"unlocking" poems
tell me...
will tomorrow bring,
all the things
i'm longing...
stowed upon its elusive wings,
tirelessly beating
and fighting
to show what's dangling
and hanging...
ready for the picking...
awaiting...
such time so it could begin its need for unloading,
delivering
and dropping,
its gleaming
treasures
on those who are deserving,
in no way lacking
so they could be at the receiving
end of this pressurising,
inking
of dwindling
words...
careless thoughts conceived only to
fuel
my deranged ramblings...
incessant mutterings of a shattering
mind...
bending backwards, almost breaking,
risking...
the chance of ever fully
mending...
hoping and praying
for a sentence that's pending
dawn's approval...
allowing
the rising
of the sun...
paving
ways for thriving
wishes,
unbarring
gates for soaring
dreams, unlocking
latches,
relieving...
the heightening
anxieties of grieving
hearts.
constantly whispering
utterances, promising
good will, happiness
and titillating
sanity.
we're thinking...
the earth is spinning,
the moon is setting,
so the sun must be rising
but...
tell me,
tomorrow...
is it coming?
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
You don't limit your life to social media.
In reality, social media limits you to your life.
A selfie with this and a selfie with that.
Your life is race for comments and likes.
Instead of having a personality worth praising
You are now judged based on your social media profiles.
Status update: I wish I could visit Paris some day.
In Paris you're like, "Where can I get signals for wifi?"
Your achievements are unlocking new levels of Candy Crush
Is that the legacy you'll leave behind?
As if all these achievements will benefit you
to unlock the doors of heaven when you'll die.
Your 940 friends won't be able to help you
by sending a booster or an extra life.
Relationship Status: Happily married.
Happy and married until the moment you both go offline.
You buy everything from behind the screen
Error 404: Cannot buy love and time.
It's a complicated maze that you won't accept
Even when they themselves call it a website.
You don't limit your life to social media.
In reality, social media limits you to your life.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
(I love) Dignity
*tearing words apart,
a part
of a joy I cannot
explain or share exactly*
knew a man once,
forty two years gone,
died too soon enough,
soon enough,
he and I will be
the same age
this man
a duck out of water,
a stranger in an adopted land,
trouble-stooped, a hard life, well lived,
never bent,
dignified in every step
I cannot remember him
ever kissing me, tousling my hair,
holding my hand, loving me in
a manner I wanted beyond desperately
yet here I am, 5:22 am
weeping tears recalling him
in glimpses long ago seen,
adding them all up to get a
single sum
Dignity.
*tearing words apart,
a part
of a joy I cannot/explain,
share precisely*
dig
in
to
my
chambered memory storage units,
unlocking those rusted locks with freshly oiled
tears
and loving the dignity he exampled
to the son he could not kiss, hand hold,
but taught him the one lesson, digging deep
to respect life and stand apart,
stand with dignity.
all else will follow
the son kissed his children plenty,
in a vain attempt to make up his missed
homework
now the grandfather,
now the grandfather
is still kissing
his last hope, his newest babes,
rolling on the floor,
so silly kissing belly buttons,
smelling their skin repeatedly,
in a manner most
undignified
still weeping
the son,
he tries to sort it out
and forgives and does not forget
the man that taught dignity
in everything,
even, especially,
in slow dying,
forty two years is a long time to wait
to weep.
it takes two hands in the dark
repeatedly
to collect all the waiting patiently
wetness and the
accompanied sniffles,
so undignified,
the son smiles at himself
declaring unabashedly,
digging out from himself
a poem, a self-reflection
on time tarnished reflections
clear enough to make him
sob,
believing*
I love dignity.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 5:51 AM UTC
Imagine my disappointment when,
on discovering a tiny door
in a hollow tree,
locating its miniature key
beneath a buttercup,
unlocking and opening it
I found not a world of tiny folk
not Tir-nan-Og nor Avalon,
but a spectacled man in a white labcoat
holding a clipboard
and making notes on my reaction.
"Initial shock", he jotted,
"followed by anger and suspicion.
"Likely to require counselling
"within a year."
I closed the door as politely as I could
and went back to my books.
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 7:01 AM UTC
You Sir, Are An Electrician!
**technocrat
— noun
a proponent, adherent, or supporter of technocracy.**
This city boy was expert at
Turning the lights on,
Unlocking the front door,
Putting new batteries in flashlights,
And calling the handyman to
"Please come upstairs"
When the degree of diving difficulty was a
Positive number.
Also,
Freezing the semi-permanently the DVR,
Triggering alarms,
Killing car batteries,
Making laptops question
Human sanity,
Tearing up when reading,
"Some Assembly Required!"
Raised in a city of experts,
He was unskilled in things electric,
Becoming apoplectic,
When a device had an
On/off switch that ignored him.
Somewhat famous he was,
For engaging the inanimate,
In a verbal dialectic,
Which included words highly phonetic,
But unsuitable for children's ears.
She was raised in rural pastures,
Corn fields used for hide n' go seek,
Riding goats after school
Just for fun,
Familiar with innards of
Deus ex machina, a/k/a
Minor engine repairs, and
Doing what he called,
Making reparations.
IOS7, heaven.
Cabling laptop to external devices,
Icing on the cake,
Dis and reassembling a German coffee maker,
Did not require calling an 800 number.
She never read an instruction sheet
Without pleasurable laughing at
Japanese English.
He was unashamed of his skilled
Unskilled characteristics,
For such is the way of the world
In the human kingdom,
Some of us two handed,
some of us, bi-standers.
But upon occasion,
He would bemoan his fate,
Decry his inability to survive
On a post-apocalyptic Earth,
Like the people on tv and movies.
Periodically he would grow morose,
Listless, at his inability to adapt to a
Point Oh world.
Uncomprehending
Icons and symbols whose meaning
Were wholly unintuitive,
He secretly ashamed of his need for
technological ******
She would sense his frustration,
Wipe away his inner condensation,
Climbing into his lap,
Whispering the following:
**You sir, are an electrician
of words, a verbal technocrat,**
Plumber of the depths where
Few fear to tread, explorer of the head,
Restorer of human paintings unmatched,
Without your ilk,
this world would be unbearable,
Your heart's warming silk
Comforts bodies and souls,
Speaking from experience personal.
Then, she flicked his
On/Off switch,
On.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
The greatest challenge my nature presents:
Love is harder to find
Hate is easier to find
Within myself and others
Is rejection different for me?
Everybody seems to know the pain of being unwanted
And idle threats and empty words are no stranger to rejection
But when you say you'll **** me if you ever see me again
The intention is clear
The existence of my attraction
Is grotesque beyond redemption
I thought I loved you...
When appreciation comes my way
It's superficiality amuses me
Because I know all that needs to happen
Is breaking down the wall to my mind
Or unlocking the door to my heart
And those appreciators will transform into detractors
Especially if the hideous leviathan approaches their vessel
Not finding women gross frustrates me
Because I have no reference point
For why people hate me so much
Which provides a reference point
For why I hate myself so much
It's difficult not to be dominated by this damnation
But there's no way people could understand
The daily subtle nuances
Why should they?
I don't constantly consider their lives either
Even if someone tried to comprehend my life
I'm not sure it's possible
I've been here the whole time and I'm still massively perplexed
I display my emotions
Disgust
I shroud my emotions
Indifference
I **** my emotions
Hatred
Is there no escape?
Even with sanctuaries along the way
Life feels like
Everybody swims in the ocean
While I'm resigned to my lonely oasis
Is it possible to feel more alone than completely alone?
Like a cockroach consigned to living under the refrigerator
It gets so cold and dark down here
I forage for crumbs only at night
Mortally afraid of human contact
For I know that the boot follows the light
And why not?
In a world where our priorities obstruct our compassion
How much consideration should a real human show
to a lowly maggot like me
When they have to worry about paying the exterminator?
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
When letters wait
to pounce on a blank page
when thoughts crowd the mind
like frothing **** in a pond
I keep wondering
what poetry is to me
what poetry is to many
Is it not the language of the heart
with no intervention of gray matter
the unlocking of closed vaults
stirring the embers of love, hurt or pain
or giving a free rein to fancy
and flying on magic carpets
to lands forlorn
Sometimes it is
a glide into a sea of tranquillity
an escape from
the humdrum of the world
a flash of liberation
from assaults of pain
a sedative
to numb the turmoil
a sanctuary
for a burdened heart
a window
to look at the world through
a companion
when one is inconsolably alone
a candle flame
in a darkening world
a cloth line
to hang the ***** laundry
a water lily blooming
in the pool of tears
a shelter
in homelessness
sometimes it is a ladder
to climb up to Heavens
an angel on wings
with tidings of hope
peace in a world
braced for war
Poetry, if you are all these
let us fall at your feet
bless us in our art
may we splurge in fancy
and conjure up worlds from words!
our poems may not be light houses
but could be fireflies
on a starless night!
