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The changing guests, each in a different mood,
Sit at the roadside table and arise:
And every life among them in likewise
Is a soul’s board set daily with new food.
What man has bent o’er his son’s sleep, to brood
How that face shall watch his when cold it lies?—
Or thought, as his own mother kissed his eyes,
Of what her kiss was when his father wooed?

May not this ancient room thou sit’st in dwell
In separate living souls for joy or pain?
Nay, all its corners may be painted plain
Where Heaven shows pictures of some life spent well;
And may be stamped, a memory all in vain,
Upon the sight of lidless eyes in Hell.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.like any western, but unlike every western... the true grit... one eyed... it's not called: i'm blinking... it's called... the blink. the English language can never have... what is it... gender neutrality? the words are already gender neutral! the words in the English are neither masculine, or feminine... it's ******* to ask for something that's already in place! you know what obstructs the gentrification of words in the English language? how the sun is not feminine and the moon is not masculine? the articles... the English orientated their language around a-the        slightly missing the -ism... the English didn't create their language with a gender orientation of nouns, but other European languages orientated their nouns around gender inclusiveness... but you can't just... change the ******* grammar... call a triangle a ******* rhombus on a whim that belongs in the asylum... blah blah do ****... is this how civilized language is supposed to disintegrate into?! this is not religion... you can't simply replace grammatical dogma with heretical "protestantism" to gain something counter to 1 + 1 = 2, or a + t + t + e + s +t = attest... yes, confirm... what with that the politicians are doing in Canada... post-nationalism? post-nationalism, ensured with a post-grammatical structure of what should be the post-nationalist playground of the use of language? the two... together?! so... no nationalism, and no grammar... seems about the right time to separate the state from the state... and call the following dynamic: juggle act: catch one if you can! how can you expect to change the grammatical sub-structure of English?! nouns are not gentrified in the equivalent ontology of other, European languages! how can you expect gender neutrality... when the nouns of said language... are already gender neutral!? and that's because English is particular in the definite (the) and the indefinite (a) article articulation... this is the crux... the pivot... as to why nouns are not associated with either femininity or masculinity... which is why i didn't learn French in high-school... i was taught French from the rubric of grammar... i was taught the rules, before i was being taught to speak, and break the rules of speaking English... who the **** requires to learn a language, having to learn the arithmetic of lettering in the encompassing genesis of staging a craft of the linguist with, said grammar?! language is not universal... noun is no surd... verb is no integer... je suis is no 1 + 1 = 2... but like i said before... you're talking about pandering to linguistic retards... they might not be mad enough to enjoy the rainbow plethora of pharmacology... but sure as ****... they're linguistic retards... sorry, the saddest truth is... somehow... the most fun to attest in concurrence; oh right... that western, true grit... well... whether you're John Wayne or Jeff Bridges... one eye still intact? it's not a blinking... it's called the blink... no, and it's not even a blink... see how English is fascinating when singularity and pluralism enters the arena of the direct / indirect articulation? and to think the English wanted to debate a non-existent gender association of nouns that the French, the Polaks can have... but you sorry *******... ain't getting it!

so...

    a juggling act...

(insert a snigger)

   lindsay shepherd's
video: exposing grad school
(my m. a. experience)

and...............

         bon jovi's
blaze of glory

       bon jovi! wooooooooooooo!

god, i'm so stereotypical.
i should have signed up
becoming a side-burner
for some ******* Kentucky
redneck.

p.s. is stereotypical
synonymous
with predictable?
that's actually a genuine question
of, rather than answering the question
itself, answering the per se
curiosity; savvy?

so what is it... Bub "the blue" Clí 'n' Son?
***** needin'
to ****?
watcha gonna do Bub?
               hold up the, "spanker"?!

---------------------------------------

and some days, in england, and it's june,
and 10pm feels like 7pm in some other season
and it reminds me of the white nights
of st. petersburg....
   insomnia and ******* a girl for seven hours...
oh the ******* bit was fun,
don't get me wrong,
   i had to wait 2 weeks before she let me
do it to her in the bath...
****** ready... she was on her period,
but misguided:
  last time i heard...
            ******* on a period eases
the period pains...
      eh... gritty flesh bits on the rubber...
problem? what problem?!

    no wonder then: i hate drinking buddies...
people dumb down upon ingesting
alcohol, i'm talking: 2D objects in 3D space
akin to fern bushes in the 1st tomb raider
(black holes - a paradox,
   a 2D object spinning really fast in
an infinite 3D space... copernican east?
copernican west? i hope the rabbi knows)...

days like this, oh all the days like this...
when you wake up,
jump out of bed... and dance naked in your
room listening to KULT's
          brooklyńska rada Żydów -
two music genres i never got into:
punk and rap...
   well... "mediocre" punk...
   californian, the offspring,
  the usual suspects of the ramones,
*** pistols, stiff little fingers, mainstream *******...
ska... now we're talking...
hip hop contra rap: now we're talking...

