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Best Full Of Himself Poems | Poetry

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So Full of Himself! by Richards, Carrie

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The Best Full Of Himself Poems

Details | Full Of Himself Poem | Create an image from this poem.

hahahahaha i have no idea what to title this

help mrs. muse is gone and my mind is shooting blanks 
my friend called inspiration is trying to walk the plank 

motivation just married mr lazy 
and confidence started acting really crazy 

cousin common sense is on vacation out of town 
and aunt intelligence is nowhere to be found 

uncle rational is at the casino gambling his life away 
and my best friend happiness never wants to stay 

my neighbor opportunity doesnt knock on my door anymore 
and my girlfriend love is really just a whore 

my partner pride is always full of himself 
and sister sympathy is busy with someone else 

grandpa wisdom is smart enough not to say a word 
and grandma compassion is seen but never heard 

the only friends that ever come to town 
is anger and disgust and they always hang around 

my high school sweat heart infatuation doesnt really call 
and my childhood friend imagination doesnt exist at all 


Copyright © John Castro | Year Posted 2012


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Bastard Sun

Life is a bastard son, prodding the fertile horizon
poking into places tender, tearing the expanse of dawn
he taunts, rude and bellicose, so full of himself
spewing into the weakest streams, a wet dream.

With platitudes he prances, son of a fearsome father
promising eternity, singing a lover's song of praise.
Light bearer, holder of the golden scalpel, night cutter
leaving glare where softness once held sway.

May the abyss, the gentle dark, the yin forgive you..son.
From the pear-shaped loins of sister Eve, you have burst
washed in the waters of she, a caul of white adorned,
pray, stay your hand, do not bludgeon your better half.

Existence, endless, fleeting, meld and join this randy pair
for universes swing between this bastard and his dreams.  


Dedicated to my muse Brenda Atry
please read her "Black Diamond Night"


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012


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HIS and HERS - limericks

HIS  and  HERS - limericks


HERS

SWEET MOLLY SHE SET OUT THE BAIT
ORDERED A DRINK FOR THE WAIT
LIFTED HER SKIRT
FANNED SCENTED FLIRT
WHILE WATCHING THEIR EGOS INFLATE



HIS

Young Buster was full of himself
a bruiser devoid of all stealth
he measured his worth
by its length and its girth
had it bronzed and put on a shelf


John G. Lawless
7/17/2015



Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2015


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Mama uph uBaba

Mama uph uBaba

Mother where is my father?
Mother where is my second teacher?
Mother where is the man in my life?
that will teach me manhood
with love, care and integrity
Mother where is my strongest point?
because I have the soft spot
and that is you...his so called
but to me mom, you are my angel
I just dont know to him
Because sometimes I feel like I am adopted
when I see my friends playing with their fathers at their home
my brothers calling their fathers
even my sisters calling their father with their name
what about me mom?
one foot can't run

Its like I am lost
when I see happy families 
some disrepecting their fathers
not realising how much I miss mine
 I mean the pain and anger
it just makes me want to cry
mama where is my father/
does he knows about me 
I mean the angel he left with you
mother am I the reason of your seperation
If not then why he left us mom/
what about me mom?
were you working while he left you?
did you have shelter or food to eat/
what was he thinking mom?
Because he was the one who was there
busy promising you 
the moon, the stars and the sky
stealing your joy while killing your future
but now I understand mom
you was blinded by love and your age was against you
but he took advantage of you
using you while you gave him a son
mother he never cared about you!!!
he never cared about me!!! he never cared about the family that he started himself!!!
was he drunk mom?
was he high mom?
was he goof mom?
actually he was himself
full of himself
a man who desperately needed a family
but having no intellectually wisedom 
to mainatin his family
I am sorry mama
and please God
make me a better man everyday....