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 11:56 AM UTC
http://m.wikihow.com/Unhook-a-Bra
Pinch the eyelets but oh so gently,
To properly unhook the device to safely release paradise
From it's containment chamber.
This be one of many secrets to unlocking
The mechanism that holds some of the happy things
The human body artist conceived
To perpetuate the
Species.
According to the internet,
To extract joy to the world correctly,
Depends upon both your station and your
Positioning.
Thus, it helps to have GPS,
Which most men think is that pointy thing
Between their legs,
But is not.
Given the laws of gravity,
And other natural limitations,
Sadly that utensil of little avail
In this surgical operation.
If one desires to release the tension
Between the connectors of the protectors,
Guardians of her heart,
It will be necessary to
Let your fingers do the walking.
So cut and paste the title above,
In your web browser place!
Do your homework or risk feeling
As petite as a schnauzer.
Seems your natural tendency,
Righty or lefty, matters in this endeavor,
Of which I was unawares, oft pressing the incorrect lever.
This, the likely cause of my spectacular
Teenage
Fumblings and failures.
Had I known that fact,
In the days before the Internet,
Surely I would have brought along my
Catchers mitt
To step up my game.
Sage advice the article provides:
*Get a bra, and practice, practice, practice!
It gets easier with experience.*
But methinks that is a bit of a
Risky adventure,
Lest you be seen boy,
Practicing upon yourself,
Or even a dummy,
Dummy!
So cut and paste the title above
In your web browser,
Do your home work or risk feeling
As petite as a pocket schnauzer.
But the most important tip
This wealthy article of information provides,
The conclusion.
In the hour of your desperate struggle,
Drooping
Ego
And
Crushed
Pride,
Ask for assistance from one more practiced,
Hopefully nearby,
Whose help usually comes with a charming smile
of touching condescension
For your male idiocy and verbal in-articulation.
*She, unawares, that you have got her
Positioned precisely where you want!*
For when you lift her up,
In a free state, the one Divinity intended,
and in your arms, enfolded and protected,
In one grand poetic gesture,
Sweep her off her feet,
Her surprise will be
**..
O
So Touching!**
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
Seeking for a funky cigarette . The taste of guilt and temptation feels so good in my lungs. A glass of red wine to compliment my daze . Now I'm buzz n I thank the white rabbit for coming to my aid. I confess I'm playing my hand without looking at my cards . The creations of my mind make sense only to me. I'm slowly unlocking the convenient of my thoughts. I want to taste the colors of the world but I want share the taste . Many don't have the anger I have .
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 2:23 AM UTC
emotions collide
unlocking flood gates
lips locked they are tongue-tied
tongues slidin against each other
bodies grindin against one another
body language speaking the same lingo
sensing the vibes she's dropping
and he's picking up on the signal
Aug 29, 2019
Aug 29, 2019 at 6:25 PM UTC
I feel like he was created just for me.
I think im holding hands with Destiny.
He Encourages me to be The Woman The Father has presdestined me to be.
Hes like a dream given unto me.
He sees straight thru me like he can hear my thoughts telephatically.
Got me fiening for him like jodeci
Plunging into the depths of his soul's love as I enjoy The journey of his story....
Hes The Instructor of love and Im the student thinking critically.
He has left An impact on my life tremedously.....
Im drowning in his love ever so endlessly.
He is Waves from the oceans currents of
pure bliss
And I......I am his ocean shore that his waters of love kiss.
He's like a precious treaure I have discovered.
Unlocking the chest to look inside and see what I have uncovered.
Im happy for what I have found
Hes A King worthy of Sparkling crown.
I wish I could wear his love Like a White Flowing Wedding Gown.
I feel he completes me like a sentence Yah is the subject, He's the predicate and im the noun.
With his words he painted a vivid picture of me
Its a picture with definition, depth, and clarity.
Its almost like he captured every little detail so Carefully.
As if I were an image of an angel made so Heavenly.
Apparently,
In his eyes Im a portrait crafted very delicately.
A beauty constructed with integrity.
Sparkling like the waters of the deep blue sea.
To Be held in The Artistic nature of his Creativity
Is a Wonderful sight to see
With his poetry I see The illustration of his spiritual Imagery
I caressed the Compassion of his vibes that discerned The ambience of his Frequency.
His Energy Sweetly Speaks so pleasntly
His Diction shows me his style Musically.
His wisdom shows the level of his Maturity
And it makes me drawn to him as if Its a force was pulling me closer into his gravity
Ill admit this experience is kind of scary
But My lovely Beautiful Mahogany
theres no place I rather be than with you standing by my side next to me.
Feeling as if I am Soaring like a bird so Free.
He Surely bring out the Best characteristics of me.
I Believe Im Subconsciously holding hands with destiny
#destiny #serendipity #Love #beauty
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
I am the soft silent sight
nestled in a tree gently
holding hands with emotion.
Together like lovers we intimately
sit with an invisible touch.
Our eyes penetrating darkness
we govern like a loving mother
or angelic force like Mother Teresa.
A shiny moon polishing
a silvery heart cooled
by a vast ocean.
I always fly quietly as I bring
a gentleness into darkness.
Tucking the night up with
the softest quilt, through a pane
of glass in a near by wood you
hear me calling.
I give a rod of stability eternal sight
seen it all before will see it again.
As we hang softly like the moon
in the sky or an Owl in the tree.
I lift people through their night
I carry them with my sight a
tractor beam of light.
As you feel my presence like a
million hands that softly
penetrate.
All holding torches you are
lite like a child who's mother
has come back.
Scooping you up your
darkness falls on
entering my Owls sight.
I am the light that always
surrounds the night .
I am the ever expanding vision
the tide that never turns but
just keeps on rising.
I grow with a bursting force
of an ever expanding universe
as I stretch my eyes they keep
on reaching.
I am the ancient eye placed high
above always unstirred but
filled with feeling.
Like the white of an eye surrounding
a pupil I am the army who circles
around the darkness.
I am the reflection of the velvet
moon sitting on the ocean
threading itself throughout
your being.
Those caught within my sight
will feel a thousand tiny bubbles
of bright light.
Gandolf the white explores
your caves holding his
wisdom stick and lantern.
Unlocking your hidden emotion
giving you magic fighting
of your demon.
I will conquer hell fire with
a gentle trickle finding my path
like a mountain stream passing.
But when I open my heart my wings
the devil will shudder because I hold a
power like the pacific ocean.
So much protection we can find
at night within the Owls sight.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
my room was a mess,
and we added to it as we undressed,
because I couldn't wait any longer.
I love the feeling of you on me,
as I try to be quite
You came in my mouth,
gripping my head,
my neck,
you tell me, "moan baby"
you love to hear me moan,
you wanted me to moan so loud the whole town could hear,
when I do I feel so happy to be with you,
I lay next to you,
wrap my body around you,
I hold ur hands and make a face that says everything were going to do,
is going to be *****
but I want to love you,
I kiss you to the point there's no point in stopping,
and when our fingers are unlocking,
they stroke your hair,
hair I love,
you grab my *** and spank it hard,
and I move my hands down your body never pausing,
but I can feel every part of you,
I know that this time its not frightening,
I make my way all the way down to your ****
and I put it in and we go off,
our ********** feels like it never stops,
we took the time to trace the outlines of each others bodies,
we looked into each others souls,
and now I'm getting ***** faster than eminem's Rap God,
and his body feels like a god,
the *********** begins,
and i'm pleased within,
moaning louder than before,
really hopping the neighbors aren't home next door,
and this is how loving you should feel.
so unreal,
even though its all real.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
It is empowering to see
other women besides me,
unfolding their wings,
holding the key
to unlocking their dreams,
and fulfilling their destiny.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 9:44 PM UTC
Everyone is born with a lock on their heart and a key in their hand. But my lock was broken. No one could fit their key in, for my lock had been damaged as a little girl and the key I was given had been misshapen. Until you came along, your own key and lock had been broken many times as a child and somehow the exact dent that had made it impossible for you to find a fit had slipped perfectly between my ******* and clicked. Unlocking something I never thought would unlock. And my key, a key that had only been used once before without success fit inside your lock with a click as well. Each lock opening to show emotions we had kept so tightly closed. And as I looked into your eyes, each other's hearts open on display, I realized that maybe our "damaged goods" are only damaged to the wrong people. Because for each other we were the exact fit we needed.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC
I was outside in the cold for hours that day
thinking about how to end things
i passed your body
On my way upstairs
Before spreading out my saved pills
And unlocking a knife
Crimson spread along my thigh
And my stomach became upset
My water is now empty
And all that's left on the counter is dust
A little bit of red stains the blade
And i pull up my pants nonchalantly
Jan 26, 2022
Jan 26, 2022 at 11:43 AM UTC
Today, I am sick.
