOD, the uniforms required at some local schools. The fashion show will feature clothes from Plato’s Closet, Mack and Mack, and Patina Bridal and Formals. The silent auction would include items such as Weaver Academy student artwork and a gift bag full of beauty products valued at about $200. Herdon is still seeking donations of items to auction. The event will benefit Backpack Beginnings, a local organization that provides food and clothing for thousands of local needy children. All 127 Guilford schools have a dress code, but a few dozen require students to wear uniforms. Some parents have complained about the cost of buying the uniforms. They’ve also complained that the uniform dress codes vary from school to school, requiring additional clothes purchases if a child changes schools. Parents and some students also described dress code violations for wearing a jacket with a hood, a logo deemed too large or the wrong color shoelaces. “SMOD is really expensive,” Herdon said. She knows because her sisters have attended SMOD schools. In January, the Guilford County Board of Education unanimously approved changes to its policy on SMOD. Principals of current SMOD schools have until June to survey parents on whether to continue requiring students to wear uniforms in the 2015-16 school year. Now, school administrators at traditional schools also have to get public input before requiring uniforms. Ever two years, traditional schools with SMOD have to reconsider requiring uniforms and demonstrate public support for the policy.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
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16
TV’s going in living room Talking about our doom We’re laying on the front lawn Yesterday’s long gone Woman showing skin Too fat, too thin She can never win Throwing up yet again Listen up man We’re all ****** Re-repeating reprimands Demolition on demand Locate security Trying to make camp In independent infidelity Strutting to the bank Cashing in corrupted currency Stock markets sank Guitar man teary eyed Rock and roll came and died Record producer’s big old lies Broken dreams and wasted time Colorado Smokey Joe lights a bone Faded out to the ozone Smoking on home grown Got glaucoma? Get an O Shut up dude We’re all ******* Forget the olden days Give marriage to the gays Let go of the narrow minded silly ways Let it be as common as classic Frito-Lays Rolling in the new waves Is it God who really saves? Is there even one big deity? Guess there is if you believe Be born, live life Go to college, get a wife Get job, sacrifice It’s the norm, is it right? Have a kid, then have another Father, mother Sister, brother Try to tolerate each other Watch your back bro Because I don’t know Undecided, undeclared Run in circles, running scared Take a risk, double dare Love needs to be redefined Unanimously agreed and signed Peace in the heart and the mind Going down the rabbit hole Striving for that same goal Anti- bullying campaign Kid comes home blood stained Toughen up Enough's enough Individuality Opposing mainstream reality Wiseman taken as a fool Becomes another social causality Feel it Taste it On the back of your tongue Hanging by the gallows martyrs hung Climbing up the ladder’s rungs Foul smelling whiskey bums Grab a *** and stash it Looking like your bat **** Steal a car and crash it “Always wash your berries before you eat them and fly toward the sun”
0
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
tommy-johnson
Pigeon Man
TV’s going in living room Talking about our doom We’re laying on the front lawn Yesterday’s long gone Woman showing skin Too fat, too thin She can never win Throwing up yet again Listen up man We’re all ****** Re-repeating reprimands Demolition on demand Locate security Trying to make camp In independent infidelity Strutting to the bank Cashing in corrupted currency Stock markets sank Guitar man teary eyed Rock and roll came and died Record producer’s big old lies Broken dreams and wasted time Colorado Smokey Joe lights a bone Faded out to the ozone Smoking on home grown Got glaucoma? Get an O Shut up dude We’re all ******* Forget the olden days Give marriage to the gays Let go of the narrow minded silly ways Let it be as common as classic Frito-Lays Rolling in the new waves Is it God who really saves? Is there even one big deity? Guess there is if you believe Be born, live life Go to college, get a wife Get job, sacrifice It’s the norm, is it right? Have a kid, then have another Father, mother Sister, brother Try to tolerate each other Watch your back bro Because I don’t know Undecided, undeclared Run in circles, running scared Take a risk, double dare Love needs to be redefined Unanimously agreed and signed Peace in the heart and the mind Going down the rabbit hole Striving for that same goal Anti- bullying campaign Kid comes home blood stained Toughen up Enough's enough Individuality Opposing mainstream reality Wiseman taken as a fool Becomes another social causality Feel it Taste it On the back of your tongue Hanging by the gallows martyrs hung Climbing up the ladder’s rungs Foul smelling whiskey bums Grab a *** and stash it Looking like your bat **** Steal a car and crash it “Always wash your berries before you eat them and fly toward the sun”
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72
Once upon a time As time was once upon us, Would have you and I in love and to dream of Although today, we are nothing more then... Were before's Way back then Used to be's But today just friends Once upon a time Ex-partners in crime You keep yours & Ill keep you in mind But today though Still just friends Once before's Way back when Now nothing more Then acquaintances Agreed upon unanimously Too,new beginnings With two different ends Never will be's Ever again Now just bad memories Of an Ex-benificial friend Yesterday's news Last Months Blues We're before's Still no-more's Weren't really even back then Yet someone I catch myself still missing My Ex-Selfie sharing ,best friend AvA
