Long Full of himself Poems
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Baby girl please listen to me
Don't fall in love so soon
He's fooling you
Don't let your innocent mind be fooled from his sweet charming
Read the lies in his eyes
Don't get comfortable with his hugs
He's an empty soul
Be the one with a mature sense because you're smart and know better
He's full of himself
Look beyond his handsomeness
His heart is a black coal
He's nothing but trouble
Baby girl please listen to me
Don't go fall in love with him because he's got a BMW and a few bucks to treat you
He's a show off heartbreaker no good for you
Don't sell your pure heart to him my girl
He's not the one... Trust me!
Smile
Akkina R Downing
Before Lucifer’s Fall
On earth nor heaven; no flooding, mud slides, or wild fires; no earthquakes or hurricanes. No wars above or below; no offensive weapons and no conflicts.
There was a time before the devil appeared in the Garden of Eden.
Before he fell from heaven along with other rebellious angels,
Lucifer was beautiful; and no sin was found in him.
One might not find difficulty in imagining a heaven as well as
a universe, when all was calm and good; when sin was unknown.
No bad thoughts; no temptations; nothing evil; I can only imagine.
There was one great symphony of praise, with heaven all ablaze.
There was no angry wild beasts, longing desperately for the feast.
How amazing that one can turn in an hour from such heavenly beauty.
I know that God never changes, and he has always been good.
But what of Lucifer? It’s hard to imagine that he was ever good.
He has always been seen as up to no good, and doing good for no one.
When I think of Adam before his fall, I recall that God game him work to do in the garden. So because of Adam, I can imagine Lucifer having assignments as well. Perhaps he had a work crew responsible for tracking the path of the stars and planets. Perhaps they gathered angel foods and fed
the angelic multitudes. Perhaps he discerned the gifts and talents
Of the heavenly hosts, and directed them to their appropriate posts. Perhaps it's even true, though hard to fathom, that God occasionally looked at Lucifer's work, and with a smile said, "Good job".
But later on, could it be that Lucifer’s window somehow became a mirror? Did he see himself for the first time and say, “Wow! Look at Me!”?
Before, he was full of God. Afterwards, he was full of himself.
How many times did he say, “Mirror mirror on the wall; whose the
greatest of them all”? Did any of the angels tell Lucifer to ‘stop it’ before he had a great fall? Perhaps so, but he refused to listen.
02292016 Isaiah 14:12 PS Contest, “Expand Arthur Miller’s Thought”,
Sponsored by Julia Ward
he was sick of the racing stripes on his automobiles
a modern-day Buddha in his garage full of himself
and vintage cars of classical acclaim and chrome
had become nauseous at the mere site of his Lotus
decided to live like the monk who sold his Ferrari
ascetic instead he would attempt to move mountains
traded his bicycle for begging bowl and orange robe
roamed the streets like a vagrant off his or her trolley
eventually sold his puncture kit for a can full of petrol
and considered his enlightenment by self-immolation
the service station attendant had other plans however
a beautiful woman with olive tanned skin and a bindi
‘you don’t have to emulate Siddhartha to find the path of
the third way between all or nothing greed and starvation’
she whispered and gave him a lotus flower from her heart
29th December 2020
Nelumbo nucifera is the botanical name of the lotus
He was reputed to be rich which was enough for some girls.
James B Thorndike the fifth, and full of himself to whit.
The bluest of eyes stared from under his ebony curls.
I spoke to him once, and he treated me like a little twit.
He always had a gaggle of giggling idiots hanging on to his arm.
He was trim, but small, his feet were the tiniest ever.
I frankly did not see any of his irresistible charm.
But his gaggle would follow him from here to forever.
“What about him?” my visiting cousin asked once, batting her eyes.
Because she was instantly smitten, and silly about him.
Look down at his feet, they are pretty much miniature size.
We could not stop giggling, this James that was more a Jim.
He’s looking at us, my cousin Ellie J. Breathless said, shocked.
And look at his hands, I threw in. They are the hands of a girl.
They were soft all right, and puffy. Not like other hands that rocked.
We could not stop laughing as another straightened his curl.
He is not nearly as polished as a fifth should be. He needs to shave too.
I pointed this out to women who had come to my party to gawk.
His shoes are not genuine leather, I said. And his eyes are not so blue.
Why did you even invite him? One asked, seeing him, and going into shock.
Our mothers share a bridge club, a Bible study, a book club and a tree.
The other girls were giggling, heading to him like moths to a light.
I had to invite him I said to no one, “for my mother made me.”
He is not nearly as handsome when you live next door and he is a blight.
James P. Thorndike under pretense of drink, came over and glared at me.
What are you telling them? He asked me. My neighbor and forever best friend.
Nothing much, I admitted, looking at eyes bluer than the sea.
Knowing full well, he would be my forever after in the end.
Life is a bastard son, prodding the fertile horizon
poking into places tender, tearing the expanse of dawn
he taunts, rude and bellicose, so full of himself
spewing into the weakest streams, a wet dream.
With platitudes he prances, son of a fearsome father
promising eternity, singing a lover's song of praise.
Light bearer, holder of the golden scalpel, night cutter
leaving glare where softness once held sway.
May the abyss, the gentle dark, the yin forgive you..son.
From the pear-shaped loins of sister Eve, you have burst
washed in the waters of she, a caul of white adorned,
pray, stay your hand, do not bludgeon your better half.
Existence, endless, fleeting, meld and join this randy pair
for universes swing between this bastard and his dreams.
Dedicated to my muse Brenda Atry
please read her "Black Diamond Night"
spring saunters into the convention wearing his usual hat
a tiny goldfinch dipped in red stares us other seasons down
he is surrounded by flowers and butterflies, I look for his cat
But she decided to stay home, away from this usual clown
He brings an infusion of enthusiasm and glee
we other seasons try to ignore him, but there is no way
He has a wasp today, a dragonfly and a bee
Wearing a smug swagger, a gentleman’s sway
He knows he is all that, probably the favorite season of all
His fans are trailing him, fawning in stupidity
Let’s try to ignore him says my best friend, Fall
He is too full of himself; there is no humility
I ask forgiveness of the late Leonard Cohen, the author of the original verse, from 1984
“No-bid White House contract awarded for ballroom construction to tune of $500M”
Dance me to the ballroom with the flood lights burning bright
Dance me through the courts they're waging one unending fight
Half a billion dollars and it’s all to make a thump
Dance me to the end of Trump
Dance me to the end of Trump
Oh, let me see the beauty when accomplices are in jail
Let me see the stooges when the half is out on bail
Show corruption to us no one knows the limits of
Oh, dance us to the tune above
Dance us to the tune above
Dance him to his vanity and arrogance hard-on
Dance Don very tenderly, he can’t dance very long
When, full of himself he falls asleep with cameras above
Show us the man we used to love
Show us who we used to love
Lost the war that couldn’t be lost to evil psychopaths
Mess iconic Lincoln pool to public’s howling laughs
Aiming for his place in books, with crown to be worn
Friends and neighbors, treat them all with open stubborn scorn
Something we should mourn
Dance me through the times, so I no longer feel deceived
Leave behind the bubbling cauldron, not to be aggrieved
All that pomp and circumstance is just to make a thump
Dance me to the end of Trump
Dance me to the end of Trump
30 June 2026
A Cardinal’s trill, peep…peep…peep…peep…peep…
often full of himself, wakes me from sleep.
peep…peep…pretty…pretty…pretty; rings out his bliss;
across Kentucky’s bluegrass in the morning mist.
A tad egocentric but, he’s allowed;
his bright red plumes make him oh, so proud.
He’s a splash of color in the trees,
a scarlet, rose red dot, singing in the breeze.
Peep…peep…pretty…pretty…birdie; I’m a pretty…birdie;
must get on his partner’s nerves; he can be over-chirpy.
the female is who is a, rusty brown.
Has to be jealous of that noisy clown!
Written 2-14-19
help mrs. muse is gone and my mind is shooting blanks
my friend called inspiration is trying to walk the plank
motivation just married mr lazy
and confidence started acting really crazy
cousin common sense is on vacation out of town
and aunt intelligence is nowhere to be found
uncle rational is at the casino gambling his life away
and my best friend happiness never wants to stay
my neighbor opportunity doesnt knock on my door anymore
and my girlfriend love is really just a whore
my partner pride is always full of himself
and sister sympathy is busy with someone else
grandpa wisdom is smart enough not to say a word
and grandma compassion is seen but never heard
the only friends that ever come to town
is anger and disgust and they always hang around
my high school sweat heart infatuation doesnt really call
and my childhood friend imagination doesnt exist at all
I knew a man, a jokester, who--
full of himself--had not a clue
of how to have some fun without
annoying people. Then he'd pout
when others wouldn't speak to him.
His outlook was quite gray and grim,
but soon he would dismiss his frown.
His life-long need to play the clown,
just like a cartoon character,
caused him to rise and make a stir.
His storehouse of annoying shtick
was full of (he thought) perfect picks.
When friends and loved ones were depressed,
the jokester was at once obsessed
with entertaining these sad folks;
he rattled off cliché-filled jokes.
Still sad, they simply looked away
without a word, to his dismay.
His older sister lost her job
of many years. He heard her sob
about her stack of past-due bills.
What he did next still gives me chills.
Instead of helping with her debts,
he talked about their childhood pets,
presuming she would lighten up,
but stories of their favorite pup
gave her no joy. To his surprise,
he got from her just weary sighs!
His lack of sensitivity
and narcissistic need to be
the center of attention caused
his mouth to open without pause
and utter words that helped no one.
A corny joke and silly pun
possess no power to dismiss
an all-encompassing abyss.
Date: March 5, 2020
Contest Title: Clown at the Abyss
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann