ihatepoetry.blogspot.com
I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz ArchiveI hate Poetry with a capital P. Poetry written by Buddah Moskowitz, Poet Laureate of the Inland Empire.
http://ihatepoetry.blogspot.com/
I hate Poetry with a capital P. Poetry written by Buddah Moskowitz, Poet Laureate of the Inland Empire.
http://ihatepoetry.blogspot.com/
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I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz Archive | ihatepoetry.blogspot.com Reviews
https://ihatepoetry.blogspot.com
I hate Poetry with a capital P. Poetry written by Buddah Moskowitz, Poet Laureate of the Inland Empire.
ihatepoetry.blogspot.com
I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz Archive: Her World Turns On Weakness
http://ihatepoetry.blogspot.com/2015/06/her-world-turns-on-weakness.html
I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz Archive. An Introduction, of Sorts. The Poet's Corner - Buddah Moskowitz. Tuesday, June 30, 2015. Her World Turns On Weakness. Feeling like a cockroach. That even God pitied,. I went to her street. I knew she’d be there. And she surprised me. 8220;you looking for me baby? My blush convicted me. Giving her the once over,. She looked exactly as I. 8220;You haven’t been around lately”. I had dreamed of her lips,. 8220;We can make it like old times. Even though you have.
I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz Archive: An Introduction, of Sorts...
http://ihatepoetry.blogspot.com/p/introduction-of-sorts.html
I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz Archive. An Introduction, of Sorts. The Poet's Corner - Buddah Moskowitz. An Introduction, of Sorts. Poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2012/01/life-of-poet-buddah-moskowitz.html. Life of a Poet - Buddah Moskowitz. Kids, I was tripping around the blogosphere a while ago when I happened upon a poem by one of our members, wishing he could be the subject of an in-depth interview in Rolling Stone………you can read its entirety here. It’s entitled Sort of Famous. I know the odds.
I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz Archive: My Philosophy of Life (for Brian Miller)
http://ihatepoetry.blogspot.com/2015/07/my-philosophy-of-life-for-brian-miller.html
I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz Archive. An Introduction, of Sorts. The Poet's Corner - Buddah Moskowitz. Thursday, July 16, 2015. My Philosophy of Life (for Brian Miller). When I was 7. By the Fullerton News-Tribune. 8220;people are to love. And things are to use.”. It was the first time. Had the clipping,. Ragged and worn,. 25 years later.). And trying to listen. For the voice of God. And espoused atheism,. A life of modest. It made life so rich,. I needed a place. For all my gratitude,. I love the...
I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz Archive: Countrypolitan
http://ihatepoetry.blogspot.com/2015/07/countrypolitan.html
I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz Archive. An Introduction, of Sorts. The Poet's Corner - Buddah Moskowitz. Thursday, July 23, 2015. The sadder the song. The sweeter the sting;. Cutting through the AM static. Why I am helpless. To I follow them. Though their poignant goodbyes. As I watch my sleeping angel. Once she and I lived in. One of those songs. I dared to leave. And join my life. As the songs play. I hear lessons learned. A little too late. Once in my life. I got it right. I really like how you e...
I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz Archive: Translation
http://ihatepoetry.blogspot.com/2015/05/translation.html
I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz Archive. An Introduction, of Sorts. The Poet's Corner - Buddah Moskowitz. Thursday, May 21, 2015. Sugar is my kryptonite. Anger is my pilot light. Booze is my funhouse mirror. Music is my fruit. Time is my mockingbird. Sex is my glue. Writing is my revenge. Groucho is my long lost uncle. Silence is my prayer. Desire is my serpent. Jealousy is my jailer. Gluttony is my downfall. Television is my comfort. Hope is my tomorrow. Fear is my bully. Memory is my curse. Each li...
