"untruly" poems
You. The Judy O'Grady
Who's constantly waiting
For ubiquitous flattery and lust
A cold-blooded lady
Untruly be gaining
The trust of those gullible hearts
My ****** oh Mary,
Let your heartstrings vary
From ruthless and violent ******
The sorrow that's buried
Within you and harried
Someday will ground you into dust
Be wise, my old lady,
The truth may be heavy
And somehow might seem so unjust
The power that's carried
By love so unwearied
To seize and inherit you must
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 10:41 AM UTC
I don't want someone that i cannot have
Because hearts were not made to be broken
I love you can be the powerful words
And should never be untruly spoken ...!!
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 11:26 AM UTC
Crazy Guy Sends His Poems to a Dead Guy
~for Joel Frye,and yes it’s true~
ah another trivial pursuit of trivial nuggets
bout yours untruly, that is a truly truly,
poets that
I’ve known here, but who have moved on,
it’s my obligation to keep them posted on the
au courant,
so slip them a poem or two,
when you ain’t looking to
make one wonder even more,
what makes a man a nutty Natty.?
well if you don’t know the answer to that after
two t h o u s a n d plus poems, you are not getting me
but Joel Frye,
mutual enjoyed our scribblings,
yeah, he got me,
so via social media,
keep him posted of my latest écrits,
fancy french for scribbles,
of course he gets them
before me,
in so far I assume
my thots are known to rise
or more likely drop,
even before
they traverse that narrow passage between my ears…
but really, just in case,
in the peace and quiet
of the hubbub above, with all them comings and goings,
he, God forbid, (ha!), he may overlook my inane insanities,
and the weirdness
of my compositions,
real, ethereal and in between~al,
that’s a great whew~relief knowing,
at least
some one!
is reading my stuff…
natty
Dec 17, 2023
Dec 17, 2023 at 5:58 PM UTC
~~~
"Fact about me: You design me"
line from a poem published here on Nov. 30, 2013
part I of a trilogy
nml
~~~
6:33am
9 minutes left
in the AM hour of my tribulation,
the re-design time,
redoing my outer shell
legs pounding,
towel sodden soggy,
soon return to home
do my morning ablutions
followed by a frosty walk
to the multiple screens
for trading things
makeover, do-over,
but you can only easy
shed and cleanse
exterior surfaces,
shape and appearance,
the inside stuff,
that's the gut wrencher
don't be so hard on yourself
kid!
nah ain't gonna
kid
myself
too old, too much a wise guy
to show much forgiveness to self,
of untruly yours,
whose design was only 50% mine
someone is dying,^
my cocktail of
words and emotions
more muddled than my
usual abnormal,
while sweating off
the golden baddies
to the golden oldies
so where exactly is the
truth burden?^^
somewhere between sad
and a curt "no cares"
my physical reformation,
is part and parceled,
of my regeneration,
the one who gave me
the desire to die before my time,
is dead before her time,
and I don't know the clear water truth
of my variable emotions
design me?
she is deigning to
design me still
with her untimely death
so I cycle even harder
to release the anxiety of
mis-everything
regretting what was lost,
now missed,
that too was, and is,
part of my design,
part of
burden of truths
that design who we
were, are, and yet
may be
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
Soul of which is glass,
meets with experiences that chisels the ethereal mass
as fragments chipped slowly, eroded away
anguish rise woe appears still negativity felt untruly
for every corner chiseled and crack shapes an image
wherein forth becomes a sculpture
grandeur in different curvatures and constructions
hence why souls refracts luminescent light as beautiful as any clear mirror
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 4:51 AM UTC
The Fifth Karamazov
When young we identify with Alyosha
His optimism and his innocence
His fragile, flowering Orthodox1 faith
A happy, almost-holy fool for Christ
When older, the sensual Dimitri,
With irresponsible lusts and desires
Grasping for the rewards of the moment
Now, ever now, wanting everything now
Then older still, as intellectual Ivan
Sneeringly aloft, above all faith and flesh
A constructor of systems and ideas
From the back pages of French magazines
Though never do we identify with
Nest-fouling, leering, lurking Smerdyakov
Our secret fear, unspoken fear, death-fear:
That he might be who we untruly are
But hear, O hear, the holy bells of Optina2
Those Russian messengers3 singing to us
Inviting us to meet Alyosha again
At Father Zosima’s poor4 hermitage
1Russian Orthodox
2The name of the real monastery upon which Dostoyevsky modeled his fictional one
3The Brothers Karamazov was first published as a serial in The Russian Messenger
4Poor only by earthly standards
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 8:13 PM UTC
Red roses have turned black now
The clouds of rain whisper in my ears
Time has thrown me back now
In the days of no fears....
Somethin i see when I look into a mirror.
The good times and the horror
The wrinkles on my face
The smiles given to me by grace
Description of my time spent
The days I didn't have my back bent
Smiling in the face of world
Flying like a free bird
The Arrogance and the pride
Like an oceans high tide
The unruly ways
The untruly says
The trustworthy fellas
And that secret crush of Bella's
Alas.. I had the days
Where I could have said the phrase
Could have made my life with her
But the bitterness of love we all have to taste
The energy overflowing in me
The joy overthrowing me
The nights merging into days
Roses losing it's petals
Back when i was a boy
Goin through the wet days and the dry
Better know as the black sheep
Nothing to hide no feelings so deep
Dancing my way through the crowd
My presence shouting my name out loud
No emptiness there was to fill
No guilty I had to ****
The summers and winters of the life
Everyone has to witness
Spring is the choices we make
Autumn is the destiny....
I've known the four Seasons
I've lived them in a way
when you get to the truth
Life sways away with the death.
The old days have gone now
The silence now speaks to me
Those memories mess my head
Now there's not a long road Ahead.
I see my death on my door everyday
Always finding a way to take me away
A million things I've left to say
Wishing to get one more day.
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
The Fifth Karamazov
When young we identify with Alyosha
His optimism and his innocence
His fragile, flowering Orthodox 1 faith
A happy, almost-holy fool for Christ
When older, the sensual Dimitri,
With irresponsible lusts and desires
Grasping for the rewards of the moment
Now, ever now, wanting everything now
Then older still, as intellectual Ivan
Sneeringly aloft, above all faith and flesh
A constructor of systems and ideas
From the back pages of French magazines
Though never do we identify with
Nest-fouling, leering, lurking Smerdyakov
Our secret fear, unspoken fear, death-fear:
That he might be who we untruly are
But hear, O hear, the holy bells of Optina 2
Those Russian messengers 3 singing to us
Inviting us to meet Alyosha again
At Father Zosima’s poor 4 hermitage
1 Russian Orthodox
2 The name of the real monastery upon which Dostoyevsky modeled his fictional one
3 The Brothers Karamazov was first published as a serial in The Russian Messenger
4 Poor only by secular standards
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
Bummed
picking up the crumbs
People grown numb
all craving green thumbs
No one is abundant as the fed who sits atop
the heaping pile of people who are slowly reaping crops
Separated
wrongly legislated
Segregate and weaken
before unties peaking
Some will see the lies
others live their lives
Without batting eyes
toward a kins demise
Another one who's babbling of peace and unity
cumbersome is life when your unchained untruly free
My eyes were tightly shut
but even then i felt
As if the cards at hand
where incorrect when dealt..
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 7:45 PM UTC