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Kevin J Taylor Nov 2016
Welcome Chairman Donald
And welcome to all those without mercy
And to all those of new hope
Welcome to all your peoples
And to all beings and things encumbered
Elephantine and in this room
Wisely unnamed until tomorrow
Welcome to All but the Newly Discontent
This is the Great American Cultural Revolution
.
If one pulls
A sheep astray
The flock is sure
To move that way.

To fish in a troubled water
De-constructing history
Thwart we could
The old social fabric of unity
And create we shall
A generation
Suffering a crisis of identity!

“Ask me not why
They are better than
My  peers and I
Also sensitize me not to deny,
What I see with my naked eye!
In attire,grooving,life style ,
Cosmetic application and civilization
They galvanize youth's attention!”


Come up with a generation
We shall
That does not bat an eye
Our dictates to buy,
A generation that does barter
An age-old culture
With fads,for such a venture
Proves  to it an adventure.

To achieve what we terribly sought
If we use somebody of note
Fame that has got
Say an artist or a poet
The mob will not
Fight-shy to drink a lot
From our poison ***
Without a grain of salt
“God doesn't exist "
Could be top on the list!
Alas, we could say  “Worship us!"
"Forget the Key And Lock theory!
Why should you worry?"

Or social and religious  norms
We could rock
With *“A lock could lock a lock
even in a wedlock!”
For an Ethiopian poet who recently debased his soul for monetary rewards.
No one born too far from Niedersachsen, said Oma,
ever quite captures their sing-song intonation.
Characterized by subtleties, like an umlauted vowel,
all non-native imitations sound inevitably as ******
as would a cry of “ello, guv’nah!” in a London coffee shop.

Her Plattdeutsch instincts neutered
by decades abroad, married to a son of Milwaukee,
her permanent, dormant longing for Salzgitter awakes only
to trigger hunger pangs of irreconcilable nostalgia
at the passing whiff of a Germantown bakery.

She taught me the word “sehnsucht” over lukewarm coffee
and a pause in our conversation: a compound word
that no well-intentioned English translation
could render faithfully.
It isn’t the same as just longing, she sighed— longing is curable.
Sehnsucht holds the fragments
of an imperfect world and laments
that they are patternless. How the soul
yearns vaguely for a home
remembered only in the residual ache
of incomplete childhood fancies;
futile as the ruins
of an ancient, annihilated people.
How life’s staccato joys soothe
a heart sore from the world,
yet the existential hunger, gnawing
from the malnourished stomach
of the bruised human psyche, remains—
insatiable, eternal.

Long enough ago, a reasonably-priced bus ride away
from the red-roofed apartment in which she babbled her first words,
a kindly old man in a pharmacy asked her
about her peculiar, exotic accent. Once inevitably prompted
with the question of where she was from, she responded only
that she was a tourist off the beaten track.

And when I pointed out, to my immediate regret,
that she gets the same question back here in Ohio,
I realized then that, not once, has she ever referred to the way
the people of her pined-for hometown spoke
as though she had ever belonged to it.
David N Juboor Sep 2015
The first word in Arabic
You ever taught me
Was Aoheb:

Love,
Spelled G-I-V-E
The kind that
I forgot what I was
When I felt you holding me.

But only privately.

Like crossing the street,
We look both ways
Before our hands meet.
Because even though
it's okay for me
Culturally..

We don't do that
Until we're married.

But just like
The next words
You taught me,
Ana fahemt:
I understand.

Like that time
I called you a beautiful Woman..
You got so mad because
You want to stay a girl forever.

Baby,
I never
Want to grow up
Together

I want to grow in.

So give me a garden
To come home to
Give me a heart
I can roam through

When it's 3AM
And both of us
Have ****. to. do.

One day,
When we're tired
Of learning each other's language
You can call me Frankie,
And frankly,
I'll fly you to the moon.

Give my very breath to you
I'll keep you so warm
In my arms that baby,
Your blood will boil.

And I don't mean to spoil the fun
But could you please put that
Super cute face of yours away?

Because
Your smile,
Is so bright
Solar radiation
Needs sunglasses.
And even though
You're sweet as molasses
I don't think that Nasa's
Satellites can handle that
Amount of sunshine right now.

I think
"Ana bufuker."
...really? .. "Ana buhfucker?..
Whatever.. Ana bafaker:
I think,
Google translate is awful.
Especially when it involves
Conversations with your
Your dad and me

Because honestly
I always think I'm gonna
Say the wrong thing
At the wrong time.

And I always just end up
Saying the wrong thing
at the wrong time.
But somehow you always
Seem to know how to
read my mind.

So
Habiby. Aomry. Hayaty.
My love, My life, My age...

...And the rest of the poem is none of your business.

Truly. It's between that girl and I.
But I will say this though:
We don't talk much anymore
And I'm not really sure why.
But I know that
Somewhere out there,
In-between all of the *******
Of our daily lives;

There is a girl that
Is going to speak my language.
Thomas M Franey Aug 2015
As I stood in front of critical eyes, I had to convey myself today.
In my mind, I have designed the whole system as requested,
in my eyes, I have emitted my internal confidence of myself,
But when on stage, I feel compelled to watch my words,
My words sometimes have a way to stray, searching for the best combination.
The fear is not within my abilities of my craft, but my ability to sell myself, as a representation of the system I momentarily created. The anxiety of proposing my logic mixed with the doubt of being over-pretentious became me.
      As I look into their eyes, I take a mental breath, and proposed my system within layers as suggested in my mind. I felt compelled, yet nervous to present my thoughts and ideas. I am confident, yet thoughtful of every instance that could make or break my deal.
     That said, believing in yourself and knowing your facts to prove your bases, is the key to the eyes of inception that we call cultural matching to the masses.
This is my current thought I had about the interview I had in which I was made to design and architect a project off top of my head to represent not only my technical skills but my interpersonal and planning skills as well.
Derrick Feinman Jul 2015
Now's a perfect time
For a prophet to be sent
With signs for us all.

With proofs not mere words.
Should divine law be hearsay-
Left to human hands?

Wrapped in culture's veil
Why would God make salvation
Not universal?
Allyson Walsh Jun 2015
She tells you there is a hurricane inside my head
And how my pupil is not the eye of the storm

Agitation creeps underneath the layers of my skin
She is sure that I am trouble (or troubled)

Obviously, I am a thief in the night
I am stealing you away, after all

And she explains to your sister that I am the wolf in sheepskin
Just waiting to devour

I tell her I don’t understand what it is I did wrong
She tells me to exam myself once more and recalculate all my flaws
For myself
"I want you to be serious about your relationships. Do you think this girl is even right for you? She doesn't seem friendly at all."
(I'm not writing this for you. I'm writing it for my sake.)
Randi Williams Jun 2015
what a world it is
in which we reside.
we've come to the point
where we've lost all our
wonder.
as a species,
we act as though
there is nothing left to discover!
all we are
are satisfaction-seekers
and to have anything
unanswered
would
be
absurd!
this world we live in
is clogged up with "feelings"
and drowning in the pixels of
burning photographs doesn't seem
too steamy.
the concepts
which are thrived upon
are nothing more than perspective;
is that paper crumpled,
or is it a cultured crane?
-ready to leave society and join my mountain friends-
Allyson Walsh Apr 2015
My porcelain skin is no match
For the velvety brown of yours
Your soft chocolate eyes are lovelier
While my greens are merely cold

And I should know better than to refuse
To wipe my face on the floor
I should be more of a lady (or a nun)
If I'm to be all you're asking for

You reference the way I was raised
A single mother and an only daughter
And you're sure that I will lead astray
Your potential grandsons and granddaughters

Know that your son is all
The good you exclaim him to be
But he sees the light in these witch's eyes
Where you see death and greed

I now understand that I will never
Be righteous enough in your sight
And it is because of your background
That you accuse and criticize

You will always be his mother
Who cares for him nonetheless
But I will stay his lover
Even while I don't pass your test
For CY
(This one was hard to get out without word-vomiting)
There's so much to say.
CJ Flynn Feb 2015
It says don’t eat breed
But eat some carrot sticks instead
don’t eat this and don’t eat that
what can I eat, and not get fat,
they point out lots of food to choose
to make you lose, and lose, and lose
But I love to eat, and I love to cook,
and All I’ve lost, is m diet book.
A poem past down on my mother's Czech family Folklore. most of the them were overweight Czech people. So I post this as a fitting tribute :)
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