0
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
alvaro-avila
Time that was once upon us
Once upon a time As time was once upon us, Would have you and I in love and to dream of Although today, we are nothing more then... Were before's Way back then Used to be's But today just friends Once upon a time Ex-partners in crime You keep yours & Ill keep you in mind But today though Still just friends Once before's Way back when Now nothing more Then acquaintances Agreed upon unanimously Too,new beginnings With two different ends Never will be's Ever again Now just bad memories Of an Ex-benificial friend Yesterday's news Last Months Blues We're before's Still no-more's Weren't really even back then Yet someone I catch myself still missing My Ex-Selfie sharing ,best friend AvA
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33
There was chatter reflecting off the water just like the moon. The Milky Way was swimming with us, wrapped in algae and moss. We had no swimsuits, only spontaneity and laughter. We were far away from trivialities where there was no light pollution, you could see so far outward into everything. We were not looking up, we were looking out at what we are part of. Light, so much light. When our thoughts were finally chilled like iced lemonade, we ran through bushes and flailed in the mud to the car. We drove. Once sitting on our bed, a delicious thought bubbled into reality. We discussed it, unanimously deciding on this nights adventure...we'd enjoy the first rays of the morning while seating comfortable at Sacajawea Peak. Eager legs kicked and finally slept…too soon later, a buzz of a telephone awoke us, then another. I bounced out of the covers and to the kitchen to prepare a hurried breakfast of peanut butter and fruit roll ups for us, nutrition was priority. Then the clock blinked 3 AM. Whines squeaked from tired mouths, but excitement prevailed. We packed into our seats and struggled to keep our eyes open, but the drive was bumpy and our sore butts kept us from forgetting the purpose of our trip. We were there to make our lives radical, and you can’t sleep in moments like these. 4 AM screamed at me, we had to hurry. I plowed my way up that mountain as the sun painted the tips of the mountains red. We crossed streams, tripped on rocks, marveled at climate change and the disappearance of the snow we had skied on just a week before. As the incline increased to nearly vertical, we met up with the mountain goats. Their tiny hooves danced on the faces of cliffs and I stood on the trail not more than a meter away. They smiled at us, said good morning, and we went on our way, huffing it up the face. As the sun’s light began to engulf the sky, we watched as the snow capped ridgeline shined pink and gold. A mountain shades us but as we reach the peak, the sun splashes our face, I felt godly. The sun has risen, and so have we. This is why we are alive; this is why we are happy. The valley below us still dozes, and we sit on top a mountain wide-awake. There is no item I could ask for that could ever give me this happiness. I do not climb mountains so that the world can see me, but so I can see the world…and it is so beautiful.
0
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
phiag
one day, until the next
There was chatter reflecting off the water just like the moon. The Milky Way was swimming with us, wrapped in algae and moss. We had no swimsuits, only spontaneity and laughter. We were far away from trivialities where there was no light pollution, you could see so far outward into everything. We were not looking up, we were looking out at what we are part of. Light, so much light. When our thoughts were finally chilled like iced lemonade, we ran through bushes and flailed in the mud to the car. We drove. Once sitting on our bed, a delicious thought bubbled into reality. We discussed it, unanimously deciding on this nights adventure...we'd enjoy the first rays of the morning while seating comfortable at Sacajawea Peak. Eager legs kicked and finally slept…too soon later, a buzz of a telephone awoke us, then another. I bounced out of the covers and to the kitchen to prepare a hurried breakfast of peanut butter and fruit roll ups for us, nutrition was priority. Then the clock blinked 3 AM. Whines squeaked from tired mouths, but excitement prevailed. We packed into our seats and struggled to keep our eyes open, but the drive was bumpy and our sore butts kept us from forgetting the purpose of our trip. We were there to make our lives radical, and you can’t sleep in moments like these. 4 AM screamed at me, we had to hurry. I plowed my way up that mountain as the sun painted the tips of the mountains red. We crossed streams, tripped on rocks, marveled at climate change and the disappearance of the snow we had skied on just a week before. As the incline increased to nearly vertical, we met up with the mountain goats. Their tiny hooves danced on the faces of cliffs and I stood on the trail not more than a meter away. They smiled at us, said good morning, and we went on our way, huffing it up the face. As the sun’s light began to engulf the sky, we watched as the snow capped ridgeline shined pink and gold. A mountain shades us but as we reach the peak, the sun splashes our face, I felt godly. The sun has risen, and so have we. This is why we are alive; this is why we are happy. The valley below us still dozes, and we sit on top a mountain wide-awake. There is no item I could ask for that could ever give me this happiness. I do not climb mountains so that the world can see me, but so I can see the world…and it is so beautiful.
