"whined" poems
The lone wolf howls
in the dark night,
casting it's shadow
over the pale moonlight.
On the river banks,
his prey, he silently stalks.
Lurking by the trees,
he, so quietly, walks.
The innocent deer
became unknowingly a prey.
Targeted by the wolf,
who lives astray.
Ready to strike,
upon the deer her pounced.
Letting out a growl,
"Beware" he announced.
Alas, he missed
his only chance.
The deer ran away
in a single glance.
The lone wolf whined
on his unlucky loss,
staring at the footprints
on the soft moss.
He retreated back
to his hiding place.
"Rest," he thought,
"Rest for another chase"
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
The snow leopard and the little fox were sound asleep. The leopard curled up around the young fox keeping them both warm in the cold weather. As the sun started to arise the leopard awoke from his slumber. He then softly pat his little young fox apprentice's head, "Wake up little one. A new day awaits us," he said with a smile as he stood on all fours and stretched out his back. The little fox grunted and yawned "It's too early," she whined as she curled up tighter, "The sun isn't even fully up in the sky yet" was her rebuttal to his awakening. The leopard took her by the scruff and softly tossed her into the snow covered field. "Ahhh!~Ooof." The little fox yelled as she tumbled into the snow. "You know what they say, the early bird catches the worm, the early cat catches the bird." The leopard laughed slightly as he spoke, watching the little fox stand up all covered in fresh snow from last nights fall. "Well what's that have to do with me?!?" the fox shouted slightly, being slightly agitated about him tossing her. The leopard smirked as he walked by her and pat her head again, dusting off the snow, "It has everything to do with you, it has everything to do with everyone. It means the sooner you wake the more you can do. The more time you have in the day to do what you want," the leopard exclaimed with pride and excitement in his voice, "Do you ever ask yourself why there is so much left you want to do by the end of the day but just didn't have enough time? Well this helps you get more done. It gives you more time." The little fox tilted her head slightly to he side and looked down a bit, "I guess you are right," she said softly. Not knowing what else to say, she stood up and shook the snow off of herself then rush over to the leopard. "So what lesson will I learn today?" she asked eagerly. The leopard smiled as they started walking, "Didn't you just learn something?" he said as he raised an eyebrow. The little fox giggled softly and started pouncing around him laughing happily and saying "Well yea. But I want to learn more." The leopard laughed and looked to her, "Slow and steady wins the race little one. Slow and steady. we will find something for me to teach you, or for us to learn, as time goes on." he said softly but wisely as they kept walking into the woods, away from the sunrise.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
Sung to the tune of:
I'll Be Home For Christmas
Oh, I got fudge for Christmas,
from my daughter-in-law.
I whined and begged,
til I got my way,
and I'm not sharing it.
Ooooh, Thanks for the fudge for Christmas,
I will repay this deed.
It was suppose to be homemade,
but she bought it all from See's.
oooooh, I got fudge for Christmas,
and you can count on this.
By the time, I eat it all,
it will be on my hips.
Oooooh, I got fudge for Chriiiiiissssstmaaaasssss
I'll be seeing it in my Dreeeamms.
Dedicated to Tammy,
My Daughter-in law.
