"whiles" poems
Little green frog
A little green frog is trying to catch my eye!
A little green frog is trying catch my eye!
It’s a tadpole-lite; it's lily lies,
It's sticky poison and feminine whiles,
A little green frog is trying to catch my eye!
Hoppity, hoppity, hoppity!)))))))
A little green frog is trying to catch my ear!
A little green frog is trying to catch my ear!
It's mouth is full of lies and it's belly's full of flies.
A little green frog trying to catch my ear!
Hoppity, hoppity, hoppity!)))))))
A little green frog is trying to catch my boat!
A little green frog is trying to catch my boat!
it's got to knock knees, and two bent legs,
A plastic smile and a crazy head,
A little green frog is trying to catch my boat.
It's up and down all night long;
splashing about in the water,
A little green frog's still tryin' to catch my ...
A little green frog's still tryin' to catch my...
A little green frog's tryin' to catch my boat!
Bless her soul.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
The rain-Gods should
Give this greenhorn a reason
To why pain could
Appear this green-corn season,
Which baboon will make a sound
If the rich moon cannot be found?
Sometimes we play all day
Making sure that the clay
Does not decay,
But now our rock had bend
And who will lock and mend,
Ah, send the Gods a plea,
And it will end the cods a sea,
For the fear of might is oppression
Whiles the tear of night of derision
But nothing inside will look so strong
If something outside looks so wrong
Is this ice of life so conscious?
Maybe the price of life is so precious,
Men of Kush!
Have a pen for push
And never harm the Gods arm,
For their charm grows your farm,
The debtors have broken the palm-vine
Causing the ancestors to drink the palmwine
Indeed, what life sees as pain,
Must be given to death to explain.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
Could man be drunk for ever
With liquor, love, or fights,
Lief should I rouse at morning
And lief lie down of nights.
But men at whiles are sober
And think by fits and starts,
And if they think, they fasten
Their hands upon their hearts.
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The divine walkway
To the river-side
Has began to warp in
Singing and whooping with love,
But I was in the palace
To witness the examination,
See how the evening sky
Has suffered with crimson
And delight, awaiting
The gorgeous joy of the dawn,
How can the nations
Begin this monthly journey
With a broken arm?
The old gossip proclaimed that
Mother Africa caused the
*** to burst into loud wails
Early on that faithful morning,
Whiles the companions took
No pain to grace the occasion,
Oh gosh, is that the time?
Is that an absolute
Gospel of the gory spectacle?
Indeed, we need to offer
Sacrifices of praise
To propitiate the gods,
Let the gracious protocol begin!
Mothers, please cover
That beautiful black skin
With that sunblock sheabutter cream,
And cover that gracious hips
With that piece of kente cloth,
My dear, please
Taste the sacred food
And swallow the egg also,
For sitting on a golden stool
Which stands on a precious mat,
Has become good news for the ancestors,
Now perceive this,
When the moonlight slipped
Past the curled edges
Of the shades of nature, and
The children faces gleamed,
I knew I had
Fallen victim to the sensual
Lures and snares of the
Twin towers protruding
From your glorious chest,
You have indeed kindled
The eternal flame within me,
My black eternal beauty,
You are truly
A fine African woman.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Locked down nineteen hours
Five hours he plays
That’s the way the prisoner
Whiles away his days
On death row for the murders
Of his wife and son
Locked in a four foot nine cell
For the crime he’s done
Four years down and counting
See I’ve done the math
It’s death by lethal injection
For that sick sociopath
Decomposing and headless
In San Francisco Bay
He said she was missing
But she was found that way
His son’s lifeless fetus
Had previously washed ashore
Which repulsed everyone
Even that much more
Four years down and counting
See I’ve done the math
It’s death by lethal injection
For that sick sociopath
Her family were all hoping
She’d be found alive
Though he knew she was dead
He feigned concern (what jive)
She was weighted down
Which made him quite convinced
That she’d never be found
Floating in that rinse
Four years down and counting
See I’ve done the math
It’s death by lethal injection
For that sick sociopath
While they were contemplating
Their poor loved one’s fate
His only concern was
Which chick he should date
See he had to satisfy
An internal itch
But karma is a mother for ya
It can be a *****
Four years down and counting
See I’ve done the math
It’s death by lethal injection
For that sick sociopath
Four years down and counting
See I’ve done the math
It’s death by lethal injection
For that sick sociopath
Four years down and counting
See I’ve done the math
It’s death by lethal injection
For that sick sociopath
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
I am sooooo tired,
exhausted..
