CuriousLord
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Joined: 4/3/2007
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One cold winter's day, a female friend, seeing me writing, asked me to write a poem about her. I told her I'd think about it. Ten minutes later, she was complaining she needed to go get a bra due to the cold. Hence:
Robyn's Boobs
"Brr, its freezing!", yelped the girl,
as she gazed upon her beautiful boobs;
"freedom is such a thrill!",
but, alas, they don't make bra lubes.
So her poor, sexy breast,
had to be covered by a bra;
yet she wanted only the best,
so she stopped by the mall.
"Hello, sir", she started,
"my boobs are cold, and I need protection."
With a strange look on his face,
and a bit of sexual frustration,
the man led her to the bra case,
which was for her inspection.
She looked at this one and she looked at that,
and she even found one that looked like a hat;
in the end, though, she started gasping,
even as the onlooking imagined grasping.
Robyn picked up her bra,
paid in full, then left the mall.
She ran to her room, taking off her shirt,
and wondering if it'd match her favorite skirt.
She tossed on the bra, and her breasts was warm!
And now she's happy without peepers to warn.
Back from when I was younger (and depressed). This follows form in being an extremely deep and philosophical piece that makes numerous references in each line. So much so that, in order for it to mean the same thing to anyone else, I'd have to sit down and explain things for a couple of hours. So while it's not exactly a sharing piece, it is one of my best works despite its angst.
Hymn
Above the earth, above the skies,
I do look, with wondering eyes.
Isn't it something magnificent?
The freedom of the Heavens, in ascent.
So why with tired eyes that pierce the blackness,
does a man of age condemn the heavens with his rage?
In the sullen night, chilly and hostile, the poor boy,
having learned of life, appears to be so annoyed?
Blackness come and darkness bind, keep from life,
that which I'd like to find; Angels smite the demons,
for all those concepts that were-
implore the Lord, implore the Earth, that this time isn't any more.
May the chilly embrace of the night, bind and keep;
may from the veins of another, life seep;
may from the eyes of a mother, my sorrow weep,
may from the pragmatist, life slice deep.
This is the curse of a wretched man, afraid to die,
alone in the darkness and void, left there to try;
To think of the demons, who he was bound to condemn,
all he may do, is offer this forlorn hymn.
I see most people as simple minded. (Hey, it's honest.) In my head, the term "Court" can be quite significant. One might consider Jefferson's "call on the tribunal [of reason] for [every consideration]" as an approximation of my feelings on it. I love to try ideas in my head. I feel many people, do, though only very vaguely. This poem reflects such a vague process metaphorically. It was meant to be almost-funny, a light-hearted poem.
Court of the Simple
Hello, and welcome!
This is the Court of the Simple.
Please state your name and your case.
Be sure to sign in print.
Right this way, watch your step!
This is a nice place to talk.
Step right up here and smile,
slowly state your case.
Yes? Oh, what was that?
Please speak with small words.
Could you repeat that again?
Yes, sir, speak as though to birds.
Yes, yes, we see! Your case is
simple, as is your plea.
This is how your idea fits best,
or at least in our test.
We see, we see, this is not good!,
as I strike my hammer to this wood.
Do this, for it is right,
and you will be just for another night.
"Silence" is a big deal with me, too. You see, people have a lense through which they view the world. It disregards information and thoughts one considers insignificant. Such a lense is necessary for a life to work. Mine disregards anything that has a significant (!< ~1%) error nearly entirely, and only absolute truths ever seem to fully reach me.
Seeking Answers
I sit in this chair every night
with just a little bit of pain
Outside, there's the snow or rain
inside, there's only my fight.
These words are dull and meaningless,
or perhaps its that they have all too much.
I don't feel much more in this emptiness,
and there's really nothing left in my touch.
I'm tired, beat, and defeated tonight.
Isn't an ironic thing?
Though I won't rest until first light.
Or perhaps not 'til Spring.
Everything is so dull and pointless,
as the rain falls gently outside;
I look into myself once again,
and wonder why I have to hide.
Where is the beauty here? Am I nothing more?
What is it with my friend? Is she a whore?
Why is the rain so gentle and temporal?
Where is the cursed, freezing snow?
Am I to die?
And why is this all so silent?
A lot of my slaves seem to like the next one. A lot of girls in general, really. I guess it's "senstive". You know, flowery and pleasant and such. Not that it's entirely shallow, but it lacks the depth I often value in poetry. Nonetheless, it was a warm sentiment expressed in earnest.
A Father's Smile
Smile at the dawn and see the world.
Can you feel the warm rays on your skin,
the happiness that's from within,
or the love from your kin?
Is life enough or do you want more?
Will you step up, or be a whore?
What would you like to see, who would you like to be?
To who would you like to grow? What to see, and what to know?
Take a breath, and I'm sorry, you have only so many more to draw.
I am, too, a mortal by imperical flaw.
I'm sorry for myself, too, who must someday not see the sunrise,
but, for now, I'll race towards my goal.
I'd like to be a father, a man and a lover;
I'd like to be a humanist, to help others.
I don't want to live in a craddle, though I wish to rock it,
I want to thrive in the world while I show the craddle my love.
The craddle's a place for new life,
sheltered and free.
I'd like to kiss the newborn's face,
and keep it clean.
Love comes and continues, and I'd like to show it to my child.
I'd like to show him a beautiful setting; a warm day in a cool house,
a beautiful sun rising over the trees.
A happy family in a nice place.
As I grew older, I learned I'd like a girl to have and hold.
A kiss on her lips, thinking I was bold. But now I see,
that this really can be. A happy girl to join me in this world,
to hold and be held by, so happy as to make me cry.
I'll make my world this beautiful place;
so much happiness to justify this pace.
Now I must do what I need to see this through.
Let me confess, its hard, but once its through, the world is once again new.
...
Can't you just see me now? A father holding his girl holding their child?
What a beautiful day in such a beautiful place!
I'll hold them gently and kiss her face.
And I know that it was all thanks for my pace.
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