such a beautiful day...
    a chestnut mushroom cream sauce with
snippets of turkey, of course the fresh parsley...
bay leaf, one clove, two all-spice buds...

    and... i'm really tired of looking up
h'america's ***...
    i sometimes thank god that i'm not
english for the sole reason that i don't have
to mind the "special relationship",
like i'm being owed or owning someone
for the respects of sharing the same lingo...

you want the other "special relationship"?
it began with Casimir III...
east... well: central europe...
eastern europe without borders,
purely geographic: is situated somewhere
in russia...
          borders condense...
last time i visited the home away from home
i found new music...
pablopavo i ludziki...
             the polonaise and the jews...
how many terrorist attacks in poland
while the islamists were having a funfair
elsewhere? gullible schvabs and swedes...
  (swabians, that's a slang for the ol' deutsche
deutsche back east - kacap ('tss wet snare
on the c) for the russians)...
       0...
                  funny (even)...
the map of recent terrorist attacks...
     and... the map of the spread of the bubonic
plague... a certain region remains
immune...
       even i agreed with my uncle:
better the catholic ******* than islamic
propaganda... mind you...
        sh'ite islam: thumbs up!
always pay due dues to the underdogs...
and if islam truly was a religion
to gobble up all other religions...
      a schism over such a petty affair
including Ali - the son in law of Muhammad
and Muhammad breaking his promise...

    oy vey!
     how else was i going to get out of bed
to dance naked to anything
but the ska song: brooklyńska rada Żydów?
what other option?
      black ox orkestar's bukharian?
                                             oy vey!
funny story from amsterdam...
me and this egyptian were sharing a hostel
room with these two germans,
who wasted 'shrooms on sitting indoors
watching h'american dad...

   we took a different route...
   he smoked, i drank, he had a bottle of
***** with him,
architect, i can't remember his name,
a keen eye for grand doodles in a notebook...
but then i decided to take a ****
after a few beers while he put
headphones into my ears and played
me le trio joubran's - masar...
        i even managed to attract the attention
of a dutch girl who seemed...
rather gobsmacked...
   i literally went into the nod-state
associated with ****** junkies...
but with eyes closed and mouth agape...
feeding off the ****** of the void...
i.e. the ****** of the void?
    when you're not chained to thinking...
the self disintegrates,
              thinking disintegrates...
and with the music: the void became
pulverizing me with vibration after
vibration echoing a chanced comparison
to a heart-beat mingling with
the fuzzy rippling and vibrating effect of
   the eye-sight of some insect...

yes yes... blah blah...
    boasting... boasting my ***...
am i here to feel sorry for myself,
to drown in my take on some perfect love
i could offer?
      no really...
               i've always had the two best
companions to begin with...
my shadow and a blank piece of pixel
paper perfectly coupled to my idle /
itchy finger-tips...
   well, a third: ms. amber...
                         i learned over a year ago
that drinking with familiar people
****** me off... drinking with strangers?
oh sure, great time...
the best times when drinking in public
are with strangers...
"friends" (fwends) are just too nostalgic,
they want to remind you of something,
notably some micro-aggression nonsense
of a past grievance...
                   don't drink with "friends"...
every time i did: i would wake up
the next morning *******...
cursing them, putting on a mocking voice...

me me me... oh poow meeeeeeeeeeee...
   *******...
               so? i learned to adapt in
liking my own company...
it's not much, but sure as **** beats
listening to a bunch of drunken, nagging housewives;
i'm pretty sure a man should have been
in that slot of the space between my
3rd and 4th pint of guinness;
alas! not to be!
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.                                oh, have you heard of that
the times headline?
        visas for men who force
teenagers into marriage
...
some Bangladeshi beauty,
aged 15...
had to marry a 30 year old...
god... i'm loving this
"enforced" celibacy...
      i get to see as many buckling
horses, broken jockey necks
and broken horse legs as
i might, and do, digest...
   but my ethnicity is":
vermin...
   guess a ******* **** wrote
that piece... then
his compatriot ***** 10 english
damsels... my bad...
i'm in the wrong...
                                    oops?
now you've tangled yourself
with a quasi Mongol,
                      a wels catfish...

i hate, hate, the english bourgeoise...
notably?
   because they "think" all slavic
migrants are builders!
the english bourgeoise... what's that
word?
             flagellation?
no.. stripping of the skin, exposing
the muscles... with sushi precision
of remaining intent...
     the home office turned a blind eye...
oh... are there any adherents
to the Bangladeshi culture
working in your "MI5" environment?
sure as **** there are example...

