"wining" poems
Vanity has created insanity in humanity,
the worldly hope men set their hearts upon,
possessed by Money, power, fame &respect;
empty pride inspired by an overweening
fruitless human desire,
wining and dining as the clouds darken in the
middle of the night,
as they settle for a life of deceiving enjoyment,
eyes are faded while he rest his body for a new
day,
he turns & roll in discomfort while he sleeps,
dreams are clashing, the fear of been poor
strikes his mind,
meanwhile the poor sleep in comfort ,
he won't wake up unless you wake him,
men of exotic fast cars,
Sell their soul to feed their vain pursuit,
and their happiness to feed their ego,
a life of unsubstantial enjoyment, reality awaits
its faith,
as it will be too late to plea of insanity in
eternity,
no hospitality for mental spirituality,
the vanity of human wishes reflect upon
superficial vision of human unfulfillment,
In essence that leads to eternal death.
the poor can't control his pain,
as tears drop from his eyes uncontrollably,
watching man with his fruitless ambitions,
as he settles for worldly materialistic goodies,
living beyond his means,
So many years on earth yet unsure of the
hereafter,
living a life of insecurity & fear of the unknown,
mention the word death ,he will ponder &
begin to wonder,
what his fate will be,
Vanity upon vanity,
When his time elapses,
he won't be left with anything but his good
deeds,
No mansions, no cars, no fame, no sweet voices,
what a life of vanity!!
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 3:34 AM UTC
Step by step,
With a gorgeous plié,
Kick some pep
Into a battement jeté.
A toy brought to life
During a winter dream,
Wining a mice fight,
Becoming king and queen.
Graceful and white,
Perfection is seized,
A swan's flight,
Applause from the pleased.
All these to treasure,
To hope for, but first
Have the right measures
And break the weight curse.
Do not eat much
And practice all day,
Have the right touch,
Get that perfect cambré.
Pointe for pain
And chukkers for luck,
Just hide those blood stains
And redefine pluck
When all the joints hurt
And toes can't be touched,
When all one has heard
Is Tchaikovsky's crutch...
So proceed and endure,
Feel pain and relief,
Prokofiev's pitch contour
To be ones only belief.
Let all this be forgotten
When the curtains rise
And show all this works gotten
Perfection for a prize.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 5:55 PM UTC
**** bruh! call a bomb squad (bo[ɑ]mb squa[ɑ]d)
for there's a bomb—
—shell here, whose rear evokes a somewha[ʌ]t
unholy, wrong thought (wro[ɑ]ng thou[ɑ]ght)
reminds him of a jihadi-done job (jihadi-done jo[ɑ]b)
'cause this bum's (boom) banging; this honey's dancing
boldly & lewdly, got his jaw dropped (ja[ɑ]w dro[ɑ]pped)
his sight's fixed on her hips, she's beyond hot (bey[ɑ]ond ho[ɑ]t)
this gal's freaking blazing
his hand's in offensive motion for her hind part
a haptic invasion
she moves on from wining to fondling, she's eager
such a luscious body, killer figure (body)
disguised with a tank
top with a low neckline & tight-fit cropped pants
she's like: "make me high like a rooftO̲p nearly reaching
the sky; give me a tI̲me so exquisite
that I̲'ll be left speechless
when this ro[ɑ]mp's over"
she's none short o'... a mind-blower, like a gun-toter
blowing a brain of a **** hound wrongdoing
('bout time to strike a hunting seas-on up on these ****
she digs vicious, dark-sounding music
but also doesn't mind to bounce her tushie
to 90-100 bpm party-sound tunes
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 4:24 AM UTC
She don’t have to say a word
Her body gives me all the signals
It’s more than a stop and go
When my hands are cruising down her skin
She knows how to speed up my heart rate
When she’s wining pon me
Our bodies sing the sweetest melody
We go to the point of no return
Where our passions burn.
