When I was only five.
My dolls were the big thing,
we would sit and sing.
Then my tricycle I learned to drive.
At fifteen I was dating.
Boys were sure fickle,
some of their words were like a pickle.
We loved to go roller skating.
Now thirty is life half over?
Today is a new day,
no more hair of gray.
Maybe I need a new makeover.
At fifty should I retire?
Many days are way too long,
is life a game of ping-pong?
Some days I feel like I want to expire.
I never thought I would reach seventy.
Here I am,
drinking hot tea and eating strawberry jam.
Seventy is fun and not my enemy.
Don’t ask her if she wants to date you
let her know it’s what you want to do
maybe she will say she wants to
or she will not share your view
If she refuses keep your calm
let her see your graceful charm
if she says yes keep your cool
it doesn’t mean you’re gonna pull
First option go for a drink
have a chat see what you think
it’s in the company you keep
won’t cost a fortune isn’t cheap
if you’re not appreciated
let her be someone you dated
if you seem to get on well
when it’s mutual you can tell
if she doesn’t let you know
be prepared to let her go
some of them prefer the chase
don’t ever let them set the pace
some men end up suffocated
fell in love and received hatred
too attached to ever leave her
staying just to become weaker
if she’s worth it you will know
there’s no guessing it will show
but if she calls herself a ten
you never meet that girl again!
The bureaucracy of being
Can’t remember my ID
Passport data is short living
Your Police Supremacy
Choose one of the empty pages
Put your stamp and let me come
If I look disadvantageous
Kick me off to where I’m from
Passport sings your best folk song
Passport makes the man
It reveals where you belong
Who are you to them
It’s the world of nations, countries,
Guardians of the universe
I was taught to understand this
But foreseeably dispersed
It’s the world of great traditions
Sacred territories, man!
My feigned ignorance is suspicious
As their curious concern
Passport is my entropy
Passport opens gates
Or it keeps them closed for me
Cos I book no dates..
I had few dates (5) before leaving for college.
- thanks again covid -
so my experience was practically irrelevant.
When it came to love I knew nothing.
I was an unseasoned chicken.
In an argument, I had no social currency,
no litany of my love’s starry predecessors to hype.
In a crunch, I can’t always articulate feelings I’m struggling with -
we’re not all song writers or poets.
What I have is my own brand of cringe rawness -
but breakthrough moments require honesty - don’t they?
Ok, here it is:
You’re not a single song.
You’re a playlist, a no-skip album
that needs playing at max volume.
Your passions, talents and emotions
make the unmistakable soundtrack of you.
And I love it.
.
.
Songs for this:
Baby Steps by Olivia Dean
sunshine! by Hangsung
Genius (feat. Gush) by C2C
Stands tall among others, one hundred feet
large, compound, evergreen beautiful leaves
long age and most extensively cultivated plant
Produces great food, rich flavor sweet dates
Palm leaves are very useful to make natural cottage
Famous tree in all human and plants history
Many common products are derived from palms
So beautiful to see in landscaping and gardens
Symbols for peace, power and fertility
Big example of tolerance and endurance
Those two dates were the greatest in my life,
Until you decided our chemistry was a lie.
Those two dates lead to a period of strife
In which you eventually made me cry.
Those two dates were of so much value,
Until you decided what we have can just die.
Those two dates made me feel it was true
That you too could eventually for me try.
Those two dates made me feel so alive,
Until you decided we can no longer try.
Those two dates made me feel I could thrive
Alongside you until the day you die.
Those two dates are engraved in my heart,
Until you realize we can someday again try.
Those two dates of ours before we fell apart,
Will always be why I'll never die.
Heat of summer sun makes dry dates ripe
sweet delicious like honey type
food and medicine
red or yellow and dark brown ~
so sweet like honey
A fruity haiku Poetry Contest. Sponsored by lovely poetess Tania Kitchin.
"Nothing changes but the date on the calendar." By Poet
We love our pretty calendars holding our favorite pictures.
Many pictures of cute animals,
some of majestic land or sea views.
Each month changes with new pictures to enjoy.
We circle the dates we need to remember,
never wanting to forget our appointments or events.
I like to write in the date box a couple of words,
these words helps me to remember why I circled the date.
When December shows up,
our calendar must be put to rest.
The many dates on the twelve months have served us well.
Now off to shop for a new calendar,
one holding new dates and wonderful pictures.
people never change
history has all the proof
dates always changing
Went on several romantic Arabian night dates
With a hot guy from the United Arab Emirates.
Now I am secretly longing as hopeless romantic heart waits.
There are love this year
That said goodbye
Love that lost their half
Friendship that got angry
Did not reconciled anymore
Love is celebrated everyday
Without having special date
Friendship is enjoyed without schedule
Love that goes beyond gifts and dates.
enchanting ravishing seductress
keeps men guessing her constant needs
her latest conquest is my cousin Gus
victim of her spells, no one can supersede
full of blarney and oodles of bull
twisting him about with great success
she has mesmerized poor Gus’s soul
a black widow who does not confess
summer has started
bunch of unripe green palm dates
soon shall yellow shine
Helen’s blind date had told her about his watermelon car.
She thought he was kidding, but he had gone too far.
He arrived to pick her up and she laughed until she cried.
Blind date ended up leaving her there with her cousin Cyde.
He was a nutbucket, Clyde told her. Blind dates are bad.
The next guy she was set up with was a suggestion from her dad.
He arrived wearing a plate of spaghetti on his head.
Helen said, I think I had better meet people in person instead.
We get to see you rise, step on the cold floor
When the clock strikes five in the dark.
Your cell goes gaga over nothing, you lie
next to our lot, begging attention.
When the lily in your garden and the mynah
Over the sill shows up, your sleep spent,
You look at the mirror to get a fresh impression of you.
And the mirror sees it all.
Why not use the afternoon, after work?
Give us a day’s read. A day past and spent.
Better in sound than in silence, you think.
We complain non-acknowledgement.
Dates, events, ads, drown in oblivion
As you skim through headlines and
Read columns that interest you.
Why this prejudice? We ask.
You seem not to care.
We are a shadow of the past,
Of today, a piece of paper.
Left to lie, an incomplete existence.
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