My mind needs to be shut down,
my head hurts.
Words want to be said but my prides me wounded, my selfworth is burning low
there is a lump in my throat.
I'm haunted by to evanescent nature of my past joy.
Daunted but how far my seems to be.
Yesterday, last week, last month, last year and today have me in the center, wearing the same things, feeling the same,
worried I'm at my end, but a while older
my life seems to be rejecting me; or maybe I it..
I want to be free to exist but everything seems to come with a cost.
There are critics everywhere
even my thoughts have thoughts objecting to them before i receive them and make certain i don't need them.. So I'm running around in circles not knowing why i never got around to things my mind first thought whiles ago,
my will has become meek
my worth shrunk to camouflage with dust specks
I'm exhausted from playing this part,
misguided by the values of what's recently been made 'right'
distracted completely from the life i want to live.
And i don't have a clue which switch ***** it back to normal,
or which life i will leave for those which have grown accustomed to this timid version of me...
After all people aren't always happy when they say. "...you have changed..."
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC
Where I’m From
I am from wires,
from electricity and TV screens.
I am from the dust covering the console.
(Piled high, thick,
It made me sneeze)
I am from the Sega Genesis
the Nintendo
Who has long been forgotten
amongst the shiny new games.
I am from controllers and memory cards,
From Mario and Sonic.
I’m from the hard core gamers,
And the once-in-a-whiles,
From You win! And Game over!
I’m from Thou saveth the princess
With Donkey and Diddy
And 10 cheats I know by heart.
I’m from GameStop and Best Buy,
brand new plastic and overheating console.
From the controller thrown across the room
To the memories,
bonding brother and sister.
In my closet is a box,
filled with old games,
scratched up discs
that will never again work
I am from these games
created before I was born,
born from the tree of electronics.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 4:33 PM UTC
On Turning her up in her Nest with the Plough
Wee, sleekit, cow’rin’, tim’rous beastie,
O what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I *** be laith to rin an’ chase thee
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!
I’m truly sorry man’s dominion
Has broken nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
‘S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin’ wi’ the lave,
And never miss’t!
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin’:
And naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin’
Baith snell an’ keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste
An’ weary winter comin’ fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.
That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turned out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter’s sleety dribble
An’ cranreuch cauld!
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft a-gley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promised joy.
Still thou art blest, compared wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But, oh! I backward cast my e’e
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!
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Righteous men cannot rest
Cannot laugh in light no more
Burdened by that shameful crest
Who yielded from the corps
The spy for two sides
With two separate cause
And even now he is uncertain
Who’s spy he really was
He wished they’d heed
To what he feared
But none so deaf
As men who won’t hear
Shut upon himself
Sowing not upon harm
Though for simple whiles
For lost kisses and smiles
He layed his weapon to arms
Though never to learn
Their power burned
Forgetting the peace he brung
Be thy sleep
Calm and deep
Such weight on a mind so young
Innocent hands
Spread like disease
Though the resting land
Was put at ease
Tragedy not heard
With each bellow and wail
Though through this sight
Peace did prevail
And with this night
His strife began
No longer a child
Though no longer a man
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
At whiles (yea oftentimes) I muse over
The quality of anguish that is mine
Through Love: then pity makes my voice to pine
Saying, 'Is any else thus, anywhere?'
Love smileth me, whose strength is ill to bear;
So that of all my life is left no sigh
Except one thought; and that, because 'tis thine,
Leaves not the body but abideth there.
And then if I, whom other aid forsook,
Would aid myself, and innocent of art
Would fain have sight of thee as a last hope,
No sooner do I lift mine eyes to look
Than the blood seems as shaken from my heart,
And all my pulses beat at once and stop.