now bow over the erected excess of
a ledge, drop your undergarments -
and let's... penetrate...
    why expect ***** from the English,
given their current success
of defending homosexuality?
    see how many existential inclusiveness
you have with that,
with homosexuality as the norm...
ahem...
               so why were the asylums
abolished?
   the humanity revision tactic...
stigma...

    over in england...
someone who's bilingual is, somehow,
magically, a: "problem" -
somehow bilingualism is a problem
(unless you have a foreign accent) -
bilingualism is, "apparently",
                 schizophrenia!

well.... d'uh! it's poetics,
   i am closely associated to the metaphor,
but it is only a metaphor...
beyond that?
                 let's see...
  how you'll play along to the future...
           YE, ******'... *****!
oh wait... i'm not the former
British Raj...
                        seems the second world
war didn't start, when the british
decided to side with the Poles...
    and my fetish for using the german
tongue?
    ****... the jews received their
back-logged payments...
the Poles didn't even receive a Marshall Plan...

look... communism worked...
   for one generation...
and communism will always work,
for one generation...
  and there is a place for socialism...
it involves a one generational lifespan...
post-war dynamics...
  and that's it!
               you need socialism
in the most extreme scenarios -
notably - post civil war...
                 notably Syria...
one generation's worth of socialism,
and then people can revert back
to capitalism,
   but socialism... is a safety economic
mechanism in the most extreme
cases of it, requiring implementation...

it's effective, in a constrained time-frame,
it's actually necessary -
given the civil war...
how is a Syrian butcher, supposed
to trust a Syrian cobbler -
when mediating trust,
   with foreign investment firms?
no... socialism is an expansive
format of mediating solipsism -
to reengage the collective -
in what becomes individualism -
from a solipsistic genesis...

   socialism can't be made critical
as a competitor system...
a fail-safe mechanism...
   in extreme scenarios -
post scriptum civil war,
  post scriptum a foreign invasion
recanted...
   there is no place for capitalism
in such places...
   but it's only with worth of
exercise, within only one generation...

my grandfather is the perfect
example...
   he and his school comrades,
cried, when Stalin died...
             it (socialism) has a place
in this world...
         in the most extreme scenario...
post scriptum an aftermath of war,
whether by foreign proxy
engagement, or by internal civil
unrest...
       socialism needs to be allowed
the time frame of, only,
               but one generation...

and then capitalism can allow
equilibrium...
              
            critique of marxism always
seemed to be an "antisemitic"
critique, misplaced, while also allowing
the posit of Engels -
          
one generation -
     and then people can ease in competition -
but there has to be a mediating
time-frame, in the most extreme case
scenarios -
   civil war, or foreign military investment
in a power-overthrow...

yet capitalism still has problems...
neutral problems to me minding them...
primarily the convenience /
inconvenience of
                      the surplus economy...    
capitalism is still learning
from the clown, as to how to juggle...

you seriously can't call one system
pristine, holy, while calling another -
which has lost the status of competitor:
unholy, heretical, lost...

   socialism has a use...
              capitalism via the Marshall
Plan hasn't exactly saved west western Europe...
the nations that inherited
the self-determination of the soviet
mind-set?
     and not U.S. money?
   hear of any terrorism within
               their tribal confines?