Dec 17, 2010
Dec 17, 2010 at 2:13 PM UTC
I draw her close to my chest
With her ****** pointing out from her underwear like an arrow
Slowly removing her underwear arm by arm and kissing the smooth shoulder
As I pull the two arms of her underwear the underwear fell out of her body slowly
I can see her pointed ****** calling me for a ****
Picked up an ice-cream, rubbing it gently and slowly all over her smooth soft and attractive ebony skin
From her face to her toes(all over her body)
All her body is covered with ice-cream
And she screamed baby is cold and warm
Slowly I started giving her a tongue bath
From her fore-head to her cheek to her nose to her lips
Paused a little as I deep my tongue into her two attractive lips and hers into mine
We exchange tongues for minutes
Down to her neck, wiping all the ice-cream with my lips gently and slowly
As she started to scold
Down to her chest l **** up the cream on her chest
Holding her pointed breast as I kiss and **** her ****** slowly
She scream softly and faintly "aahh hmmm that's it baby she said"
down to her **** tommy
With my tongue going angle at a point on her stomach
I Started again from her toes **** all her ten toes one after each other slowly
To her knees
She started shaking as I approach her **** ice-creamed laps
The volume of her screams increase slowly as am kissing her laps and going upward to her tight ice-creamed *****
Her legs shakes heavily and her body started shaking
She shuddered softly as my tongue rolled over her ****
she started to scold, but moaned softly as my tongue pressed at her **** harder
she lifted her head up looking at me as I shake my head side by side with my tongue holding the **** harder
She dropped her head as she murmured "hmmmm" faintly
She started to push me away gently not that she don't want more but because is over-sensitive
I grabbed her back
While I continue to **** her deeply into her ***** slowly and gently
As she raise her head again holding my head toward her *****
Pressing my head harder towards her ***** as my tongue was deep into her ***** and my thumb press her **** and shaking it side by side
Please," she whined breathlessly to me.
"Please. Faster." I withdrew my tongue and gently took her ****
in my teeth and wriggled it back and forth quickly. Her legs
jumped and she cried out, pushing with her arms again. I
grabbed her hips and pull closer
"Oh... Aaaaaah ... I'm so close," she whined. I circled her ****
with my nose and pressed my tongue back inside her, flicking it
in and out quickly to the sound of her gasps.
"Just... Ah... Almost..." She gasped when it hit her, and her body
quickly shuddered,
She slowly dropped her head as she removed her hand on my head
So I licked at the inside of her thigh, where the *** had sound
up, and continued to clean her up with my tongue
everything tensing and relaxing for several
moments before she relaxed back into the floor,
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
for Nick and Kaitie
1.
Yesterday, right when our call got dropped,
I was going to tell you something about marriage.
I was going to tell you something gnomic,
a maxim worth getting engraved.
I've since forgotten,
but I believe it was akin to saying that, like Truth,
marriage is impossible to define in verbal space.
So, I guess I'm glad I forgot. The words
would've seemed either too hastily conceived for their subject matter
or else weightless, enigmatic – without impact.
I think it was Auden who whined, “Marriage is rarely bliss,”
though he lightened the phrase by encapsulating it in the context of modern physics –
namely, at least it has the ability to take place,
and that should be enough to bring bliss equal to Buddha’s Emptiness.
So, I'm happy our call got
dropped,
for the dial tone was
the pithiest aphorism on marriage any sentient life could've produced.
The key word is “produced.”
2.
This is what marriage is not:
Socrates gurgling hemlock
on his dusty prison cot,
giggling as he glimpsed a dikast’s deformed ****
Nietzsche tenured for philology
at Basel; Nietzsche feverishly etching
Fick diese scheiße! on a Jena clinic's wall; biology
predetermining the team for which he was pitching;
a poem; a hotdog; *******
a discharged Kalashnikov
engendering generational pain
somewhere in Saratov
circa 1942;
this is what marriage is not:
hatred, jealousy, ballyhoo,
obsessive yearnings for a yacht;
this is what marriage is not:
anything one pair of hands has wrought.
