Dark eyes deep soul she'll take control or give it away, a passing by on a glance just won't do, to the bias view shes a bit off que, the dim light ain't her right, left it for the vocal que thats right in tune, she replaced it and gave it a lime, now she shines brighter. Believes that beauty, is a movie in sweats with a minion. Cocky controls her swag, knows that all that she has is more than enough, her sexi is addictive if mischief made grace she'd have her in spades. She's got the gift of the gab tell you she dont use, then check into rehab. Elegance right beside her. Beautiful isn’t fair, in the crossing air she’ll give you a myth, to mystify your thoughts and show you a standard, god don't make mistakes infact he planned her.
I am not sure when I was given the Gift of the Gab,
I know my brother was first to take it out of the bag,
As soon as he was able to grab.
It took me longer to take a peek into the bag,
But when I too decided to grab,
I saw no reason to lag.
I don't like to brag,
But it soon replaced the need for a cigarette (***),
And took away my fear of wearing a tag.
With the gift of the gab in the bag,
I was seldom out in the cold without a decent garb,
Or a friend to suggest, it could be time to put my gift back in the bag,
While I recovered from jet lag.
Whoever discovered the gift of the gab,
Late one night in their lab,
I can't thank them enough for letting it out of the bag,
To give confidence, to so many to brag,
About the time they talked themselves out of a paper bag.
Without the gift of the gab,
Life would be quite a drag,
Not being bold enough to wear any colorful garb,
Or even run in places, where those with the gift of gab,
Have no fear of opening their bag.
How many more would be leading the life of a lonely old crab,
But for the gift of the gab.
They had for him come in a cab:
Mister Sabinus for short, Sab,
A guy with the gift of the gab
To receive wounds or the wounds grab...
If only he'd leave fast - A Crab!
He'd prevent what handkerchiefs dab,
His movements had often been drab,
For which reasons they could him nab
And over hand him to Wahab...
Luckless chap for Torturer's Lab,
For boxer's blows and waiting swab;
They shall this celebrate with tab.
No god greater than their Wahab...
More and more sweat on Sab's poor neck,
On a spot imaging the wreck:
"Scream after ascending a deck:
I did not a woman's cheek peck;
Men need to know who's being tortured
Plus the guys who had it nurtured".
The Mask I wear is of a Comedian
Not showing the world I hurt
For when you laugh or cry looks the same
Sarcasm is rooted in pain.
The Mask I wear is of an Introvert
Being lonely than risk not being liked
I keep to myself and try not to falter
Failure is rooted in Rejection.
The Mask I wear is a Social Butterfly
My calendar is packed my life lacks depth
The gift of the gab is for me
My Personality is rooted in Insecurity.
The Mask I wear is of a Perfectionist
Everything running on my watch smoothly
Living in a constant state of something going wrong
My Obsessiveness is rooted in Anxiety.
The Mask that I wear is of a Monk
Showing my calm as if nothing is wrong
Never facing my bottled up emotions
My Composure is rooted in Chaos within me.
Dated 29.8.22
Great Talkers
Those blessed with the gift of the gab
Are really found without Love
As everything they say
To a prospective suitor
Sounds like a Love Poem
Designed and written especially for them
Until the smell of Roses wares off
And is replaced by the Manure
it is based in
And Isn't it Ironic
How ugly is Platonic
Beauty is Moronic
Talk and Love is Cheap
And No Buys Roses
For the Losers and the Lonely
A friend I'd like - someone like me
Fun and cheeky, full of integrity.
Gardening lover, nature attuned
of life's useless baggage pruned
perhaps also a crafter of words
Enjoying too, the flight of birds
A hawk winding a spiral on the wing
is a particularly magical thing.
So here be a quirky, crazy, active sort
Uses gift of the gab in glowing retort.
Nature guardian and explorer of seaside pools
Crafty proponent for reading the rules!
Written 15 June 2018 for Contest: Qualities you admire in Friends
They call me gobby
I’m just all mouth
It’s like my hobby
You can call me ralph
I got some larrup
I don’t shut my trap
It’s like I gallop
This gift of the gab
I’ve got more mouth
Then you’ve got money
Hey my north and south
Got plenty of bunny
I can’t seem to shut
My flipping yap
And I do go on
Just rapping this flap
I’m a motor mouth
I love rock and roll
Got a great big house
Never shut my cakehole
You could call me stupid
I just ramble on
Playing my music
To my own selfish song
I’ve got to admit
That I am quite loud
And I give it some welly
With a great big sound
Well I better be quiet
Cause you know what they say
The mouth piece is trouble
So keep it closed today
“Put a Sock in It Will Ya”
© Copyright KC.Leake
4th December 2014
All Rights Reserved
The return of the master.
Sadly, it is not the master himself
It is the victim of the trade in the shelf.
The return of the master.
The man in black
Has a heart that's dark
To the race of the black.
The return of the master.
Gunless war to 'fashi' the evil of the master
Only for the warrior to turn the monster.
The return of the master.
The field dance
The sand prance,
Oh, the freedom return' to the slave'!
Hush! Presto, the prince kept them in the bitter cave.
The return of the master.
This master, unlike the first master
Laced with treachery that cluster.
Peace runs dry
Doom runs high.
The master with gift of the gab
Bitterness prevail
Way out, no avail.
The return of the master
The land dwells in the prison of its product
Awaiting the birth of new warrior with good
conduct
And will he ever ripe to hand the land the real
FREEDOM
from the master?
The man of eloquence
With all the aptness of words
And craft of speech
Silently sits on the fence
Holding his tongue tight
And see the fun when tasteless
Jokes being cracked upon
The poor, weak and downtrodden.
But the dumb knows
Neither rest nor respite
Until he shoots his shouts
Throws his disgust and anger
Through the language of his body
With the help of gesture
Against the filth, lies
Deception and injustice of an oppressor
The man of rhetoric
As if he knows neither the value
Or the power of his logic
His being mute is conspicuously inauspicious
As if he never joined to earn
The right of freedom of speech
Whereas, the dumb man
Knows the meaning of sound
The value of the words
So he tries to articulate them
With utmost care and sincerity
Whenever he sees a slightest opportunity
Against an unjust or a wrong
As he knows speech is a special gift
Either from nature or from god .
But the man with gift of the gab
Wastes it when he holds his piece
Or misuses it when he spreads
Hatred and blatant lies in fear, in greed.
IF IN IRELAND I WAS TO STAY
I SURELY WOULD HAVE A GO AND TRIED
THAT BLARNEY-STONE TO KISS WITHOUT DELAY
SO THAT I TOO THAT GIFT OF THE GAB BE ENDOWED
THAT EMERALD ISLE ARE SO WONT TO BOAST
O'ER HOW MANY SHADES OF GREEN THERE WAS
BUT NE'ER HAVE THEY BEEN TO THE FOOT OF AFRICA'S COAST
WHERE ALL FOUR OF THE SEASONS PAUSE
TO SHOW OFF ALL THE GREENS FROM THE MASTER'S BRUSH
THAT CAN THE IRISH HUES EMBARRASSMENT CAUSE
WHEN GLIMPSED, THE HUNDREDS OF PIGMENTS VERDANT FLUSH
BLUE, YELLOW, GOLD, PALE GREENS ON BIRDS, TREES, FLOWERS AND SNAKES
GREENS FROM VALLEYS, HILLS AND DOWN TO COASTAL SEA-GREEN
DIFFERENT COLOURS, TINGES AND TINTS ALL GREENS OF DIFFERENT MAKES
HERE WHERE MY LOVE AND I HAVE CHOSEN TO STAY
AMIDST ALL THE ABUNDANCE OF NATURES GREEN ARRAY
WHERE PEACE AND ORDER STILL RULES THE DAY
AND THE WORLDS TRAUMAS HAVE PASSED US BY
BECAUSE THERE'S NO WHERE FURTHER SOUTH ONE CAN FLY
SO OTHER LANDS THEIR PAINTED DYES ONTO US TRY AND LAY
BUT THE MASTER ARTIST HIS FINAL STROKE HERE AT THE FOOT DID PLY.
Dare to look em in the eye,
By eye you will transfix em,
Looks slipping, getting older, why,
Personality must, be arisen,
Handsome once, but long ago,
The prince becomes a frog,
Gift of the gab, is set to go,
Charm in the dialogue,
So catch her sigh,
Yet speak the words,
Hypnosis, by the eye,
Mental miss-direction,
Though,
Contact, is the why.
Don Johnson
yes Anne Lise,
the frog does try 2 camoflague,
an hide behind charm of words,
if he succeeds in getting laid,
struck speechless, mind gets blurred...
My eyes you conquered with the might of Alexander,
Puru I gladly became at that thunder.
My heart a plaything became at your hands,
Unconditionally surrendered I time thousands.
My lungs hyperactive emerged at your sight,
Panted I with delightful fright.
When you approached, my feet terribly trembled,
From limb-mind configuration, courage I assembled.
Your presence made me feel neuron-quake in my head
Producing dew-drops of perspiration in the forehead.
Sharp-tongued am I with the gift of the gab,
Alas! Your sovereign presence rendered me drab.
In my constitution, you caused an adrenaline rush
I think, I trod the path where angels fear to rush.
You took a toll on my veins and blood,
By making the red humour flow in streams of flood.
In Geography on chapter Egypt, you made my attention cursory,
Elective Maths became real elective, making you compulsory.
You made me forsake the empire in me and the books,
To be the Columbus of the empire within fine frame yours?
You made the atoms of my physique
Pathologically you-sick.