Dec 7, 2024
Dec 7, 2024 at 2:33 AM UTC
Rugged and handsome with perennial tan
Distinctive and stylish, a real ladies man
Wining and dining all goes on the tab
Along with “entertainment” in the back of a cab
An invite for coffee at his hotel
This Romeo won’t kiss and tell
An exquisite encounter, but where will it end
That all depends on how much you spend
Contract sealed and ready for action
Destination set for satisfaction
Even though he may be fit to burst
He makes sure his customers always…
…come first
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
(the hours in between)
It is the morning after reuniting, wining and talking...the stirring of the curtains transparent, become slow moving hands and calming whispers of a hypnotist, blending perfectly with the gentle whiff of a breeze...and the soft sounds of one who has just woken...a hint of a breath of life...there is much gratitude.....these early morning whispers could still be heard...quietude is a swaying hammock, but sleepy eyes peep through the window, gazing far, enthralled by the horizon...red, orange, purple.....merging.....against green and brown of the mountains...and from all these mix of colors, finally emerges a sky so blue...a new day is born, the Almighty is most kind...but something else unsettles the mind of one who has gone through many arduous journeys...asking:
"How did I fare"? Can I still...? Will I...?"
Now shining bright is a list of
Things yet to happen...intentions---
Disguised as questions.
Though this has long been conceptualized,
There's this pressing feeling, they must now be prioritized
Pray they soon be realized
Before exit from this world has materialized.
Can I still -
Be brave enough to swim? drive a car? ride a bike?
Meet with distant friends? learn new languages?
Write with more depth, even when I turn 80... and older?
Fly in a plane with my son as the pilot in command?
See my granddaughters finish college?
Will I still be able -
To satisfy this wanderlust endlessly stirring within me?
To ride a camel in the deserts of Morocco?
To feel the sun, the air, even the rain, while walking the cobbled streets in Tuscany?
To spend an evening in Florence?
To visit Greece, Spain, Ireland, Wales, and relive stories read?
To feel and breathe the air there, brimming with adventure?
We walk through various labyrinths in life, so absorbed in our own worlds...hours, days, become prosy, they move oh, so slowly.......still, when the dark is upon us, we sit and reflect...wondering:
Will we see another day unfold before us?
Do we get to witness
The Blue Hours of another sunrise and sunset,
And further be enchanted by the day's breath-taking
A L P E N G L O W ?
How many more
A L P E N G L O W S ?
Sally
Copyright August 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
Believers vs believers
A sign of judgement day
Spilling the blood of mankind
That is what the Lord forbade
The one being slaughtered
Is clueless as to why
A brother is taking his life
And the murderer also does not know the reason for picking up a knife
The state of mankind
Is beyond ******* up to be repaired
Long gone are the times when strangers cared
Every night is in competition with another to becomes the darkest and wildest
Next of kin worried about inheritance
And spouses taking out life insurance claims
The soul is bruised
But on a shell is placed a band aid
Fine wining and dining
Abundance leftovers in the bin
Whilst the neighbour starves
As people frolic in sin
Slaves giving birth to masters
Power in the hands of wrong
And those buried six foot under
Are suddenly the lucky one's
Knowledge decreasing
And ignorance on the rise
We compete in the construction of the tallest building
And mothers abandon their children
Beauty pageants
And *** selling cars
The ship of the world sinks
In broad daylight
Yet we un-fasten our seatbelts
And live by ride or die
Yolo people
Get an intoxicated high on a traitorous life
A year passes like a month
And a month like a week
Nothing remains but a name
Humans who massacred humanity
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
Harley Davidson motorcycle song
By David John Clare
My elektra glide had to find her
Shes got the key to turn it on
Street wheels are spinning
Now were are wining...
When she sez go let's get it on...
Harley love will get you racing the street bike you'll be a chasing
So ride the wind with Harley Davidson
the machine for you...
Now my baby said to me boy now don't be slow let's get over to the Sunday cycle show
our fat boy was still looking the best
Want my advice? Here's what I suggest.
Chorus
Well we don't talk much so to hell with a car
Romping in the country under Texas stars
She rolled out the blanket on the grassy dew
We started drinking Jim beem right out of her shoe...
Chorus
Harley Davidson motorcycle
Milwaukee Wisconsin
David John Clare
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 7:27 AM UTC
A party in the jungle heat,
he is sober,
Like always.
*Just one drink...
Come on try it...*
No.
One, please, do it with me
No
Don't be left out
No
Just one...?
...no...
One.
Capitulation First Sip.
Fruit juices of the jungle- strawberry sweet with that telling aftertaste
no regret.
Sip.
Gulp.
First cup finished
He is Tipsy.
Secnd cup finshed
He is Buzzed.
Pride, He has lost his inicense, He is growin' up.
The only limit is dere are none...
Three cups in and the sweet nektar is gane,
One half a Loko next – grawss.
The world tips.
One half a wutr botle goes very fastly - no flavor at all
The world blurs,
Cut to couch 3 am
He tiiirrrred, He fulll, He is full-on drunk.
For the first time in sixteen years, he is a wining-confused-inarticulate baby.
Pillow on his face to hide from the lights- not the shame- just the party that needs to be over
He wants sleep, but the spins keep him awake.
The rumors abound: "He assed out on the couch."- not true.
Alcohol fueled lie.
Alcohol distorts perception far worse than a few rumors can hope to encompass.
Alcohol turns your average teen into a
Thrill-seeking
Death-defying
Lady-killing
Frisky-living
Idiot.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
On every single night, the heavens rise,
and the ages descend when your eyes dance.
You ingratiate the barren night skies,
Like a void star, befallen, left to chance.
Plight yet graceful on the adorned stage
the limitless expectation, recant.
A gift the blessing of the exquisite
soft golden glazed inquest aspiration,
And in them I witness, the perfection.
The spike that pierces, a sinister sole
a driver of unhinged unworthy worlds.
To grace it with an unhinged perfection.
The heavens have come to set, to see you.
and I arise with the night to seek you.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
They gate crashed to our home in the late morning,
Dressed in the red-shirts, wielding clubs and machetes,
Howling loudly that they are national party officers
Protecting peace and development, that is never seen,
Our country already is crushed to forlorn state
Under the heavy lord of anti-human leadership,
They shamelessly extorted money from my poor father
Which they called compulsory party fees, for what?
A political party whose name is as horrifying as leprosy,
My father hadn’t enough money, they took away in addition
Our only one red cockerel which was learning to crow,
It worked as our family clock on its crowing in the morning,
We had too earmarked it for the next **** fight fete.
Our family hopes for money hinged on its wining the prize
The Proceeds with which hopped to succor ourselves
By funding our mother’s cancer treatment bills.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
few people
who tell me to forget
about the past
just fail to understand
that sometimes past
doesn't forget me
They fail to realize that
one is still in the battlefield
dodging bullets surviving attempted ******
my war is still ungoing
but as always chances are
I survive like I often do
by unseen forces
its a cruel ancestral
karmic war
that must be paid
no one is immune to it
no matter how prosperous waiges of sin generating good and bad Karma are unstapable
ask me I've lived it in the flesh
wining or losing
doesn't matter too much
it doesn't depend
on the self alone
One has to experience
cause and effect
of all actions and inactions
perhaps generational
values apply here
must perform my deed
suffer their bad karma
what can I as a recipient
do but endure
please don't say to soldier me
in this battlefield hell of mine
"forget the past! look forward!"
"Don't look back,
you'll crash and die!"
my forward might be more
of the same battlefield
****** neverending
generational type war
unprovoqued covert enemies
ever popping up
like agents in my Matrix did
unexpectedly
using different names
covert culprit Terminator One others wearing masks
hungry wolves
some in sheeps clothings
others smiling snakes
in my fallen paradise
many have fallen though
by my side and something
out there from beyond spares me
the people of God shall taste poison and it won't harm
the Lord upholds me and I wait patiently safe
heaven is within me.
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 4:38 PM UTC
It's funny how hospitals,
Whence one goes to heal
Or die,
Focus ones mind upon
Profound things,
Life and death for sure
But also the life that's been lived
The life being lived,
Being dead and also
The process of dying,
I do not wish to die
In a hospital ward,
I have seen this and
I have heard it
And it is horrid,
No,
Let me pass good Lord
In the arms of a beautiful woman,
Or the embrace of a wooden boat,
With sails full and ocean spray
All about me,
Let me die astride a galloping horse,
Or in the metal clashing of swords,
The crack and ping of an airsoft war
Or the twang and thud of archery,
Let me pass on a zip wire Lord,
With the scream of a block
In my ears,
Or wining and dining
With my loved ones,
Any of these things Lord will do,
Or anything else the same,
But let me die while living Lord,
Not on a hospital ward
In shame
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 12:12 PM UTC
The seeker the loner the lover the keeper
The thrower the catcher the leaper
The believer the stoner the beater
The busser the cleaner the waiter
The water the sinker the caster the bleeder
The runner the stunner the teacher the preacher
The heater the steeper the meeker the feature the
Sliding the slipping and sloshing and
Crawling and creeping and cutting and kissing
Dishing and wining and dining and hissing
Looking and seeing believing and breeding
Heaving mashing heaping seeding
Feeding flooding fretting keeping
Shining a lining flowing and flipping
Tripping sipping showing shipping
Beating the beat of the poem of the people
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
Okay, so you just...
Go around breaking hearts just to see what's inside?
Your mother left you so you can't read a woman's eyes?
Listen to your other side, put down your pride
Did you ever think that - I'd need that?
To stay alive...
Promises are lies...
You listen with a hopeful mind
"Maybe it'll be different this time..."
That silence inside
The rips in your soul
The bad habits of a "good thing" that never seem to get old,
Use your feet - go ahead and be so bold
Walk away, your story still remains untold...
But It is so cold...
...
I - loved you with purity and sensual affection,
Too much to ask the man of my dreams to free me from my nightmares of never being selected...
First, in the eyes of the one who carried my heart...Second to the woman to who he paid more attention that...Third time could of been a charm but...the Fourth coming didn't seem to send love to the right spots, honesty in the right message.
What does this darkness bring?
Lost intuition, burnt pictures.
Filled up bottles of wining, that collected all of the tears that I sing.
Wading in the emotions
Drowning in this moment
Staring back at my lying King.
A broken bond that reflects on the floor of a fallen ring...
Because if you don't learn - you will never know...
You'll never know a good thing.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
Greyhounds bolt,
Elastic dogs,
Trapped till the rabbit runs.
A gun fires and punters wave papers,
Smudged smutted hankies,
To wish poor puppies on.
Rabid run,
Rabbit run,
Dogs ‘fun’ done,
Punters wins to spend on ***
Dogs retire to a night behind wire,
Howling,
Cold,
Whining.
Punters swagger to a night of vice,
Yelling
Warm,
Wining.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 6:25 PM UTC
All the young raison wanted,
was a drink of water
His mother sternly told him
" You get back to bed! ''
He shrank away from her discipline
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC
Nice to see a wining play
The past suggests its just mirage
Ill keep my options open
But if you ask me its self sabotage
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
Life is like a game,
when you think you are wining, everything goes to drain,
you think you have lost,
and you have done your most.
tears in your eyes ,
and no hope lies in skies
suddenly , things turn
and YOU WON that was all you have learn................
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
Pigs fly
Pirate's wining season
After 20 long years
Fly!!!
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
I just felt like writing
and the world suddenly had
no boundaries for me
and no one was looking
and the beach was the only one
that could support my feet;
and all those beautiful women
were starring in the big fat blue,
not saying a thing,
not knowing what to do,
not wanting to cry, nor to laugh..
but I guess this is what good music
does to you -
it sends signals down your spine
and, in a second,
you forget where you are
and what you're trying to accomplish -
you get to the point where you think
you are a mother ******* rock star!
You have no worries
and you know that you can play the hell out of a guitar,
on the day before the big show!
But.. when the crowd goes wild
and all of those eyes are having an ear on you,
your cave -
you become one with the guitar case -
full of sounds and, yet, so silent,
dark like an empty egg shell,
cursed to know what life is
but unable to show it to others.
There is
no wine,
no wining,
no glass eye,
no groupies,
no ice in your bucket list!
You are all alone and suddenly the world feels part of you.
There was a time when
I felt bad for people that didn't need that from me -
simple, single, solitary people, that couldn't feel a thing
and that couldn't care less if some arrogant *****
some.. some cocky presumptuous stranger
was thinking unhappy thoughts about them.
I just wanted to write
but all I did was get farther
away from what I needed.
Now it's time to save the word world!
Yes!
It's time to synchronize our watches
and go naked out there,
with our ***** and ******* free,
uncovered by our own self consciousness
and big little lies!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNapQD7tcXo
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 6:23 PM UTC
I can’t stand you’re wining,
You’re brating,
You’re ********
You’re scratching,
You’re hitting,
You’re hissing,
I can’t stand you butting in.
I can’t stand you not listening.
I can’t stand you being mean,
You thinking your all that but your just obscene.
I can’t stand it!
To the point it makes me snap,
When all I want to do is take a nap.
I can’t stand you shouting without reason,
Crying, when it’s just not the season.
Ooo, I can’t stand you,
I wish I could,
But, I can’t stand you,
I know I should.
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
Sitting in a coffee shop in yupstown hipsville Brooklyn
scrawling in a notebook with a headband on
I become a caricature of myself
why these things even matter to me I cannot explain
but I feel like scumbag anyway
Constantly criticizing
revising
rewriting my words and theirs
my thoughts
"oh thats pretentious"
"what is that? your talking out your ***
"why do I/you even bother?"
Why can't I just go?
Be
write write scribble doodle
think
at least I'm not the ******* sitting across from me
(there it goes again)
But i am part of a growing number
of diligent dilettantes
with notebooks and novels
leather bound and worn
"vintage"
and "obscure" instruments
and tastes
because I am all leisure
I have that kind of time
but aren't I just another ****
Cunting out my cunty cuntness
like it's something new
like i'm not just playing games
playing roles
half committed and pandering
to an audience of privilege
looking for clarity, or authenticity?
or am I just another salesman?
Ugh I cannot escape
my sense of inadequacy
I m a sham, a ******** artist
When is it going to ******* end....
is there any escape
that comes without labels
self imposed or otherwise?
(stop wining you ****
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
**** bruh! call a bo[ɑ]mb squa[ɑ]d
'cause she's a bomb—
—shell, whose rear evokes a somewha[ʌ]t
unholy, wro[ɑ]ng thou[ɑ]ght
reminds him of a jihadi-done jo[ɑ]b
'cause this bum's (boom) banging; this honey's dancing
boldly & lewdly, got his ja[ɑ]w dro[ɑ]pped
she's beyo[ɑ]nd "ho[ɑ]t"
this gA̲l's freaking blazing
his hand's in offensive motion for her hind part
a haptic invasion
she moves on from wining to fondling, she's eager
like someone punished by dI̲nt of
a guillotine, his head's lost as she seductively strI̲ps her—
—self naked; she says: "make me
high as a rooftO̲[ɑ]p nearly reaching
the sky; give me a tI̲me so exquisite
that I̲'ll be left speechless
when this ro[ɑ]mp's over"
she's none short o'... a mind-blower, like a gun-toter
blowing a brain of a power-drunk mo'fuh
————————————————————————————————
she goes out just like a la[ɛ]mp as a co[ɑ]n—
[the "out like a light" expression]
—sequence of their bout of high-octane carnal fun
as against the hero of tonight who ca[ɛ]n't catch
sleep; he's still wide awake af—
—ter more than ane half
of a twenty-fourth of day passed
his mind's got diverse thou[ɑ]ghts
going one after another, like a race track
occupied by sport cars
he's a nobo[ɑ]dy who's ended
up having a great tI̲me with a splendid
woman, which he's now lying in bed with
with his existence being nO̲ne but pathetic
he's been, like a person with whom O̲ne isn't ca[ɛ]ndid
in the dark &, processing the world as highly offensive
from a sociopolitical point, wa[ɑ]nting a vengeance
just li̲ke vigila[ɛ]ntes
he's up in arms, due to pieces of vI̲ce-ridden dreck with
their eyes blinded with pelf &
power; a hE̲A̲rt-damaged a[ɛ]nti—
—hero with little avE̲nues to spout the
anger, who seems to have found a
source of light he doesn't wish to be outta
he hopes she won't slyly desert him
the subsequent morning
if she arises before him
Sep 24, 2024
Sep 24, 2024 at 4:12 AM UTC