August 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
It's like a blind man leading a poor man
He sees the cliff coming but he doesn't mind
Grateful to have company on the way down
Thinks the cloud they'll fall through will be silver lined
It's like the teenager who just gave birth to a still born accident
It hurts real bad inside
But she's grateful that if she returns all the diapers everybody bought her
She might have enough money to buy a prom dress
Thinks the pain she feels will be silver lined
It's like the boyfriend of the young girl who just gave birth to the still born child
Grabs his cleats out the closet
Grateful he still has time to get a college scholarship
Dumped her over the phone
Said he didn't like the way her ***** *** whined
Thinks adding another drop to the bucket of pain he will never feel is silver lined
It's like a young man who works at a gas station
With dreams so big he'd have to run the world to accomplish them
Grows up, gets marrieds, gets settled, and settles
Knows the only way he'll make the TV is by beating his wife
Grateful that strangers know who he is
Thinks the jail time he's serving is silver lined
It's like the grown man who has everything the boy at the gas station ever wanted
Doesn't want it, wishes he could give it back, but can't
So he buys houses, clothes, and Cadillacs
Grateful to have enough
Thinks the silver lining on his silver Cadi is silver lined
It's like the overwhelmed twenty something year old who puts a lock on her own knife drawer
Too proud to get help
Grateful that she has a boyfriend willing to take the brunt
Of all the problems she can't see past
Thinks the inconvenience of the knife drawer is silver lined
It's like the boyfriend of the overwhelmed twenty something year old
Who takes the brunt of all the problems she can't see past
Grateful he has a key to the knife drawer
Thinks the blood on the floor will be enough
To show her there's more to the world than the problems she can't see past
Thinks his mama's heartache will be silver lined
It's like the staunch republican who got laid off last year
Now he's so broke he's on unemployment, food stamps, and TANF
Grateful the democrats were in control during the great depression
Still voted for John McCain
Thinks the bumper sticker on the back of his car is silver lined
It's like the young family started by a couple kids
Who insisted on having a couple of their own
Now they're too poor to afford but too rich for assistance
Begging their government to bail them out of something that nursery rhymes got them into
Grateful their truck didn't break down again this month
Thinking raising hungry babies is silver lined
It's like a poor man leading a blind man
Who knows the cliff is coming
Knows they're going over and doesn't really mind
Grateful to finally be in the company of someone just as blind as he is
Thinking the cloud they'll fall through is silver lined.
Aug 25, 2009
Aug 25, 2009 at 7:38 PM UTC
Friday- the most promising day of all.
The beginning of the weekend, but the one day that will spark appall.
Down on Mainstreet all the girls
In their fringed dresses, pouting their foxy lips and their hair waving in short messes.
The hags frown as the winged ladies pass by- displaying their carriages a little sly.
Oh, but Jane's favourite speakeasy was 'The Back Room' down on Norfolk Street: the place where the lost creatures meet.
Tin ceilings, velvet wallpaper, plush thrones and back in that dark corner, there is the sound of low moans.
'A whiskey, neat, please' as a shadow in a tuxedo walked towards her and he whispered 'Hi,' in a sensual purr.
'Who are you?' he stirred,
'Oh, I'm Miss Doe' and he lept into the stool with a swift flow.
And the jazz trumpets married the spontaneous harmonies and the saxophone created sublime melodies.
So they sat as idle as ghouls in the dim spotlights, until Jane asked Mr Buck:
'D'you fight in the war?' And he whined 'Cambrai, Amiens and Lys' - his lips seemed a little sore.
'I'm sorry - do I know you?' His face looked as familiar as Jay to Nick. A brief pause in time at that smile.
That was the final chord to the "lick".
He drove her down to Roslyn- to his replica of Versailles and Jane looked intensely shy.
'Oh, do come in,' the desperado soughed. And she walked into the gilded palace which Cupid's presence bowed.
'I have a favour to ask of you, Miss Doe. Would you be as kind to wash away my woe?'
And as they congressed under diamond chandeliers, his comrades gathered around the bed in amorphous silhouettes; watching disgustedly.
As for Mr Buck he was an alien, skin-to-skin with a haunted beauty and Miss Doe- a labourer on duty.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 6:32 AM UTC
God smelled something foul
in the garden & thinking the
man had discovered manure,
god came down & found Adam
fast asleep w/ **** all over his face;
What have u been eating? shouted
the Lord, shaking the trees;
Adam awakened startled,
seeing god's fury: have u eaten
of the Tree of the Knowledge
of Good & Evil?
No! Lord, no! cried Adam,
It was the woman! she made
chocolate lava cake & I ate it,
whined the trembling
creature, face to the ground in
fear & awe; god walking
away shaking his head & saying,
put some clothes on, *******
what are clothes? called Adam;
god sitting down on a rock to
think things over was only mildly
surprised when Eve, bare skin
ethereal as summer rain came
& sat beside him; not exactly what u
had in mind, is he? she asked,
wrinkling her freckled pug nose;
nope, not at all, said god, but it's alright;
my kid's a carpenter; I'll get him down
here to patch things up; Eve stood
abruptly to her feet, heatedly wagging
pert ****** ***** A carpenter!
she hollered; well, I hope he learned
carpentry in medical school, she sniped,
marching into the brush & returning w/
a bowl of fresh fruit: hungry? she said;
| I could eat - - oh-ho-o! so,
u're the smart one!
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC
Each day is a day like day had before
I don't know if I can take anymore
There's pain in my bones; Weak feeling and sore
I question myself what this life is for
Don't know what's ahead; Don't know what's in store
As happiness hides behind a locked door
The pressure, it builds to find it before
The hourglass now has emptied what's stored
The light from me left; Although I'm not sure
If ever I had a light that was pure
My soul's on death's bed; No hope of a cure
The word's left unsaid; I'll always want more
Waves lapping against the rocky beach shore
Each time takes away; A heavenly chore
Was true of my joy; A tunnel was bored
Inside from my soul true self of me poured
I ********** out myself like a *****
Each day is a lie that I can't afford
I wish I was maimed; Insides had been gored
I can not explain; Knight falls on his sword
But I am no knight; More like one who's poor
Been chewed up, discarded; Fruit with no core
Tried sharing with you; A piece of me tore
But know you disliked; Did nothing but bore
This poem is not new; These words said before
I've whined and cried too like those I deplore
A task left to do; Must settle the score
Each day starts anew; Be happy once more
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
In a hammock
On the eve of final exams
There is a scent of caffeine coursed bodies pacing
the distances of Starbucks and the library,
an unusual sight at eleven at night
There is peace
In the fraternity- I think begins with a Sigma-
running around playing a vicious thirty person game of tag
Yeah, I witnessed that wipeout and it was hilarious
There is heat condensed around the height of brains
Struggling to realize dreams that require
Busy work man! It's just like six hours of nonstop busy work
The guy on the bench behind me whined out cooling breath of brown leaves
There is energy in the fractal jungle above
The towering umbrellas of Palm trees which grant me the magic of hovering
I see through waving leaves Orion's Belt.
The light pollution overpowers his body but
he reminds me that there is more in the astral world
Ibis scour the ground
Some would read the tea leaves
that bravest of birds has crossed my path
And I will survive the tests that I allow to define possibilities in life
There is closure to my left
Two girls in a hammock, bodies combined like a turtle in a shell
Only they know what goes on inside,
and all I witness is the harmony that the trials that students go through that unites
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 6:35 AM UTC
** Giant! This is I!
I have built me a bean-stalk into your sky!
La,—but it’s lovely, up so high!
This is how I came,—I put
Here my knee, there my foot,
Up and up, from shoot to shoot—
And the blessed bean-stalk thinning
Like the mischief all the time,
Till it took me rocking, spinning,
In a dizzy, sunny circle,
Making angles with the root,
Far and out above the cackle
Of the city I was born in,
Till the little ***** city
In the light so sheer and sunny
Shone as dazzling bright and pretty
As the money that you find
In a dream of finding money—
What a wind! What a morning!—
Till the tiny, shiny city,
When I shot a glance below,
Shaken with a giddy laughter,
Sick and blissfully afraid,
Was a dew-drop on a blade,
And a pair of moments after
Was the whirling guess I made,—
And the wind was like a whip
Cracking past my icy ears,
And my hair stood out behind,
And my eyes were full of tears,
Wide-open and cold,
More tears than they could hold,
The wind was blowing so,
And my teeth were in a row,
Dry and grinning,
And I felt my foot slip,
And I scratched the wind and whined,
And I clutched the stalk and jabbered,
With my eyes shut blind,—
What a wind! What a wind!
Your broad sky, Giant,
Is the shelf of a cupboard;
I make bean-stalks, I’m
A builder, like yourself,
But bean-stalks is my trade,
I couldn’t make a shelf,
Don’t know how they’re made,
Now, a bean-stalk is more pliant—
La, what a climb!
3k
She let the tape go—
on record
one evening for an ordinary hour
Five years later, we play it back
for laughs after dinner—then as now
“Remember how the stove door screeched
at the house on Olive Street?”
And our voices!
Phoeb’s, lighter–tired
wrapping the nine’s tables in elastic yawns
like flash cards in a rubber band
“Phoeb, your pitch changed so—
while I turned...”
to run water in the tub
lamenting the **** of Two
in frenetic escape of hands
Unruly!
Running rebel taunts in Time’s strict face
who would not dare disturb her dawns
only mine—
Roused by the first round of another day’s
ring of twelve
digits that insist
like uniform with apron waiting
on ironing board that’s never folded
Now the **** of Two cries out
Exultant!
of success in *****
Then, Oratorio for Soap!
The splashy version
with endless bubblings of “Rocky Baby!”
and obbligato of “Where’s Shampoo?”
in jubilant glissadal plunge
an octave through vocal whoops!
…I had not thought
she hardly talked
but sang and squealed or whined in tunes
Her voice lay open to her soul
a roost of piercing humming birds
small of words
but filled with sweet and want
incessant wings and things to say....
How could we have forgotten?
“Are these your boots?
Your clothes laid out?”
From sound and talk, we still can hear
frost phantoms
in winter window rattles—then as now
And Phoebe remarks how one voice
didn’t change though—
“Still talking to herself”
We laugh
and let the tape go....
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 12:31 AM UTC
"There's a target on your back,"
said the man in striped white socks and flip flops.
He swung his arms freely and slapped his face
accidentally or intentionally--his illness wasn't mine to name.
The trees wrapped their arms around one another in a huddle.
"Quick she's coming near. The target is close."
One. Two. Three. Birds flew by and splashed my forehead.
I looked back and felt one of the trees wink and point ahead.
A man on a moped waited until my back was turn and I bent down.
Whistle. Whistle. Head turn back ninety degrees.
You'll get in an accident, I thought; I secretly wanted,
his helmet-less head splat flat on the concrete, skin burning,
melting, bubbling, pooling in a puddle.
The red doors whined against my insistent grasp.
When I found my white door, I air twisted the **** that was
pushed back to show the open space inside the coolness.
I didn't live that cold. I didn't know how.
He did. And he reached into my freezer and removed his tongue.
I sank onto the floor and felt ice hit me my cheeks and my eyes and ears.
The blankets couldn't warm me. My tears couldn't melt what formed.
He tossed my key on the mat, kicked back dust into my face;
looked me square in the eyes frozen wide open, mouth gaping for air.
"I put a target on your back. See ya."
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
Packed into
holiday traffic
on Christmas Eve,
I recall a story
told by my mother
of a snow blown pass
in the Rockies
near Estes Park
and the searing glow
of cougar eyes
just beyond
the high beams
her rear wheels whined
the engine sputtered
and the snow
kept falling
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 12:51 PM UTC
We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew,
And gave us hell, for shell on frantic shell
Hammered on top, but never quite burst through.
Rain, guttering down in waterfalls of slime,
Kept slush waist-high and rising hour by hour,
And choked the steps too thick with clay to climb.
What murk of air remained stank old, and sour
With fumes of whizz-bangs, and the smell of men
Who'd lived there years, and left their curse in the den,
If not their corpses...
There we herded from the blast
Of whizz-bangs, but one found our door at last,
Buffeting eyes and breath, snuffing the candles,
And thud! flump! thud! down the steep steps came thumping
And sploshing in the flood, deluging muck -
The sentry's body; then his rifle, handles
Of old Boche bombs, and mud in ruck on ruck.
We dredged him up, for killed, until he whined
'O sir, my eyes - I'm blind, - I'm blind, I'm blind!'
Coaxing, I held a flame against his lids
And said if he could see the least blurred light
He was not blind; in time he'd get all right.
'I can't' he sobbed. Eyeballs, huge-bulged like squids',
Watch my dreams still; but I forgot him there
In posting Next for duty, and sending a scout
To beg a stretcher somewhere, and flound'ring about
To other posts under the shrieking air.
* * *
Those other wretches, how they bled and spewed,
And one who would have drowned himself for good, -
I try not to remember these things now.
Let dread hark back for one word only: how
Half-listening to that sentry's moans and jumps,
And the wild chattering of his broken teeth,
Renewed most horribly whenever crumps
Pummelled the roof and slogged the air beneath, -
Through the dense din, I say, we heard him shout
'I see your lights!' But ours had long died out.
2.5k
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
- The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.
This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear - no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anasthetic from which none come round.
And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.
Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape,
Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.
2.4k
Falen Acon:
1.THE NERD...
He liked to read and was a straight A student and was very shy. (1 day relationship)
2. THE HOTTIE...
He was in love with himself and he hogged the mirror. (5 day relationship)
3. THE ****
He was to obsessed with football, basketball, track, and baseball and didn't pay me any attention and was to rough. (5 week relationship)
4. THE SKATER...
He cheated on me pretty much the whole time we went out and he had angry issues. (2 week relationship)
5. THE GAMER...
He played to many video games and was kind of forceful. (1 month relationship)
6.THE SMOKER...
He smoked to much **** and ciggs and i smelt like it and i don't even smoke and he was way to touchy and he fought to much. (1 month relationship)
Alexandria Christine Lund:
Top 5 worst boyfriends/girlfriends:
1. The 2 timer- She whined to much and apparently had a boyfriend, she wanted *** and was totally indecisive. (5 days)
2. The Stoner- He spent his time doing drugs and only wanted *** (3 months)
3. The Wannabe- He always wanted something else because I didn't fit in, he always lied he made up excuses even cheated. (5 months off and on)
4. The Fighter- He kept bragging about the military and wanted to constantly fight. (2 months)
5. The Worst- He treated me like a game, I made sure he never won it. (2 weeks)
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
Duke was admiring his puppy self in the mirror,
when upon his nose a bright red spot did appear.
Turning his head first to the left, then to the right,
studying his nose and this strange red dot so bright.
His young Master Ryan had red dots across his nose.
“Freckles” Ryan had told the pup, with eyes so sad.
So if it was a freckle it was also bad.
Ryan, his best friend was human, you see.
Duke was a puppy, one day a dog to be.
Humans sometimes got freckles.
Dogs sometimes got fleas.
He remembered another time,
When he had found a flea.
That was so long ago.
But not like this one, that
in the light seemed to glow.
Maybe if he barked, it would go away.
“ WOOF!” He said, and still it stayed.
Scared, his master Ryan he went to find.
lying his head in Ryan’s lap, he whined.
Ryan looked at his pup and laughed with glee,
a the red spot on his puppy’s nose he did see.
Duke looked up and was surprised to see,
that Ryan had hundreds of the same red fleas.
In the room Ryan’s Mother came,
“So this is where my glitter went” She exclaimed.
Ryan laughed at his Mom and Duke was relieved.
This strange red spot that had made him so bitter,
was not a freckle or a flea, but only red glitter.
Kathleen Kohl/Levinski
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
I cried because I just wanted to share it with you,
The way that you share things with me.
I never complain to you because you're my sweet.
But while I was sharing my happiness with you,
you were whining.
The exact same way that you whined when I was honest.
I was honest in saying I did not want to sleep with you anymore,
but I guess that doesn't matter.
I cried because you don't talk.
You don't talk unless it is about guns, trucks or ***
I wish you could speak to me with sweet gentleness
Of things that mean everything but mean nothing.
I want you to be smart.
I want you to be thoughtful.
I want you to be a romantic.
I want you to sing me a sinfully sweet lullaby.
I cry,
because I want to be blissfully happy.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 7:09 PM UTC
My home died 8 years ago and I
Never understood why—
No flames that licked our gingerbread house to the ground;
No earth-shattering wave that swept us off our feet;
No ghosts to keep us company—
Just a deep, lingering silence growing
Louder, and louder, more defined
As the hollow floors whined
In rebellion of the years glazed by.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
Hell is at my door
knocking in some rhetorical rhyme
mimicking the voices
inside my head
*"Get out of my ******* house"*
screams my fathers voice
as his fist hits the yellow walls
of our dainty but quaint kitchen.
"You're just going to end up pregnant"
my mothers shill voice cries out
reminiscing in her past mistakes
blaming me for her horrible life.
"I was just your friend because i felt bad for you"
whined my best friend of ten years
swearing up and down
that I was a jealous, no good, compulsive liar.
"It just wasn't meant to be"
his voice echoed to my soul
breaking me down piece by piece
and walking away forever
My own personal hell
trapping me in the confines of the people I love the most
Haunting me with their displeasure
tormenting me to death
But death sounds like the perfect escape
away from this profane hell
occupying my home, mind, soul, and heart
who's still knocking at my door.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
#14 Dies
• copyright EPH 2004 -2014
#14 dies,
no screams no cries.
Bit 13 times
even before I whined.
3 months old,
not even my first cold.
German Shepherd on my ear
before I wiped my own tear.
1/5 of the poem. More upon request.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
An occasional gust of wind will lift the translucent white voile curtains and then drop them like a child losing interest. The effect is like flash photography, a burst of sudden sunlight that paints our irises, then quickly fades.
It’s a cool Paris morning. In the low 50s. The windows are open and we forgot to turn on the heat. It’s perfect ‘under the covers’ weather. We’ve succumbed to laziness, refusing to get out of bed. Lazing-in is new enough to us that we’re defining it with a gamut of synonyms.
“Listlessness, torpor,” Peter says, his index finger tracking the slow twirl of the ceiling fan.
“Stupor, slumberous, supineness, ” I updog.
“Ooh! total submissiveness,” Peter said, drawing the last word out like it’s *****
“Every man’s dream,” I confirm.
“Inertia,” he says, triumphant in finding an engineering word.
“Good one,” I compliment. “Lifeless, loafing laggard,” I add.
There’s a knock at the door.
We look at each other guiltily, like we’ve been caught.
“We ordered breakfast last night,” Peter remembers.
“Oh, yeah,” I said, “you get it,” I suggested.
“Why me?” he whined.
“Because you can wear less and because what if it’s an ax murderer?”
“These people work for your grandmother, she employs ax murderers?”
“It could be a revolution - this is France - it happens.”
There’s another knock.
“Get it!,” I bleated, like a helpless goat.
“Am I expendable?” he asked, as a man might plead to a lynch mob.
“Women and children first,” I remind him.
There’s a third knock.
“Ok,” he says resignedly, as he rises, draws on shorts and heads for the door.
“You’re my hero,” I assure him, before I pull the sheet up over my head in case it IS an ax murderer.
Jun 3, 2023
Jun 3, 2023 at 9:06 AM UTC
I cry myself to sleep some nights,
Thats the price I pay to roll the dice.
Should i take my life tonight?
I'm defeated from my insides.
My mind, can not rewind time,
Im denied the prize, of a second climb.
Trying everyday not to lose my mind,
I whined one to many times.
Should be a crime to deny my rights, I'm losing my mind, with these guys.
Inside my head, behind my eyes, they tell lies and become spys.
Their not nice, they want me to die.
Make me cry, every single time.
Your not real, but I still feel,
Only i can take lifes wheel.
And hope for this sickness in my brain to disappear.
Jun 9, 2024
Jun 9, 2024 at 5:36 PM UTC