Big Girls Do Cry
They expected her to be the jolly fun one.
The one w e a r i n g a smile on her face.
So she became.....who they wanted her to be
She was quick with her wit, telling her practiced fat jokes.
It was a pre-emptive strike of sorts
her attempt to remove the target
from what some thought was her "considerable ass".
Never again wanting to be the "butt" of people's jokes!
She remembers the year she was "Chubby Checker"
the year her parents gave her that checkered jacket
she also remembers how hard she cried.
They laughed and one boy sang
"Big Girls Don't Cry----- they don't cry!"
She vowed to herself on that very day
"I will never ever cry again!"
There were the many diets
the yo yo effect..."Yo big girl, lookin good"
Friends asking her "have you lost weight?"
Those "good for you"s!!!!
The attention felt good in a way
but the weight she'd lose seemed to come back the next day.
Somehow the cursed food felt like her only true friend
the only one on whom she could depend.
The food never judged her
instead it filled the empty sad part
the part that weighed nothing
yet felt like it weighed a thousand pounds!
The part that felt lighter when she was full
it somehow felt like a hug from the inside.
She stopped eating in public
not wanting to hear comments like
"she could do without that ice cream."
There were also the buffet comments
"She's going to get her money's worth!"
Still what hurt even worse
were the nice people
the trying to be kind people
the ones who felt sorry for her people
Saying "all you need to do is lose a few pounds."
or "you have such a pretty face."
Some people would tell her "You're just big boned."
Then there was comment she hated the most
"You have such a great personality!"
For she knew it was all part of the "Fat Girl Show"
the persona she had gifted to them.
Then came the day
that epic day she stopped joking.
When she smiled when she wanted to smile
when she dressed in the ways she wanted to dress.
She embraced the form she was given
she celebrated all of her curves.
She decided to eat when she was hungry
nourishing and loving her body
she allowed colourful foods to occupy her plate.
Strangely, she started losing some weight
but it wasn't her goal
for inside she was becoming whole.
Skinny was not who she needed to be!
When tears came she allowed them to flow free
she was no longer her own enemy
The more she cried
the less she felt her empty.
She learned, everyone
y e s.... everyone,
has some kind of insecurity!
No one is completely who they wish to be
some have hidden bits
others are more obvious,
even if some are somewhat oblivious.
She now has learned to be a compassionate witness
one who is much kinder to herself
she doesn't keep her thoughts on a shelf
So when others make jokes
or give painful pokes...
She tells them "That's hurtful and it's not okay",
"I'm who I am and I'm perfect this way!"
Maybe next time they will consider what they say.
For today and tomorrow and every other day forward
she is more than some number on a scale that she weighs
or some joke in an insensitive phrase.
She now can be and see her true self in extrodinary ways
March 27th 2016
Written by: Richard Lamoureux
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016
There is a scar
On my face
Small, steadfastly placed
One only notices if they are this close
To kissing my soul
On my cheek
Below the eyes and sideways
Beside the bubble-gum sweet
Mouth, vivacious story teller
like an upside down
sharp angled half moon
The endless emotions of my sky
So attractively rough
It attacks the delicate features of my face
Allowing my streetwise beautiful
To shine through, I don’t hide thetruth
It’s as plain as the scar on my face
Life isn’t ugly, you make it that way
Some days I wish it wasn’t there
But I always
Appreciate it’s presence
I won’t ever forget
When I received
The blow to my vanity
From a fight over youthful yearnings
Is my learning processes
Scars hold history
I shall carry with me
Through tough times
Soft and easy, peaceful
To remind me
Copyright © Bella Cardenas | Year Posted 2007
Deep cuts from within.
She faced bravely the many hardships of womanly life
How did she end up like this?
Severe depression after her first mental breakdown
Sorrow oppressed what was willed
At present in the parallel universe,
Never aware of the world left behind
She will catch a brief glimpse of this world
---where everything is different.
Losing the veil in which includes time,
Aging without caring death awaits!
Her different personality replaces reality
Things appear normal in her eyes.
Although captivate in her own mind,
She feels this is freedom.
Being heavily burdened--
Every day she stares into different mirrors,
Smiling in her bipolar face
Without knowing insanity put her mind at ease.
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2013
A long long time ago there lived a king.
His lovely daughter he’d give anything.
She walked about, jewels dripping from each hand,
talking down to all, thinking she was grand.
There was but one thing missing from her life.
But not one prince desired her for his wife.
Her personality repulsed all men.
They’d meet her once, then not see her again.
Her father found for her one rich old king
but she preferred young, handsome and charming.
One day the perfect suitor came along.
This handsome man wooed Roseanne with a song.
How beautiful his voice! How sweet his face.
A man was he of talent and of grace.
The opposite of spoiled Roseanne was he.
The king arranged their wedding anxiously!
However, no one knew from whence he came.
Though very rich, this young prince had no fame.
How was it he could even stand Roseanne,
the princess from whom all the others ran?
He had so much. Why waste it all on her?
Despite good looks, Roseanne had no allure.
One thing he asked for. This is what he said:
“Inside my castle we must both be wed.”
The wedding guests felt great relief and bliss,
for Roseanne soon would get her first true kiss!
But unbeknownst to them, the handsome man
Roseanne was marrying had his own plan.
When he was young, a witch on him had cast
a spell! It would be broken now at last!
The ceremony started. Vows were said.
The prince then raised the veil from his wife’s head.
He softly kissed her lips. Then something weird!
The castle they all stood in disappeared.
The wedding guests waist-high in water stood.
The prince changed too, and he did not look good.
His voice so beautiful became a croak.
The king stood there about to have a stroke!
The splendid castle had become a bog;
The groom leaped happily – once more a frog!
Written March 5, 2017
Entry for John Hamilton's the Best rhyming poem 3 Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
Though we’ve never met
I comprehend your beautiful words
I feel your pleasant persona
Never a mean word to be said
I ache from your kindness
Making others feel ten feet tall
Picking me up when I may fall
Talent beyond compare
Are you brunette or fair?
But that wouldn’t matter to me
If I never had the chance to see you face to face
Your wonderful personality I could never forget
You’ve help build a community of friends
Steady and true
I wish you peaceful skies of cobalt blue
Fields of flowers brushed in rainbow colors
I pray for love from God above
For you and your family beloved
Know that you touched lives that may not have been touched
You changed someone
And brought me a new reason to write
You’re an inspiration and a friend
And you’ve touched my heart polite
Gratitude pours forth
Written for and about Sharon Weimer !
Copyright © Laura Mckenzie | Year Posted 2009
We're Off To See The Wizard.
Emotion, a storm that came, swept me into the poetry game.
A tornado, carried me to this place, a new face, I'd never be the same.
I was greeted with techni-color, I was black and white, out of place.
Munchkins, the whole lot, greeted me with aisles of smiles and glow,
Welcoming me to a whole new world, one that I would come to know.
They say go, find that wizard, take a journey to eternity,
Life will be a better place as I find the friends to walk with me.
My footfalls step one in front of the other, Toto, he is at my side,
He takes this trip with every strip and dip, to him my secrets I confide.
And we follow the yellow brick road, chirping and singing along,
When we come across the scarecrow who hangs strawed and strong.
He comes with great knowledge, a Wise Dummy, he is so smart,
A character with creative charm and clumsy grace, his poetry is art.
He thinks great thoughts even though he thinks he is just made of stuffing,
I could not journey this experience alone, this genius is quite somethin'.
From the mysteries of our histories, similarities begin to appear,
And I welcome him into my adventure, he is terrific to have near.
We skip along the yellow brick road, hearing a crinkled creek,
There stands rusted with nature trusted, a tin man mild and meek.
Tipping the oil can we lubricate and he starts to enunciate and pronunciate,
A song beats as he moves his feet, he has no heart but wait...
As we all start to travel, his lyrics start to unravel, he has marvelous melody,
And he sings with all his mighty might, songs so very very right just for me.
I would not be fooled by his metal, his surface so smooth as a kettle,
He may be made of tin, but his heart beats strong within.
As a troop we continue to see the wizard who is our goal,
Every word we write along they way has be written in our soul.
Out of nowhere jumps the lion, roar, he tries to frighten us away,
But how cute he shies when we see through his disguise, a pussy cat, a stray.
He has no fear of the things he writes, he has mighty truth in his tongue,
Soothing the stings the stiff wasps bring, he laughs while being stung.
He joins our adventure, giving praise of plenty and being fairly fair,
I couldn't imagine my journey through life without him being there.
I have been so fortunate to find my scarecrow, tin man and lion,
To make it to the great wizard, that is our task, together we are tryin'
Three poets, so true in their personality will always walk with me.
Have a place in my heart, always play a part, making me see poetry,
A journey doesn't have to be alone, there is always a friend.
And they follow me to the wizard, and even then it's not the end.
We're off to see the wizard...the wonderful wizard of oz....
Date: October 16, 2015
Dorothy: (unnamed poet)
Toto: (unnamed poet)
Scarecrow: (Richard Lameroux)
Tin Man: (Lyric Man)
Cowardly Lion: (Arthur Vaso)
The Wizard: (We'll all meet him one day)
Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2015
As I was busy “being”
just who I am,
I didn’t care what others were seeing.
To be as they wish, would be a sham
and I will not be part of a scam.
People are really the sum
of everything that has touched their lives.
When others take issue with what you’ve become,
don’t expect to receive high fives.
If you stay true, your uniqueness survives.
No one can tell you what to feel,
when to laugh or how to pray.
The very act of being real
will find you rising above the fray,
dispelling regrets each day.
For if you submit to playing a role
that doesn’t fit your personality,
you’ll dig yourself deep into a hole.
Don’t succumb to others’ mentality;
maintain your individuality.
*English Quintain by Carolyn Devonshire for Nancy's "Unzipped Lips" contest
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
Daughter of Mary and Louis
(Named after my late grandmother )
My name is Charmaine
a name originated from latin
Charmaine means -a song
Eldest of two siblings
Wife and Mother
Born and raised
in the sun-kissed land of Malta
(an island in the Mediterranean sea
which is politically westernized
yet geographically in the southern part
of the European continent)
Baptised as a roman catholic
(with believes rooted in love and forgiveness)
Friends describe my personality as amicable and funny
(I love to laugh at myself to make others happy )
Till I get to know a person
I might keep distant , even act timid and shy .
Friends describe me as humble , yet I can be extremely stubborn.
It is said that I'm affable, trustworthy, and good willed
Honest, hardworking, warm and kind .
I describe myself as a child trapped in a woman's mind
A little girl who is extremely sensitive many a time.
I trust only with my eyes wide open
If ever deceived I erupt in a volcanic catastrophe
which fades in a short time.
I am a day dreamer, a night dreamer
My shadow is lost in the moon's eclipse
I float on cloud nine occasionally
without a will to return
(My X-mathematics teacher would obviously confirm this)
I am a hopeless romantic
( Cold Unromantics may find me challenging or boring ).
I am scared of rejection, and abhore prejudice .
I hate hypocracy, medriocracy, and burocracy.
I shed my blood for democracy.
I believe in freedom of speech until
that speech won't provoke the freedom of rights.
I am against fundamentalizm, extremism
and anything that suffocates 'the voice' .
I condemn divisions between rich and poor.
I love life, and all that is beautiful.
I love birds, animals and flowers
I love mountains, rivers,ocean , and all mother nature
I love exploring the world , and all that is adventurous .
I am a loyal follower of Maldena
Gandhi , Mother Theresa, and Martin Luther king.
I love cooking, art , music, and words.
I love reading a good book, watching a great movie
(Preferably with tishoos in one hand, and chocolate in the other ).
I love being away from concrete worlds, far from buzzling sounds of nightlife.
I love all seasons, Spring with fresia's perfume, Summer with late walks
Autumn with cinnamon spices, Winter with Christmas-lights and snow.
(Ah yes,How I love Christmas ). I love all simple things , like a cup of English tea
I love making my house a home. Be surrounded with those that I care for
such as God , friends, family, or be in my own silence reading sweet poetry.
