"upstanding" poems
They grace our tables
with their elegance and their beauty,
Support us in our careers
as though it was their duty,
They listen to our problems
day after day,
The same old problems,
They´ve been listening to since May,
Chefs, accountants, nannies and councillors
are just a few of their talents.
And when things are hectic
they mostly keep their balance.
And what do they get
when they've worked a long hard day.
I'll tell you something gents
they don't ask for any pay.
So how can we show gratitude for what is clearly so demanding.
Its quite simple
Gentlemen, please be upstanding,
The Ladies
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 11:35 AM UTC
Embracing His Solace!
In solace mountains scaled.
Solidarity stands strong.
Between two upstanding.
Love matters minimally.
Grace relaxed in cultured elegance.
Company not desired much.
Cries alone.
Dies alone.
Does he moan.
No deals granted.
Pours another escapist drink.
Needed to **** or release the lurking tears.
Forced to descend thy tender cheeks.
Solace found also in my place.
Want no-one to invade my space.
Love freedom to be mine.
Detest freedom myself at times.
Then I to cry.
Flood rivers rarely.
Too selfish to co-exist.
Although your heart and soul I've missed.
No deals wanted.
Love never denied!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
I believe that we are the church, in the ways that we worship, love, and give praise.
As a community, and as individuals throughout years, within days.
With a roof over our heads and walls surrounding, or within the open air, creation abounding.
I believe that the church is embodied within the proclamations that are preached.
Within the prayers and the praises, sufferings and healings that are reached.
I believe faith resides in the church.
Most importantly, as people are tested by God, but also in the ways that Christ is searched.
As love is spread and salvation proclaimed,
grace given, as Christians are no longer ashamed.
The church is upstanding, high on a hill.
In every way, shape, and form, Christ has come to fill.
Within every heart that is burdened, the gospel rings true.
I know of the church, because the church is in you.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 11:08 PM UTC
Up very early on this particular morning
couldn't sleep not unusual.
Trillions of thoughts racing in his brain
leaving his lovely wife in bed!
knowing to well the problems he'd created
met another himself he hated.
Nine months Jamie had been having an affair
his wife asking why he was late.
On numerous days his mistress wanting him
easy to say it just happened!
How could he let his fling get out of hand
he knew it was underhand.
Couldn't rest his conscience nagged him
no children with his spouse.
Practically one less worry for him to resolve
now his mistress was pregnant!
The usual cliche he still loved his wife
aware this situation was rife!
This didn't help sort out the mess he was in
what was the solution?
None of the answers were fundamentally good
but could not escape the truth.
It would break her heart to if he were to leave
who he never wanted to deceive!
With a deep breath he prepared for honesty
it had been a long time coming.
Prided himself in being an upstanding man
not noticing how low he'd sunk.
Seven thirty approached he heard Emma stir
he had to go and tell her!
With a burning guilt consuming his whole being
he made his way for judgement day!
The Foureyed Poet.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 7:59 PM UTC
For Madison Grace
So nice to know
you play the cello,
such a fine upstanding
instrument this.
It holds itself so
firm to the floor,
but needs the knees
to keep it still.
That resonant rich
bottom C, it never fails
to move me. So when
at the end of Bach’s
Fifth Suite, the music
dances its gigueing way
to that low tessitura, it’s
an open string end san pareil.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
they've been involving themselves
in all sorts of corrupt deals
and the ICAC
is calling them in
to give accounts
of their underhanded deals
many Labor politicians
have fronted to tell their tales
so have ****** figures
who've left not so tidy trails
the head of the commission
is apprising himself
with the corruption stealth
the shady deals
the money exchanges
those fine upstanding
legislators
caught in the net
rife these practices
have been...
and in time
they've been seen to be
not so clean
dossiers on those
who've had their hands
in the defrauding game
shall have them
well cuffed
and they'll only
have themselves to blame
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:59 AM UTC
Upstanding citizen of forest floor.
Tall and proud.
Lowest level.
Tall and strong.
Home to many.
An ancient realm.