Siphelele Nsele


Copyright © Siphelele Nsele | Year Posted 2015


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Mother where is my father

Mama uph uBaba
Mama uph uBaba

Mother where is my father?
Mother where is my second teacher?
Mother where is the man in my life?
that will teach me manhood
with love, care and integrity
Mother where is my strongest point?
because I have the soft spot
and that is you...his so called
but to me mom, you are my angel
I just dont know to him
Because sometimes I feel like I am adopted
when I see my friends playing with their fathers at their home
my brothers calling their fathers
even my sisters calling their father with their name
what about me mom?
one foot can't run

Its like I am lost
when I see happy families 
some disrepecting their fathers
not realising how much I miss mine
 I mean the pain and anger
it just makes me want to cry
mama where is my father/
does he knows about me 
I mean the angel he left with you
mother am I the reason of your seperation
If not then why he left us mom/
what about me mom?
were you working while he left you?
did you have shelter or food to eat/
what was he thinking mom?
Because he was the one who was there
busy promising you 
the moon, the stars and the sky
stealing your joy while killing your future
but now I understand mom
you was blinded by love and your age was against you
but he took advantage of you
using you while you gave him a son
mother he never cared about you!!!
he never cared about me!!! he never cared about the family that he started himself!!!
was he drunk mom?
was he high mom?
was he goof mom?
actually he was himself
full of himself
a man who desperately needed a family
but having no intellectually wisedom 
to mainatin his family
I am sorry mama
and please God
make me a better man everyday....

Siphelele Nsele


Copyright © Siphelele Shabalala | Year Posted 2015


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Before Lucifer's Fall

Before Lucifer’s Fall

On earth nor heaven; no flooding, mud slides, or wild fires;                            no earthquakes or hurricanes.  No wars above or below;                                 no offensive weapons and no conflicts.

There was a time before the devil appeared in the Garden of Eden.
Before he fell from heaven along with other rebellious angels,
Lucifer was beautiful;  and no sin was found in him.

One might not find difficulty in imagining a heaven as well as
a universe, when all was calm and good; when sin was unknown.
No bad thoughts; no temptations; nothing evil; I can only imagine.

There was one great symphony of praise, with heaven all ablaze.
There was no angry wild beasts, longing desperately for the feast.
How amazing that one can turn in an hour from such heavenly beauty.

I know that God never changes, and he has always been good.
But what of Lucifer?  It’s hard to imagine that he was ever good.
He has always been seen as up to no good, and doing good for no one.

When I think of Adam before his fall, I recall that God game him work           to do in the garden.  So because of Adam, I can imagine Lucifer having assignments as well. Perhaps he had a work crew responsible for tracking the path of the stars and planets.  Perhaps they gathered angel foods and fed
the angelic multitudes.  Perhaps he discerned the gifts and talents
Of the heavenly hosts, and directed them to their appropriate posts.  Perhaps it's even true, though hard to fathom, that God occasionally looked at Lucifer's work,  and with a smile said, "Good job".

But later on, could it be that Lucifer’s window somehow became a mirror?        Did he see himself for the first time and say, “Wow! Look at Me!”?
Before, he was full of God.  Afterwards, he was full of himself.

How many times did he say, “Mirror mirror on the wall; whose the
greatest of them all”? Did any of the angels tell Lucifer to ‘stop it’                    before he had a great  fall?  Perhaps so, but he refused to listen.
02292016 Isaiah 14:12 PS Contest, “Expand Arthur Miller’s Thought”,
Sponsored by Julia Ward


Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016


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My Mexican Jerky

He makes me laugh when I’m about to cry.

He is very different than I am; but that’s what makes him, him.

He makes no sense to me sometimes.   

He admits that he’s full of himself.

He doesn’t know how much I care about him. 

He calls me his angel.

He also lives in New Mexico.

He has never seen me face to face.

He has seen me in pictures, and said I’m beautiful. 

He is indescribable.  

He is my best friend.

He is my Mexican Jerky.

I love him.


Copyright © Emily Kroeger | Year Posted 2009


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what a waste

a most rare diamond
in a crevice of the deepest cave
its radiance hidden from the world
the human eye deprived of its luster
a waste 
what a waste

the magenta bloom of a rose 
behind the winding thorny vines
of the thickened forest
its aroma diminished
before it can be breathed in
a waste 
what a waste

a vibrant beauty longing for love
to be treasured but ignored
willing to promise her very being
to an indifferent man
full of his own interests
full of himself
a waste 
what a waste



Copyright © Blythe Journey | Year Posted 2009


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Him Wearing Them Knotty Dreadlocks

A ten foot high
sunflower man
gold capped
tooth in
his mouth but
there ain't no plan
yet him wearing 
them knotty 
dreadlocks again
walking himself
through 
Black Folk's yard
in bebop-style
no doubt
along the 
avenue road
smoking himself
some of that
sweet sweet gunga and
him full of himself
rasta man
young rapster
you rapscillion
did you bring
the juice


Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2011


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Such a cliche

I'll drink to that, three sheets in the wind, the Booze cruise                        Drinking like a fish, kicking the bucket a fine kettle of fish,                       
beyond the pale. A fish out of water. When it rains, it pours, on a dark             and stormy night, raining cats and dogs. A force to be reckoned with,                                    the perfect storm, so weather the storm and get your feet wet.                          Every dog has its day, fighting like cats and dogs.                                    
Look what the cat drug in, the hair of the dog that bit you,                         
Just pulling your leg. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,        
ignorance is bliss. No pain, no gain, a chip off the old block,                     
banging your head, against a brick wall.                                                          
A loose cannon, armed to the teeth, the kiss of death.                                                                                                     Biting the bullet, caught in the crossfire, losing your head,                                                                                      Can't hold a candle to, burning the candle at both ends,                                                                                                             at the crack of dawn, caught with his pants down, the naked truth,                    
a checkered past. Out of the frying pan into the fire.                                    Playing with fire, a burning question, that inflames me!                                   This is for the birds, two in the bush, killing two birds with one stone                                                                                       Fair weather friend’s, fly the coop and birds of a feather flock together                                                       Looking like the cat, that ate the canary, the bird's eye view.                                                                                                  Cat got your tongue, the big cheese is a better mousetrap                                      
Don't look a gift horse, in the mouth and the horse you rode in on          
Beating a dead horse, I got to see a man about a horse!                        
Living hand to mouth, biting the hand that feeds you,                                    
A knuckle sandwich, that’s a mouthful. He is full of himself


Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2018


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He's not the one

Baby girl please listen to me 
Don't fall in love so soon
He's fooling you
Don't let your innocent mind be fooled from his sweet charming 
Read the lies in his eyes
Don't get comfortable with his hugs 
He's an empty soul
Be the one with a mature sense because you're smart and know better 
He's full of himself
Look beyond his handsomeness 
His heart is a black coal 
He's nothing but trouble 
Baby girl please listen to me 
Don't go fall in love with him because he's got a BMW and a few bucks to treat you
He's a show off heartbreaker no good for you
Don't sell your pure heart to him my girl
He's not the one... Trust me!

       Smile

Akkina R Downing


Copyright © Akkina Downing | Year Posted 2017


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Someone stole my soul

someone stole 
my soul while
I look for
another one

He all ready 
got one 
but wants 
mine to

I give him
my gun and 
try to send him 
on his way 

but he fights
like a mercenaries 
with no place
to go

he thinks
nothing of death
and wants to
blow himself up

protector of anything 
full of himself 
eyes afraid
and empty

stands in the
middle of the 
road and watches 
cars go by

tells me I’m
worth nothing
unless I
worship myself

He’s my brother
but he steals
my soul
all the time



meanwhile she 
calls my name 
and I wait for
the sky to open

i see her 
smile and
think how
alone I am

she sings
songs 
but not
mine

I give
her my soul
but she won't 
take it

I say a prayer  
and shake 
myself
out of it

I dance
but not 
cause 
I want to

I dance 
because
the wind 
blows hard

dying every
day because
someone tries
to steal my soul


Copyright © todd borstad | Year Posted 2015


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So Full of Himself!

He's called a Pistashe
Now isn't that a odd sounding name for a tree?
A more likely name would be Dashing
With his bold personality 
He's not meek, or discreet
He has a daring streak!
He steals the limelight
From every other tree in sight!
It's not very humble, with all his pride
Standing out from the other's on our mountainside
But I must admit, he outshines the maple
He outshines the ash
With his bright, bold, red leaves
He's quite right to be rash....he's the Pistashe!



Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2008


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An Open Debate, Bolehland Awaits

An Open Debate, We Await...

Hohoho.....

Someone is so full of himself and sounded so arrogant...
So full of self importance to come across as belligerent...

Issuing an open challenge for a public debate any time and place in Bolehland...
That brave but brash man is now caught like a deer in a car's headlights in No Man's land...

His open challenge is now officially accepted by a small party's  president....
Whose party has unobtrusively accepted the challenge on 29November...

Albeit a political party small in numbers but with a gutsy lady president ....
Who accepted the open challenge and now pursues it too its desired conclusion....

The ignominy of which the proponent surely grasps and  understands...
The acceptance for a much desired and  publicised political debate...

Comes across in black and white, well phrased and with a glaring caveat... 
The proponent is not to withdraw or to cook up excuses of any kind..
To escape his obligations for an open debate he so brashly  publicised...

The proof of the pudding or pie is in the eating...
Bolehland awaits if this man has what it takes... 

To an open debate on  rights and privileges of Sarawak and Sabah...
In the 1963 formation of Bolehland as a free nation...

Hohoho....

Simply put, the question remains,  got balls or not.....
Or was it all just a dare me on, just a political talk....

As in the acronym NATO, No Action Talk Only....
A prevalent norm of operations from the ruling party...

Hohoho.... 


Copyright © KENG CHUAN SENG | Year Posted 2017


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To Be Mine

I wouldn’t be surprised
There would be no comeback
What excuse could I possibly give?
You desire a man sure
Not full of himself
The passive and the aggressive
Are far similar than care to admit.

But where did all the confidence go?
Where is the man that used to take it in stride?
I’m tired, sad and pissed off
At watching a man I love intently
Committing slow suicide
And when I unburden myself
Of your cardboard soul
There is no resolve
Only words meaningless
It’s never enough
You want perfection
And that’s too damn tough
For me to overcome.

The thoughtfulness I’ve learned
To accept but the extreme quietness
Is an exception to the rule I will never understand
You have much to offer
Yet you hide it away in secret
Fear of being mocked?
Of failing to connect?

I say its happiness 
You continually reject
It’s there in your grasp
And I can lead you
To that awesome state of grace
If you just trust me
I don’t want to be a patient saint
I just want to be yours.

P-7/18/14.


Copyright © eric ploscik | Year Posted 2016


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Idiotamic Expression

Alas, looks like some folks are plain lucky
going to the top just on sheer ability to talk
without doing time building up character
through real experience and hard work.

Reliant on gobbledygooks and catchalls,
he runs for office using his special lingo,
though hardly offering a sensible platform,
yet, still confident it all will turn out bingo!

Bereft of workable ideas to offer the nation,
hope is what we need, is all he could say;
there is nothing there but naked ambition, 
a sorry substitute for lack of actual policy.

Aren’t we taken for a ride and so gullible?
falling for the tricks of that messianic fool;
so full of himself the man eyeing election,
living off his idiotamic expression!   


Copyright © Wilfredo Derequito | Year Posted 2007


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The Rudolph Misnomer

Rudolph's name is really Adolf
But was coined for he was thought rude
Assumed to be full of himself
As leader of the reindeer brood

His red nose stayed up in the air
That part of the story is right
But he only kept it that way
To see around the blinding light

About that "rude olf" moniker
He would always spread the word
To please only call him Adolf
Ironically that was preferred!


Copyright © PAT Adams | Year Posted 2017


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Starving Artists

With brushstrokes soft
of many pastels
worlds come alive
on the canvases of life.
Each one, a master painter,
gently, some not so,
painting scenes, stories, events.
We, as the artists, 
like what we have done
leaving it or them 
to view.
Our work is then judged,
some harshly, some not.
Yet, judged, often times
in a pleasing, satisfying way,
thereby leaving the artist
full of himself or herself.
Not full in a bad way,
but enough to know
we have affected another.
Well done, master painters!
Well done, Poets!


Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2008