Charmaine Chircop - nee: Brincat
Born : 1st of May 1977
Star-Sign : Taurus
Favourite Colour: Blue
Favourite flower : Daisy Margarita
Favourite author: God
This is a revised repost, inspired to repost it by a running contest
of Catie Lyndsey, and the wonderful bios I've read here, thanks.
Not for the contest
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2016
The girl is an ultra-modern scholar,
Belongs with an upper-middle class family.
Looking very nice, smart, gets angry suddenly.
She reads M.A in English at Presidency University.
She is assimilating to the ideas of Shakespeare,
Shelley, Keats, Neruda, Byron...
Fluently speaks English, loves cricket.
Shoulders are shaken by expression.
She cries alone, laughs with everyone....
The girl is very good.
The boy is a post-modern educated son of a lower-middle class family.
He studies M.A in Bengali at Calcutta University.
He is assimilating to the routes of Vaishnab literature,
Ideas of Bharatchandra, Rabindranath Tagore, Nazrul, Jibanananda...
Writes poems, sings song, loves football.
He walks on the high-street and observes people.
He laughs alone, listens to everyone...
The boy is very good.
They are attracted by the opposite personality!
The girl wants that her lover will be a modern man.
The boy thinks that his lover will become as the mind of his.
They are changing silently
Love goes to another address...
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2014
if my thoughts are thrilled and twisted
daily and deeply by the albums of your ways,
I succumb severely to the impulse of imminent interplay
so dumb with joy, grateful for the fusion of our fevers,
I've never let you leave my mind,
you haven't finished eating your portion of my heart,
there is so much more for you, still in my chest, on my eyes,
I am your rare happiness,
that bare beast of a woman's best distress,
trigger your storm sirens with a single drop of Goodbye,
serve you with the most sensational sadness,
replenish your youth with an admiration that won't die,
knowing that I am not a makeshift man, nor a loyalty within a lie,
that I'll punish your pulse with peppered pleasure
because I can, because I must,
pull your hair just to hear those breaths beg for big flares,
treat the smooth and sweet lascerations of love's lament
butterfly cut into the surface of a girl's search for sincerity,
we get intoxicated on performance of personality,
buzzed beautifully from believing in the addiction of adoration's affliction,
We know we can handle one another's hurt
as warriors bleed hard because they sell themselves the sacrafice,
that we can process history with humor by breaking the shame of blame,
synthesize epiphany with sympathy to nourish symphonies of Divinity
we realize that intensity is the regal implement of our tournament,
I like it when you tell me the tough truths,
that you want to be loved for more than one reason,
that being respected in segments isn't enough,
that he will never be me,
that words can outlast the disappointment of distance,
that the world overwhelms you when you most expect,
that sometimes you'd rather be a heart attack
before being a pretty song or a favorite memory,
I understand your need for absolute affection, absolute attention,
lets allow our love to be confusing, dazzling, on the verge of villainy,
it isn't steady as a sleeping heart beat
or ready for celebration like a " gee wiz " graduation,
it is our Love, and its undefinably volatile and lovely,
Your cosmos gives a question that feeds one answer,
that love is ours, safe in the arms Armageddon,
I remember the ember of our future
spazing on the hearth of fresh earth,
don't ever miss me Babe, just keep lovin me -
Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014
He says that I remind him of
Some old country song, I think
He doesn't really need to know
"How many arms have held you
And hated to let you go"
I'm dizzy, up there on his pedestal
My character is flawed
Wings tattered, flesh a bit scarred
Stars twirl around the bumps on my head
I think he sees the dark of me, but instead
He says he thinks he's found
An "Angel flying to close to the ground"
Some days I ooze with personality, or
Become his worst reality, a little bit rebel
Alot flower child, mostly free spirit
Sometimes gone wild
Each new day begins again
Some things he'll never see
I'll be keeping all my secrets
Just between you and me
!st Place Win in SCAT's "Secrets" contest 06/29/13
Copyright © Karen Anglesey | Year Posted 2013
Tell me why, but tell me True-
Spare me the heartbreak of a Lie
I would lay forever in these meadows...
Forever, until I die!
To rid myself of all the Pain,
And the Sorrows of what I feel
To ease my Mind, my worried Brain
(Lord! The Cuts! I need to heal)
*Referring to my problems with "Borderline Personality Disorder"; many of us are "cutters"
Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013
It is hard to really tell you
The beauty of this man
For many simply find it
Too hard to understand
They laugh, they smile, and tease
As I describe his every being
They just can’t fully see
The splendor that I’m seeing
Though he is just a character
I really can care less
He is real in this crazy heart of mine
So give your teasing a rest!
His hair is black as ebony
His voice as smooth as milk
It reminds me of dark chocolate sliding across oiled silk
His face is pale and serious
With black eyes that pierce your own
His grimness makes me envious
In this world he is alone
His nose is hooked—but not too much!
And his rare smiles are divine
His black robes add a vicarious touch
I wish he could be mine!
As far as personality goes,
I say, he’s quite the charmer!
Dexterously shielded by a past of foes
Beneath his shame of honor
Sometimes he’s angry, but mostly glum
Rarely is he content
He lost his love, cold and lonesome
Sarcasm is his lament!
Alone he lingers in the dark
Torn and set apart
No one knows he has left a mark
Right smack-dab on my heart!
I stared intently at book and screen
When they first came on
Every word he utters is like a dream
And then again—he’s gone!
Nevertheless he leaves me
With a feeling so grand
At loss of words from the awe he gives me
A joy that no one understands
Can I help but swoon and gape,
At the great professor Severus Snape?
*Note: Although Alan Rickman is a contributing factor to my obsession,
I’m seriously just in love with the character…and that is my confession!
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2011
Belligerent and irritated by almost any little thing
Insaneness all around me; craziness is what I bring
Psychosis is not the problem; the problem lies within
Overzealous personality; much absorption sinking in
Liar, cheat and manipulator; trust you should not give
Ambition at its lowest; no longer wanting to live
Racing thoughts; trying to unwind an ultimate goal for an unstable mind
Stacy Lynn Stiles
Copyright © Stacy Stiles | Year Posted 2007
Balaclava'd minister in a lanky limousine
Condomised personality inside a broken mask
Skewered chopsticks serve pieces of Pancolin
Toilet paper dolphins to wipe his weary arse
Ave Maria.. Amanita Muscaria
Mycaphagists and mycaphobes
Trot the nuclear globe
I am become Death..
In 1938 Hitler kissed the Pope
In 2017 we kissed goodbye to hope
That thing with feathers of Ms Dickenson
Bards and wordsmith playing monopoly
With Wisdom and Courage
Lord , help me to accept the things.
I cannot chang...
She explained to me
The chemistry in the sea
Salt and water formula enacts a mystery
Brings increase of intelligence
Divine assistance to the brain
Blessed petrichor of rain
Make my poetry the most expensive hobby
And talk the cheapest currency
How explosion can explain to me -
The chemistry of the sun..?
Thus let dreamy slake awaken with a start
And disintegrate into matters of the heart
Copyright © Jannie Breedt | Year Posted 2017
I gave you a balloon,
It held my life inside.
Within a shiny rubber tube
components of my soul aligned,
I became something new
a tickle upon my breath,
a tiny bubble
of nuanced personality;
The strengths of me debrided
the secrets of my lungs,
pink and untold
for you to confide,
in eyes before me.
were you astute?
Could your mind compute
of the beautiful find
floating before you?
my unique particles ended
their show of strength
broken in length;
crushed and divided
my dreams subsided...
Molded to an unrecognizable form,
I became your norm.
Though you never knew,
my secret hope to survive
my own gift
thrive and lift,
lay within you.
Your grip thirsted control so long,
the pieces of me left burst
to skitter away in song
among soaring clouds,
leaving shrouds of pain
grounded and gone...
Flying far from the land
one beautiful day,
and the broken balloon that laid
in your hand.
Copyright © Michele Nold-Godleske | Year Posted 2006
The path to freedom
There is nothing wrong with life
This earth is very sweet
It’s human beings who are at fault
Cause everyday they meet
With anger, hatred, power, and greed
They live each day in sin
Not knowing how to live their life
For the music to begin.
Love is life, and life is love
And god is all of this
But you’ve built a personality
That’s just the way it is
It’s your protection from the ills
So dangerous when young
Because your heart was innocent
And you could well get stung.
But now the mask has taken over
You don’t know who you be
You’ve forgotten all the love and joy
All the mystery
All your world is filled with fear
That just won’t go away
You do not know, it could be healed
Here, right now, today.
All it takes is just one look
At who you really be
Ask the question ‘who am I’
Then soon you will be free
To live a life of total joy
Find Heaven here on Earth
When freedom really comes to you
Your life has so much worth
Copyright © Peter Duggan | Year Posted 2016
The song that moves and
touches my heart is dance
with my father again.
Because I will never forget
the man my father was.
Back when I was a child
I longed to be in his
He had a larger than life
His nieces and nephews
looked at him as a father.
“Oh lord I’m dying to dance
with my father again”.
Everytime I hear the song I
begin to cry.
I long for his hug
I long to hear his voice
“Oh lord I’m dying to dance
with my father
“ Oh lord we’re all dying
to dance with my father
Inspired by my favorite song
Dance With Father Again
Written by Richard Marx And
Copyright © Alexis Y. | Year Posted 2017
So many weep from pleasure or from pain
and raise their invocations to the sky.
I watch them from the corner of my eye.
Their exhibitions I would likely feign
to match expression shown when masses cry.
My eyes, instead, might blur. I gasp or sigh,
and sometimes I despond when under strain.
But rarely am I vassal to the guilt
that others I’ve observed are prone to claim.
Of slower-melting metal I was built.
By keeping cool, I suffer less from shame
than those who feel too much. They often wilt.
A gift or curse? I rarely feel to blame.
For Frank Herrera's WHAT MIGHT THEY FIND THERE
(I've noticed I do not suffer so much from feelings of guilt as some of my friends do. I think it has to do with basic personality types)
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
Imagination and subliminal thoughts are created-
Seen through my minds eye....
This pen takes the shape of a scimitar-
Following the way of the samurai....
It's a hunger a desperate need.
This pen accelerates picking up speed.
Continuous momentum never to stop.
I will scale and conquer this mountain top.
I'm a warrior with my words.
Using nouns, adjectives, and adverbs.
They can confine, keep me blind, but my mind is not in the slammer
I design, entwine, and use no guidelines with my grammar.
I combine my stanza's and make 'em sing.
Through my ruthless bloodline, I'm the most diabolical King!
"Writer's Block" is a trained and difficult adversary.
But regardless, I'm destined to be legendary.
I paint visuals that compliment my morbid personality.
My reality is your fantasy.
Stories tend to dance into creativity.
Through my dark imagination I'm not given much choice.
Poetry is my voice....
Copyright © Jimmy Anderson | Year Posted 2009
On The Suicide Of Dorothy Hale
Known for her self portraits and her politics
Her famous unibrow and her elaborate dress
And for twice marrying Mexico's most renown muralist
Her paintings which bore her pain were well received
And to this day are still growing in success
However my intrigue lies in her greatest fail
Not still life nor self portrait rather
Her commissioned portrait of late actress Dorothy Hale
Asked for by Hale's friend publisher of Vanity Fair
Intended as a gift for the grieving mother
No doubt a caring gesture to ease untold despair
But Frida Kahlo in her visceral style
Produced The Suicide Of Dorothy Hale
A piece which did more to trumpet her own guile
More accurate and macabre a portrayal than anyone would expect
The actress in her leap from her high-rise suite
A ghostly image draped in white falling to her death
And at the bottom her lifeless body replete with bloody mess
Corsage of yellow roses pinned to her favourite black dress
For me this painting speaks more of Frida Kahlo's honesty
Than any self depiction
Her character, personality, and her absolute conviction.
At the bottom of the painting in blood red lettering reads
"In New York City on the 21st of October 1938, at 6:00 in the morning,
Dorothy Hale committed suicide by throwing herself from a very high window
in the Hampshire House. In her memory [...] this retablo was executed
By Frida Kahlo."
Copyright © Maureen McGreavy | Year Posted 2017
Words with such ugly meanings
do not belong in the everyday conversation.
Contrary to popular belief
you can live another day
without disgusting proclamations.
In what way is saying, "That girl's hot as sh*t"
These words are not to be used frivolously
like so many condiments.
A dashing here,
and a dashing there.
What am I, Emeril Lagasse, saying BAM!
They are not rays of sunshine
popping out of the clear blue sky.
Nor are they functioning wings
that make you soar high.
I know in truth most don't care;
F-this and f-that,
I mean really, what are you
trying to get at?
If it's just a personality trait
then I guess I'm stuck at a locked gate.
I'm not trying to pick a lock,
this is truly just how I talk.
... for sure not attempting to spread hate,
I just find it all quite unappealing.
Is it too much to ask
to measure up your words
with how you're actually feeling?
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2014
You grow so fast, already showing glimpse of awesome creativity
and transform discoveries from the industrious nature of your observations
so squat at my feet and raise your attentive head up high
to be equipped for this compulsory journey oh sweet creature of my seed.
My hands of your molding and chastisement
are already the processing engine of your refinement
my strong willed mind and love soaked heart
complete the stages as you hold steadfast
to the train I’ve prepared for you
Listen attentively as I perform this segment of my duties
and lets take a tour round the routes of wisdom
and gallivant the landscape of experience
while I pedal your feet and smoothen your soles
Seasoned flavored virtues are an armour through which
life’s shots are overcomed
and a colourful behaviour becomes a saviour in times of need
Labor not your whole life in chasing vapour
for out of vigour, flour is made from wheat,
Bread from flour, but all for a time of enjoyment and satisfaction
Guilty syndrome is exhibited when a person answers unasked questions
and don’t force out jokes from your head
or else people will think your sense of humor is on a life support
Sunset is no accuse for the clock to stop running ad infinitum
thus, an excuse is like a punctured umbrella
it’ll still not stop the invasion of raindrops
Your natural desires are borderless, but your ability
to strongly control them is what makes you distinct
from other species in the animal kingdom
Love has no prefix, suffix or adjective
it is what it is and as powerful as
causing natural instincts to be abdicated in favour of kindness
just for the carnivore to embrace abstinence.
He who begins a tale becomes its reference
don’t say what you cannot defend in court
rumour is a bad odour which spreads beyond the neighbourhood
and puts a noisy siren on your personality
Bad companionship will lead you to the garbage
and corrupt friends will join others
to marvel at the immortality of your adopted stupidity
Wash your face every morning with these words
and take your every meal with these lines
then would they be spices
to which your life is preserved.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015
A banana split can be a work of art.
With the fruit cut lengthwise in half is where we start.
Three scoops of our favorite ice cream go on top.
Whatever flavor, use the cream of the crop.
On each scoop go toppings of pineapple, chocolate, and strawberry.
Above that go generous mounds of whipped cream and a cherry.
A split is good enough to change the most dour personality.
Serve up this treat, and see them become merry.
Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014
“H” represents the humility she
displayed from the moment she
opened her eyes;
“E” would suggest a revision of
Because it would take many stories and
infinite lifetimes to explain the beauty
of her essence;
And “R” would ask for a human replica
For many men should admire such as I
Modern Shakespeare’s should pay
For her personality writes poetry
And yet the pen remains in my
To describe beauty in third person.
My cold and nonchalant heart has never
asked for another summer to warm up too,
Unless purposeful reasons for an appeal of the
heart were discovered,
These reasons always spelt out
As in life which contains both success
I’ll risk it all, in hope’s for mutual
I’d serenade time if it meant I could
spend more in her serenity;
Forget the ridicule and episodes of embarrassment,
The only thing on television tonight is the
heartfelt expression of a peacock,
Waiting to display his romantic feathers to the
Today and forever;
I’ll dedicate to her.
Copyright © Jiril Clemons | Year Posted 2013