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smallish tirade | Whimsygizmo's Blog
https://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/2015/08/14/smallish-tirade
Poetic ponderings…parenting…procrastination…. Circadian rhythm in b flat. Poet smoke →. August 14, 2015. This poem is tired. It was all wired up and ready. To go, until it ran out of self. With wings, until. This poem is a scar. No, wait: a star). Too soon, swooned low. By a rising crimson sky. This poem has no sense. Of place, no where. Or how or why. it’s. Waiting for one last good. 8230;……………. This entry was posted in Uncategorized. And tagged not really poeming. Circadian rhythm in b flat. Enter your...
whimsygizmo | Whimsygizmo's Blog
https://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/author/whimsygizmo
Poetic ponderings…parenting…procrastination…. September 3, 2016. 8230; she’s pixie -stick quick and ready to play, all freckle-sprinkle fab -you, lust. imp -ossible things will happen when you kiss her spicy lips, her speckled hips and that place on her inner elbow that makes her sigh. aw, … Continue reading →. September 1, 2016. 365 too-small rooms in a too-long hallway. August 31, 2016. A year in the life. The year of the dragon. August 31, 2016. Of living dangerously of fire and steam and dreams that ...
circadian rhythm in b flat | Whimsygizmo's Blog
https://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/2015/08/13/circadian-rhythm-in-b-flat
Poetic ponderings…parenting…procrastination…. Smallish tirade →. Circadian rhythm in b flat. August 13, 2015. Sleep now, love. Lie loose and cold and worn,. Torn by this world and lulled. By this breeze. hold hands. With the sky, and wonder. How it sings. lullaby your. Way to silence. shall we. Your poor soul,. Your huddled, puddle. Masses. your longing. 8230;…………. Prompted by poetic asides. This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Smallish tirade →. Circadian rhythm in b flat. August 13, 2015 at 10:01 pm.
Penguin Poems: August 2011
http://thepenguinpoet.blogspot.com/2011_08_01_archive.html
A loving, sidelong glance at ordinary life. Tuesday, August 30, 2011. None of us are ready. None of us are ready. Tonight. We float in a. As the tide washes us. None of us are ready. And yet it is time. We. One hand upon the stars. As a new voice sings bright. None of us are ready,. Our arms still tangled in. Each other’s hair, we lift. This wet thing to our chest. And say, “This is a gift. None of us are ready. To receive.” And it’s true. Is chastened before such. None of us are ready,. Sunday, August 2...
bittersweetverse.wordpress.com
Rusty Pen | bittersweetverse
https://bittersweetverse.wordpress.com/2013/12/01/rusty-pen
December 1, 2013. Abandoned in a rusty. Mid-task, a stumbling. Rush, backed up,. Only an exhale, empty. Where Are. The. I just can’t. Writer, poet, lover. http:/ madamesweetcheeks.blogspot.com/ View all posts by bittersweetverse. This entry was posted on Sunday, December 1st, 2013 at 2:18 pm and posted in Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. Year, end. ». 2 responses to “ Rusty Pen. December 1st, 2013 at 3:51 pm. They will find you again…. Go for a walk. Sorry, y...
bittersweetverse.wordpress.com
Year, end. | bittersweetverse
https://bittersweetverse.wordpress.com/2014/01/18/year-end
January 18, 2014. From biting my tongue. So hard for so long, my heart. Can’t even speak through. For every tear shed. In grief, in panic,. In excruciating isolation,. In doubt, in self-loathing and. I open my eyes. 2013, you are the Year of Chaos. I’m too tired. Battle-weary. Worn skinny, exhausted. Down to the dust inside my bones. Too everything to explain. So you just have to believe that. There were hundreds of moments, 2013,. Gifts, I might bitterly say, when. Feeling like I was a crane fly held.
neversayacommonplacething.blogspot.com
Cummings and goings
http://neversayacommonplacething.blogspot.com/2012/11/cummings-and-goings.html
Friday, November 9, 2012. It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.". I have sprouted like a wildflower. In a summer patch of green,. Stretching tall in the happy sun. I have wilted and drooped,. A sad, forgotten weed in the. Midst of a dry, lonely winter. And I have shriveled to dust,. A speck in the breeze that. Away what is left of me. And still I remain -. Weed and wildflower,. Ash and seed, underfoot and in. As you breathe in a lung full of hope and promise. Posted by Kimiko Martinez.
Penguin Poems: November 2011
http://thepenguinpoet.blogspot.com/2011_11_01_archive.html
A loving, sidelong glance at ordinary life. Tuesday, November 29, 2011. What if Jesus had been a union man,. And his twelve disciples had all been plumbers? Or tool-and-die guys, or even. Imagine the parables that might have been told. Of leaking U-bends, and toner cartridges. Found at the back of the supply cupboard,. Right behind the post-its and motivational t-shirts. His mother would have run the show. For sure – along with all the other stalwarts. Who had paid their dues over the years. Some long-de...
Penguin Poems: December 2011
http://thepenguinpoet.blogspot.com/2011_12_01_archive.html
A loving, sidelong glance at ordinary life. Tuesday, December 20, 2011. Reading the paper placemat at Colombo’s). Start at the heel of the boot,. At the sumptuously-named Lecce,. And run your finger around the graceful. Toe, beaded with Sicilian heat. Move slowly upwards, pausing at the knee. To genuflect at the Holy City, then on. To gaze in awe at the high-swept sinews. Of the landscape leading up to Assisi. Come around the thigh, taking time to. Taste the savors of Bologna, Parma, Genoa,. Upwards by t...
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Diary of a Mad Woman
Comment-link {margin-left:.6em;}. Diary of a Mad Woman. I'm not really mad, it's just a twist on an Ozzy song. It's about who I am, writing, and what goes on in my life and my head. Saturday, April 29, 2006. I think I took this one already. Oh well. Guys Like That You're Sensitive. And not in that "cry at a drop of a hat" sort of way. You just get most guys - even if you're not trying to. Guys find it is easy to confide in you and tell you their secrets. What Do Guys Like About You? Links to this post.
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I hate pocketless jeans
I hate pocketless jeans. TAME IMPALA - ‘Cause I’m A Man (HAIM Remix). 2011 2015 - I hate pocketless jeans - Powered by Tumblr. UltraZen Theme by UltraLinx.
Site - mrs. enix's poetry unit
Mrs enix's poetry unit. I don't like poetry, this site was a pain in the butt to create, along with the poems. Create a free website.
ihatepoetry.biz
I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz Archive
I Hate Poetry: The Buddah Moskowitz Archive. Monday, March 26, 2018. As a former boy,. I don’t care. If it makes you. Written for https:/ dversepoets.com/2018/03/26/quadrille-53-egg/]. Wednesday, March 14, 2018. Fire is the Best Teacher. It doesn’t waste time. With words or clucking tongues. Warm your tired, rattling bones. Of my Mexican grandfather. And check and double check. The burners on the stove,. The unattended curling iron. It could all be over. If you’ve only. Thursday, March 08, 2018. As I gaz...
I Hate Poetry
Hello, I've Moved! Apr 1st, 2011 at 12:41 PM. Ive moved to a new site: Follow me there! Http:/ ihatepoetry.blogspot.com. Thanks for your loyal readership,. Disappointed (prompt: looking back). Apr 20th, 2010 at 3:36 PM. I want to deny. A cachet that we. We can admit it now:. After six years of dating. Wanted to get married. But we went on with it. Anyway because we didn’t. Want to lose face or. In romantic San Francisco. Lost its steam after. Being married to you. 141 days of my life. Even as it unraveled.
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I Hate Poetry: The New Buddah Moskowitz Poetry Archive on WordPress | Accept no imitations! This is the real Moskowitz – now on WordPress!
I Hate Poetry: The New Buddah Moskowitz Poetry Archive on WordPress. This is the real Moskowitz – now on WordPress! I’ve Moved…. September 1, 2015. Thanks for coming by, I”m now at…. I Hate Poetry: The New Buddah Moskowitz Archive. Hope I see you there! I’ve Moved…. Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com. I Hate Poetry: The New Buddah Moskowitz Poetry Archive on WordPress. Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.
I Hate Poetry.com
I Hate Poetry.com. Don't you hate: P. There will never be a shortage of self-anointed critics,. Self-appointed judges of all manner of things,. Of people and events,. Large and small,. Those who educate,. Those who obfuscate,. Those with knowledge,. Those who somehow believe it is their mission,. Their calling to point a thumb up or down. We are blanketed with so many critics whose only qualification is ego,. Whose pronouncements are so soon forgotten. Honest intellectual inquiry,. To illuminate the past.
