What A Friend
Lady of the G..spot...
You are just a dot...
I've always wish that you...
Sh- or get off the pot...
In you I do not plot...
To me you are...
A save-a-lot...
You are truly my friend...
And that I want to never...
End...
But every now and then...
I ask if I came come in...
But I keep in mind that we..are...
Truly freinds...Platonic at best...
So my asking...is always in jest...
And maybe that is best...jset...
And anything other...I would be a pest...
That would be a mess...
But you rest...
We both have pass..the test...
I would love to fail...in jest...
We shall remain platonic...
Now that takes balls...
But that is my call...
We are friends after all...
And I am the freind in need...in deed...
Keep one eye open...
And the other eye on...
Jest...
whisperkwane
swtlamb@y ahoo.com
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Vagabond
Dunno a heap about the what an' why,
Can't say's I ever knowed.
Heaven to me's a fair blue stretch of sky,
Earth's jest a dusty road.
Dunno the names o' things, nor what they are,
Can't say's I ever will.
Dunno about God - he's jest the noddin' star
Atop the windy hill.
Dunno about Life - it's jest a tramp alone,
From wakin'-time to doss.
Dunno about Death - it's jest a quiet stone
All over-grey wi' moss.
An' why I live, an' why the old world spins,
Are things I never knowed.
My mark's the gypsy fires, the lonely inns,
An' jest the dusty road.
poem by John Masefield (1902)
Submitted by anonym
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Prayer
You talk o' prayer an' such -
Well, I jest don't know how;
I guess I got as much
Religion as a cow.
I fight an' drink an' swear;
Red hell I often raise,
But never said a prayer
In all my days.
I'm honest, right enough;
Don't take no stock in crimes;
I'm jest a dockside tough,
An' yet . . . an' yet sometimes,
If I should happen by
A church-door open wide
The chances are that I
Will sneak inside.
It's kin o' peaceful there,
Jest sittin' in a pew;
There's sompin' in the air
That rests me through an' through;
It does me heaps o' good
To see them candles glow,
So soothin' to the mood . . .
Why? - I don't know.
Unless that sittin' still
Can be a kind o' prayer;
My heart jest seems to fill
Wi' peace . . . Oh, God don't care
For guys the likes o' me;
I just ain't in His line:
But when the Cross I see,
I make the sign.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Platonic Disease
Your grips fallen.
I'm fallen, we've fallen beyond.
Expired, we've acquired platonic disease.
No jury, your cause.
Speak laws afford the bigot.
Back load myself.
Lay down the sentence of never ending said.
Platonic disease.
Platonic disease.
No jury. The pain.
The chance wronged release pain.
The stakes torn, lives cross.
Deep waters, willing loss.
Download main site.
Lay down victims right.
The fuels burnt, worlds part.
Seems like a never ending vicious cycle of death, of death.
Platonic disease.
Platonic disease.
Now see, world dies.
Strips down the face of disguise.
No rules, my way.
My way of things to say.
Your pore boils, burnt sore.
Lift off the face of wood.
Platonic disease.
Platonic disease.
Platonic disease.
Platonic disease
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hour of the Angel
Sooner or late--in earnest or in jest--
(But the stakes are no jest) Ithuriel's Hour
Will spring on us, for the first time, the test
Of our sole unbacked competence and power
Up to the limit of our years and dower
Of judgment--or beyond. But here we have
Prepared long since our garland or our grave.
For, at that hour, the sum of all our past,
Act, habit, thought, and passion, shall be cast
In one addition, be it more or less,
And as that reading runs so shall we do;
Meeting, astounded, victory at the last,
Or, first and last, our own unworthiness.
And none can change us though they die to save!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grand-Pa's Whim
While for me gapes the greedy grave
It don't make sense
That I should have a crazy crave
To paint our fence.
Yet that is what I aim to do,
Though dim my sight:
Jest paint them aged pickets blue,
Or green or white.
Jest squat serenely in the sun
Wi' brush an' paint,
An' gay them pickets one by one,
--A chore! It ain't.
The job is joy. Although I'm slow
I save expense:
So folks, let me before I go,
Smart that ol' fence.
Them pickets with my hands I made,
When young and spry;
I coloured them a gleeful shade
To glad the eye.
So now as chirpy as a boy,
'Ere I go hence,
Once more let me jest bright to joy
Our picket fence.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tree-Toad
''Scurious-like,' said the tree-toad,
'I've twittered far rain all day;
And I got up soon,
And I hollered till noon--
But the sun, hit blazed away,
Till I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole,
Weary at heart, and sick at soul!
'Dozed away far an hour,
And I tackled the thing agin;
And I sung, and sung,
Till I knowed my lung
Was jest about give in;
And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now.
There're nothin' in singin', anyhow!
'Once in awhile some
Would come a drivin' past;
And he'd hear my cry,
And stop and sigh--
Till I jest laid back, at last,
And I hollered rain till I thought my th'oat
Would bust right open at ever' note!
'But _I fetched_ her! O _I fetched_ her!--
'Cause a little while ago,
As I kindo' set,
With one eye shet,
And a-singin' soft and low,
A voice drapped down on my fevered brain,
Sayin',--' Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!''
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Best Always
Best always,
West always,
Crest always,
Rest always,
Nest always,
Pest always,
Guest always,
Arrest always;
But, it is set apart for a special use.
Lest always,
Jest always,
Test always,
Chest always,
Quest always,
Vest always,
Zest always;
But, you are set apart for a purpose.
Litter, glitter, bitter, critter, hitter, fitter, quitter, sitter;
And like a name well pronouced by its bearer! !
But, try to build up your life according to the plans of a positive character.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Coco
Beautiful coco all the hues in between…
The sun shows off your beauty…
Your smiles makes it flow…
It is you that I am respected to know…
Coco…not yet sifted…
Still smooth and mellow…
(damn so blessed)
Not yet at your best…test, test, test….
Me…pest, pest, pest…
Sweet coco smooth and mellow…
I desire to be your fellow…
Can…I fill your courage and fortitude bag…?
Is my spirit high enough…?
AM I MAN…enough…?
To handle you…that inner woman…
SELF, woman, lady, and queen…
Can…I…?
Beautiful coco and all the hues in between…
The sun shows off your beauty…
AM…I…CAN…I…?
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Brave Coward
Elisabeth imagines I've
A yellow streak
She deems I have no dash and drive,
Jest dogoned weak.
'A man should be a man,' says Liz
'Trade blow for blow.'
Poor kid! What my position is
She jest don't know.
She jest don't know my old man killed,
Yea, slew and slew.
As steamy blood he sweetly spilled,
So could I too.
And though no wrath of heart I show
When I see red,
I fear no S. O. B. but oh
Myself I dread.
Though fellers reckon me a dope
And trigger-shy,
'Tain't nice to dangle on a rope,
And like Pa die.
So as I belly to the bar
Meek is my breath . . .
No guts! --Don't needle me too far,
Elizabeth!
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hugs
A hug
E’en if given
Only in jest
Tis still yet
a hug
No more no less
While Intended
Perhaps only
To be received in jest
I shall instead
Choose to Treat it
As a sweet caress
For no matter
How tis intended
The hug to be
How tis comprehended
Is totally
Up to me
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You can't jest an enemy into a friend, but you can jest a friend into an enemy.
He that would jest must take a jest, or else to let it alone were best.
He that would jest must take a jest, else to let it along were best.
Just Jest
JUST JEST
Backchat repartee plays game
Encouraging free minds to test
All views with wit. Life flits, just jest
To spendthrift share, its end the same
Remains regardless tears or zest.
Insightful is each ludic frame.
Creative art is doubly blessed,
Expressions shocking, mocking fame,
Belong to those who’d talents tame
Exploring – not that prepossessed
Arty-farty crafty pest
Tarting reputation lame,
Receiving much, and giving … blame …
ICE cold within {s[p]}oiled self acclaim.
26 November 2006
robi03_1513_robi03_0000 ASX_IJX
n.b. {s[p]}oiled – soiled, spoiled, and oiled … soi led = self led
see below BE AT EASE AS POET
robi03_1946_robi03_0000 ASX_IXX
© Jonathan Robin – acrostic sonnet Beatrice
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
BE AT EASE AS POET
Be at Ease As Poet
Behind the poet's weighting game
Encouraging free mind to test
All limits passed, Life flits, just jest
To spendthrift share, its end the same
End meets whatever tears or zest
Are shed within our brief time-frame.
Sustained creation's doubly blessed,
Expresses much, yet mocks vain fain
As fit for those who'd talents tame
Surrendering free choice, impressed
Perchance by base externals pressed
Out over reputation lame.
Ease grows through harmony, on cue
Transforms to guest strange reader's view...
See Source poem JUST JEST
robi03_1513_robi03_0000 ASX_IJX
11 January 2010
robi03_1946_robi03_0000 ASX_IXX
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Be At Ease As Poet
BE AT EASE AS POET
Be at Ease As Poet
Behind the poet's weighting game
Encouraging free mind to test
All limits passed, Life flits, just jest
To spendthrift share, its end the same
End meets whatever tears or zest
Are shed within our brief time-frame.
Sustained creation's doubly blessed,
Expresses much, yet mocks vain fain
As fit for those who'd talents tame
Surrendering free choice, impressed
Perchance by base externals pressed
Out over reputation lame.
Ease grows through harmony, on cue
Transforms to guest strange reader's view...
See Source poem JUST JEST
robi03_1513_robi03_0000 ASX_IJX
11 January 2010
robi03_1946_robi03_0000 ASX_IXX
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
JUST JEST
Backchat repartee plays game
Encouraging free minds to test
All views with wit. Life flits, just jest
To spendthrift share, its end the same
Remains regardless tears or zest.
Insightful is each ludic frame.
Creative art is doubly blessed,
Expressions shocking, mocking fame,
Belong to those who’d talents tame
Exploring – not that prepossessed
Arty-farty crafty pest
Tarting reputation lame,
Receiving much, and giving … blame …
ICE cold within {s[p]}oiled self acclaim.
26 November 2006
robi03_1513_robi03_0000 ASX_IJX
n.b. {s[p]}oiled – soiled, spoiled, and oiled … soi led = self led
see below BE AT EASE AS POET
robi03_1946_robi03_0000 ASX_IXX
© Jonathan Robin – acrostic sonnet Beatrice
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ultimate
When dreams have turned to dust and dust to slime;
When all you ever were or hoped to be
Appears as no more than a jest of time,
A foolish jest, a tasteless parody
On some unlikely fiction; when not just
Your dear pretensions but your best ideals
Have been ground down into an acrid dust
That you are forced to eat for all your meals;
When—oh, but what can metaphor provide
Sufficient in its scope to comprehend
The fury never to be satisfied
Of one betrayed by a once-trusted friend?
poem by David Berman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Submit
To submit a new poem
I must create a new poem
Everyone tries to be the best
You are the best
It's a poerty forum
Not in jest
But for the flow
My life is full of your prose
The truth that arose in our life
The friends we made in our life
So it was a chosen poem
To break up the strife
Not in jest
But for the flow.
Mental Slavery
Around the globe
Mental slavery takes hold…
Be a relationship of not…
Is there always a secret plot…?
Don’t let your culture kill you…
People are variations of you…
Not copies…
You are no stranger…
No matter where you may go…
Be it Dutch land or Germany…
There are something’s which…
You share…
Name it…Claim it…
Left over in your mind…
Is a time standing still…
Eating at your will…
Subjugate your own rehab…
Free your inter-mind…
With your inner soul…
Slavery is alive and well…Done…
Like a rare steak…
Your order please…
Whisperkwane
[email protected]
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hangman's Gallows
Hangman's Gallows
By: Adam M. Snow
The hangman cometh,
to the gallows oaken,
the reapers awaken,
to mend the broken.
The mourners mourn,
a soul that was scorn.
Your judgment comes,
now's the end,
like a dying friend,
laying you at rest,
in a hollowed coffin,
as they dance and jest.
The mark of noose,
around your neck,
if weakness may excuse.
They dance and dance,
they jest and jest,
your blood drips to the deck.
To the blood of dawn,
to the black of dusk,
all tears are gone,
and all who brusque.
All's unspoken,
you're forsaken.
The children screaming,
mothers stopped dreaming,
your body's hanging,
from a waning noose.
All you've done,
your life's abuse.
By dawn the reaper weary,
as time grew dark and eerie.
The hangman cometh,
to the gallows oaken,
with a gauntlet of raw,
for you, who's broken.
poem by Adam M. Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Easy Goin' Feller
Ther' ain't no use in all this strife,
An' hurryin', pell-mell, right thro' life.
I don't believe in goin' too fast
To see what kind o' road you've passed.
It ain't no mortal kind o' good,
'N' I would n't hurry ef I could.
I like to jest go joggin' 'long,
To limber up my soul with song;
To stop awhile 'n' chat the men,
'N' drink some cider now an' then.
Do' want no boss a-standin' by
To see me work; I allus try
To do my dooty right straight up,
An' earn what fills my plate an' cup.
An' ez fur boss, I'll be my own,
I like to jest be let alone,
To plough my strip an' tend my bees,
An' do jest like I doggoned please.
My head's all right, an' my heart's meller,
But I'm a easy-goin' feller.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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