They said that you are blind,
Yet I can see you with my mind,
The piecing through my spine,
To me you are but tote sacrifice,
A jar of an oozing surprise!
They again called you trust,
A trip merely to thrust,
The raging furnace's ole to rust!
You are the thing I love to hate,
And I truly hate to love!
While I have inveighed about you.
You have wounded the side of the sun,
And the heat ululating the end of the cold,
Beating the crust aglet of the gun,
Then, The rising of the mocking moon;
Red may be danger, a dagger of threat,
Today, that same red is the hand of love;
With many hiding under to defile,
The sincerity of her meaning;
The blind gift exchange is here,
The smiling shadows of a fair,
To end the tale of a hallow fair,
All of us are strict beggars,
For if you don’t beg from humanity,
You must beg from the almighty;
So, please lower the shoulders,
Get a gift for me, even if it is a like,
To prove your true show of love!
A Letter to the maladroit Cupid!
~ Tile Tersoo
Categories:
maladroit, art, celebration, emotions, inspirational
Form: Rhyme
I enter you as a cloud of unknowing.
Mystery slips through willing flesh,
a single pulse of amazement
beats the one heart.
You will never be mine
for we are now beyond
being kept,
we are the thoughtless thought,
the mindless mind, that which surfaces,
from beneath the thin skin of existence.
We unknowing clouds,
far beyond any maladroit understanding
of sex.
Categories:
maladroit, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Your mother’s glass. The only one in the cabinet that
does not match the others. It’s beautiful. Purple
crystal scattered on linoleum like a layer of fine
mauve dust. The first tear falls from a thousand
fractaled faces, glistening in the sun. Birds turn
dirges in the late autumn air, as you push slivers
into the dustpan—the vision of her soft hand around
the glass fades with each reluctant sweep. Tears
pool in your eyes and you wonder why she gave
you such maladroit arms, sunspotted and shaky. Or
a brain wired to prefer the taste of Diet Coke in a
glass over ice, just as your mother did. Shards clink
in the trash, your tears race them to the bottom. The
lid closes in a soft thud—the birds stop singing
Categories:
maladroit, love,
Form: Free verse
A cracked and empty skull
makes a beautiful flower pot,
desk tidy or paperweight.
Place a nightlight in that osseus cave
and it will become a small table lamp.
Through the ages
monks have harvested skulls;
some sanctuaries and chapels
are built on human bones
and the skulls form their central alter.
Mystics understand
that this is the ultimate jaw-dropping sermon.
The human skull reminds us that death leaves
its own gravestones.
We can grin back at that once visible face
pondering its ever static tidings
to wit, that this rattling boneyard dream
simply must have its One Last Word.
Categories:
maladroit, poetry,
Form: Free verse
She introduced herself to the staff as their new vice-principal.
It was not the truth,
Not quite a lie yet either.
In truth, she had
Warned the principal
She was after his job.
The principal did not get to choose
His own staff, and human resources
Had hired and sent him this
maladroit interloper in July.
He knew her quite well by the
Time the rest of the staff arrived
In August.
She was rapidly labelled an
unwelcome fussbudget. In
hours the staff knew to stay away from
her in droves, not listening
to her ravings or keen suggestions
for improvement on their inept performances.
Her most confident area, of course was self-confidence.
She had it in oodles and arches,
And she displayed it
With the skill of
a clumsy peacock, holding an exceptionally casual bull horn.
The last they heard her about her, she had complained to HR that her frustration level was through the roof, they were boobs, and she was leaving.
A little celebration good-bye party was held in her honor two weeks after she left
at the principal's house.
Now who forgot to invite her?
Categories:
maladroit, funny, school, work,
Form: Free verse
A grotesque guest arrives
cryptic look,I know he is naïve
A quiescent world of mine
The table where I dine
Susurration of silence of my room
Felicity of my walls, all of it so etheral
But it seems,I lost all of them because someone took my seat
True,I lost my space.
I am defiant,like serene
Talisman of my thoughts , it all belongs to me
He calls me synical,unctous
I pay him back, "listen,I am more of a obstreperous"
Shun down all his thoughts of taking over my bed.
Maladroit, wont get out,took over all my belongings...
Ya ...I lost my space
Categories:
maladroit, 10th grade, 3rd grade,
Form: Free verse
Tees and Cees
Loopholes online firms exploit
In very small print on transaction documents a normal eye seldom spies and sees
Until legal implications take him for a maladroit
Too gullible to bother
Too illiterate to placate
Too fallible
And too inveterate
To take seriously
To address with respect
To injure deleteriously
To treat with disrespect
With the impunity sanctioned by outdated legislation
Written for brick and mortar dinosaurs
Which enables their spineless extrapolation
To rub salt on sores
Customers sustain
When click and trick businesses
Retain and maintain in a vain
Effort to benefit from the folly their monopoly disgorge and disburse as egregious legal excesses.
Categories:
maladroit, poems,
Form: Free verse
The child is maladroit.
you should not take him in.
There are too many precious vases
on which he might lean.
Or he might slip and smack his head
against a glass display.
Let him stay until he’s grown
or he’ll ruin our day.
Remember once that just by chance
he broke don Cuervo’s toe
when he swung that baseball bat
and sudden let it go.
and hit don Cuervo who was sitting
in the front-row seat.
and how don Cuervo howled and cursed
and almost seemed to bleat.
Remember how he fell one day
and killed a suckling pig
when he was just about to taste
a ripening luscious fig
and lost his footing on a rock
and toppled from his perch
and landed on the piglet’s back
and caused the sow to dirge.
Or when he carried a long stick
pretending he could march
as if he held a rifle
and he skewered Mrs Marge.
and how she now is forced to wear
a gaudy plastic eye?
Please leave him here. He’s maladroit.
Or else someone will die.
https://www.thefreedictionary.com/maladroit
Categories:
maladroit, father son, funny, giggle,
Form: Rhyme
I sit,
slightly hunched over,
Pall Mall in my left hand,
listening to Gail Pettis
In the Still of the Night.
The furious baseline
comes at me like the turbine
of a plain with an identity crisis.
On come a serene voice;
"In the stiiiilll of the niiiight"
It seems to arrive
out of a parrallel universe
coated in beauty.
On this night,
There is no heaven.
There is no hell.
There is no school.
There are no glassy eyed peers.
There are no maladroit instructors.
There is only this moment.
There is only my buzz.
There is only that brunette from Nebraska
doing a striptease in my mind.
There are no wants, nor needs.
There is only
existance.
Categories:
maladroit,
Form: Free verse