Long At most Poems
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Shezma, a tantalizing girl faerie was in love with Ne, a horrid little elf.
She had seen his hidden good side, and she wanted him for himself.
Ne snarled at most of the flowers, some died on the vine from fright.
But she saw his sweetness, and knew she could make things for him all right.
She saw his growly-ness for what it truly twas,
Protection so people would not see the pure soul that Ne was.
She gave him a smile, and she gave him a wink.
He snarled and he growled, but his cheeks then turned pink.
For inside, his elf self, Ne was such a sweet guy,
He could be taken advantage of by most bye and bye,
So he had built this amazingly effective emotional wall,
That kept him secluded, from sales people and people with gall.
Ne was invited to a storybook dance, by this darling little Shezma, beautifully fay.
He stewed and he stuttered, he tried to get out of her way,
But she was a pure heart, and she could tell he was too,
So she captured his sense of goodness, and googly goo goo,
Shezma reminded Ne that some people are basically good,
And she allowed him to be himself, as only he could.
The wall came tumbling down, and helped him get free.
They married and raised elf-faeries, a total of three.
{Dedicated to those who write you
Boring emails filled with excuses)
~~Their Soliloquy~~
Oh, I have so much to do today.
Read the paper, look for bargains,
Part my hair!
But to call or email a relative or friend?
Can't do that.
Well ~yes I can!
But I use only three words at most.
I gotta have my jam and toast
Oh, life is so dang hard!
Sitting in the friendship House of Cards.
I only write all about food, weather or
my yard.
Why do people want so much of me?
I am too busy,thinking of only of me.
I let your emails go unanswered for
weeks.
Eating toast, takes hours you see?
But I do write longer if I am ill,
Then I want your prayers you bet.
Outside of myself,,,it's others I want
to forget.
(cough, cough, sneeze, sneeze, wheez,
wheez)
I live thinking of what I never got.
I won't even try, I may lose my
Netflix time or miss a movie?..
Yup,no time for you I am way too
groovy!
Panagiota Romios
4/28/2018
3pm..PST
Zealousness prevails to amass knowledge
lifequest nsync toward expansive lexicon
extant since yours truly kneehigh toddler
inquisitive mind fired passion to steep me
within inexhaustible voluminous treasure
trove housing increasing bound knowledge
inexplicable to thyself, wherefore heartfelt
ineradicable passion to sequester attention
between newpages of selective genres for
hours experiencing intellectual ecstatic nee
orgasmic excitation sustains purposefulness
as explains escapist redoubt within mental
framework, thee singularly soulful asylum
offering me cerebral satiation, sedation, and
solution to cope with unbearable millstone
linkedin with emotional/psychological pain
wrought courtesy neurological mutation all
throughout tender years, when one doth seek
natural predilections in tandem toward naked
lunch (heady salad days lettuce not go there),
quite the contrary this socially malnourished
individual burrowed within reading material
even now tickles fancy of mine johnny come
lately body electric exploring, crafting, and
allowing milieu writing to pacify, gratify and
codify mindset never entertaining delusions
of grandeur (hypothetically envisioning to
discover friendship (even platonic) regard-
ding another, who exudes similar love with
words, though accepting fickle human nature
at most hope flickr of ephemeral pinterest
maintains attention of anonymous reader
rabbit nibbles morsel of recondite tidbit, and
synchronizing ever so briefly with logophile,
whose aura, charisma, dogma, karma, persona...
hoopfully brings even an ad hoc “FAKE” smile.
My Granddaddy said
A whole lot to me
To prepare for the things
A young mind couldn't see
He peaked around corners
And underneath beds
Here are some things about life
My Granddaddy said
Life if you ain't careful
Can grab you by the throat
It's a dress that is red
It's a glass bottom boat
It's a beautiful smile
With the sharpest of teeth
Life's a kiss on the head
And a kick in the knees
It's a shake of the hand
A knife in the back
A shoulder to cry
A belly of laughs
Life it can be
Most anything
From the roar of a lion
To a bluebird that sings
It's a shave that is close
A miss by a mile
An old man at most
A soft tender child
A moment of wonder
A sneeze never blessed
Pouring out more
Then taking it back
My Granddaddy said
A whole lot to me
To prepare for the things
A young mind couldn't see
He peaked around corners
And underneath beds
These are some things about life
My Granddaddy said
they would dice many a chive
by management me from da dive
apartments in hatfield in close proximity
to the bloody sorry fate
oof a von nee gutt
thar slaughter house five.
mine eyes saw gore
and remained fixated
orbital fixture
of poor creatures in a daze
sans reaction averting gaze
away from disgusting entrails
visible picture amidst the maze
of chutes and ladders
stepping on select
foursquare did raise
or lower (similar to an elevator)
but movable blocks
also went cross ways
oh, anyway, this reply
written by me - scott math u
passable poet tree - at most true
this email far ye to rue
these twisted sister strands
of pearl jammed zz topped
chromosomal strands being did hew
who only to five feet and ten inches grew
crafts, finesses,
indulges love of language
to prose from fingers flew
and writes poems
cawing all r e'en juiced
one angry emu
leaving her/his presents
custom made doo doo
per comprising a motley crue
of a family - pearl jammed color ague.
please rsvp asap via text
to me scott matthews my chosen ac/dc label
i.e. pleasure like rubbing against sable
create r hard woo n intimate scorpion fable
unless ja noah under me ma jib rush
like inxs o ruck kiss in tower o babe bull
by texting if willing, ready, eager and able
froom - - scotts matthew
who lives way off the mainline -
juiced about a few dirty dozen dancing deeds
done dirt cheap miles west of philadelphia,
and some ten miles east of king o prussia
pennsylvania who imagines your sultry skin
silkily soft as a lynx, pussy cat
rubbing against ma leg under da table.
Sent from my iPhone 456789
Vane glorious and absolutistic,
though I defiantly,
cavalierly, and blithely attest
Yukon bet your (laugh-in) sweet bippy
mine acidic breast
houses anarchic, anti-poetic ballistic,
barbaric, and bubonic
cannibalistic demons within thy
safely guarded Pandora chest
atomic cesium clock
timed to trigger avast
burst of anxiety, frenzy, and
(What me worry
Alfred E. Neuman) blast
ting mental quietude at most
inappropriate, inconvenient,
inopportune, out classed
adrenaline rush, nausea,
palpitating heart, vertigo
besieging, corrupting,
endeavoring fractured arrant
cleft daemonic gripping
hellishly psychic chant
rendering unto sieze hoar,
a choking vise grip extant
yule hiss sieze indomitable
banshee fully controlling grant
diabolic, dogmatic, and dynamic,
anguished corporeal ache
easily, egregiously, and emblematically,
exemplified historically
graphic fatalistic, and ecstatic coup,
(koo), when I caused furious frantic flight,
and/or fight betake
king angst causing just desserts
for Marie Antoinette,
who got her humble pie cake,
thence dispensing with formalities,
where a joshing drake
(named Gill O. Teen)
also known (solely known
to mine selfish source error ways)
alias i.e. as; the Lewis (loose)
lunatic, heady harvester,
and decapitation Deacon trumpeting,
trouncing, and triumphing tranquility
for fifty three Tuesdays,
thence sea king punishing psychotic
pre pound payment
basking in glory (re: gory us)
amidship crashing quays
music to mine ears hearing plaintive neighs
high pitched straining
vocal chord hamstrung keys
regaling oceanographic
lambent hagiographic essays
and keeping at bathos bays.
Giving thanks for 2015
One glimpse back in 2015
Year that took all my strife,
Began with healthy outlook
negativity, the trashed crook,
His blessings gave me
fresh air to breathe in,
A lively perfect flair
that flowed in the air,
Few selfless friends
setting up new trends,
Throughout merry
tinged in redness of cherry,
Some bonfire
and softness of silky attire,
My love car
in all new avatar,
A dream house
and dear loving spouse,
Sweet child visit
at most weekends,
healing balms
for little pains did mend,
Thankful to God
for kindness He bestowed,
Gave me a healing touch
for ailing that I vowed,
Thankful to dear year 2015
you had been much more sincere.
Written Jan 12th, 2016
For contest by Carol Eastman
Awarded 1st place win
I'm dead. Unlike Frost and Yeats
nothing I've said will be remembered.
Unlike Roosevelt and Lincoln
nothing I'm thinking will win the war.
I'm going to go to my grave unsung
like almost everyone. These mountains
are my grave. A good grave
to go to. There's no such thing
as being saved. When you're gone
you're done. At least 60 million
people don't believe it, don't believe
in evolution. Man, that ape,
can heap a peck of hurt posthaste
with earth movers and machine guns.
Information technology
cannot save your soul, heck,
I've tried. Every morning
I total the polloi
coming to my site for wisdom.
The number's usually zero.
A good number to know.
When my heart fibrillates
I lay my head
against my sleeping wife.
Solace, comfort. She says,
Take your pill, fool.
In an hour at most
I'm feeling great again!
Promising to solve age-old problems very soon
a year or two, at most, from our graduation in June
I myself was sure that poverty could be licked right quick
yet 50 years later it’s still on the uptick
A friend of mine told me in a decade racism would be dead
but even today, it rears its ugly head
And as for wars, they’ve gained momentum, fiercer than ever
governments’ ‘permanent endeavor’
So, here’s to all you cocksure, problem-solving new grads, oh-so-clever
~ May yours be the first generation to live forever…
Rich man
it has comfort and is envied.
live in an amazing place
beautiful mansion...
Don't live in a hurry,
no distress...
eat the best
drinks what he wants...
Travel around the world,
but wants to inhabit mars...
Choose the muse woman
that she wants...!
Poor man,
sad and ugly,
even survive in life,
does not ask, loses what he desires...
He lives in fear,
no one loves him
no one wants it...
Nobody calls him
sage, genius, poet...
At most, false prophet!
But maybe to heaven
He will go...
while the rich
maybe not even in hell
stay...
maybe he wants
with the poor changing roles...
But the poor man answers,
- "I don't want to be his partner,
nor with him changing places.
neither here nor beyond.".. !