Mighty den of bugs and grubs.
Detritus munching in the hole.
A deciduous conifer.
Gets undressed for winter.
Redresses early spring.
Parody of pine tree.
Wood as red as fire.
The itching sky she needs to scratch.
Always reaching upwards.
Until her time is done!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:14 AM UTC
.
*A rose from a window
looks like any other rose,
but as the old lady stares
out through the thin glass
a fondness develops,
begins to form a memory,*
reaching back,
grasping the past,
*that very slowly forms
the image of a rose,
proud in an old garden,
upstanding to catch the eye
of a young girl
staring out of a window.*
© Pagan Paul (19/06/19)
Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 7:15 AM UTC
You
Are the sole reason
That my dentist
Makes money.
Let me tell ya’
‘Cause I,
I’ve got your
Sugar in my veins
And tremors in my teeth
Chit-chattering your name
Safe between our sheets
It’s sweet like
Honey
Since our third date
You had my thread
Spread tenderly
On your table
Set with love
And grace
And there I was
Stitching my heart on a page
Tryna hide my baggage
On a shelf
Now
When I think of myself
I see a river
That’s got to learn
To go with the flow
So,
Send me a rhythm
For the drum beat
Beating in my chest
Let me
Carve our love
In the mountains
Mount every branch
With my beaten lungs
Tape my tongue
To your thighs
And hold my breath
Until we are
So alive
Until every
Hard workin’
Upstanding
Friendly neighborhood
Ant knows my name
So name me your soldier
I’ll fight for every piece of you
Love you like the war
Is finally over
Like winter
Is the only thing
That ain’t
Gonna come
Cause Your ****
Is like a tree
That just
It just
Keeps growing
On me
It takes my breath away
And breathes me back to life
You
Soaked my
Leaves autumn red
In your sunflower sunshine
You
Have rainy days
Warm like
Honey
Give me one room
To come home to
And I will
write you a garden
Full of poems
That I do not yet
Know how
To speak
‘Till your name
Is the sweetest
Word on my tongue
Calling you up like
Honey
Honey
Mmmm.
Nov 6, 2023
Nov 6, 2023 at 1:14 PM UTC
birthed into a golden birdcage
safe behind upstanding spindles
endless nectars and suet at your beckon
knowing only the showcase of your plumage
and the sound of your tunes
layers remain
between you and the grackles
painted a nuisance
yet they stay unshackled
only poisoned and disregarded.
still they know the freedoms
not found atop
swings and perches
dig deeper
until you find what lurches.
the gate can be opened
when you realize yourself
to be the gatekeeper
yielding what's mine
using wings of more than feathers
making up for lost time.
looking back at the captivity
you couldn't see from inside.
entering a new world
with the grackle as my guide.
Nov 19, 2023
Nov 19, 2023 at 4:29 PM UTC
Is it wrong of me to be and to want to be
Faithful to this girl when we're just starting out?
When we've really yet to begin?
Is it strange? Is there really something so wrong with me?
Have past relationships so scarred me?
Have Pop Culture, media, and trends
Really fought that hard to warp my grasp on reality?
Have they truly convinced me that the way I see
Isn't the way I should be living?
Or is it just blurred vision,
Some social distortion?
I just want to do the right thing, or so I think,
And all I want to do is treat her fair and care
For her the way I believe.
Yet all I see on the TV screen tells me
That - as a male especially - I need to
"Not Put All Of My Eggs In One Basket",
That I SHOULD do this and NOT that
At the same time while I
Talk to this girl and try for that one because...
Because, well... I'm a male,
And that its not right if I'm NOT doing these things,
That there must be something wrong if I'm not, because
If not exactly socially accepted, it seems widely expected.
But that's not me. It's not me.
All it is is social distortion.
I tried it once but it wasn't a fit.
I had too much of a conscience
And I really didn't have the stomach for it.
I left that path feeling ***** and depressed -
Let down for having let my morals down.
I was raised better than that.
All I want to be to this woman is
An upstanding and caring man who
Shows her a never ending flow of loyalty and passion,
Someone she knows will always tell her the truth.