My mental illness is shaped like a prison
and I am in the waiting room
wanting to ask
"What are you in here for"
like
what kind of crime has your head committed
that you are trying to lock it up
with prescriptions
and weekly meetings filled
with uncomfortable confessions
and numb palms from sitting on your hands for too long.
They say it's like playing in traffic,
a red-light-green-light game
where we beg for help
but don't know how to move
when we're asked to explain how we got here.
Do you even remember
what you're running from anymore?
Tell us about the days
where you can't tell if waking up
is a trench or a hill.
What has your head told you to do
and have you done it?
How did it feel when it was over?
Did your head congratulate you
when you were done?
Did you get a prize
like new scars?
Or three more handles of liquor?
The last time you prayed
did you have trouble unlocking your fingers?
Did the weight of God
keep your hands closed tight
in hopes that you wouldn't forget him
like the last time you saw Him
in the bottom of the pill bottle
and you smiled back?
Everyone here says the word Friday
like it hurts
because we know that the weekend is here
but we just can't seem to feel it.
Today we are sick
and nobody notices because our noses aren't running
we aren't openly bleeding in front of the one's we love
we do it in secret
just in case they ever catch us.
Today, we wanted them to catch us.
Stick out their hands
like a safety net
but it doesn't matter what height we fall from
because bones hitting bones
like a head on car collision
will never feel like warm sheets
blanketing our bodies
but we can't help but wonder
if the sheet they will cover us with
after they find us
will be warm too.
Today we are tired of being sick
tired of waking up looking like police chalk lines
tired of walking into the therapy rooms
like they are our parish
but we're too afraid God might smite us on the way in.
We shouldn't have to flinch
when certain words are said
that pull us back loading gun
but are too weak to pull the trigger.
Today WE are the triggered,
the empty promise of tomorrow being filled
with another prescription
another drink
another list of second hand hope
coming from someone who is probably
still trying to remember what it says.
We would rather tiptoe between eggshells
and take our time
than let you know we are struggling.
We are STRUGGLING.
And it makes us so very tired.
So today I am tired
and I will tell you that
instead of reminding you
that every day I am sick.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
On almost the incendiary eve
Of several near deaths,
When one at the great least of your best loved
And always known must leave
Lions and fires of his flying breath,
Of your immortal friends
Who'd raise the organs of the counted dust
To shoot and sing your praise,
One who called deepest down shall hold his peace
That cannot sink or cease
Endlessly to his wound
In many married London's estranging grief.
On almost the incendiary eve
When at your lips and keys,
Locking, unlocking, the murdered strangers weave,
One who is most unknown,
Your polestar neighbour, sun of another street,
Will dive up to his tears.
He'll bathe his raining blood in the male sea
Who strode for your own dead
And wind his globe out of your water thread
And load the throats of shells
with every cry since light
Flashed first across his thunderclapping eyes.
On almost the incendiary eve
Of deaths and entrances,
When near and strange wounded on London's waves
Have sought your single grave,
One enemy, of many, who knows well
Your heart is luminous
In the watched dark, quivering through locks and caves,
Will pull the thunderbolts
To shut the sun, plunge, mount your darkened keys
And sear just riders back,
Until that one loved least
Looms the last Samson of your zodiac.
2.7k
She found him in the shadows of the night
He took her hand and showed her the light
She gave him her heart, he purified her soul-
Asked for forgiveness and now she feels whole
Felt her blood, rush through every vein
As quickly and silently he stole her pain
She’s reborn in her earthbound being
She’s been blessed just from believing
How lucky she is to feel his touch
She started to die until he passed her a crutch
Now she’s alive more than ever before
Because she was helped to unlocking the door
The secrets of life suddenly engulf her mind
And now she learns what to do with her time
Once a sinner, now a beginner, of her life
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
it is done differently - more is not necessary - more of this -
is too much;
the kissing is an exploration - to a polar destination of
virtual whiteness -
to discover more than this. the kissing is not an end in and of itself - but a fjord unexplored leading to what? yes there are many different kinds of kisses - adaptations to a changing terrain - but the face, the face, the face (not just the lips),
the head entire -
is the first battle in a world war where the
opponents strengths and weakness are
literally uncovered and shape the nature of the war of the worlds
yet to come.
more than kissing, it is a speech and an interrogation;
an ********** revelation
of fine lines and small scars, a writing of a history, a history that existed unbeknownst to the explorer and thus interesting and dangerous - a history composed in a different time and place and almost in a vacuum - for kissing is impactful - outlines of footsteps on never before trodden lanes - but who prepared these paths in advance of my arrival, and was my arrival forecast or just imagined?
