Short A Hundred Times Poems

My wings beat fast
two hundred times a second
what am I...

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Flitting hundred times
she sews home to perfection
sings to-whee-cheeup...

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Hundred legs climbing
To reach the queen of the hill
Who keeps kicking, but
I'll climb a hundred times more,
That hill is calling me home...

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Listen to poem:

Ah, indeed this is the neck I recognize.
I’ve kissed it in my dreams a hundred times.



AP: Honorable Mention 2021

Posted on August 25, 2021...

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honesty is so easy
you can tell the story a hundred times
and not have to think
it flows
because it is the truth
liars have a more difficult time...

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Your eyes are the ocean Your hair is the sun, in the path of this love i have broken my knees for a hundred times next time it will be one hundred and one....

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At Ellis Island there were tons of lines
If you stood too long you were given fines
Your name easy if
It was Rose or Big Biff
Mine was misspelled about a hundred times...

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Bee's wings beat eleven thousand four hundred times a minute
According to a scientific manual for children
I stare at this fact
Wondering
Who measured these beats
And how?...

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You are innocently driving to your office
You've done it a hundred times before, being cautious
All of a sudden 
You cease to function
You're mangled body, your life turns to darkness...

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Side to side
beaten a hundred times
at the hands of pride
down the line   smashed
how long will it last
on the floor   crashed

Side to side
aimlessly tossed before I fly
the innocent left to cry
deflated I hide
in shame    but to you
it was just a game...

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The past is not but nuisance
When a lie is laid to bear.
They weed our sacred garden
As they pop up everywhere.

I double down on their existence
Knowing repetition is the key.
Sterilize a lie one hundred times...
Feeble minds will soon believe.

             The End
...

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My life has been folded over
  at least a hundred times

With twilight comes exposure
  and a reckoning sublime

Each crease a thing I’d never done
  each fold a place I’d hide

Now one by one the truth unwraps
 —my secrets open wide

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2018)...

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Like a telescope in focus,
  the words get sharp and clear

And magnify within the thought,
  a feeling oh so dear

Each letter worth a hundred times,
  what yesterday did know

New verse now burning laser bright,
 —eternal in its glow

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)...

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I'm the treasure that will never 
be unburied, I'm just wasting 
away waiting for you to dig me
up, You've probably passed me
by a hundred times not knowing
I might have everything to offer
I guess my shine has faded in the
past 25 years, I'm just that treasure
lost to never be found...

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I've seen sunsets hundred times
But that day with you is the most sublime
It's burning red in the bloody sky
Waving goodbye with a contented sigh.

As the Sun disappears in the horizon
Casting darkness like a proud lion
You are still shimmering confidently
Even without light you are as lovely....

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Had Nazi Germany's holocaust victims,
been forced to endure the same kind of suffering,
that is inflicted upon animals for food from birth until slaughtering,
generation after generation, after generation, after generation,
Nazi Germany's holocaust today would be one hundred times more disturbing....

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A poem's not finished
    'til you've reviewed it a hundred times
  Then as you read it the hundredth and first
     you're surprised to find it's gotten worse

  As we grow, so do our poems
    Yet sometimes we look for growth
  and all we can do is swear an oath
    'Growth and Oaths' ~ poems need both...

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My heart gave out a little piece
Seven hundred times
In odes that I have published here
Containing countless rhymes 
Now what remains is purely love
Abundantly to share
I peeled away the outer shell
And that was what was there
I plan to keep on peeling
To see what's still to view
And hope to keep on writing 
More poems not for you...

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Tell me you don’t want this;
These hands that burn everything they touch
These eyes that have seen too much yet somehow, still not enough
Tell me we weren’t made for this
I was born screaming
You, a forest fire
Tell me I wouldn’t die for you
I would sacrifice myself
A hundred times over, a hundred times again
Tell me –
But oh, you can’t...

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My lovely dear the magic 
Hour is upon us.
What will become 
Will become
We can not hinder its power
What will occur at this 
Magic hour.
Shall we fall into rose bushes
And be pricked with thorns
One hundred times 
One thousand
Shall we caress each other 
Forever kisses and kisses 
Then lay breathless with
Amorous ambitions and
Blisses...

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Fusion is also a genre in folklore. 
 
I am a perfectionist. You may address me there. 
Father in bad habits, brothers in curtain in carts  
Outside chores are somewhere, in outside doors.  
 
And I will tell you 
I will end you in here and now. 
Hundred times more 
 
Before your MS-DOS "Chronoskimmer" finds me in Gloria Anzaldúa
ever again....

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What am I?
I can stick to any surface except Teflon.
Yes, I am an animal and I stick by my toes.
I can bark, chirp and click.
You heard me correctly.
I live on every continent except Antarctica.
My eyes are over three hundred times more sensitive than yours.
I kind of look like a lizard to some.




keep scrolling.....






I am a gecko...

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Copy…paste
Counterclockwise time.
And then slowly it all merged
to an old worn-out page.

I smile too little, I think, now a day
Learning a lot of difficult definitions, lately
Kind of a customized story
Yet a repetition of hundred times.

Boon is a divine word
Could not be compared to a curse.
Kindled and enlightened so
Don’t care about shadows....

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They said he'd cracked,
like a jar in the wind,
ajar to within.

Grumbling gears in an attic of a mind,
cranked with the resiliency of an old steam engine,
chugging along.

Muddy cigar for the failures,
basement couch for the come-backs,
after being knocked off a hundred times,
the podium has never had this many scratches,
climbs back up every time,
but gallows are never very accommodating....

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A red rose tied
across the top
of the tiny box
that lay in your hand

My heart skipped a beat
a hundred times twice
as you slowly walked
the path toward me

A smile appeared 
across your face
as you lifted the lid
of the tiny box

Inside it lay
golden earrings

Those earrings, that day
wrote the song 
the love bird sings.



Dedicated to a special one.....Always Maryam*...

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