I long to be the one she'll never question except
In rare moments of self-consciousness and doubt,
Caught wondering, "Why does he care for me so much?"
To which I would say -
"Have you ever paused to see
That I adore the ground beneath your feet?
And for all that you don't like being only 5'1" tall,
Let cliche ring, but I find you perfect as you are.
Your nervous little laugh,
The way your cheeks rise,
The shape they make your smile,
And the way that smile reaches and lights
Your brown eyes
When you laugh at something silly I've done."
"It's in the way you hold yourself,
It's in the way you stand,
It's in the way you feel in my arms when we dance.
It's in the way we interact,
The enjoyability when we sit and talk, when we chat.
I could lose myself for days locked in those moments,
Drowning myself in every word you have to say
And in the chance to drink in your eyes.
What you need to hear me say, 'I am a man taken'."
So with all of that said,
Is it so wrong of me to want and to be
Faithful and unstraying from her when
We're just starting out and things have really yet to begin?
Is it really wrong
Or is this just social distortion?
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 2:25 PM UTC
The warble frocks and debutantes,
Soprano trilling nightingales,
The extras dressed as elephants
And tenors with their penguin tails;
They mingle at the opera house
With canapés on silver trays;
Then dine on pigeon, goose and grouse,
To reminisce their finest plays;
When Romeo found Juliet
The crowds were on their feet for days,
When mighty Caesar’s end was met,
The press regaled with highest praise;
Such fine upstanding citizens,
So crisply draped, so brightly gowned;
The marvel of these denizens,
So rarely seen, so well renowned.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
A recent BBC Headline reads: US orders ban on trans-fats. In a day when fat-discrimination has been thought to have stopped, the US is discriminating against the fine and upstanding obese community. Eliminating trans-fats from food will save lives by preventing heart attacks, but it will also eliminate fat jokes, which will set back standup comedy for years to come. Health experts say that Americans continue to consume too much foods with trans-fats, even with trans-fats information labeled on food; in scientific studies done by Dr. Kazuo Takitani, research shows that Americans "Do Not Give A **** about their health due to entitlement and fatty privilege. Taking trans-fats out of food will reduce coronary heart disease, but it will also make fat people who are stupid more confident, not necessarily smarter. Supporters of French Fries have taken to the streets and are calling on President Obama to stop the War on trans-fats. The Obama administration has responded with a statement in regards to the trans-fat crisis, and have said, "Go To The Gym." Obese people are in danger of becoming skinny, and already the obese population of the United States, are hoarding Cheetos and pizza rolls in their ***** packs, in order to stop the madness. In this day and age, health is a choice, skinny and **** people, the ones who are supporting the ban on trans-fats, do not know the irreparable damage they are doing to the fat American white male, who's narrative will always be ingrained in the American consciousness. A chubby boy named Paulie was interviewed earlier today as he was eating French fries and a large soda: "The government doesn't care about Fat people. We deserve better treatment. We matter. We exist. How am I supposed to survive without Mickey D's fries? Do I look like I can exercise? I'm moving to Canada." When Paulie was informed that Canada was strongly thinking about following in the US's footsteps, Paulie suffered from food coma and passed out in his chair. The United States is slowly turning towards becoming healthy and fi; many people oppose this trend, while others embrace it; all that can be said is that change will shocking, can give some people a new perspective on life. Stay tuned for more details. Now here's Marcus with today's weather report.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 1:45 AM UTC
Be expedient
Be upbeat
Be upstanding
Watch your feet
Take your own medicine
Cure all ills
No solicitors
Post no bills
Keep your secrets
Tell no lies
Life's soon over
Time flies
Jul 15, 2011
Jul 15, 2011 at 4:32 PM UTC
A decent man in this world alone
DrIfting, dreaming about going home
Disappeared years ago, down the road
Mental illness, carried heavy load
Wandering daily from town to state
A handyman for hunger to slate
This man in it's grip, the devils brew
Loveless traveler no goals, no clue
Well trodden shoes worn to a shred
Shabby garments hanging like lead
No coat, no bag, had nothing left
His numbed out mind wholly bereft
An upstanding man once clean shaven
Matted hair and beard, no offered haven
To hunger and thirst in this sad way
Calculated risk leaving that day
To acknowledge failure, too **** proud
Never to return he boldly vowed
His people and love, no mail, no call
Family wondering if he lives at all
Lifes loneliest soul, filled with self hate
Reshaping existence, now too late
Loved ones lost an incredible man
Need to pray and move on, if they can
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
TASMANIA, The Apple Isle,
rooted in conquest, convicts
and cannibalism.
