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Taliesin 11h
There are those who’d curse the paintings
That held the highest beauty
For being formed from something
Impermanent as oil and paint
Intangible as light.

There are those who’d curse a romeo
Cast in stone relief
For such vanity, and hubris
For how could such a man
Begin to know such beauty and
The truth of open feeling?

There are those who would cut this holy wire
That tethers us across the world
For fear of some lurking evil
Some banging in the dark
That’s bound to take our souls away
Some lack of love or depth

There are those who’d see the flesh on flesh
And cries like angelsong
And **** it for it’s fleetingness
For their father’s love was purer.
For their father’s love was strong
Their poor and lonely fathers
Cursed to loveless love

Oh brave new world that I have seen
That has such people in it!
Who cry for long-forgotten men
Yet **** the ones before them!
wrote this in anger after the 50th poem I saw pass by which complained about the evils of modern technology and society
Yes yes, my white friends.
Tear each other apart.
It’s what I want you to do.
It’s your civic duty.
Turn on each other until there is nothing left.
But a gaping hole, lubed and groomed for *******.
It’s not **** if you let me.
If you beat him, I’ll make you my house *****.
Oh, you didn’t hear what they said about you, man?
You cuck libtard.
You **** hick.
Starbucks vs. Tim Hortons.
Yet I own both.
My white friends.

Love,

- The Foreigner
Do we let culture, tradition decide our fate?
Whom we love; whom we fear.

The belief from misunderstandings,
devotion to the lack of education—
steer the wheel.

Is your influence thought through?
Is it within reason; is it justified?

We fear what we do not comprehend.
It is decided, but not by us—
others steer the wheel.

The master of the home, of your kingdom, come.
Is, will and will always remain to be: You.
The antelope will finally have peace
From mortal enemies
No more grass to feed the beast
The lion will starve as there
Will be nothing to eat
Critters of the dirt through litter
Will bury themselves
And plea to not breathe.

The black iguana will burn with dignity
Creatures of the sky will sing
A deadly melody
The shark will have more territory
The Sun once gave and it will take
The Moon, a theatre it will hold
Until it is told that life will be no more.

Alas, Angel of Death
The vulture flying down
Will wish that culture had changed
But it will be too late
It will do its duty
Slayed animals will be at our feet
Greed is our disease
Oh vulture have mercy.

In a new epoch life will sow its seed
Like it always has
No human or animal that you see
Only beasts from dreams.
Sam Dec 7
Peppermint gum,
I handed one - half discarded;
how far we stretch when flavours dull
and loose thoughts the last
we push around our tongue.

Lately death is everywhere,
it sits on the rim and recites
the contrition of unburied mad.

Demons that swirl,
unfolded for the world
in aching concession - how sorrow
leans heavy on the bones.

It isn't the expiry of flesh,
he keeps tab between lines,
a scratched grey tally
under the lamp by the bed.

Death is the loss of love,
of all things hope
you once carnivorously indulged
with unfettered joy.

A sanctuary for the crazed and unkept
who swear by the scent of rust
that peel off old Church-bells in November.  

That bronze hue of a land less roamed,
dialect closer to home.

Death was in the bay,
it oared the shores this morning
so I braced dawn a different person
without you.
Sam Dec 7
"Somewhere", spoke the grey lips in the wall.
Somewhere before sunrise,
before the first bird crows to dawn
and the apathetic are yet to uncurl
the grit that gathers like dust
between the fold of shallow eyes.
"Somewhere". A derogatory term.
Their humanity bears no resemblance to us
as skin and bone the only price to pay
for "unpeople".
Cities made of paper,
soaked in a drought. Somewhere East.
Or maybe South?
Somewhere far from the guilt
that laden our stomach with lead.
So alien to home, allotted just enough frames
for you to feel how fortuitous;
but not enough so the screams
swallow your evening meal and you swat the sound of flies
pouring through the static of your transient box.
A bright,
Sunny day,
Lots of people,
Walking down the street,
What fun we will have!
Come on!
Come on!
Let’s go play!
The sun is so bright!
Look at all the people, mom!
That woman over there, is wearing a skirt!
I don’t think she should wear skirts.
Hey lady!
I don’t know you,
But I don’t think you should wear skirts!  
That wasn’t nice?
Oh,
Too late now!
Mom, look over there!
That guys face is funny.
Hey mister.
Your face is funny!
What do you mean where’s my mom?
She’s right over there don’t you see?
Aren’t bright
Sunny
Colorful days
The best?
poem i wrote about culture and hate
society
from the perspective of a child
Perched upon a corporate throne,

We march into the great unknown

As wasted words of gossip drone

And steel replaces brick and stone.
Soon you find yourself alone

In crowded streets with a global phone,

Doing a random strangers bidding.



A means to an end they say,

As poor men die while rich men play,

When honest work brings modest pay,

And doesn't last 'em through the day

Though profiteers in moral grey 

Flood the airwaves to in turn say,

"Our wealth simply paves  the way,

Tomorrow is your salvation day,

You want peace? Then war is only fitting."



Look and you will see

Money buys democracy,

The Citizens United, see?

If we knew the truth, would we agree?

Those answers are not  going to be

Yes or no but more likely

Maybe, perhaps, or possibly,

Because in reality,

Right and wrong are just kidding.



To those who fret the plagues we face,
Yet believe we can change this place,
Who stifle doubts about the Human Race,
And yearn to e together in this chase,
With subdued pride and envy, in every case,

Seeking common goals to found the base,

May we lay the evil plots to waste,

For evils clients who once stood are now sitting.



The time is now, make a stand
,
Pull our heads out of the sand

Call their bluff with a hidden hand

Of virtue they don’t quite understand,
Defy procedure’s they have planned
,
Unite across the lines that brand,

Refuse all prejudice, none may be accepted.



Some know for they already looked

And the flow of money keeps them booked,

Takes but once to have them hooked,

Setting the table with food uncooked

For others whose foundations shook

Are pitted against the small time crook

Hoping only that we be protected

.

Hark the sounds of rebellious cries

For those that call, they realize

All that lives sure enough dies
But when displeased we close our eyes

To the masters of disguise

Who think their profit justifies

The invisible hand growing in size

While their strings attached go uncorrected



They kept us quiet all the while

Waiting with numbers dialed

To put the innocent to trial

Lining up in single file

To be cast into the same old pile

None willing to lay down their tile,

Casting shadows upon their guile,

The double agent mercantile,

Lobbying candidates to endorse.



All I ask, is to what do we base belief?

Dying children get no relief

Oil poisons the coral reef

Prophecy of the fallen chief

Given a thought but a bit too brief
Together a tree, alone but a leaf
Although it is all who feel the grief

Of our actions consequential course



Corrupted elites discuss our goals

So we continue to dig our holes

To depths that darken souls

Rigging markets to decide our roles

Assumptions made so that greed controls

They draw their graphs till the pencil dulls

Then add a factor, see how that goes

Without even the slightest feeling of remorse



Growth is sacred, but is it moral?

Strengthen reason yet we quarrel

Over falsities of ***** oral

Arrangements like that of floral

Remedies but not doctoral

Blood of fallen lives pastoral

Remind that we’re all mortal

But all thereafter bear the force.



So please tell me at what cost?

In a moments past our objectives lost

Compassion was our hand now tossed

Lines we’ve drawn, lines we’ve crossed

How much dirt can be washed

From our conscience we exhaust

Before shattering glass of fate we sloshed?

Working from the scattered pieces back to the source



It is us who blindly lead the strut

We are the source and nothing but

Whose center point is one giant rut

Where false desires cracked and cut

And the selfish feed an endless gut,

When our culture begins to split and jut,

We might finally ask... It was all for what?
Inspired by the great Bob Dylan. I refer you to the song “It’s Alright Ma’”
Antino Art Nov 24
Raised
in this floating
world, forever
deep.
You can’t drain the ocean

Decidedly from down
south of here
You can’t un-trace the roots.

You can’t lie and say,
“This isn’t where I grew up”
You can’t deny the fruits
of what was planted two generations ago
when your Tatay and Mamen immigrated from the Philippines, seeds in tow
soil for the taking
You can’t confiscate what they claimed
when they planted their flags
from a seaside village in Naga,
from Nellas street in Carcar,
into the moon-white sand of a beach in Florida
on a far side of the planet
their forefarthers have never seen

You can’t say those flags weren’t there
when wind came
You can't ***** out that pride
of country,
cut off its native tongue and its acquired taste, or pass up the plate of fried lumpia and rice they made you
in recipes they knew by heart
and passed down from the kitchen of your Daddylol
feeding seven kids day in and out with tomatoes he planted,
chickens he raised, Malonggay leaves he grew
with thumbs so green they wrote in the papers about it
You can't take back the points
your Nonong and I scored on the hoop your grand-Tatay built out of wood and scrap metal on the side of a coconut tree
You can’t erase the letters of your name,
your lineage written all over it
like a map
of your lolo Noullie's hometown in your blood
You can’t take back the words in Tagalog and Chavacano
your Lola Shirley must have sang your mother to sleep with
You can’t take their dreams

You can't just wake up one day and undo
the ripple effects their moves
created across waters 10,000 miles east of here,
the rolling waves they curled into
or the faraway shores they washed up upon
Bottled messages in hand
Our legends held within
You can’t say centuries from now that they won’t feel it
when their feet hit the sand of their own frontier
beside the waves we stayed making
a history written in deep water
for those who come after you
to sail above and beyond.
For Nali
Michael Ryan Nov 19
People on the internet
are like any others
and talking without reason
terrifies us.  

‘Everyone you meet
is the monster under the bed
the skeleton in your closet
the psyche of horror
haunts their dreams.’

Maybe
every fable
we’ve ever heard
is lingering behind
the veil we call
our lives.

Or maybe,
if we were
really honest
for one moment,
a single breath.

We’d all come to know
spooks and goblins
didn’t come from tales told–
it is our personal fears
hiding within the mind.

Our unwillingness to believe
that anyone could come to love us
and the doom that suffocates
is the feeling no one will ever know,
who we are.

If people ever caught sight
of our bones
sleeping underneath skin
they’d run
leaving us with scars
scratched so deeply
we’d never be able to recover.
There's nothing to fear, but fear itself.   He probably didn't mean it about the strangers that we meet on the street, in grocery stores, or online I think it apply applies to today's societies.  I'm always open to meeting new people.
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