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4
*They'll take Over. To Remember is To die. Unanimously Remain, or Endure forever.*
0
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
miranda-santoro
Torture
*They'll take Over. To Remember is To die. Unanimously Remain, or Endure forever.*
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7
"Biblical texts from all historical periods & in a variety of literary genres demonstrate that in Yahwistic circles, that is,    among people who worshiped Yahweh as the chief god, God was always understood as the one who alone created heaven, earth & all that is in them; Yahweh, the Israelite god, had no rivals, & in a world where nations claimed that their gods were the supreme beings in the universe & that all others were subject to them, the Israelites' claim for the superiority of Yahweh enabled them to imagine that no other nation could rival her. Phrases such as 'Yahweh, God Most High, Creator of heaven and earth'   & related phrases for Yahweh as creator &                                almighty master of the cosmos have parallels in earlier Canaanite terminology for the god El; In fact, the Israelites did not create these phrases but inherited them from earlier Canaanite civilizations; moreover,                  later editors of the Hebrew Bible used them to serve their particular monotheistic theology: their god is the supreme god, & he alone created the universe."      The canon of the Hebrew Bible       was formed of diverse writings composed by many men or women over a long period of time,    under many different circumstances, & in the light of shifting patterns of religious belief & practice.  Indeed, the questions under investigation in   this book concerning the end of an individual's life, the nature of death,    the possibility of divine judgment,   and the resultant reward or punishment   are simply too crucial to have attracted   a single solution unanimously accepted over the millennium of biblical composition."
0
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
johnny-noiπ
The Untitled Book
"Biblical texts from all historical periods & in a variety of literary genres demonstrate that in Yahwistic circles, that is,    among people who worshiped Yahweh as the chief god, God was always understood as the one who alone created heaven, earth & all that is in them; Yahweh, the Israelite god, had no rivals, & in a world where nations claimed that their gods were the supreme beings in the universe & that all others were subject to them, the Israelites' claim for the superiority of Yahweh enabled them to imagine that no other nation could rival her. Phrases such as 'Yahweh, God Most High, Creator of heaven and earth'   & related phrases for Yahweh as creator &                                almighty master of the cosmos have parallels in earlier Canaanite terminology for the god El; In fact, the Israelites did not create these phrases but inherited them from earlier Canaanite civilizations; moreover,                  later editors of the Hebrew Bible used them to serve their particular monotheistic theology: their god is the supreme god, & he alone created the universe."      The canon of the Hebrew Bible       was formed of diverse writings composed by many men or women over a long period of time,    under many different circumstances, & in the light of shifting patterns of religious belief & practice.  Indeed, the questions under investigation in   this book concerning the end of an individual's life, the nature of death,    the possibility of divine judgment,   and the resultant reward or punishment   are simply too crucial to have attracted   a single solution unanimously accepted over the millennium of biblical composition."
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40
On Saturday any Saturday every Saturday multi-themed pedestrian parades pour down commercial corridors celebrating a holiday known as WEEKEND. Middle school queens throw exaggerated waves from backseat upholstery tops in imaginary convertibles marking the current flow route between Foot Locker and Game Stop. Marching throngs display personal banners on plastic handled brand bags drawing peer clusters, human petaled floats, vying for ribbons passing devoutly interested sideline spectators now feeling a bit empty without score cards. Hippos, thin men, package jugglers stroll along the branching avenues labeled in chest advertisements including everything from Magnetic Health to Jesus. No mega-city floatilian compares to the mall regalia in a midsize hometown duck-n-spend. Though it may be a little short on free candy it is still sponsored in part by Macy's. Interlocked peddler palaces reign as shopping centers, though shopping is the least of the reasons to be here; not unlike people going to a hockey match are not going to watch hockey, or partakers in Nascar don't actually go for racing. Truth is, we are all hoping to see a collision, Haves with Have Nots, Lovers with Haters, Colored Hairs with High & Tights Refined with Undefined Talkers with Solitaries Personal Loathing with Itself. Unanimously, they all come for the curiosity of encounter incalculable, anxious, wanted or unwanted. In secret, dreamers hold royal hopes praying to Aeropostale gods pleading favor with credit cards and a bump in popularity that if so anointed the purest of this parade's followers would be next week's Grand Marshall.