i wish the Syrians a generational
gap... of socialism...
afterwards? as much capitalism
as the Syrians can invoke...
   but not, not until
    there is a guiding socialist generational
gap, to get them,
back to the glory of the former
Damascus.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
the i.q. (intelligence quotient) is hardly representative,
you can bishop-streak as a tourist to Giza and get
the same result... quotient etymologically speaking
is simply a quote, statistically represented -
meaning it only gathered answers from
the μ - median, mean, and meridian, also
a fond mention of mode: we all wish to sleep as peacefully
as the dead, necromancy with the pepper & salt shakers
for the fancy... stirrup hunch to giddy up,
and that makes two of us qualm bitter with
                                                    the grey matter
unexposed in chess tournaments.
i.q. (intelligence quotient) v. i.i. (intelligence inclusiveness):
that too.. statistics means a lot of autism
and many tiger mommies... preferably with surname Chang....
bright kid / always the dummies -
make that five years after the the show,
show them bullied... n'ah, you wont.
meaning the only thing included is
a pyramid and competitiveness, rather than shared
genius - which is hard to come by -
yes, the inclusiveness bit of the Rubik's cube solved
like Pavlov's tongue and the palette of a dog
given Sumerian cuisine to slobber over
when ingesting a tablespoon of cinnamon as the
other educated guess: the educated joke, universities
are famous for them being practised.
thus μ and the statistician's consonant... constant...
three tiers of synonymous bishops making up one
cardinal - intelligence is well enough quotient's worth
and the pyramid for a competitive streak of further events...
but such intelligence performed as example among
children doesn't qualify others to share the oncoming demise...
we need intelligence of an inclusive nature,
not a statistical correspondence with economists dodging
hard questions with quick investment answers...
we need people to tell the difference between
inclusiveness on the plural scaling of being a part of,
rather than an exclusiveness on the plural scaling of not being
a part of (alter: an exclusiveness on the solipsistic slave-scaling
of simply da sein - i.e. being there) -
i get the pronoun ambiguity, whenever there's no i involved
and it's purely a thing, everyone in the factory asks for the
Schindler's List - whether or not people are organic or
prosthetic(s) extending into a network of parasite or host
economy projects, and people ask those questions;
meaning? people are more likely to dismiss the idea of
a soul (an indestructible part of themselves, whether
contemporary or far fetched in terms of: ahead - Kant lives on
from the 18th century, plastic surgery will make others like you
take up the augmentation many decades later... there is always
something indestructible about you... it's called recycling
in the transference of physics, or metaphysics, the soul is like
an atom... it's indestructible... but your ego isn't... your ego
has no correlative support of the soul - your soul is an
indestructible unit, prone to gravity e.g., but your ego is prone
to the more pervasive moral force, which gravity isn't
a part of in term of monotheist glue... namely conscience...
the indestructible part of your isn't a self-conscious Jungian
jargon bit watered with control that you're aware of...
the soul, the unit of indestructibility is the unconscious bit...
which is why we continue to have actors, poets, plumbers,
bus drivers... you can't destroy the soul in the collective
unconscious sense of things... the indestructible element of
your being continues regardless of your wish to sell
out and profit or take an overly conscious case of
being aware of conning the selfish gene stipend on Wall Street...
it still bites back at your **** for showing off your yacht
rather than your Mongolian yurt.
the soul is real... not in an individualised sense of things...
the individual is completely destroyed... constantly revised
via recycling... a lot of Hinduism makes his plainer but
more mythical and less hoarse in its reality of death -
the soul is a continuum, the indestructible capacity of
preservation, preservation rather than evolution -
anti-Darwinism? the preservationists... apply poetic rhyming
to ideas and the truth is ******* boring - poetry can decipher
GRAND PLATINUM ORNATE GALAS OF STATE AFFAIRS
by looking at the suffixes... and rhyming them together
getting the toad's ******* of October Fest's burps...
it is time to learn how to write poetry outside of poetry...
it's time to write testaments, it's time to write biblical accounts
of our lives... there's not time for pretty verse...
it's at this precise moment when poetry has become too
technical in theory and mundane in practice...
use this zenith moment to read language across all genres...
and never applying it for a poetic expression...
look! the paupers are numerous! but these paupers are
octopus handy in picking your ten pockets!
to have reached the plateau of Darwinism as having to preserve...
to have reached the penultimate affair of the prone
destructibility of identity, personality, character (Thesaurus Rex's
RA! or the complete synonymous archive of ego) - meaning
that the soul was a plumber you never were given
the Saturday of the appointment, and your chronology being
that of a Ford Automobile salesman in some showroom in Peckham.
judy smith Sep 2016
When I was chief creative officer for Liz Claiborne Inc., I spent a good amount of time on the road hosting fashion shows highlighting our brands. Our team made a point of retaining models of various sizes, shapes and ages, because one of the missions of the shows was to educate audiences about how they could look their best. At a Q&A; after one event in Nashville in 2010, a woman stood up, took off her jacket and said, with touching candour: “Tim, look at me. I’m a box on top, a big, square box. How can I dress this shape and not look like a fullback?” It was a question I’d heard over and over during the tour: Women who were larger than a size 12 always wanted to know, How can I look good, and why do designers ignore me?

At New York Fashion Week, which began Thursday, the majority of American women are unlikely to receive much attention, either. Designers keep their collections tightly under wraps before sending them down the runway, but if past years are any indication of what’s to come, plus-size looks will be in short supply. Sure, at New York Fashion Week in 2015, Marc Jacobs and Sophie Theallet each featured a plus-size model and Ashley Graham debuted her plus-size lingerie line. But these moves were very much the exception, not the rule.

I love the American fashion industry, but it has a lot of problems and one of them is the baffling way it has turned its back on plus-size women. It’s a puzzling conundrum. The average American woman now wears between a size 16 and a size 18, according to new research from Washington State University. There are 100 million plus-size women in America, and, for the past three years, they have increased their spending on clothes faster than their straight-size counterparts. There is money to be made here ($20.4 billion (U.S.), up 17 per cent from 2013). But many designers — dripping with disdain, lacking imagination or simply too cowardly to take a risk — still refuse to make clothes for them.

In addition to the fact that most designers max out at size 12, the selection of plus-size items on offer at many retailers is paltry compared with what’s available for a size 2 woman. According to a Bloomberg analysis, only 8.5 per cent of dresses on Nordstrom.com in May were plus-size. At J.C. Penney’s website, it was 16 per cent; Nike.com had a mere five items — total.

I’ve spoken to many designers and merchandisers about this. The overwhelming response is, “I’m not interested in her.” Why? “I don’t want her wearing my clothes.” Why? “She won’t look the way that I want her to look.” They say the plus-size woman is complicated, different and difficult, that no two size 16s are alike. Some haven’t bothered to hide their contempt. “No one wants to see curvy women” on the runway, Karl Lagerfeld, head designer of Chanel, said in 2009. Plenty of mass retailers are no more enlightened: under the tenure of chief executive Mike Jeffries, Abercrombie & Fitch sold nothing larger than a size 10, with Jeffries explaining that “we go after the attractive, all-American kid.”

This a design failure and not a customer issue. There is no reason larger women can’t look just as fabulous as all other women. The key is the harmonious balance of silhouette, proportion and fit, regardless of size or shape. Designs need to be reconceived, not just sized up; it’s a matter of adjusting proportions. The textile changes, every seam changes. Done right, our clothing can create an optical illusion that helps us look taller and slimmer. Done wrong, and we look worse than if we were naked.

Have you shopped retail for size 14-plus clothing? Based on my experience shopping with plus-size women, it’s a horribly insulting and demoralizing experience. Half the items make the body look larger, with features like ruching, box pleats and shoulder pads. Pastels and large-scale prints and crazy pattern-mixing abound, all guaranteed to make you look infantile or like a float in a parade. Adding to this travesty is a major department-store chain that makes you walk under a marquee that reads “WOMAN.” What does that even imply? That a “woman” is anyone larger than a 12 and everyone else is a girl? It’s mind-boggling.

Project Runway, the design competition show on which I’m a mentor, has not been a leader on this issue. Every season we have the “real women” challenge (a title I hate), in which the designers create looks for non-models. The designers audibly groan, though I’m not sure why; in the real world, they won’t be dressing a seven-foot-tall glamazon.

This season, something different happened: Ashley Nell Tipton won the contest with the show’s first plus-size collection. But even this achievement managed to come off as condescending. I’ve never seen such hideous clothes in my life: bare midriffs; skirts over crinoline, which give the clothes, and the wearer, more volume; see-through skirts that reveal *******; pastels, which tend to make the wearer look juvenile; and large-scale floral embellishments that shout “prom.” Her victory reeked of tokenism. One judge told me that she was “voting for the symbol” and that these were clothes for a “certain population.” I said they should be clothes all women want to wear. I wouldn’t dream of letting any woman, whether she’s a size 6 or a 16, wear them. Simply making a nod toward inclusiveness is not enough.

This problem is difficult to change. The industry, from the runway to magazines to advertising, likes subscribing to the mythology it has created of glamour and thinness. Look at Vogue’s “Shape Issue,” which is ostensibly a celebration of different body types but does no more than nod to anyone above a size 12. For decades, designers have trotted models with bodies completely unattainable for most women down the runway. First it was women so thin that they surely had eating disorders. After an outcry, the industry responded by putting young teens on the runway, girls who had yet to exit puberty. More outrage.

But change is not impossible. There are aesthetically worthy retail successes in this market. When helping women who are size 14 and up, my go-to retailer is Lane Bryant. While the items aren’t fashion with a capital F, they are stylish (but please avoid the cropped pants — always a no-no for any woman). And designer Christian Siriano scored a design and public relations victory after producing a look for Leslie Jones to wear to the “Ghostbusters” red-carpet premiere. Jones, who is not a diminutive woman, had tweeted in despair that she couldn’t find anyone to dress her; Siriano stepped in with a lovely full-length red gown.

Several retailers that have stepped up their plus-size offerings have been rewarded. In one year, ModCloth doubled its plus-size lineup. To mark the anniversary, the company paid for a survey of 1,500 American women ages 18 to 44 and released its findings: Seventy-four per cent of plus-size women described shopping in stores as “frustrating”; 65 per cent said they were “excluded.” (Interestingly, 65 per cent of women of all sizes agreed that plus-size women were ignored by the fashion industry.) But the plus-size women surveyed also indicated that they wanted to shop more. More than 80 per cent said they’d spend more on clothing if they had more choices in their size and nearly 90 per cent said they would buy more if they had trendier options. According to the company, its plus-size shoppers place 20 per cent more orders than its straight-size customers.

Online start-up Eloquii, initially conceived and then killed by The Limited, was reborn in 2014. The trendy plus-size retailer, whose top seller is an over-the-knee boot with four-inch heels and extended calf sizes, grew its sales volume by more than 165 per cent in 2015.

Despite the huge financial potential of this market, many designers don’t want to address it. It’s not in their vocabulary. Today’s designers operate within paradigms that were established decades ago, including anachronistic sizing. (Consider the fashion show: It hasn’t changed in more than a century.) But this is now the shape of women in this nation, and designers need to wrap their minds around it. I profoundly believe that women of every size can look good. But they must be given choices. Separates — tops, bottoms — rather than single items like dresses or jumpsuits always work best for the purpose of fit. Larger women look great in clothes skimming the body, rather than hugging or cascading. There’s an art to doing this. Designers, make it work.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
Seher Seven Oct 2015
time changes
and I realize the world needs my LOVE.
so I want to write more love poems
and infect heartstreams,
bursting valve seams, repairing flows.
carrying capacities need expanding,
deep breath felt.
simplicities stacking, and all else is.

decension, the reflection of ascension,
is being dug.
the perspective has always been from above.
time to root down, bury down, dig deep
in the ground and bring the LOVE down.
in the darker side, where light struggles sometimes,
here, this minor level, that many feel is
real,
this place needs the panting of love
to be rained down.

souls duped to believe
evil is abound.
cycles are always dark and light
and layers are thin.
pay closer attention to the place
where to the two meet again,
that point, moment, peace.
listen to its speech, the flow of a new
sprout on a tree,
the fungus sprawl through its wood.
stretching its love from underground,
above, to feed and seed and heed
the lessons here.
biodiversity, nourishment, interdependence,
just being loving. nurturing,
to      your     self, the total inclusiveness...

our carry capacity for LOVE is infinity.
eights will flow infinitely, so we just let it be,
walk easily, stop and discover those on our path.
discover the magic of home.
Del Maximo Mar 2013
they said he should submit this
make submissions and do readings
this is the way it’s been done
for many years
but he didn’t really want to
a couple of rejections left him weary
and he’s a writer not a performer

the contests say “all styles and subjects”
but surely they have criteria
not this one
not this one
this one
the all inclusiveness is a lie
the judges know what they want
he wished they’d be up front and specific
but it’s all about the entry fee
they pretend to be seeders
offering everyone a chance
to grow and bloom
but they’re actually weeders
quickly quashing poems
rubber stamped with doom
they never really stood a chance
because it’s all about the entry fee

“Don’t self publish”, they said
“You’ll regret it”
he did the design and layout anyway
“Can ‘we’ make changes to the cover?”
who the hell is “we”?
this is his book?
sure he wanted sales
that’s what publishing is about
but sink or swim
he wanted his book, his way
especially his first book
and he’s a stubborn *******

the internet is accommodating
this IT age makes it easier
the process has been long
with glitches and obstacles
doubt and procrastination
but the would be destination was worthy
available at amazon
© March 2, 2013

Please buy my book.
vamsi sai mohan Dec 2014
I want to reside at the brink to that eternity,
where your eyelids confluence and letting me slip into that consciousness,
There where every rivulet of drops is drifted by the impetus of love and inclusiveness.
daniela Nov 2016
I went to bed last night crying my eyes out. I kept telling my mother that this meant that people were going to die. This was the first election I got to vote in and I was so fearful that would be the last if this is what the outcome was.

My dad has lived in the USA since 1984, when he came here for college. He speaks English with a thick accent but still more thoughtfully than many native speakers I know. He pays his taxes. He lives here legally. He may not be a citizen, but this is his country too. This is his home. And now I am afraid. I am afraid of what will happen in the coming months, now that the hatred of immigrants has been more than justified. I am afraid that he’ll face outright violence for being passionate and opinionated and unapologetically himself.

Yesterday, I was nervous, yes, and I didn’t expect a landslide. I expected the margin that was much of close for comfort but I still expected Hillary to win. We all did. The truth of it is, we all underestimated how utterly racist and sexist the country we live in is. A candidate in America ran on a platform steeped in racism and sexism, and we elected him over the most qualified woman to ever run. As CNN’s Danielle Moodie-Mills said: “This is white supremacy’s last stand.”

I recognize my privilege as someone who's Latino yet still very much white passing, but now I have to wake up everyday in a country who hates people like me because our culture is different, because we're not "from here", because we represent the other. I am the daughter of a Latino immigrant and to know that much of this country so afraid of us and so hateful for towards us, towards people like me and with families like mine, that this could happen is so unbelievably painful.

The fact that we could ever elect someone accused of ****** assault by dozens of women, someone who’s running-mate advocates conversion therapy for LGBTQ youth and overturn of Roe V Wade in 2016, someone who is so woefully unqualified and unfit because our nation couldn’t stand the idea of female president is unbelievably painful.

I’ve spent the six months working with local Democratic campaigns to reverse the absolutely irresponsible and disastrous direction that my home state of Kansas has been sprinting in for the last few years and now it feels like the whole country is following us on our way down. I’ve mades thousands and thousands of phone calls, knocked on doors every corner of my district, and spoken to countless numbers of other people who are fed up as I am. I woke yesterday at 4:15AM so I could be getting out the vote by 5 AM and I stayed up until they called the results last night and then a few hours after that unable to sleep.

There’s no way around how much it ***** when you get involved, when you canvass and you speak out, when you attempt to educate people, when you go out and vote, when you fight the good fight and you still lose to a faction of fearful people overwhelmed by hate.

It feels like my future and our country’s future has been stolen away by an older generation who will not even be there to see it, who are blinded by hatred and misogyny and racism.

In the last few weeks, I’ve sent off a number of college applications. In my essay I wrote about perhaps the most topical issue of this election and one that will always feel deeply personal to me: immigration and racism that bolsters those who are so staunchly against it, those who want to build a wall or start a registry for Muslims or bar Syrian refugees because they are so afraid of the changing face of America not being the same complexion as them. In my essay I wrote this:

“And yet as the Republican presidential nominee stands on a platform that is so staunchly anti-immigration and, frankly, racist that it might feel more at home in 1916 than 2016, I have hope. President Obama’s family tree, his American born mother and foreign born father, resembles mine in a way that no one’s before him has. Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton bursts onto the Broadway stage, reminding us that America was, in its very best version of itself, born as country where even “orphan immigrants” could rise up and make a difference. An Olympic team comprised of refugees gets a standing ovation in the Opening Ceremonies in Rio. I am reminded of why my family, year after year, continues to run our booth. We don’t do it because it’s fun. We do it because we’re proud of where we’re from, we do it because we don’t ever want to forget that. We share our cultural in a fierce refusal to leave it behind. And that's important. Now more than ever.”

Yes, I feel completely disheartened by this election. As a woman and a Latina and queer kid, I feel completely failed by the American promise today. I feel failed by a political system where a candidate can win a large number of the vote but not the White House. I feel failed by the fact a major party in our country let racism and xenophobia swell in its base for years then had the audacity to act surprised when a man endorsed by the KKK became their nominee and president-elect. I feel like we’ve failed everyone I know who cannot vote and terrified over what this victory will means for them and those they love.

So yes, today is undeniably a dark day in our history. On the surface, my father is the one in my family who has the most to fear, but right now he is the most optimistic person in our house. So I cannot abide by being hopeless. And I know this is just another post, article, tweet, opinion, essay right now among a thousands of others. A drop in the bucket. But I remain committed to the belief that writing is powerful and important.

I know that it feels so incredibly hopeless right now, but it’ll only be more so if we let ourselves become apathetic. Stay committed to change and love and inclusiveness. Be loud, be angry, and fight a Trump presidency tooth and nail. Please, please do not become complacent. We cannot afford it.
my heart is so heavy.  be loud, be angry, be proud, fight back. do not accept that we cannot fight this horror. the majority of our country still believes in a better future and they voted for it. and please be safe, friends.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
poetry is the perfect tool to plagiarise, well, technically "plagiarise", since it involves the circle, akimbo, a micro akimbo shuffle, sketching the same statue over and over until full circle, 360°.

paris, ah, paris, well d'uh, paris,
umbrella rich paris in the summer,
first year in edinburgh and it wasn't Scottish,
sunshine throughout the year,
one morn took to feet  and kneeling climbed
arthur's seat (figure of speech,
i.e. not really) to see the sunrise
better, came down, went into
a supermarket and bought myself
a bucket of cornflakes,
third year i danced on the old college
roof in the night listening to
the shins' *new slang
,
tried getting a girl up on the roof,
failed, i said:
by the white fluorescent tangles
and dangles of the firth of forth are
coming up like the northern lights!
she didn't care... on a roof on
prince's street threw chimney parts
off the roof... could have killed
someone... on the same street
a year before on hogmanay kissed
a ****** in a wheelchair in full love
for the new year, got scolded by yet
another girl... god, this misogyny isn't
really working out...
on a date in a jazz cafe, first time i read
a rendition of neil young's old man
loved it so much, got confused by
the girl dragging me into the ceilidth twirl
pit akin to turkish sufi dervishes with a partner...
but paris man... oh man...
first time round we drunk ourselves
into silly animals dubbed children,
ran out of the hostel / bar into the streets
trying to find the compass point of
the city that's the eiffel tower,
didn't find...
broke an italian girl's heart, my sprechen es
tour guide, who took me atop the sacre coeur,
hostel's name? something duck...
not quacking duck, laughing duck? don't know.
second time i had a canadian-russian
tour-guide speaking quebec french (i know,
the cliche irony)...
we spanked baguettes and cheese and wine
and talk of literature bundles together
as the sun settled beneath the eiffel tower on the grass,
a group of french girls were deliberating
a fancy of my lean legs and armpits (when
i weighed 86kg and was suntanned),
and the best moment of my second weekend stay
in paris?
watching a guy high on ecstasy play ping pong
to a drum & bass drumbeat in a shady parisian club,
true too with the hand movement,
higher than a kite in a sky of diamonds he was,
and, it was fun to remember it:
no brooding exercise of thought:
memory attracts no thinking, just re-imagination
and memory in orthodox terms is happy nostalgia:
it happened because i was there...
not this modern paris the slum **** hole of algeria;
apropos - modern leftists and their censorship
of people's vocabulary... listen...
i had long conversations with a communist
party member, ok, an ex-communist party member
(my grandfather), your socialism is ridiculing
vocabulary... added to the fact that this proto-atheism
is exclusive, it's not communist inclusiveness:
god is dead, lets work together,
origin of the species and corporation,
now everyone's as selfish as a tsar...
there's not togetherness - i'd rather be a jessy james
in such times than a robber of thinking something
doesn't exist... and that's my conscience on the matter.
Bob B Nov 2016
Much of America is mourning still--
Mourning the light extinguished when
Heedlessness embraced false promise;
Mourning the loss of what could have been;

Mourning the hope of a glorious day
Darkened by a cloud of despair
And sincere interconnectedness
Became replaced by vanity fair;

Mourning the loss of a heart that beat
For all and not for a limited few,
And coarseness received people's praise,
And true refinement became taboo;

Mourning a dream of inclusiveness
With all-embracing open arms
When a nightmare smothered it
And drowned out warnings and alarms;

Mourning the flower of optimism
With hope in every opening bud
When weeds with thorns of cynicism  
Flourished, and hope was dripping in blood;

Mourning the renewed freshness of spring
And the calm peace of a summer's night,
Ravished by winds of uncertainty
And the bitter harshness of winter's blight.

Much of America is mourning still.
The grief will end one day. Till then,
We all move forward while many continue
To mourn the loss of what could have been.

- by Bob B (11-25-16)
Francie Lynch Feb 2018
I can guess your names,
Cleverly chosen to reflect
This year's popularity.
Names beginning with XYZ.
Some silly ones, by all accounts,
But I'm silly to think my opinion counts.
Though that's of no matter for what you face;
For we've left this place in a sorry state.
Our lame excuse is,
We didn't fare well from our benefactors.
The ethnic mix was already a mess;
And rightly demands fair redress;
Broken promises to those who dreamed,
The indigenous and the migrant streams;
Those in chains, though innocent,
The fairer ***, and I'm not sexist,
Has been under the heel of the strong,
Yes, far more fair,
And they've been wronged.
Unique communities of men and women,
Have cracked the doors, blown their horns
And tumbled the walls of garrisons
Through film, print, paint and clay.
Their inclusiveness gives me hope,
That some near not far future day,
We'll all be gathered in one parade.

I've scratched the surface of our inheritence,
And in fifty years of managing the place,
We've left problems til too late;
Some we've worked on,
Some escaped.
We've pointed fingers far too long,
The work we started's never done,
You too will have to pass it on
To the unborn of the human race.
There's a good reason why it's called Utopia.
Bob B Oct 2016
It’s been said that HOPE springs eternal—
That it elevates one’s point of view.
Three cheers to Alexander Pope!
Perhaps my DREAM may yet come true.
 
I DREAMED that people worked together,
Eager to put their differences aside;
Their beliefs in no way clouded their reason;
And this happened worldwide.
 
I DREAMED that nations conquered hunger—
All people had enough to eat.
Everyone shared without begrudging
Those who struggled to make ends meet.
 
I DREAMED that tolerance and acceptance
Were the order of the day—
That hatred and discrimination
Finally both died away.
 
I DREAMED that people realized
The world did not revolve around them—
That their selfishness and egoism
Had only stifled them and drowned them.
 
I DREAMED that people loved the Earth
And taught their children to respect it;
In so doing their children learned
To appreciate it and protect it.
 
I DREAMED that anger dissipated
And that out of vengeance no one killed;
Wars became nonexistent;
Therefore, no more blood was spilled.
 
I DREAMED that people in all nations
Acknowledged everybody’s rights,
Pushing the goals of inclusiveness
And caring to amazing heights.
 
I DREAMED that our entire world
Worked together to vanquish disease;
Health care and housing everywhere
Were automatic guarantees.
 
Precious HOPE, I’ll hold you tight;
If my visions are mistaken
And the world becomes more hostile,
Then from this DREAM let me not waken.

- by Bob B

— The End —