Into this desolate paradise,
suffering, starving Englishmen,
dreaming of home, planted
row upon row of small neat
cottages, graciously adorned
by native English roses.
Convicted felons, shunned
from polite English society,
became her upstanding citizens,
and like her fuel-laden forests,
she smouldered, a daughter of
mother England, steeped in
her heritage like a lauded
*** of Earl Grey.
For two centuries, England
grew, a wild sunflower,
with London's sprawling
population sprouting from
1m seedlings, to over 8m
at the peak of her growth.
And somehow, somewhere,
something broke inside.
Today, proud Englishmen
mourn a loss of the spirit
and freedom of their forebears,
still proud, yet yearning
for the simple, honest
existence of a yesteryear
long lost, and not forgotten.
In Tasmania, time drifted
lazily, as outposts sprawled
into small towns, small towns
into small cities, like miniatures
mimicking the motherland
her pioneers had left behind.
But unlike her proud parent,
Tasmania remained true to
the spirit that raised her
from the ashes of convict
settlements, and a fledgling
society intent on defending
the spirit that put England
at the heart of an empire
flourished.
I am an Englishman, proud
to be born and raised in
her heartlands, and prouder
still, to have found that most
distant corner of our once
great empire that embodies still
the spirit of hard work,
fair play and decency that
is found within the beating heart
of every true Englishman.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
.
Tunnels of crimson, splits the vision
as passion cruises through misty time,
the journey of the mage, passing through
the portals of seconds, the doors of millennia.
To encounter the turbulence, feel the butterflies
that threaten ill and ***** up minutes.
Chronology moves in pan-dimensions,
tempered to conformity, trapped in a clock.
The guardian of day and night, corrupted.
At journeys end, a travellers rest
parades upstanding to purvey its solace,
beckoning the beacon to sally forth.
Light space, occupied with vaccuum stars.
A macrocosm of possibilities, caves of wonder,
sends the horizon to eclipse blue moons.
In contrast, green symbols of pure abandon
triumph in ancient games of catching mist.
And the bed of Truth, a complete Lie fact.
© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 4:57 PM UTC
~~~
dislocation/punk'd
hey baby,
put one forward,
faking baby steps.
life is hard in different ways,
for so many of us, the days say,
each year of us, walks a unique maze,
hands on the wall, unavoidable tripping on
speed bumps that make one crazed
and that you even see
coming
but inevitable is the red,
swelling, bruises, cutting,
the side effects of what gets said,
the falling-downs of words that are
dislocating
things get said, and you get paid
in eerie and weary,
and the loss of balance,
as if you are just the warm water,
water that slips over the side,
not the body inside,
and when you slip up,
that wet, warm beat-up,
That empty feeling of being is
displacing
you know, well advanced,
that parts of you,
moving around inside,
sources of internal dizziness,
the curve ***** thrown in slow mo
that so mesmerize you
into watching but not swinging,
accepting that the arc,
provides burns skinning,
and you go down 'n out
striking
what ya gonna do?
dust off and upstanding accept,
that some pitches are just **** hard on us,
we the swingers, often miss the ball,
wide of the mark,
sometimes we just stand, mouth agape,
watching the ball coming right at us,
even foreseeing the incoming
paining
what hurts,
is not those rosy red ridge reminders,
the after party of being hit,
but that when getting punk'd,
chewed up, spit out,
you get used to it, and to survive,
to keep your wits,
you spend time convincing yourself,
that you don't even care,
but you find your thinking is all about
rhyming
so when poetry get complicated,
ya get back to where ya
once before where,
keeping it simple,
roses red, violets blue,
what ya gonna do,
but your sense of smell
shot to hell,
what the hell,
thinking just another wet plunking
thinking no big dealing
this one mo' punking,
there will be more
but wonder why
you can no longer make your
simple, confused words to be reduced
by right
rhyming
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
Our country is amazing, isn't it?
Everyone I know says so, so it must be so!
The massive crowds with flag pants
Decked out in red white and blue
A country for the masses!
A country for the massive
Beloved lady liberty!
Would be nice if she could marry lady justice
And all our wonderful freedoms!
The freedom to say what you want!
As long as it doesn't threaten others
And, oh no, don't tell them that!
You have to be nice...
The freedom of religion!
Were doing pretty good on that
There's only seven states that ban atheists from government office
The right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness!
Holy **** have we forgotten slavery?
Have we forgotten that this country was built on suffering?
We have that lovely looking blanket of paper
That makes us sound so noble
But go deep enough in the south
And just take a moment to listen
Racism is still strong, we're still not open minded
We're a country made for the deceiving
And filled with the deceived
And let's take a moment to zoom in
At first you'll see our glory
All these beautiful cities
Buildings made into art
All our silver lining
But scratch the surface just a little
Were in debt up to our necks
And not just the country, individuals too
Paying off those student loans
Relying on social security
And being let down repeatedly
Even with that fancy four year degree
Can't find a job in today's economy
Dig deeper and you'll find the slums
This is our thickest layer
Drug addicts, petty thefts, prostitutes
Dealers, suppliers, a whole network
Trace it back and you'll find some connections
To our higher up, upperclass, upstanding citizens
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
It's near to midnight,
and the work week fright,
so let's last-raise our glass,
and be upstanding,
let the words of
sleep-steeped prose of
a younger poet
rest our heads,
leading us to wander
off to sleep,
where we meet and greet
our poems borning
in their rawest form:
*can we walk
swaying like the tide,
along the damp, moon-lit breast of the beach
and fill the empty bottles in our clenched fingers
with lavender and red ocher,
a pallet of dawn
reflecting off glass?
can we...
drape ourselves in hanging hammocks under a
wide eyed sky?
i only want to listen to the distant roar
of water attacking sand,
like soft, silk whispers in a
salt canopied bed,
crickets chirping through the night time
warmth,
and tropical, sleeping
breath
slowly unleashed.*
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
Pianos cried
Sad, this lonely figure on a gloom ridden street,
head low, looking for diamonds in a dumpster
Chasing dreams in slow moving express lanes,
tracing graffiti on the edges of his skin,
following a blood trail hoping for orange juice
Once upstanding, a real community guy,
a giver, not a taker of sunrise gestures and hot coffee
Tossing an alarm clock no longer needed as
each day was something to look forward to,
slumber happily abandoned for the love of his life
Now duct taped shoes, silver on black scratched soles
worn from pacing in low signal zones, bad areas where hills
and valleys interrupted service, beeps meant voices straining
to hear over the high rise shadows,
while twenty dollars bought enough gas for two days
Fancied himself a poet a long time ago
Phrased emotions in sunny side up stanzas
Mornings and evenings reveled in inked harmonies
as two hearts sung a duet of rhymes in cursive cadence
so song like, pianos cried when left out
The only melodies these days are off key assumptions
stored behind locked doors of closed businesses,
offering desolate concrete steps for liquor bottles
with brown paper bag wrappings and unpaid receipts,
where he finally returns to sleep, to dream about her
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 6:07 PM UTC
ten miles into the woods where the retort
would not be heard
he jumped off a bridge
where none had stood
he was where he went when it all got to be too
much, his refuge, infirmary
and I guess he saw
it all as too much
finally
but, he left two little ones wondering
was it their fault
and questioning doubts
the rest of their lives
I used to respect him and thought
about him as a gentleman
and how he represented an
upstanding family man,
I guess I was mistaken
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 10:40 PM UTC
Impossible to think
But it's all that I can do
A life in me
Came from the love of you
Tell you first
Of what could be
Expecting fear
A hesitant scene
Thinking too much of good
Can eventually lead to too much of a bad thing
The sick feeling
The smile on your face
The google search of symptoms and a trace
Of hope
Win win
Lose lose
It's hardly a dream I'd wait to choose
Talking of moments
If it all came out true
Timing is bad
But when is it not?