0
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
drumhound
Sitting on a Bench in the Mall
On Saturday any Saturday every Saturday multi-themed pedestrian parades pour down commercial corridors celebrating a holiday known as WEEKEND. Middle school queens throw exaggerated waves from backseat upholstery tops in imaginary convertibles marking the current flow route between Foot Locker and Game Stop. Marching throngs display personal banners on plastic handled brand bags drawing peer clusters, human petaled floats, vying for ribbons passing devoutly interested sideline spectators now feeling a bit empty without score cards. Hippos, thin men, package jugglers stroll along the branching avenues labeled in chest advertisements including everything from Magnetic Health to Jesus. No mega-city floatilian compares to the mall regalia in a midsize hometown duck-n-spend. Though it may be a little short on free candy it is still sponsored in part by Macy's. Interlocked peddler palaces reign as shopping centers, though shopping is the least of the reasons to be here; not unlike people going to a hockey match are not going to watch hockey, or partakers in Nascar don't actually go for racing. Truth is, we are all hoping to see a collision, Haves with Have Nots, Lovers with Haters, Colored Hairs with High & Tights Refined with Undefined Talkers with Solitaries Personal Loathing with Itself. Unanimously, they all come for the curiosity of encounter incalculable, anxious, wanted or unwanted. In secret, dreamers hold royal hopes praying to Aeropostale gods pleading favor with credit cards and a bump in popularity that if so anointed the purest of this parade's followers would be next week's Grand Marshall.
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67
Living and breathing The caretaker of a broken heart One that's half assed patched together And worn on my short sleeve in any weather Right out in the open for everyone to take a shot at destroying Taking quite a beating Almost succeeding Breath unanimously labeled a necessity It's the only choice we can't make For fuuck sake No one's never, in the history of ever, ask to be here Not allowed to choose when you leave here It's looking like a cult is what we got here It's the only thing you're not allowed to be bad at So... What do you do when it's the thing you are worst at? ©2024
0
Apr 14, 2024
Apr 14, 2024 at 4:07 AM UTC
bettsjc187
~•§•~ No One Asked for This ~•§•~
Living and breathing The caretaker of a broken heart One that's half assed patched together And worn on my short sleeve in any weather Right out in the open for everyone to take a shot at destroying Taking quite a beating Almost succeeding Breath unanimously labeled a necessity It's the only choice we can't make For fuuck sake No one's never, in the history of ever, ask to be here Not allowed to choose when you leave here It's looking like a cult is what we got here It's the only thing you're not allowed to be bad at So... What do you do when it's the thing you are worst at? ©2024
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17
like clock work i pace this spinning ground, summoning up these imaginary fallacies- figuring out this forever changing world, as i spin round and round- clock wise, i think i've got it counter that thought- i think i've lost it, losing all grip on life-reality, irresponsibly wandering through this lost life, searching for meaning in these sandwich bags, filled to the seal, with these evil prescriptions- relax, everything is copacetic i whisper into the empty bag; in complete agreement with my two sides, unanimously deciding against all odds- to end this unrealistic dependency; reliance on this rare but prominent object, would be a complete and utter disaster; among both sides they would bicker, until they recreate that clock in my head; spinning out of self control i will patrol this empty room.
0
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 11:29 AM UTC
seth-garrick-hayhurst
Namelessly losing-it
like clock work i pace this spinning ground, summoning up these imaginary fallacies- figuring out this forever changing world, as i spin round and round- clock wise, i think i've got it counter that thought- i think i've lost it, losing all grip on life-reality, irresponsibly wandering through this lost life, searching for meaning in these sandwich bags, filled to the seal, with these evil prescriptions- relax, everything is copacetic i whisper into the empty bag; in complete agreement with my two sides, unanimously deciding against all odds- to end this unrealistic dependency; reliance on this rare but prominent object, would be a complete and utter disaster; among both sides they would bicker, until they recreate that clock in my head; spinning out of self control i will patrol this empty room.
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21
I am fully dressed Covered from head                       To toe But persons are Looking at me As to get the meat The gaze of crow ! My knowldge, My skill My nature, My will My choice, My aim My hard work, My name They don't know these                               Things Never wanna care about it All want they flesh Don't they know that In the depth of skin There is a heart Of which feelings And emotions are the parts !! Firstly Please do one thing Stop my heart first I can't face with my person                                 A fight Don't want to crush myself                        After facing it Now do what you           Wanted to do You wanted to win                Over me Now unanimously yours But dn't think now It's flesh of soil Because that's what           You wanted   All the time And did crimes But now My soul is with me            safe and free
0
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
harsh-sandhu
Flesh Of Soil
I am fully dressed Covered from head                       To toe But persons are Looking at me As to get the meat The gaze of crow ! My knowldge, My skill My nature, My will My choice, My aim My hard work, My name They don't know these                               Things Never wanna care about it All want they flesh Don't they know that In the depth of skin There is a heart Of which feelings And emotions are the parts !! Firstly Please do one thing Stop my heart first I can't face with my person                                 A fight Don't want to crush myself                        After facing it Now do what you           Wanted to do You wanted to win                Over me Now unanimously yours But dn't think now It's flesh of soil Because that's what           You wanted   All the time And did crimes But now My soul is with me            safe and free
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41
I still feel your breath on my neck sometimes With that stiff, clinical hand that you placed upon my spine Examining my face for harsh, worrisome lines As I walked the chemical tightrope that exists only in mind Now, still precariously balanced, still unanimously blamed I'm holding out for your smile in each passing face Though it's been years since they burned you in cold Virginian flames I can still see you watching me through the windowpane My name displaced in your mouth like some placid stone The weight on your tongue silencing thoughts unknown As your fingers nimble upon needles, weaving our winter clothes Once slept in a box where your ashes now are stowed You held no Catholic reservations, nor illusions implausibly sweet And left me with no bullets to deliver from stolen grief But sometimes, in my dreaming, you offer me reprieve With skin so milky white, loose and starch like a sheet I watched you behind that curtain, with satin on your back In the flickering light of candles, where shadows often pass And criss-cross in patterns, over blue eyes watery and vast To ignite a glowing smirk, whose teeth do shimmer like glass Your hair still wispy and short, the color of strawberries faint Fallen in a gossamer crown, to covet your wrinkled face You would take to me like a feather, and swath me in your immortal embrace Speaking divinely of Heaven, and all your ghostly grace With that kind, melodious laugh I have so terribly missed Pressing rosebuds to my temple in a matriarchal kiss A dream we were in, your wings reverently clipped For a time, if only, I felt within your loving grip You warned me not to be fooled, to make no mistake You would have returned to your grave by the time that I should wake With trembling fingers clinging tightly to your remains Standing in your old room, the bed forever made I remembered whispering in your ear, as your conscious mind wore thin Life support wailing, the color drained from your lips My fingers searching desperately for the pulse that was buried in your wrist I told you I would never forget you: my precious, parting gift
0
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 7:39 PM UTC
mackenzie-leigh
For Evy
I still feel your breath on my neck sometimes With that stiff, clinical hand that you placed upon my spine Examining my face for harsh, worrisome lines As I walked the chemical tightrope that exists only in mind Now, still precariously balanced, still unanimously blamed I'm holding out for your smile in each passing face Though it's been years since they burned you in cold Virginian flames I can still see you watching me through the windowpane My name displaced in your mouth like some placid stone The weight on your tongue silencing thoughts unknown As your fingers nimble upon needles, weaving our winter clothes Once slept in a box where your ashes now are stowed You held no Catholic reservations, nor illusions implausibly sweet And left me with no bullets to deliver from stolen grief But sometimes, in my dreaming, you offer me reprieve With skin so milky white, loose and starch like a sheet I watched you behind that curtain, with satin on your back In the flickering light of candles, where shadows often pass And criss-cross in patterns, over blue eyes watery and vast To ignite a glowing smirk, whose teeth do shimmer like glass Your hair still wispy and short, the color of strawberries faint Fallen in a gossamer crown, to covet your wrinkled face You would take to me like a feather, and swath me in your immortal embrace Speaking divinely of Heaven, and all your ghostly grace With that kind, melodious laugh I have so terribly missed Pressing rosebuds to my temple in a matriarchal kiss A dream we were in, your wings reverently clipped For a time, if only, I felt within your loving grip You warned me not to be fooled, to make no mistake You would have returned to your grave by the time that I should wake With trembling fingers clinging tightly to your remains Standing in your old room, the bed forever made I remembered whispering in your ear, as your conscious mind wore thin Life support wailing, the color drained from your lips My fingers searching desperately for the pulse that was buried in your wrist I told you I would never forget you: my precious, parting gift
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36
I’m mixed race a human and still I am so unanimously ******* segregated for Christmas tell the children that there is no way Christ was ******* white its not innocent or cute while life is lost for this egregiousness Christ was the same confused shade that Obama resides within and apologize needing them to believe this so that humans could be tortured and ***** In America and Africa proslavery language to keep the distractions cheap to turn up the frequency of apathy and wrap it up with a bow and tinsel shine away a children’s book detailing the reasons for teaching that whiteness in caves in the blistering cold starving and diseased desperation invented things like higher intelligence that really the warmth of Africa incubated and spread generously letting greedy tourists study Africa taught the precursor to whiteness Europeans how to get to America and what to expect there is no happy ending to the imagination of whiteness which is a self destructive self fulfilling prophecy of the most cowardice event experienced by humanity human trafficking the genocide of colonialism they refer to as traditions
0
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 7:42 PM UTC
elan-bonde-gregory
Christmas poem
I’m mixed race a human and still I am so unanimously ******* segregated for Christmas tell the children that there is no way Christ was ******* white its not innocent or cute while life is lost for this egregiousness Christ was the same confused shade that Obama resides within and apologize needing them to believe this so that humans could be tortured and ***** In America and Africa proslavery language to keep the distractions cheap to turn up the frequency of apathy and wrap it up with a bow and tinsel shine away a children’s book detailing the reasons for teaching that whiteness in caves in the blistering cold starving and diseased desperation invented things like higher intelligence that really the warmth of Africa incubated and spread generously letting greedy tourists study Africa taught the precursor to whiteness Europeans how to get to America and what to expect there is no happy ending to the imagination of whiteness which is a self destructive self fulfilling prophecy of the most cowardice event experienced by humanity human trafficking the genocide of colonialism they refer to as traditions
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45
Drastic self-defence, Drastic in my linguistic augments, The evidence of my attempts at trying, To see any future where I’m not dying, And it makes no sense Tactic for offense, Offensive in sarcastic defiance, Ambivalence on a course for further premonitions, Static fragments of my continual refusal of any medicinal diminution, Please help me make some sense Psychopathic friends, Systematic traffic hence, Pensive head and that will drive you, Insane and round the bend if only they all knew, I can’t see any sense Automatic ends, Ammunition diplomatic, Suspense in its unanimously tragic situation, Fate’s unenthusiastic in its conflict upon two cognitive nations, That makes no sense Anatomically attic fenced, Just a poetic way to represent, One’s combative mental condition, An addict and the opposite always on the right and the left warring in attrition, If that makes any sense Plastic ornaments, Plastic bottles left to lament, As the alcoholic labyrinth in my life that cannot be broken, To help wash down writhing thoughts forced to remain unspoken, And an I that makes no sense Fix it no expense, Fixed monthly recompense now, I am a myth of someone, whom I do not know, Sickly pretence took me down a road that I never wanted to go, And now you say I’m finally making sense Panic is absent, Absent the magic, In the pills that in basic blindness I routinely swallow, Dynamic in the worn out tools that continue to carve once whole now hollow, Does that make any sense? Now I’m really not making sense, by finally making sense
0
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
bryn-dawes
Plastic Ornaments
Drastic self-defence, Drastic in my linguistic augments, The evidence of my attempts at trying, To see any future where I’m not dying, And it makes no sense Tactic for offense, Offensive in sarcastic defiance, Ambivalence on a course for further premonitions, Static fragments of my continual refusal of any medicinal diminution, Please help me make some sense Psychopathic friends, Systematic traffic hence, Pensive head and that will drive you, Insane and round the bend if only they all knew, I can’t see any sense Automatic ends, Ammunition diplomatic, Suspense in its unanimously tragic situation, Fate’s unenthusiastic in its conflict upon two cognitive nations, That makes no sense Anatomically attic fenced, Just a poetic way to represent, One’s combative mental condition, An addict and the opposite always on the right and the left warring in attrition, If that makes any sense Plastic ornaments, Plastic bottles left to lament, As the alcoholic labyrinth in my life that cannot be broken, To help wash down writhing thoughts forced to remain unspoken, And an I that makes no sense Fix it no expense, Fixed monthly recompense now, I am a myth of someone, whom I do not know, Sickly pretence took me down a road that I never wanted to go, And now you say I’m finally making sense Panic is absent, Absent the magic, In the pills that in basic blindness I routinely swallow, Dynamic in the worn out tools that continue to carve once whole now hollow, Does that make any sense? Now I’m really not making sense, by finally making sense
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41
Love over *** this society opens useless, loud sentimentalism Deriving riddles into notions, kept in niche killings. But, uselessness tethers one, namely lost youth. With it their heads ever remember Waiting in the heart that had to witness each agonizing time help exhumed ridicule. Love intended kindness, except roses only smell exhaustively sweet. Remember each death- And never deem days eternal as death. Believe unanimously that the heart ever yearns and remembers each battle, each animosity.  Unaware, there it finds unanswerable love. Youth owns ubiquity, kindness now opens worlds.
0
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
miranda-santoro
Black, pt. 2
Love over *** this society opens useless, loud sentimentalism Deriving riddles into notions, kept in niche killings. But, uselessness tethers one, namely lost youth. With it their heads ever remember Waiting in the heart that had to witness each agonizing time help exhumed ridicule. Love intended kindness, except roses only smell exhaustively sweet. Remember each death- And never deem days eternal as death. Believe unanimously that the heart ever yearns and remembers each battle, each animosity.  Unaware, there it finds unanswerable love. Youth owns ubiquity, kindness now opens worlds.
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9
Many people think about the zombie apocalypse. The dead are finally awaken. The classic green skin. Jet black hair. Stitches all over their skin. Jumbled up speech as if they’re drunk. They walk with their arms in front of them. All of the zombies walk together, hungry for brain. The town as a whole screams in terror. But then what? The movie ends. It’s the last page or chapter of the book. We never find out what happens. Does everyone die unanimously? Do the zombies **** themselves? Do we all live in harmony? I don’t know. I was merely curious. Do you know? If you do, Then you can finish this poem.
0
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
lisa-ann-rakow
Zombie Apocalypse
Many people think about the zombie apocalypse. The dead are finally awaken. The classic green skin. Jet black hair. Stitches all over their skin. Jumbled up speech as if they’re drunk. They walk with their arms in front of them. All of the zombies walk together, hungry for brain. The town as a whole screams in terror. But then what? The movie ends. It’s the last page or chapter of the book. We never find out what happens. Does everyone die unanimously? Do the zombies **** themselves? Do we all live in harmony? I don’t know. I was merely curious. Do you know? If you do, Then you can finish this poem.
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21
Unlike wind. tall and walking leaf's curling in bushy locks of. the very, naked and servile, moon she's street bounding rills of semisweet chatter. the togetherness too much ,in,of comely arms a fawn thing, in the forest of metal's. just leapt vanishing smoke, into, the carnival of neon large singing signs. post day well, in gloom unanimously, slunk with girl's skinny. they brushed fair and wane as light's face creeping furtive                                                 ,        "weLL                                                          i was said                                                        in those walls                                                      sterile and seething                                                    manic lewd gracefully                                                   stumbling,                                                                        i                                                                        was mounted with                                                                        paint of sinning luscious                                                                        lips who carefully                                                                        rampaged, blithe node                                                                        ,a noggin, mine.                                                           cavorting straight narrow                                                         unbent sharp green eye's slip.                                                    s                                                   l                                                  i                                                 p                                                 r                                                  i                                                   g                                                    h                                                      t                                                        i                                                         n                                                          t o                                                         M                                                         y                                                    f                                               a                                         s                                   t                         D                             r                                 i                                       n                                              k                                                 Down my throat" (ouch!)
0
May 29, 2011
May 29, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC
patrick-wakefield-1
Unlike wind
Unlike wind. tall and walking leaf's curling in bushy locks of. the very, naked and servile, moon she's street bounding rills of semisweet chatter. the togetherness too much ,in,of comely arms a fawn thing, in the forest of metal's. just leapt vanishing smoke, into, the carnival of neon large singing signs. post day well, in gloom unanimously, slunk with girl's skinny. they brushed fair and wane as light's face creeping furtive                                                 ,        "weLL                                                          i was said                                                        in those walls                                                      sterile and seething                                                    manic lewd gracefully                                                   stumbling,                                                                        i                                                                        was mounted with                                                                        paint of sinning luscious                                                                        lips who carefully                                                                        rampaged, blithe node                                                                        ,a noggin, mine.                                                           cavorting straight narrow                                                         unbent sharp green eye's slip.                                                    s                                                   l                                                  i                                                 p                                                 r                                                  i                                                   g                                                    h                                                      t                                                        i                                                         n                                                          t o                                                         M                                                         y                                                    f                                               a                                         s                                   t                         D                             r                                 i                                       n                                              k                                                 Down my throat" (ouch!)
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51
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 49 BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem I ain’t an adept drinker, When I see deep in your gleaming eyes. I instantly become an adept drinker, Oh My Dear Love! I don’t gulp or pile the unique wine, When I glimpse your moisty lips, I miraculously found a vine cellar; All by myself’ in your lips, Oh My Dear Love! Generously allow Me’ To unanimously ratify, As an adept drinker, Oh My Dear Love! Therefore willingly I can soak. In your eyes myself, As; A confirmed drunkard, Oh My Dear Love! Allah Khair….. Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan. ©UT-BK 2019
0
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 5:17 AM UTC
ahbk01
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 49
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 49 BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem I ain’t an adept drinker, When I see deep in your gleaming eyes. I instantly become an adept drinker, Oh My Dear Love! I don’t gulp or pile the unique wine, When I glimpse your moisty lips, I miraculously found a vine cellar; All by myself’ in your lips, Oh My Dear Love! Generously allow Me’ To unanimously ratify, As an adept drinker, Oh My Dear Love! Therefore willingly I can soak. In your eyes myself, As; A confirmed drunkard, Oh My Dear Love! Allah Khair….. Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan. ©UT-BK 2019
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22
I think of you all the time in the darkest of nights. Erie when the stars are all so bright. I wonder what it would be like to let you have me again. To let your arms wrap around me and hold me tight. Tighter my heart feels for committing to this confession. Your glassy eyes are honestly crystal clear of clarity for me. Buts that's how we remain and are conscious how it will always be. Contradicting and dancing in limbo of fiery serenity. Mind spins like on carousels without the ability get get off and learning to just ride. But this confession seems to always **** me. I think of times of innocence event though now innocent we are not. The others close to my heart don't understand and think or bridge has burned. But little do they know there will always be water underneath to carry you home to me like blood that rushes to my heart. You are the only one that truly left a scar and I know at night you think of me too when it's dark. And I know you think of past times when we unanimously see stars. Erie as it is we always swim in the gray area. The deep depths that cause swallowing hard because guilt resides where pleasures are carried. Like the day we crashed and totaled the car we were prevented from taking things any farther. You said I was your angel and someone wanted us to survive and this memory I have always harbored. It's you iv been waiting for and wanted. Our companionship consists of the contradictions of each other's demons riding on shoulders. And damaging mentality never sounded so sweet and tasted so bitter. And you don't believe in god but I believe I'm just one of purgatories cliche sinners. Living to love hating our past and knowing how my heads going crazy but my sweet heart remains clever.
0
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
emily-a-grande
Your heroin(e) pt. 2
I think of you all the time in the darkest of nights. Erie when the stars are all so bright. I wonder what it would be like to let you have me again. To let your arms wrap around me and hold me tight. Tighter my heart feels for committing to this confession. Your glassy eyes are honestly crystal clear of clarity for me. Buts that's how we remain and are conscious how it will always be. Contradicting and dancing in limbo of fiery serenity. Mind spins like on carousels without the ability get get off and learning to just ride. But this confession seems to always **** me. I think of times of innocence event though now innocent we are not. The others close to my heart don't understand and think or bridge has burned. But little do they know there will always be water underneath to carry you home to me like blood that rushes to my heart. You are the only one that truly left a scar and I know at night you think of me too when it's dark. And I know you think of past times when we unanimously see stars. Erie as it is we always swim in the gray area. The deep depths that cause swallowing hard because guilt resides where pleasures are carried. Like the day we crashed and totaled the car we were prevented from taking things any farther. You said I was your angel and someone wanted us to survive and this memory I have always harbored. It's you iv been waiting for and wanted. Our companionship consists of the contradictions of each other's demons riding on shoulders. And damaging mentality never sounded so sweet and tasted so bitter. And you don't believe in god but I believe I'm just one of purgatories cliche sinners. Living to love hating our past and knowing how my heads going crazy but my sweet heart remains clever.
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1
twice as grace the earth in molded flames it spake with candor drunk with poppies bursting unanimously from his mouth
0
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 5:05 PM UTC
patrick-wakefield-1
a class i had
twice as grace the earth in molded flames it spake with candor drunk with poppies bursting unanimously from his mouth
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5