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Cauld-bluided, humphing ower the stark grey hills
Gowd een skinkle to an fro
Split tongue lappin at the wind-blown smells
Bog grass blackens whaur ye go
Smoke split shielings and the clammerin o bairns
Bone cracked mithers in yer wake
Heirt-scaud ruin fae the valleys tae the cairns
Driven by a drouth ye canny slake
Crib tale shapit unner creakin heather thatch
Howf born craitur o the nicht
Auld sangs spake aboot the maidens ye would ******
Fleggit bairns tae keep intil the licht
True? Naw, havers, juist the blaflum o wives
God nivver biggit ocht sae fell
But ae bairn crouchin in the ruins o its life
Can think o naethin else the tale tae tell
Blin, lost, forwandert fae the shattered faimly hame
Warslin wi fear tae unnerstan
White winds whistle as he gies the beast a name
And dragons whiles can take the form o man.
Apr 11, 2011
Apr 11, 2011 at 2:39 AM UTC
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I *** be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!
I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell -
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.
That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!
Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
She is
the water
immersing the shore
a
motion moving entities
into
the
shadows of the lore
sirens call on rising tides
men of flesh flock
in
waves
falling as they fly
dwelling
eternal
within her mystical whiles.
Jun 22, 2022
Jun 22, 2022 at 1:53 PM UTC
(be-tween and be-twixt)
———-
the most precious but precarious item
in our possess, value far above rubies,
this love overflows, but it drowns me
from within, for it has no home for
pleasured sharing and goes wasted, excreted
in tears and exhalations without destination
condition incurable, and the doctor advises,
projects, a life span rangebound from
***be-tween
and
be-twixt,***
imperative that this love be
disbursed, pressure relieved,
fluid and gases shared,
send it forth,
Doc behests,
nay,
begs,
you’re a decent human,
tell your tales,
follow your motto,
write those love poems,
always leave them laughing,
and give them love in smiles
all-the-whiles
bringing joyous relief to your clogged arteries,
all this the bare minimum,
for you must moreover grasp and clasp
your body to another, for this
the best transfer transfusion
of all your needed love needs
go be needed, be great, be lessened,
be all three
and never walk alone,
with just hope in your heart,
for the heart, automatically refills,
and this the best, medical opinion…
for all those with too many love poems
requiring expulsion and extrusion
Jul 22, 2023
Jul 22, 2023 at 9:14 AM UTC
I see my countryman still holding on to the pest
we look to blame of the jar full of gold which fell out of our hand
on the pest, on the men how came from the horizon
the men how opened our eyes
but not without the down hills, deep valleys and the dark part of them
We hold on to the things which drive us into the ground'
for we do not peck the from the shining ground but we still look to blame
whiles the wind of time blows which is more parlous than gold
whiles the wind blows and carry’s away the gold
A hunter enticing his whit bat have our country men enticed us whit sweet words and then stave us in the back 7x7x7 and besieged us in poverty
Putting us in sinking sand whit noting to hold on to.
To the further we must look and loss the burden which we hold on to.
Moving from the past is inevitable if we went to be on the other side where the sun is
reaching for the thing which are in front and living the thing which are in behind .
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC
Hi . . . This is about the kinds of people who work in corporate big money office buildings . . . Imagine them at lunchtime, how they interact and picture the scene in any . . .
Busy little bistro
Sharp - sharks - circle - the - pack
Pinstripe finned and eager
Snapping their snacks back with ease
Points to prove with nothing to lose
No cracks in their creases
They're keen to return to the fray.
These boys play with girls
Aren't yet uncles with nieces
Just unproven throwaway pieces . . .
In shiny . eat ***** . suited up . Chelsea boots
Bidding for ***** with cute looks and loot
Touting with confident ***** . . .
As mobile as their smart devices
Loose
Next . . . ?
And fresh from a mornings abuse
And fifteen years of fear . .
Beleaguered older shirts sit . .
Flogged dogs with weak barks
Parked packed into packs.
Tongue tied ties tied together
Safety is numbers
Get each others backs
These partially satisfied cats
Know today is NOT their day . .
