What mystery binds his poesy,
what purpose is behind his art:
to pose, “To be, or not to be?”
confronts the self-reflecting heart?
What destiny has this poet,
what future prospects wait for him,
when his words pretend to know it,
but the skeptics won't explore them?
Truth's cryptic message hides in rhymes,
chameleon-like, and spreads as memes,
disguised, rewritten several times,
to fit his coded, programmed themes.
The Enigma of this poesy's rhyme,
and process, meant for the clever mind,
to search their inmost, heartfelt clime,
to peel back the puzzle's layered rind.
Try not to get scared, scariest stories
I was just in my room, socking it. That’s when Larry and the creature, and they pickled my chilli dog, and that’s when Larry. I was driving in my Bergen truck, drunk, that’s when I saw a deer, I was later pulled over for DUI and killing a deer. Asgore. Once Diddy diddled my diddle he did. James?
Every time I piss on that little plastic stick I lose something.
An archer struck down on a battlement, a coin from a rich mans pocket, not enough to really feel it but enough to know it's gone. Something is.
Every time I let him cum in me I’m waving my white flag. Even if i ask him to, beg him to, I admit defeat.
To be a mother is to lose. From the point of conception to your last breath, you lose.
Your body is theirs to live in and reap for all they need.
Your thoughts are theirs, on them, or their thoughts.
Your health is in those tiny hands of theirs
.
And your love, your careful, gentle love, now raging red like an overfed hearth, will be theirs.
Whether they want it or not. Whether they take it or not.
It will rip from you and follow them like a curse.
And still, I ask him to, beg him to and admit my defeat. I piss on that plastic stick and hope, deep down, it will be my undoing.
Is age really just a number
With no money no slumber
When birthdays were a fun
Why now I feel that I am done
For each year I used to wait
Now each year appear as bait
When kith and kin were all fam
When we all were herd of ram
When Aunt was another mom
And well enacted the rom com
When Dadu play my super spine
When he’s there for every dine
When love gets lost in labour
No kin, no trust and no favour
In chamber of thorn in all line
Where wonder i if all is fine
In drums of drama’n distance
In every heart there is a fence
A hope resides like star shine
In million miles i may get mine!
yummy banana, tasty banana.
eat 10,000 at once, die.
yummy banan, testy banarn.
heving srokke.
heel pme.
10,000 bannn kil u frm pot as yum.
skadoosh!
Same soup; different bowl
Same bowl; different soup
Same poet; different writes
Same agenda; different poets
Q: What is avian forensics?
A: Ornithology pathology.
Q: What's the name of Adam Levine's band when they appear in concert?
A: Maroon Five Live.
Q: What is a submarine that only goes forward?
A: An irreversible submersible.
Q: What was a really fanatical peasant in ancient Greece?
A: A zealot helot.
Q: What kind of small pet dog gets carried around in a designer handbag?
A: A Gucci poochie.
Q: What would you call a consumer review of one of Benjamin Franklin's inventions?
A: A colonial testimonial.
Q: What's another name for a woman's "muffin tops"?
A: A girdle hurdle.
Q: If characters are an author's progeny, what does that make "Dorian Gray"?
A: A Wilde child.
Q: What rules of conduct were Senators in ancient Rome supposed to follow?
A: Forum decorum.
What not is to oneself? A question ever been told to myself
Whether you love, you taught, you thought, and you lost
The camaraderie to you and yourself is the greatest bond
To know the boundaries - where you can fly and fall
Where you can commit to all and to stand tall
Even one voice, small. Hectic, make it a mall
In the end of the day, what not to oneself?
Where you stood to all, but mistakes come forth
When you feel life's winding up north
It is the blade, into something that halts
It is not for you, but a lesson and is daft
Take care, world is cruel even in mononym
What secrets of the Muse's rhyme,
skirt on the edge of our perception?
What fate can be known by metric time,
or prophecy by taut inspection?
The path she offers invites echoes,
of lives half-lived and dreams half-dreamt,
of pasts that form our tomorrows,
that few aspire beyond attempt.
Parnassus chooses whom so it will.
To the fated, it shares its mysteries,
but one must choose its bitter pill,
to resolve the trajectories.
The obscure rhythms of the poet's soul,
splashed against a domed, cryptic sky,
fulfill a cosmic, unique role,
that only seers behold with an inward eye.
When the muse leaves, his quill runs dry;
then joyful songs, sweet poetry,
drain from his pen, though write he try,
as hollow strains lack symmetry.
How then to woo the Muse once more?
Her treason robs him of his art.
What offerings, what gifts, might restore
against the whims of a Muse's heart?
But love is mild, and then patient:
love waits, with no pose or pretense.
His heart still burns incandescent
for her. To restore her, no expense
will be spared. And though she feels distant,
his constant heart will break her whim.
She'll not remain, forever transient,
but turn her radiant face to him.
this is a comma ,
this is an apostrophe '
this is an ampersand &
and this is an asterisk *
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!
thy worldith isith thy canvasith.
thy painterith thy paintith.
thy poetith, makeith thy poetith.
thy worldith thy endith.
chickenith jockeyith.
No pretending,
fences need mending.
A will unbending,
always condescending.
Voices sending,
words seem unending.
Friendship rending,
intent offending.
Friendship depending,
to matters attending.
Lost friend impending
will be heartrending.
Q: When a woman is having a baby, what do you call the periods of time between labor contractions?
A: Pregnant pauses.
Q: What happens when a restaurant doesn't sell all of its "soup du jour"?
A: It goes on tomorrow's menu as "soup du yesterjour".
Q: What do you call a group of witches doing their own laundry?
A: A self-cleaning coven.
Q: What did the prostitute say to the sympathetic arresting female officer from Buenos Aires?
A: Don't cry for me, Sergeant Tina.
Q: What did the cannibal chief tell his people when they were defeated by another tribe?
A: If you can't eat 'em, join 'em.
Q: What did two gay knights tell King Arthur when he asked them if they were dating?
A: We''re not a couple, we're joust friends.
Q: What's the difference between a vase and a "vahze"?
A: The price.
Q: How can you tell if a politician is lying?
A: His lips are moving.
Q: How would Hollywood describe a remake of "Day of the Dead" set in old Tucson with a score and lyrics by Andrew Lloyd Webber?
A: A zombie western musical.
Q: What might be the motto of a cannibal police force?
A: "To dissect and serve".
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