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Poet Lazey Poem
Our instinctive want for quality,
Conscious brushing off of quantity,
As quantity reaps in annoyance,
While quality breathes out balance.
Quotes of quality beats quantity,
Equal irony to a cat-loved person,
When they reason the clingy cats,
As more loving quantifiable quality.
The notions of quality and quantity,
Should ground mutually inclusive,
Not quality thriving off on quantity,
Nor quantity demeaning out quality.
Every love language is different,
Not the same him her you I,
Proving both defeats its purpose,
With two persons ending in sigh.
No longer should the notions be,
The usual quality beats quantity,
Rather how impressions ought be,
Quality and quantity in matrimony.
Copyright © Poet Lazey | Year Posted 2019
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Poet Lazey Poem
Some days I'd carve a mirror of my own.
Though sometimes
There are such days,
Where I might render a judgment,
Just so I could instill my heart cold.
The intentional shivers I conjure myself to,
To put a pause on my marbling of others,
And mar on myself instead.
Oh, Apparition that condescends in a distance,
A reminiscent yet elusive doppelganger of my sort,
Slumberously mirroring my every gesture and emotion of thought,
Yet slipping out a totally different whisper altogether.
Like a soft spoken murmur drooling out,
Sung from and out of me,
But redirected at me and for me.
An asking to listen more while fidgeting less,
As a pumpkin slowly nestles on my lap.
Strange that it'd bewilder me,
The sight of a bittersweet pumpkin.
Castrated calmly beneath my fingers,
Yet warming up in an oven of its own.
Copyright © Poet Lazey | Year Posted 2016
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Poet Lazey Poem
a-lonewolf may stand tall
all pride, stride, and thrall
at times in which they fall
a-loneliness starts to crawl
the abrupt long for someone
animating desires to be one
shut down at the sight of ego
default to the outcast hero
Copyright © Poet Lazey | Year Posted 2023
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Poet Lazey Poem
A male peacock that soars free,
As one may aspire to be.
Free until reality,
Is a crow all one can be.
So weave stitches onto these lips,
For the words that come out of it,
Unravel wolves in sheep’ clothing.
Despite one yet to resemble many.
Gesture looks at one’s mirror,
To see not what eyes see.
But how a despairing heart,
Impaired can repair.
Not by mere reflection,
But by holy interventions.
When one calls upon Father,
And be responded with “Child”.
Copyright © Poet Lazey | Year Posted 2017
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Poet Lazey Poem
Oh hey!
Let's play a game;
A game of never have I ever.
Never have I ever had to eat a bowl of...
Oh yes!
But I have!
Never have I ever...
Again!, I have.
Never have I...
Not already done that,
Yes.
Never have...
Been there, done that.
Never have I...
Never not done it of course.
Never have I ever not tell one simple truth,
Because why?
Why not?
When lies are so much sweeter?
Never have I ever prefer to tell a lie,
But lies are never dull,
Though lies do not ever tell...
Lies are never sweet,
But still it's sweeter than truth,
And lies are never really lies,
Until a person prefers the truth.
But you see,
That's what I mean,
To your world that may be true,
But how can you judge?
For everyone else too?
Because you see I know,
When lies have gone too sweet,
They never expire like meat,
Until you turn the other cheek.
Truths might not be sweet,
Of course because they hurt,
They hurt in a drastic measure,
To tear the stitches of wounds.
But wait..
No buts but just a simple fact,
Of how true can truths really,
Break a person subliminally.
Of how "true" a lie can bring,
A happiness much more than sorrow.
A lie which brings comfort,
A lie more needed than oxford.
Lies capable of bringing good,
Like a Jew seeking out refuge,
A..
A lie of good intentions
And righteous to its core
As according to God's will
Is a lie worth dying for
But the lie that you speak of
Is a lie of uses so vague
A lie with no lines drawn
A lie of no right or wrong
For which is it now
A lie meant for "lies"
Or a lie to comfort sins?
A lie that stacks like tin
Please forgive me for my words
With thoughts never so far
I had thought, just maybe,
Why lies are always so kind
Lies are always kind
But kind in what I may question,
Kind to bring intention to sin,
Or kind to be godly, just, righteous.
Lies are always sweet,
Though they never go far.
Truths are bittersweet,
But lasts for our eternity.
Copyright © Poet Lazey | Year Posted 2017
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Poet Lazey Poem
Whenever I look-see,
And catch sight of the rain,
In me I start to see,
A begun romantic bane.
Love can start out vague,
It hits you in unknowing,
In lang syne 'twas blue,
Now hindsight 'twas grey.
It can come unexpected,
It can thrive unintended,
It can seed as a thought,
And uproot when once drought.
Love seeds when blue grey,
Feels pour when rain falls,
Choices make when none prey,
Love starts when both drawl.
The difference of love,
To a falling in love,
Is the choice of want nurture,
To a ticking idyllic nature.
Familiar love can feel empty,
When it grows sour and redundant,
It only nurtures when both be,
More you and less me.
Copyright © Poet Lazey | Year Posted 2019
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Poet Lazey Poem
A soul that vessels life,
or driven into oblivion.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
A pitiful anonymous dilemma,
that either suppresses or sustains life.
Fueling our consciousness,
whilst Fostering out desires.
Our instinctual incentive,
to appear a persona of part.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
An incongruous tug of war,
the fidgeting of our hearts and minds.
Carefully deciphering our cards’ might,
for an inexcusable conforming reason,
staged playing our parts right.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
How simplistic it is,
to only want to appear the part.
How limiting it is too,
to only want to play the part.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Think again and instead, be the part.
Question yourselves,
your Love,
for the part.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Be the part,
And take a road not taken.
Love the part,
going at it,
and not blissfully with it.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
For better or for worse,
Till death does your part apart,
Forever and ever,
till days’ seep into descent.
Copyright © Poet Lazey | Year Posted 2016
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Poet Lazey Poem
She has to be this,
She has to be that.
She has to have this,
She has to have that.
But is she really she?
The she that is for me.
Or is she just a she,
A she I'd wish to see.
A she I wish to have,
A she of an ideal half.
A she as a surface,
But not of real purpose.
A she that is she,
But only a she to herself.
If for years I must wait,
To accidentally meet this she.
A she I'd wish to see,
A she as real as me.
A she that catches my eye,
A she who's gentle to my heart.
This she I'd pace for,
A she I'd phase more.
A she with her ponytail just right,
A she with a demeanor, kid-like.
A she romantically cold,
Yet a lava to God then me.
A she naturally sarcastic,
A she willfully enthusiastic.
A she who values me,
A she who doesn't just vow to love me,
A she who just doesn't remain she,
A she now with me,
A she now we.
Copyright © Poet Lazey | Year Posted 2017
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Poet Lazey Poem
A she now mine,
A she made time.
A she instincts cool,
A she minimizing blue.
A she daydreaming,
A she leaning still.
A she toying glee,
A she living free.
A she and her hoodie,
A she and her fringe.
A she reflecting smile,
A she reinventing style.
A she intentionally indifferent,
A she intimating significance.
A she simplifying stealing,
A she modernizing meaning.
Copyright © Poet Lazey | Year Posted 2017
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Poet Lazey Poem
A frame like Brad Pitt
Delights tea and sips
Dressed in style fashion
An everyday cat passion
A yoke that is equal
A giver at its best
Confidence his key
Only active he`ll be
An all around go-getter
And all the more friendlier
What more can she ask
For an answer right at her
A person I can’t be
For how I’m made as me
I`ll only cut at a quarter
Of whom I`ll never be
Copyright © Poet Lazey | Year Posted 2018
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