That was yesterday . . .
Obliging lives and mortgages
The reasons why they stay
Passing Cabs cruise . . .
Seen it all before.
Sat in the back a high class *****
Glazed eyes glancing away
From her play-away payday
Nibbles in the boardroom . .
Napkins . . for the dribbles
A working lunch for this Girl
Her money-shot a wrap without applause
Was just a . . . pause . . . between paws . .
Then Dora on reception
John, who minds the door
Evie in the IT room
Or dave . . who buffs the Marble
Sparkles glinting in the floor . .
And the guards . . who guard . . what exactly . . ?
All of this . . ? Networking . . !!!
Everybody's selling something
It doesn't quite stink
But it definitely smells
A little high
As time whiles by
Seems this
Is the state of our nation
And in this state
Defines our aspirations
And yes . . this state's a splinter
Taunting my imagination . . .
Do I stake my place within this game
Or sit in observation
Commentating on a race
Where human nature fakes it's place
Where people sit as players
Yet no one wears their own face
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
It's million little things
A million little kisses
A million little wishes
A million little smiles
A million little whiles
A million little music notes
A million little laughs
A million little things that make me happy
But only one to make me sad
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 12:35 AM UTC
Opening my eyes for the very first time
by my mothers side without a single crime
The sun is shining
I am playing
We are sliding
My mum is smiling
I'm anticipating to explore the lands
Without having to hold her hands
Soon I’ll no longer be a pup
Soon I’ll be all grown up
Suddenly I can hear sounds of laughter
The noises started to scatter
Bang bang bang
They’re attacking her
My own mother
She protected me
Pushing me to the sea
To set me free
Telling me to spree
With no time to disagree
The monsters didn’t want my mum
They wanted me, to slit my throat
But this time they’ll return to their boats
Without my warm white coat
Five, ten, fifteen minutes go by
I’m getting low on air supply
I’m afraid to see what above
I wish everything could just be undone
Gasping for one more breath
Circled by all their deaths
Feeling as though I’m about to drown
Whiles fleeing this crazy battle ground
My arms are getting heavy
I don’t think I’m quite ready
My legs are starting to burn
I don’t know where to turn
Swimming as fast as I can without thinking
I find myself trapped in this thick green netting
I don’t want to moan
As I am not alone
I wish this wasn’t real
I think they want me for their meal
Unlike the others I mange to set my self free
With this thick green netting all around me
It’s weighing me down
I don’t want to drown
Five days go by everyday is a struggle
Swimming around stuck in this rubble
You are destroying my home
With no safe place to rome
Up to 200 species extinct everyday
There’s no time to delay
5 of my kind are endangered
It’s time to make changes!
By Coco 07
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 3:13 AM UTC
.
In a garden fair with flowers
is where she whiles away her hours.
Especially in the months of Spring,
gently rocking upon her mood swing.
Flying high and dipping low
she lets her emotions freely flow.
Not caring what the feelings bring,
gently rocking upon her mood swing.
Hanging beneath an apple tree
a virginal symbol of her purity.
Listening quiet to the songbirds sing,
gently rocking upon her mood swing.
© Pagan Paul (25/09/17)
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 7:34 PM UTC
I love lighthouses;
Lonely, desolate, cold
Grown out of rocky outcrops
Designed by monolithic architects,
Where only ascetic souls can call home
Their light, a beacon in the darkness
To protect sailors from the smouldering sea,
And all her whiles and trickery
One lonely light, that shines out
Like faith, like hope, like love
So mariners will not plot a course
Into the shallow depths of death,
Book a room in Davy Jones’ Locker.
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
If you're really good I might let you see them, that is, if I can find the pointy-toed knitted pink preemie booties some coworker's wife gave my parents....
(sonnet #MMMMMMCXX)
Suppose I'm but a nymph whose sprite in frail
Excuse wars, tangled by long cherished thence
Auld loves, and sorrows which I canna hence
Shrug off. My father aye, and brothers hail
Me as so oddly wont to in betrayl
Don effervescence, whiles griefs own my sense
Of whither, glad to see this warm eye whence
These yellowed fields bask, dead, as if'd avail.
I dabble in the thought of Death as twere,
Like twould thus ransom me from here, though blue
Skies whisper to my soul of yonder fer
All that. Yea, I hate aught, but love each too.
Or praps I hate myself cuz joy is poor
And crimnal, left a prisner, whence I rue.
01Feb17b
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC
the wind is drunk on its liquor
a subtle slurring
lilies stir on the lilt of its voice
as harsh a requitement
again, I find no respite
as lithe as the life
in those ever-rearing gold rows of wheat
mistral born, on the rise
like prying eyes
I am thrown
into some tumult,
where some enemy rages on
shakes his staff against the cold
where the lighter chaff is tossed
toward the salt that laps the sand
on the sweet breath of its benthos
I am withering
but the wind blows on
whiles along –
drones its tepid mourning song
springs the dew
from its calloused palms
I am thrown
as sure of war
as trees will shed and flourish
and shed and flourish
in seasons to and fro'
freshly disowned
by the earth and its shoulder
a carapace of autumn's
exhumed again
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 5:55 AM UTC
The ceiling fan makes a comforting noise
As it whirs gently, with the premonition
That winter is near
She sits up hesitantly, somewhat afraid
That there might be something there
She just woke up from one of those nightmares
She could barely control her breathing
Fear and anxiety painted in her eyes
She's almost used to it, or so she thinks,
Till it happens again
She begins to shake just a bit
Almost subtly
She doesn't want- need- to think
Any more
She switches on another one of those gizmos
Whiles her night away
So she doesn't have to sleep
She doesn't need to go back
To those **** nightmares
A chill runs down her spine
But she turns up the music a little louder
She doesn't dare to cry
Scared of being heard,
Scared of acknowledging
That which lies silent, looming ahead
In the darkness
She doesn't want to because
Once she does, it would be tougher
To tell herself that they
Hardly matter
That they are not premonitions
Of the future
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 10:25 AM UTC
It's been a time and a half
And I finally understand
The reason you've gone
With the shaman so long.
The spirit is free.
I'm a color
Splintered in three.
Crystalline
Crystal eyes
Well spoken with diction.
Many a words I've spoken
Have been in ode
Romancing you with every breath
In the desert
The door is ajar
We trace the steps of Aztec gods
1/3 becomes 2/4
The sands gleam emerald
Our bodies elongate to equine form
We blended the horizon line
Quetzalcoatl stands before me
Serpent in feathers
Glows like the spectrum all together.
He hands me a seed.
And his
Eyes smother like lightning.
And I
Speak in codexed volition.
And we
Blur the horizon line once more.
I stand on the Pacific
20,000 leagues
Equine force
Carries me to the beach.
Sand once more.
I feel a twitch in my jaw.
Each hand holds a mandible
And pulls.
Roots emerge
And a tree not soon after.
Is this what the seed was for?
I trot the beach,
Jaw no longer in tact.
My pallor flesh caked in coagulate
Almost recreates my tan skin
A gift from the god.
I've been on this beach for miles,
And
Miles
And
Two whiles.
My architecture meanders
The brevity of sanity.
One eye sees black,
The other sees fine.
My hair has become matted
It knots behind each earlobe
And drags on below my knees.
Is this what Quetzalcoatl wanted?
To see me sifted with the grains of sand
In the palm of a child's hand
At the beach
While on vacation
With mom and dad?
20,000 years have passed.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
You asked me why we couldnt have met ten years sooner,
and asking if maybe you should go,
but I say no matter what I know,
I'll love someone I cant possibly be with,
you virtually hold me tight and tell me,
"it's alright"
I wont let go and I want you to know,
even if I am naive,
I dont want you to leave,
I want another text saying, "Its ok"
it will be ok even if we dont want it to be,
I danced with fire and I kissed the ice,
I'll say it thrice,
I love you,
I love you,
I love you,
but it wont change the miles,
and it wont change the mean whiles,
just dont let go and everything will be ok I swear,
because as a sweater I'll wear,
your messages and your love,
and be comfortable as the sunrise begins to show its face,
on doomsday
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC