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Shofi Ahmed Jan 2020
The free-flying bird
always eyes on the high
looking for a new blue sky.
If only, can it ever own
a little twig on the tree?
On a tree when does it fly
the next mo it sways away!
Azulene Azulia Jul 2019
I get no replies of smiles,
I walkthrough a bunch of colourless miles....
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2015
this is a very important poem to me,
about me, and how Obama slurred my people. and never apologized


there are mornings when I wake up
in my nativity,
in my born/bred,
these struggling to be happy,
United States,
strangely hebrew-speaking,
Jamaican coffee
tallying up
what I am,
who I am,
commanded to be,
on this Earth

the labels that the
outward-looking apply,
the tags,
that you have caused
yourself to be defined,
been staked
to your claim,
in infamy and in fame,
that you have
by action and indeed,

have allow
to be presented
as entries on your
global entry passport,
with visas from the
lows and highs,
places where
your have sinned and saved,
all the acts accumulated,
and those,
in pain,
you have been a witness to

word titles that
tinge and suffuse,
summation of my presentation,
sampler of words
father, poet,
a for-real
community organizer,
and of course,
bien sûr,

the quality of all these life's papers,
which I grade myself,
the harshest marker
of all

once a young man,
safely away in college,
under the fresh-air freedom of the
university's in loco parentis,
in the early years
spent quantifying oneself

nearly fifty years ago,
now he,
revealed and recalled
his college typed-letter,
lately uncovered amidst his,
recently passed mother's papers

"Don't know what kind of
I will be, but be assured,
that I will be a
all my life"

so here I am doing my post-sabbath,
top of the week,
right it down,
qualifying myself,
coffee enraged engaged,
a new Sunday tally

taking all my terms,
what was prior, first,
is no longer

decades decay,
events sway,
simple words change me, stain me

nearing on five decades later,
when this
son of speakers,
son of humanists and 
son of
son of proud
rewrites his list

today I write/substitute,
a new order,
a tag gladly taken,
a marker given,
some what in pride,
some in shame too,
first and foremost,
à la manière d'Lincoln
I am
of, by and for

"a bunch of folks in a deli"

proud member of them
that so identify,
for they are among those
that shall not perish from the Earth

bunch of folks in a deli,
I claim as
mine own,
as they would
have claimed me

no subtly professed,
a diminishment intended,
and now
an honorific taken,
Medal of Honor provoked and embraced,
proudly inscribed,
visible on my forehead,
in the black ink of mourning,
a Presidential Cain Citation,
a tattoo of letters,
not numbers,
now moves up to
head of the list,
I am
now and forever,
a member of that corps
(appreciate that double entendre)
I am
Je suis

*"a bunch of folks in a deli"
Just google that phrase

Obama’s slur
goodtea Oct 2018
I want to burn alive.
I want to never speak again.
I want tell them everything.
Bryce Jun 2018
Love wins?
No, man.
Love IS.

draw a line
divide until you can't no more
its all one big
firmament of a world

but we have to fight
it's fitting
and kind
to do so, they say
so they say
they say so many different ways
so that we don't catch on
speak only hearsay
until the day
we die
and our estate
is taxed back
to Washington
rolling in pennies and lying,
with ******* and dimes

"Oh you're mad,
you cute little Jesus you,
go get your whip
let's see what you can do.

Jesus didn't DO
he lived and died
and metaphorized
his life
in a way
we could recognize
because we only live
in a land of metaphor
totally divorced
from the times

Get with it, kid.

And Siddhartha
and Allah
and all the other pristine figurines

"Y'all are doing it wrong"

Of course we are,
spinal tapped out the moment we left
so far east of Eden,
we're chasing the sunset

It'll come
we'll blast off to ride chariots towards all the fun
maybe philosophize with Aristotle
on Kepler 281

So stop with the pain,
stop pushing the wheel
stop teasing your souls
with vengeance and zeal

just be,
be free,
be unshackled of soul
let yourself go,
that's all Buddha told

and Christ,
and Allah,
and Laozi

You hate it here?
Grab a gun.
Blow out the floor

Or the roof of your mouth,
End it quick, without pain
watch from the heavens
as your crimson life drains

I've seen it once,
I've seen it a thousand times before
And it just keeps rolling,
Keeps moving onward

A drop in a bucket,
a drip in a sink
swirling and *******
a vortex of dreams

deep down the end
that swirling stream of

Where do we go?
Why spare the trouble?

Perhaps something
toiled and fizzled
for 13.8 billion years
to hear you whine and drivel!

It's okay.
Breathe in, out, back in
if I have to,
I'd recommend
you read this again.
HelloPeople Oct 2017
A sunflower looking for its sun,
A candle looking for its match,
Stick with whom, with you?

A moon looking for the sun,
A bee looking for its queen,
Sizing things up, with no one?

A sun waiting for you to bloom,
A match waiting to be lit,
Upside down, back to you.

A sun waiting to be found,
A queen waiting for its honey,
Bunch of thoughts, I'm alone.
For my person. I miss you.

— The End —