When it comes to us
We tend to move through those spots
Faster than we have time to think
Letting our words settle
And allowing our love to sink
Into me
Growing
Holding
What could be an image of our family.
The one we crave so desperately
Taking part what was once you and me
And creating a third
Both of us fitting into one small person
So perfectly
Asking if I'm scared or excited
Knowing you'll be there
Regardless of what's decided
This little thought left my brain ignited
Into fractures of images that can't be forgotten.
I see the way your eyes light up when you hear her name
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
That song has right to have fame
Taken from stars
And giving a name
This non existent child
Who has your humor
And my small frame.
My eyes
Your smile
Some pigtails
And dimples
A personality of innocent wonder
And perhaps a little brother.
Made by us and no others.
What if this is who we're meant to be?
Not just lovers to each other
But guardians of these children with me.
What if our hopes don't just exist in our dreams?
If we can touch them
If they are as perfect as we see
Tangability
Right at our finger tips
We could always do what we feel is right
Or instead we can do this.
Cause being upstanding isn't as great as it seems
We've both tried it and we drove ourselves crazy
Unless it's the insanity that we create.
So let's make some more
They'll be better at it without debate
Cracking us up
And holding us down
Driving us nuts
When they make that suspicious silent sound.
Hearing their staggered steps around
When they learn to walk on the ground.
What if this is who we're meant to be, sweetheart?
For each other
But more for them to be apart
Of their lives that we constantly talk about.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
It's crazy how I am posed as a threat to the American society.
It's crazy how I fit the description of any crime. Because they profiled me, by my race.
Because my pigment depicts the actions and I'm just their next hit.
I'm just waiting for the blow to the head that will exploit my brains
Scrambling them into pieces on the street.
It will reveal what they fear
I guess brown pigment signifies a corrupt mind.
Mind you, that my homicide will make the world a better place
Because there plans are to get rid of the "filth"
Now you tell me who's corrupt as they wash their blood stained filthy hands.
Don't worry, because these ****** think they're on a mission to save America.
The tactics are changed, so don't be fooled the goal is the same as 60 years ago.
They fear my intelligence, because before they believed I was completely illiterate
But now.
They feel fear when they see me
Tremble when they hear me speak.
My articulation shocked them and left them on their knees, begging.. For their superiority back.
They label me as a thief, because that label has been jacked.
It's just unbelievable that fear has left my brains shattered on this concrete,
But are my black roots too strong for defeat?
Do they fear the strength in what they once referred to as a disease?
A curse by god, a lifelong flaw, it seems quite odd wait a second...pause
I’m an upstanding citizen by the standards of society
Though if they see my skin, like Christ three times they’ll deny me
Counterfeit Christians and let I not mention the leniency in religion.
Let us not stray I’ll get back to the beginning,
It seems quite odd they expect us to forget rather than forgive them.
Mentally weakening the dreams of the enslaved black beings
Sparking wars of race within a race
Willie Lynch thought he perfected his methods of slavery
But methods of our African ancestors taught us to bend, but never break
In a centuries time the change will blow your mind
From being chained and put in line, to inspiring culture in ignorant minds.
So raise your fist and clench it tight,
In hopes my brains don’t meet the concrete tonight
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
Laudable, fine, upstanding folk.
Year on year they shoulder the yolk.
Illustrious and kind,
Noble and refined,
Genial, with no wish to provoke.
Sincere as sincere as can be.
Honest – well, as honest as me.
Intelligent and witty,
Trustworthy and gritty.
Shame all this is pure fantasy.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC