Best Likings Poems
School is Cool?
School is cool he says,
Pardon, what have you just said?
I think you must be feeling ill,
You had better retire to bed.
School is definitely not cool,
It is nastier than the flu,
Your statement is incorrect,
For they massacre you without a clue.
Exams, tests and no games are on their torture list,
It’s just a question of time,
Don’t say I didn’t warn you,
Their punishments are bitterer than lime.
What you see on the brochure,
Are the good things that are small,
But the torture that is at large,
Is under cover at the assembly hall.
So make your decision,
Wise I say,
Of your hates and likings,
And enjoy your of happy days.
it was not a long time ago story when we have met
it was not a long time ago when we have shared our stories
we have never thought of loosing our dignities when we opened up and chat..
time has managed to met our two worlds like it bries..
we cherished our memories down the lane..
we laughed at our likings and made it more insane
we thought of getin ourself mould to our loved songs of i thnk coldplay..
time has also make it melodious as like somone will be in pain..
we also givin each other reality checks to make image clear..
we have been into touch with each other just like it was meant..
suddenly the fog has arrived like in any other story and all disappear..
time has changed d situation but its you who has tapd it to decant..
after a while u came up with ur funny lies and mocked around..
its funny to saw u like that and makin me fool again like its sound..
there is no hope in me trustin you blindly again..
dts how i can teach you the lesson of love n now to refrain...
dere were times whn i feel like havin u back again..
my heart was weak dts why it was calin ur name..
since when i have told u to move on but d pain remain..
time has nevr been same until it was meant to be framed...
love pari
if u likd d poem or if didnt ...just put ur input wid cmnts....i wud love to observe dt..
Turbulant radient red sky with sheet swirl mashed potato
cloud mush peered lazily through a curious brown
haze of dirty armpit fizz, enlisted somewhere
bewteen a prebeginning solar start dot deposit burst peak
and a futuristic nuclear waste singulsr hand mitten
all in lieu of a sadeyed slowburn glowing tuxedo-still
and looking on with rolled up flannel sleeve gross
passivity. I slurped around the grand gravel
entrance up and down brown round and rocky
pinging and jumping. Wide spaces
grappling with the refuse laden humo motif of
endeless manwomanchildpet pickings. I round the teetering
trough trench like curves unwitnessed to the sight beholding
ever present but none as gigted. Poor mouth
super excrement excuses like duct tape type at the end
of its reality roll---never enough for the final fix.
I watched as multitruck things silently
dispatchingly dispersed and unloaded their
grusome garbage waves on good mother earth.
Battles can leave muscles working as man and time spitspent
slowcuspocus appendages working at top mph
pushing shoving shoveling piling before the light
pace calls it another disgusting dillday.
without the slighest the remorse--my stomach began
to wrenchabit and my eyewells passed be free
me. The gulls some truck lenght away were
spuriously sifting smilingly through the
human wreckings in a last light meal
remedial refrain--as intense as
the dumpers became the dumpees. I angered as
the populace as myself delivered my putrid parlay
and proceded to the mass exit as if it were
OK. The quality of messy mercy stops at the buck. I need not squander the dull likings of my kind
of indifferenleunce on the hapless mis constraints of
a well informed psuedo citizenery. I hope the land rebels
someday and eats us all by the very
seeds we so sow. Garbage is as garbage does
but it's the tidy attitude of human complacency that
wipes my ass so clean---look to the trash cans for---hope.
[Continued from Part Two]
The elder took no notice of risking life and limb.
Hither, thither ran the children, glancing up at him,
while indulging mindlessly in each impulsive whim,
with no apprehension of the future looking grim.
Their chances for salvation seemed increasingly slim…
That aged man’s deep compassion filled him to the brim.
The father knew the children liked any strange device,
exotic playthings, trinkets, whatever would entice.
He needed now to improvise a mode, in a trice,
that could capture their attention— something to suffice
to hold their young imaginations— to be precise,
a mechanism marvelous, no matter the price.
He had stores of immeasurable wealth, beyond doubt,
and his warmhearted love was impartially devout.
Just then the elder had the thought that not in the least
would his limitless riches and reserves be decreased,
even if to a kingdom vast he were to dispense
his overflowing fortune… so why shouldn’t he hence
give out his wealth directly to his progeny all,
before the children’s catastrophic deaths should befall?
The aged man reflected on what tactic to pick—
an expedient means that was sure to do the trick.
He told the children of exquisite toys he possessed
along with lots of precious carts of the very best
craftsmanship and quality, that all had been designed
expressly with the youngsters’ own enjoyment in mind.
The elder next, in order to persuade them, stated
that right outside the house at the entrance awaited,
to suit the young ones’ fancies skillfully created
goat, sheep, deer, and ox carts, ornately decorated.
He said that they must rush to leave the mansion, in haste,
and he’d give them everything— there was no time to waste.
Then the children finally fulfilled his desire
and scurried in a race safely out of the fire.
The father beamed with bliss that the urgency had passed.
They had securely left the burning building at last!
When they’d exited and scampered out, they all sat down
on the dewy earth and asked their father, with a frown,
where the toys and carts were that the elder had portrayed
for their own special likings to have been tailor-made.
The youngsters had escaped and the elder’s heart was eased.
But now each one of their capricious wants must be pleased.
[Continued in Part Four]
~ Harley White
Honeydew on the grass sparkles with life as the Sun comes up shining.
Way up yonder the Horizon’s preparing for its glorious arising.
Purple, blue and gray radiantly come together and all stand out alone,
Way up under this great big earthly dome.
Bird’s shadows fly at distances, yet each distinct by their flocks belted,
And each disappears away in colorful misty skies where all of them roam!
Beauty in foresight is clearly seen on this perfect unthought-of day,
Even to my own likings of a surprising.
Too compelling just knowing that all days are counted by,
Each exact group already individualized by being numbered!
Foliage secretes from its many branches of trees per several hundreds.
All with there own story to make known to the unknown.
Consistently re-budding as season’s change to each one that is now arising.
All seeming to prepare for that God-awful battle called Armageddon.
Years pass on and still the Sun comes onto the horizon.
Life’s at a standstill, yet, steadily ticking with the hands of time to carry on.
Nothing can be done to stop the cycle of our Earth’s creation.
For every beginning there is and ending as it is to see
Dawning is “The Sun on the Horizon”!
Be thankful that you have this very day,
For the Sun is rising upon the horizon,
What a wonderful liaison!
®Registered: Ann Rich 2001
Born and raised in Brooklyn,
with a poetic heart to write.
Anticipated in making friends,
all poetic forms bring him delight.
With a love for ice skating,
at the Franconia Notch Lakes.
Inspiration is set to verse,
from the photographs he takes.
He winds down with opera music,
Carmen and Turandot are his fav’s.
With a natural love for writing,
his poetic words get great raves.
Enveloped by English gardens,
and spending time in museums.
A yearning for reading poetry,
led to spending time in athenaeums.
His stomach has it‘s craves,
and asks for Italian delicacies.
Being with family and friends,
are his utmost priorities.
Ann Sexton & Ogden Nash,
are his timeless inspirations.
Annie Lennox, a favorite musical,
concludes this dedication.
With sincere gratitude,
and poet-to-poet respect.
I chronicled the honest likings,
of poet, Mr. John Heck.
________________________
Dedicated to a fellow Souper,
John Heck for his support.
I am i
I am the one of my kind
I am the one that my satisfaction
is dwelth to you o' lord almighty,
to you o' lord almighty, i sing
song of gratitude for making me
the way i am.
to you o' lord almighty i give thanks
for creating me
creating me in you own likings
creating me in fashion mirrow
like a quartz on the surface of
a running river
O' lord i am happy with the shape of
my head
fashion as my navigator and director
through the world
Delight with my nose as the passage of
your air
satisfied with my entire body
of whome am i
satisfied with my skeleton bones
with is content as the frame attached
of my flesh
satisfied my short arms,short legs
the legs as my transport through the
distance of the world.
satisfied o' lord for having created.
Silence in soul,
words careful,
likings clear,
dislikings minimized,
quite an uncomplicated person you are!
Night is black
Day is white
We need both day and night,
Here is hot
There is cold
Both are equally in need,
Some flowers are black
Some are red
Function same only color is different,
Some look beautiful
Some look ugly
But both are lucky,
Some are poor
Some are rich
But both are nice,
When Creator is God
All are good
Nothing or being is bad,
Some differences are always
That is the diversity
But all together is a unity,
Our likings and dislikings
Are useless there
Some end and some start where.
I am, I am
So close a man
Why you keep me far
Why you close your door
I have been ever and ever
Your, what you may think, dear,
Touch me
Without any key
I will instantly open
How you want me, when
Likings and dislikings all are
Quite have been but just your,
Look at me
I am 100% ready
Please, take me in
You know I am alone
In this wide wide universe
An unseen dot is my existence,
I am so small
My brain is so dull
Can not understand you
Gracefully form me just now
Breaking my all that in and out
Keeping no a single point in doubt.
Keep praising the tyrannical
By giving them power
waiting to see what unveils
In the final battle hour
They teach us to love what
is wrong mislead our every step
But as long as we are having fun
Who gives a heck
We are praising the wicked
Loving the scheme
Allowing the cynical to
Control the scene
We ask ourselves"Why pray"
if God doesn't exist
We are our own masters
Ignorance is bliss
Continuing to be lead astray
like swine towards slaughter.
They say money is the power
With power comes great fame
Ignorant that we follow
The likings of devils in chains
as if, only in a fortune cookie
made of American Asian cuisine "La Choy"
I could find
the future, to my humble likings
i could be, as a flower, is two (to) a bee
As a lover of all that is the
share that, what is all of me
kiss of kisses
love of time
never to be denied
come give in
let lips be placed
hear (here) to that raging place
where time and past sins
shall melt away
only your heart, will be able to speak
only your heart, will be able to say
all that i need
Fortune Cookies for two please!
Passion flames out of the mind
Perfumed candles burn in kind
Shades of light dance on the wall.
A shadow spreads slowly to all.
Our hearts beat with an illusion;
body embrace, to feel the passion,
Borne from somewhere deep inside.
a desire to love within to be abide!
One from heart that beats so soon;
Sheltering the likings as our own
As we move towards a silent dusk;
Moon enclose s up the sky in a mask
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
[email protected]
Monday, 04th March, 2013
www.williamsji.com
www.moonmakers.com
The past is good and the past is bad,
it makes you happy as well as sad.
When you feel the people ignoramus towards you,
just smile and walk away as if they are too good to you.
I know the world is idyllic without me,
as I'm not concerned with any of there likings.
I never feel alone ,
As i know God is walking beside me to home.
I pray to God for my past to not to come back,
As the future waits for me with the happy arrivals I have.
This feeling of nostalgia always hurts me,
But I'm happy that at least one person is there with me.
And I'm such a stupid person,
that in this world I expect people to understand my situation.
But It's alright as someday my life will take a change soon,
And the happy days will come back with the arrival of the new moon.
Poetry is the language of the soul
Its passion is lethal
Its writing speaks well
Its forms becomes in style
Literary and viral
It is a burning desire
Which is spontaneous and eloquent
It speaks of its feelings and emotions
Of love, its surroundings, its existence
A likings dwelt within a lingering beads
Sometimes full of doubts, pains and hopes
However, when espoused deemed a masterpiece.