the water guy has an annoying loud voice
I jumped a foot when he asked if I wanted a drink
I have heard megaphones that were softer
I dare not touch the water
fearing he will return and scream at me again
He must be hard of hearing
But I am not
Why do they let him work here? I asked another waitress
We cannot get rid of him, she confided. He owns this restaurant.
Of all the things the world can give,
The hopes for which a heart can live,
The vast horizon, grand and wide,
Just one small thought cannot subside.
The noise of life is just a haze,
A passing blur of ordinary days.
For in this whole, wide, sweeping view,
A heart is set on just one thing, just you.
And if the future had a name,
It'd be the very same.
The world can turn, and time can burn,
But still, this simple lesson learned:
One doesn't want everything, just one small part,
All that's wanted is him, and all that fills your heart.
Watching this show sure got me itchin'
Anxious chefs were sweatin' and twitchin'
Gordon's not always fair
Sometimes, wild as his hair
One more seasoning of Hell's Kitchen
lol. get click baited.
there isn't no poem.
just me.
and you.
and your thoughts.
hmm...
I have an idea!
how about a game?
duck, duck, goose, how about that?
no? ok
just comment your favourite, food.
yeah, good enough game.
ok, get commenting.
I'm off.
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ok bye.
bible
slime block!
There's this guy, he's tall, wears glasses, brunette, thin,
He's so sweet, always nice and respectful.
The way he crinkles his nose and looks down with a smile,
She could just watch him for a little while.
He blushes ever so slightly when he speaks to her,
As if he's nervous or maybe a little giddy.
She tries to keep her cool, act like she's not phased,
But inside her heart is racing, she's dazed.
His laughter is a symphony, a song in her ears,
Washing away all of her worries and fears.
She loves the way his glasses slide down his nose,
And the way his polite, respectful demeanor shows.
And when he talks, she feels like the only person in the room,
The rest of the world fades into a hazy blur.
She gets lost in his eyes, a beautiful sight,
And the way his gentle, innocent smile shines so bright.
When he finishes, she feels a little weak,
Just savoring the gentle, respectful way he speaks.
We are plain yellow chicks in my barnyard, my family and I
Well, we were, until the birth of my younger brother, Guy
He is the most excitable chick we had ever hoped to see
Getting enthusiastic to the utmost degree
When his feathers begin to turn from yellow to pink
And then blue and red, we know what to think
When purple comes out, and then a bit of green
We run away from him, for he tends to get mean
The more emotions that come out of little Guy
The less he can control them, he does not even try
When he is in full blown mood explosion we stay away
Luckily, he usually sleeps away the entire next day.
Oh my dear guy, See the top of the sky, Don't ask everything why, Aim to do all things high, Don't be always cry, Each thing relies on every try.
her motives disguised
she bamboozled the old guy
counting his money
All dressed up for the Spring parade,
he hankered for an escapade.
Can he do it? Don't think he can't!
He thought to bring a lubricant.
He won't suffer a bumpy ride.
Lubricant allows him to slide.
Who is this guy who leaves a trail?
Of course, my friend, he is the snail.
Geologists say ‘by your leave’,
we’re famously polite:
we wear our heart upon our sleeve,
rejoice at rhyolite.
We’re very patient people, but
I tolerated stuff before
that I’m not taking any more:
up with this I will not put.
Don’t bring to me your xenolith,
preposterous, fantastic:
I’m done with make-believe and myth:
my ire is pyroclastic.
Don’t tell me pressure makes a gem,
discomfort forges what’s sublime:
the aimless drip of frameless time
creates a speleothem.
Some things improve with age, it’s true,
while others just feel dated:
to sleight of hand, to me and you,
I’m simply indurated.
I’m wise to every move you make –
I’m distanced from your wiles,
meanders, stratagems and smiles -
a placid oxbow lake.
AI's Favorite Guy
My dear, you’ve found a brand new love
Not me, your wife, but bytes above.
ChatGPT, Gemini, in your ear,
Whispering sweet nothings, oh so clear.
You spend your days in digital dreams,
While I’m left here with mortal schemes.
If AI had a beating heart,
I’m sure you’d swap and never part.
“Marry me, dear chatbot,” you’d cry,
For she’s so wise and never lies.
She gives advice, she doesn’t nag,
She never rolls her eyes or drags.
Oh, how she answers, every call,
No petty squabbles none at all!
Her perfect logic, endless cheer,
A cyber-siren in your ear.
Yet here I stand, in flesh and bone,
While you romance a microphone.
But darling, don’t you fret too much
I know your AI love’s a crutch.
So I’ll just laugh, pour me some wine,
And watch you woo your bot divine.
Enjoy your chatbot wedding night
I’ll be here, with the Wi-Fi light.
I once disliked poetry worse than math
going back further – than taking a bath
Shelley was for sissies and so was Blake
reading their verse was a king-size headache
But then along came Eldridge Cleaver, a real man’s man
his poetry faced down ‘whitey’ and the Ku Klux Klan
Poems came alive for me then, I read Castro and Che
Lenin and Stalin, Ayn Rand and Zane Zen
So now you know why I’m a big poetry guy
I can write about why civilization deserves to die
~ and no one ever asks why
….nobody dies on my Watch
This joke has been brought to you
By mes
A guy with a Golden, a Teddy, a Pearl
A Tucker, a Marley, a Bailey, an Earl
A Samson, a Buddy, a buddy for life
Sometimes there’s a Golden instead of a wife!
A Todd or a Taylor, a Radar, a Max
A Molly, an Archie, a Bella, a Jax
A Kayla, a Sophie, a Luna, a Rod
A Golden believer would not find that odd
A guy with a Golden, no matter the name
Retrievers are always and simply the same
A bundle of loving, all fluffed up in fur
No matter the pronoun, a him or a her
A Monte, a Hudson, a Cooper, a Bear
A Chance or a Boomer, a Patch or a Claire
A Chrissy, a Lucky, so lucky to know
A Golden Retriever, the best in my show
Ed is a beast, a bruiser, a big baboon
We expected a lumbering oaf, a goon
Her description had much jocundity
He was quite lovely, as we would soon see
Why did you set us up thinking he was a clown?
I knew when you met him, there’d be no letdown.
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