This world is full of noise,enough to burst,
your mind and destroy well being lust,
noise from traffic on ground and air,
from telly,s ,radios and everywhere.
Gies a break we aa bellow,
makin mair noise for fellow,
humans who walk the same path,
work it oot dae the math,
as oor cousins wid sey across the watter,
haud oan a meenit ah heed yer call,
whits wrang wi noise does it really matter.
Aye it does my fairweether freends,
caises pain in yins lugs and heid,
those wi issues hate this aa the time,
produces anxiousness and depressed need.
Get tae the wids trendies cry,
wildlife an trees wull help ye fly,
even in the daurkest realms of root,
tae mony bodies causing mair noise.
Jumpin in secluded pools delighted shouts,
or faaing fae the heevens oan broken sheets,
flapping ,twirling adrenalin urging,
Bikes hurtling alaang secret paths,
get oot the wey comes the noisy cry,
Lets shoot the craw and leave this place,
seek oot the spots tae find yer solace.
Categories:
whits, anxiety, conflict, depression, pain,
Form: Rhyme
Her erasable brain has never let her down.
After information is used, it no longer hangs around.
She memorizes all kinds of junk for a weird math test.
Not keeping one ounce of this knowledge ahead of the rest.
Details she cares barely two whits and a neck about,
Rarely comes prancing forward, forth or back out.
She never knows if she will use these equations again.
Not cluttering her brain is her ultimate end.
Categories:
whits, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Rhyme
giesa minute
whits yer rush
youve had my whole life to judge me
2 mins widnae kill ya
whit would i ask
would i call you a bas
beg for forgive
I'm Scottish please
oor music scares bees
have you seen oor kisses
From the Glasgow of cities
F**k-f**kety f**k f**k
how we swing our knees
as our beds we leave
we the widdershins people
trying to pull back the last tock
Categories:
whits, poetry,
Form: Free verse
If time shall not our derelict joys
Revive with tunes melodious so,
Let past's nostalgic merries balm
Our souls and bid all sorrows go.
Should ebbing laughter and smiles
Their cold arcs yet vanishing carve,
May old cheers of our jolliest whiles
Redeeming warmths pitifully impart.
Although gone mirths seldom thwart
Present galls despite their vivid hues,
Mortal forgetteries lulling blisses are,
As would certainly void painful clues.
Thus might sweetly reechoed tones,
Excerpts from our merriments dead,
Like beneficent ditties in unison allay
All lingering whits of lonesome dread.
And if blunt fate her forking bivouacs
Twirl and twine in drab manners sour,
Beclouding paths erst snowing white;
Here’s bold shield in life’s icings dour.
Categories:
whits, absence, anxiety, break up,
Form: Rhyme
Question:What is an app?
Correct Answer:an application, especially as downloaded by a user to a mobile device.
Scottish Daughters Answer.Whits an app Maww you need to get a grip
Categories:
whits, poetry,
Form: Free verse
My Clock
By J. Philip Harris
Tick tock, tick tock the old man clicks his clock. That rude robust bellow of the long and short. Splattering seconds as it pleases. RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, and on and on it goes, a never-ending cycle of cyclic stress syndrome. Oh, the tyranny!!!
SHHH!!!! Do you hear it? The crackle of the old man! It taunts me. It nags me. It’s pleased to watch my whits end. Oh why do your hands strangle me so?
Tick tock, tick tock the old man clicks his clock.The blundering muses of black wading in and waddling down the river white. You jezebels of Babylon! I long to murder you. I long to see your end. You spread me thin and drive my nerves into an early grave. My tardiness is amusing to you.
RUSH, RUSH, RUSH, RUSH! The aching grin that pushes me onward down the spiral of bleeding hell. My clock.
My Clock
Click
Clock
The old man clicks my clock!
Categories:
whits, allegory, analogy, anger, anxiety,
Form: Dramatic Monologue