first time kissing oft portrayed as excited glee - but this is a grievous error - a wild display of wasted resources - it is not to meant to be pesky single shots of damp I was here where next? it is a drawing, nay, a sculpting of map to be reproduced in limited quantity for only the map rooms of the greatest museums.
each individual kiss is more than an act, but a marker
connecting the previous
to the future next -
exactly a map drawn by an explorer - meant to be shared with others who love history, discovery and women creatures.
be wary of unmarked crevasses and pools where
no one has measured the depth -
novice sailors without proper charts upon unfamiliar faces -
too oft drown or are somehow sail as lost forever.
but the notion of being the first, even if you are not the first,
is so intoxicating
for the brainstorming it provokes - the envisioning of
more than kissing but of unlocking
a new nature, creating a creation born in the intersection of two waters - where fresh waters joint the brine of the ocean -
and there are untold different kinds of waters and no two terrains though similar - are ever exactly the same.
here does my entry in my log - my journal - end - though the notation of than
is comparative and therefore unending.
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 9:46 AM UTC
Let my lips trail across the soft, white surface of your skin
And straight down the tender bridge that is your spine
Allow my fingers to massage your body with pleasure
Unlocking the secrets of your dirtiest, lustful fantasies
The sweet, **** screams light my soul on fire
All sources of speech vanquish into thin air
My tongue drinks from the river of Hell's kitchen
Intensifying your castle of steamy, hot dreams
Gently I ****** each spot with caution
For each spot is dangerously tender
One slick touch of pressure and from her
Will erupt a ****** volcano
I whisper to her in devilishly, fancy tones
She whispers back in sensually, sacred moans
With no hesitation I move in for one final kiss
Our tongues rub each other sparking our taste buds
Birthing a marvelous ocean of ecstasy
By Glenn McCrary
© 2011 Glenn McCrary (All rights reserved)
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 10:54 AM UTC
Sometimes
There is no poetry
Playing Far Cry 3
Getting cheeched
Unlocking cheivos
Eating mac and cheese
4 monsters Yo!
MICROWAVE BURRITOS!
Chop sticks and cheetos
You need those
To keep your controller clean
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 11:35 PM UTC
Cats are Iambic Pentameter
Light-footed cats are nature’s iambics
Each subtle feline step unstressed to stressed
Across a lawn, a counterpane, a heart
As a tail-twitching cat ballet, all grace
But dogs are four-beat Anglo-Saxon1 lines
Galumphing heavily and clumsily
Across a moor, a sleeping-bag, a heart
As a tail-wagging country reel (gone bad)
Soft-footed cats are nature’s iambics
And dogs are four-beat Anglo-Saxon lines
1Old English Anglo-Saxon (approx. fifth-twelfth century). Applies to four-stress hemistichal alliterative verse, e.g. Beowulf.
- Stephen Fry, The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
"That's outrageous!" He said.
"You're a ******* fool" I muttered.
That's pennies on the dream.
If you think that the four dollars
And 29 cents is for a piece of plastic with some ink and a ballpoint then you're probably just making a grocery list.
A pen is not for scribbling to do lists.
There is an app for that.
A pen is for unlocking dreams and opening windows.
It's for recording the nightmares and victories of a life worth living.
If you don't have PTSD from one thing or another by 28, then you aren't living right.
"You're a madman" he chuckled.
Maybe so.
But I think the price is worth it.
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
The coffee *** just signalled, Ready,
So I pour the cream before the java:
A cup of divergent thinking.
There are roads running
In opposite directions,
Sharing points of similarity:
A tree, a sign, me.
Inside or outside the box of thinking,
Using the lower and upper ladder rungs
To paint the same wall,
Prologues and epilogues to the same story,
Lawyers in clown suits,
Children using,
Kittens chewing slippers,
Dogs in litter boxes,
Earth cooling,
Healing and feeding the masses,
Elected monarchies... NO monarchies,
Sleeping in or getting up,
Cursory letter to family and friends
(Though this is coming to an end),
Making love while wearing gloves,
The moon moves east to west
In the blink of sleep,
Churches giving alms and unlocking doors,
Schools excelling,
Parents attending.
To juxtapose is divergent,
Like sobering up with detergent
(You may be clean, but are you dry?).
If insurgents were divergent,
We'd have more convergence.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC