Best Crazes Poems
Longevity
What endures in this material world?
What escapes the creeping hand of rust
Motheaten, our memories unfurl
The beauty of the rose lost in rose dust.
Hard gemstones splinter beneath time’s pressure
Mold invades the gowns sown of silver
The artist’s paint crazes, past their endeavor
Even the sun burns towards it’s fiery end.
For such a time as this each day comes
Facing wrinkles of time, starlight’s frailty,
Under the wind whipped, battered, labarum
The withering heart knows one true reality.
Only love never rusts, never ages,
Eternal, the dancing soul on Heaven’s stage.
we're trapped, and,
inherently speaking
those of us here don't want us to escape : )
what a : )
........
life is time
time is life
it is mine
like a wife
there is no contradiction
(that is not how) it seems
we live in an abstract
(multi-dimensional) the means
ah, the mazes
the phases
the faces
of time
when will it end
these crazes of mine
when
will it end
these hazes of line
....
i see,
said the ban-she,
you are of the hinge
...me!?...am of the cringe,
the lock and the key...so please
allow me to flee...not flea...
oh gawd...it's all up to me...
it's enough to make one screee
...mmm...i've got a thought...a short time out,
try some p_t : )
......hmmm....a bit better....
now for meaning and force of letter,
..........
...need some supper.
My Love for thee will always be.
For your love is what sets me free,
you were so sweet you swept me
off my feet.
My heart went pitter patter and the
beat became such a treat.
My love for thee will always be.
First love the kind that dazes and
crazes the emotions and mind.
Pinch me please make sure you
find it is me inside and not just
someone blind.
My love for thee will always be.
For you are all that my heart and eyes can see.
First love that engaged you and me.
The certain look in each other’s eyes.
Exasperated moments of lows and highs,
your love has me always in a sigh.
Pinch please and you will see,
my love for you will always be.
It will always be you for me.
Love is blind but my heart is not.
Longing for the days gone by
When cares were soon forgotten
Which now linger oppressively
Odorous, like fruit turned rotten.
Carefree were those bygone days
Random notions came and went
Imagination rambling like crazes
I was not afraid to experiment.
Days passed swiftly into years
Encumbrances kept piling atop
My eyes often filled up with tears
Memories became my only sop.
Now, time has come with aging
I remember those by-gone days
My mind will often go foraging
Now I have grown set in my ways.
written June 29, 2021
Most of us fear getting old nowadays,
we try everything to help stay healthy;
thinking immortality might be fun,
we eat well, exercise, consult doctors.
But, aging is just a part of living,
we started the moment of our birth;
yet some of us were born with an old soul,
and that's exactly what happened to me.
Since a little girl I have just seemed old,
well, at least had a beautiful old soul;
that's what all my family always said,
oh yes, they said that girl has an old soul.
My skin is not baby smooth anymore,
and bones creak a little now and again;
my hair is not that of a young woman,
yet, my physical beauty seems frozen.
For there is inner beauty shining bright,
with deep inner knowledge beyond my years;
I have old ears for slow nostalgic tunes,
appreciating quiet, mindful time.
Oh, I am the epitome of calm,
I have no interest in the fashion crazes;
loving vintage and interesting instead,
because my grandma said- I was born old.
_______________________
June 4, 2019
Poetry/Verse/A Beautiful Old Soul
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1149-953-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
they body shame
they spew hate posts dipped
in virulent venom
vehemence for the voluptuous
crazy mad about the curves
mocking the well stocked
where do they get all the hate
wait!!!
they manufacture it
burning off calories
they work themselves into
hate hysteria
zero sized is no prize
what makes thin, in?
Beauty goes through phases
women through their crazes
must fit the body type
that's the hype
fashion famished
emaciated models
thigh gap miles wide
poking bones they can't hide
unhealthy unwell
they send the fat ones to hell
well....
big booty bullies
think they'll get away
with what they write
with what they say
they have no shame
lame...they're so lame!!
haters will hate
to give a damn?
it's too late!
Beauty isn't a size
it's in what you see with your eyes
the beauty within
is not limited
to fat or to thin
it's the size of your heart
so shut up and get smart
Listen to this big girl
Take a bow, take a twirl
Sexy unbound to size
GET WIZE!
Be Body Beauty Brave
Silence the Shamers
Give them a smile
knowing what you do
about BARE truth:
Better to have thick thighs
than thick sick minds....
Eileen Manassian
I follow Tess Holliday on Instagram and Facebook. I love that woman. It really angers me what haters write to her. Her message is simple: Big woman have the right to feel beautiful too. Plain and simple. Haters...move on!
So this is it. It’s finally here.
Your last school day has come
No more morning drop offs
No more rushed school run.
No more sandwiches to pack
No more sports kit to acquire
No frantic searching for the socks
Hiding somewhere in the dryer
No more crazes to embrace
No whirring fidget spinners
No scoubidos or scooters
No more school hot dinners
No more earnest pleas for help
Or passionate persuasions
To help with your maths homework
And solve quadratic equations !
A vista stretches far behind
When you were very young
And had to have your hair combed flat
But never in a bun !
Mum was taking all the flack
When your bottom lip would wobble
Armed with just a hairbrush
And a Clare’s, Pink Princess, bobble
Selling cakes and muffins
When cake stall day came round
Besieged by hungry children
At the home time bells shrill sound
Scrubbing out car carpets
With some enzyme killing spray
And vowing I would NEVER
Take you back to “Shakeaway”
No more sunny sports days
Then a picnic under trees
Nor helping at school discos
When the heat hit 80 degrees !
No more frantic walks to school
No chatting at the gate
No more nudge to hurry up
So we didn’t sign in late
No more uniform to buy
No September feet to measure
No school concerts to attend
And glow with pride and pleasure
No more avid watching
For the slightest trace of snow
Yearning for a snow day
Tuned to local radio
No more parents evenings
Time to sort out all the debts
To remember all those good times
and never have regrets.
We will treasure all these moments
Hold them close within our heart
There are other seas for you to sail
So soon you must depart.
These memories are so precious
These moments are so rare
So wherever life’s path takes you
If you need us - we’ll be there.
The general populace leans in close
seeking comfort for the coming week.
A routine, verging on madness:
Flip on the switch and crank it loud,
the News at Six wishes to speak!
Scenes of tyrannical leaders
and wretched wars,
somehow amalgamated with
glittered pop stars galore.
Spoken by newscasters
in unwavering apathy.
Spoken by a people
treating both stories equally.
And still, we lean in close
with a perverse curiosity,
thinking: at any point they'll
give us their cure to fix the malady.
And still, we perk our ears,
knowing it in truth to be a scheme.
But somehow unable to pull away;
dimly wishing it to be only a dream.
Listening, only because,
we need authority to guide our ways.
So the News, however undeserving,
will receive all it's due praise.
Sitting calmly, and gratefully
simply out of duty, likened as to sheep:
it is not our place, to raise our voice in protest.
Not even the slightest peep!
And lo, we are a public,
adding oil to the ceaseless wheel.
By watching the News at Six
as the minutes softly tick
away all of our thoughts still in store.
The mantra of the public,
equipped with hearts too far away to feel:
They're just actors in a play
with a set of lines to say -
It is simply that and nothing more.
This is how distance
deceives us.
Confusing paradise
for perilous.
A vast citizenry across this our land
fondly believing that we understand,
but we know almost nothing.
They'll talk about latest dance crazes,
and buzzworthy songs. They'll talk about
it all the day long until it sounds like SOMEthing.
While life as we know it is on the brink.
While we're singing in a boat about to sink.
The mantra of the public
in our little box upon the hill:
I'm safe and I'm sound
with nothing to fear.
The mantra of the public,
while attempting to keep our hearts still:
Nothing as horrid as that
could ever happen here.
I see faces,
sober races-
covalent bases,
upon crazes,
upon laces.
I say hi that I know her,
get by on some glow worms,
grow guys in the sojourns-
holy as the phone burns...
High tech would have a job,
but the buying neck would have a slob,
so why get robbed at the kabob
when the higher rent is only as true as a mob?
'Cause there is no escaping the jobs-
slamming of doors or weighing of the stops,
you've gotta be a bob,
make sure you've got friends to cast off.
Walking with you all the way, because I missed you night and day.
Holding your hand to help guide the way, in the light of the moon?
Sunshine brightening our lives whispering ways, hold my hand,
I want to be with you, up lift your soul in oh so many crazes.
Hold you in my arms and remembering when our lives took us,
Each to two separate places, what am I to do now? Eyes so clear,
Pull your likeness...
Closer to me now and cling to you at closed in spaces?
Whisper in your ear that I have no grievances to spare, so come to me,
Come to me now, I want you to be here, love me now, I have a life to share.
The effects are rollin over our bodies, like it can’t decide,
Caught in between here and taking you out to be the ride of your life.
by Michaelw1two
The bard, the muse, the low versifier,
each the times bemoan;
stressed by compassion's grasp,
ingrained word sown life disowns;
individualist rare, previews minds mood,
frigid wills he does discern;
insurrection, a thought held vast,
implied truth's, tout one’s dishonor.
Prerogative, free your chained mind,
release past stain despotic;
concomitant imbroglio once bound,
faces now this world chaotic;
temporal truth outweighs want,
life’s bliss questions idea quixotic;
perceptivity palpable eoan,
entwined societal gist, riddle semiotic.
Incessant proves life’s filature,
its touch, binds each into account;
emblements, an inedible gruel,
thought as fruit, abstruse keynote;
historicity, prime number obscured,
self’s augmentative connote;
coincibency jesting theft,
petitio principia, intones snidely cantor.
Initiates, anew in words from blood,
long of mindfulness and mores;
misconstrue one’s meanderings,
as logical crazes, fecundity ignores;
interpretation, ideas coalesce,
worked verse provides the Id amore’;
contradictions, fuel creative trysts,
twisted thoughts, this art restores.
Orient then one’s psyche appetent,
as present wanes benignly;
dupery thrives, flexile ideas hide,
within abderian punning finery;
circumscribe in self perspicacity,
release your jocularity divinely;
sagaciousness poetic ruse,
a mendicants muse, his true babblery.
Jan 2010
LOVE AND THE PRUDENT MIND
How can passion nab a prudent mind
Heartless and unrelenting sorrow
Passion which
Haunts across seas
Crazes uncharted through widow making mountains
Shadows its prey
day by day from scent of soap to toothpaste caps
Sleepless nights in strangers beds—The vows once took cannot be shed
How can love annex a prudent mind
Diligently plodding through piles of work
Jump between the lines and ink
like a rapist scare
to catch the victim unaware
Heartless and relentless sorrow
Years refine the passion fire
Body aches for vanished scorching touches
Heartless and relentless sorrow
Like a bird she fled the skies
But longs in secret for the midnight flight return
Once again, well trained by the past Alphabet God Father’s, bringing poetry that’s strong,
A word scholar, popular in all dimensions coming at ya, with another piece to my name,
Craftier than the average, an unorthodox Maverick, quick semantics creating dots that join,
This life is your greatest gamble, will you manage or crumble? Heads or tails flipping the coin,
Will you conjoin or follow the world’s system of money determining your place in my word game,
We are not the same, this brain will always remain a savage,
An avid pen and paper challenger with high amperage, ready to be established,
Polished story rhymes, shiny and always on time making their way to all regions of the atlas causing havoc,
Challenging all word jugglers formulating verses to a challenge,
This is my passion, a talent straight up rudimentary styles still evolving,
Involving written weapons, putting your beliefs on trial with wild lines of venom, damaging perceptions,
A minor few are the exception, see past the deceptions and ask the most important questions,
Causing trouble in your tunnel vision, the struggle subsides and you soon envision the mysterious puzzle,
A mind with muscles, constructed with the finest steel must also be put to the test and questioned with the hottest fire,
Desire starts to run through your veins claiming to aspire higher elements you require,
Retire from unproductive habits, remove the boxes and find balance, conscious is your new status,
Ignore the latest crazes put in place for ignorant fools to escape to instead of being reshaped,
Narrate with a mind state connected to supernatural forces that monotheist’s keep forbidden,
Hidden truths running free within the universe of thought, pre conceived concepts are your villain,
Living life in rhythm, opposite to the matrix system installed by our conditioned ways,
Stay on your mission, seen in visions of past, present and future times away from religion.......
Continued at part 2
Quincy Mac
Date Written: 24.5.2016
Turning pages
Blaspheming churches
Crucifying sages
Causing rages
Turning pages
Wandering mazes
Furthering crazes
Nullifying searches
Turning pages
Erasing phrases
Controlling phases
Dazzling praises
Turning pages
Relenting urges
Escaping cages
Paging ages
She sings,
The dumb mouth,
But she sings.
There is, beyond the deads,
The time's continuity,
It continues in silence,
As crazes the stone
... And have no more eyes to cry,
Does not means, so far,
Close his eyes on the future.
-----------
Elle chante,
La bouche muette,
Mais elle chante .
Il y a , bien au-delà des morts,
La continuité du temps,
Il se poursuit en silence,
Comme se fendille la pierre,
... et n'avoir plus d'yeux pour pleurer,
Ne dit pas, pour autant,
Fermer son regard sur l'avenir.
-
RC
- jan 2015
( in memory of the Charlie Hebdo's victims )