Biz Poems - Poems about Biz

Nah it aint that if you wanna be real and all you tell me to call you on the telly you never pick up when I call Change the definition of Love to yo' own conveyance All that woman is ricca monroe jazz Dude tryna build a relationship ya'll say he either moving too slow or he moving to fast You're still the one the only one top-me, number one on toppa the stack Don't you...

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31622400 878426.899.195 400?365.242181 46.2366 26.899 catilever the perfect wall ode to stones ode to stones! best before tomorrow best to do right now aint no time like the present we can off with a WOW! don't worry yourself over ah-we-ah's when the ooh wee's makes's the point crooning about something that aint love maybe the composer missed their point ooh be dee Do-wow do wow! scat- dew-be do wow: do wow! Kiss me in the moring just love me...

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the winter season sparks earnings for physicians.  praise the flu business  Written: February 05, 2021...

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Thinking about enthusiasm, I can not stop myself from writing about two things! Two different 'subjects'! Still trying to connect! When two ladies……... Whose husbands work with the same employer. Both at same parallel level and none of them inferior. No chance of competing with one another. Exceling at every step of success ladder. …………. pretend to be friends with one another. Words...

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OUR LITTLE SHOW BIZ A Rubik's cube in his hand, He's the master-in-command, Posing for a photograph, He's the one who makes us laugh, Naughty, charming with a smile, Cutie pie, he has no guile, Look at him grinning at us, Over him, we all make fuss, This his stage of bite and chew, All things get, his mouth into, Jumping, playing like a pro, Listen to...

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Giant sneeze a tease a wheeze and a fizz. Things are happening to Lady McDiz. I can’t tell you why but just that it is. You see honey it is none of your biz. Your twenty-six questions sound like a quiz. Excuse me, my dear, I must take a whiz. Ask him if you want. He’ll tutter and tis. When hearing was...

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If only I could buy the silence From an antique shop Near my heart So close to freedom Where all the doors are open And doves can fly To reach heavens But my inner asylum Suffocates me The air smells like tortured flesh Unbearable stillness Holding a calendar of sacrifice Over my shoulders Those nude seconds slip Into nowhere My fragile faith will only be awaken Up to the roosters first...

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