Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
I was born to please the glitteratti
Treat them like they’re gods right here on earth.
Whether a Kardashian or Gotti
They think I’ doomed to serve them since my birth.
I’m meant to feed you, bathe you
Live my life just for you.
I’ve got to primp you, **** you
Wipe your royal ****.
And if I move too slow
You’ll call me ****!

I’m so benighted
And I’ve not denied it.
I was born without a soul
And I know I’m lost now.
My life is blighted
And very much misguided.
Somewhere inside
There is a soul who really
Should know how.

I thought I could gut it out forever
But I found I could only take so much.
Putting up with daily kissing *****
Made me want to retch from every touch.
You are disgusting, thrusting
Your face in everywhere.
Like you are something; you’re nothing,
Got nothing to share!
I no longer care.

I’m not divided
And I just can’t hide it.
I want a life and I intend
To go and get one
A real one.
So get excited.
I have decided
To grow a pair and do
What I know I ought to.
Got to!
Sajay Jai Singh Nov 2015
I wanted to know what was real knowledge,
so I went to the wisest master, God,
Not to learn things of school or college,
But to go where no foot has ever trod.
.
God said," I know what you seek, child,
But if real knowledge is what you wish to gain,
You venture into mountains dark and prairies wild,
And go through joyful hurt and honoring pain."
.
I was ready to put up resistance,
Said God," To men you shall speak,
Who are the wisest of this existence,
And at the end you shall get what you seek."
.
And so I went to the Physicists,
On whose principles this world exists,
They asked, “Pascal’s law, Bulk modulus, Doppler effect, can you tell?"
I said," No sir, but like Newton, even I wondered why the apple fell."
"Sacrilege!" they said," You inelastic plastic, may your soul rest in hell."
But I remembered God's words and moved on.
.
Then I went to the scholars of Chemistry,
Who are the wisest in mankind's History,
They asked me," What about Dalton's law, KTG, inorganic Benzene, can you say?"
"Nothing, sir, but I wonder about molecules and atoms, night and day!"
"Sacrilege!" they said, " You miserable molecule, May in hell your grave lay."
But I remembered God's words and moved on.
.
Then I went to the supreme Mathematicians,
Whom I consider as God's own magicians,
They asked me," What on methods of solving DEs, LMVT, can you speak?"
"Nothing, sir, but I work on theorems of Euler, the mathematician Greek."
"Sacrilege!" they said," You rootless equation, may you end up in the Devil's steak."
But I remembered God's words and moved on.
.
Indeed, I felt sorry for their and the future generations' plight,
But at the end of the road, I realized God was right,
It’s not about knowing Pascal's, Dalton's or Euler's shouts,
Its knowing how to live life to your fullest, every time you breathe in and breathe out.
Grace Pickard Nov 2015
Which part of me would choose?
For it is cold in my mind and warm in my heart
If only I knew what goes on within your mind
So perfectly flawed

I could crawl into your brain...
The simple masterpiece of all I've seen-
" pure beauty" is a mere insult to the magnitude of its indescribable wonder

Peering through the amygdala
I'll see your past in awe-
At how it's brought you here,
A creature so wonderfully subtle with tongue
And bold in nature:
Sui generis.

I'd love to journey through the thoughts of you
Through and through I'd wander
And wander always turns to wonder



To be electrified by your synapses
And burnt into oblivion-
A million pieces of me
Becoming blended within
Something wholly powerful
Is but a dream
Locked behind
The gazing brown puddles
Reflecting the moonbeam
Graff1980 Nov 2015
The preacher wants to send me to hell
The politician, the guards, the lobbyist and the
Industrial prison complex wants to send me to jail
See me suffering in a cell by myself
Or with another victim of this sick system

The church claims I am the property of god
The states says this inmate is the property
Of the federal corrections dark system
Prisons which now work to turn a profit
Turns prisoners into assets and still costs us
Taxes, corporate criminal practices
Give more freedom to the businesses and businessmen
While they condemn me and my impoverished friends
Tell me where does this injustice end
Foxgopher Nov 2015
One by one, through the machine
I’ve watched them go, boys and girls
Not yet mature, not yet solidified
They come out different, I barely recognize
Some I can still see, changed but still intact
One by one, through the machine
I’ve been there too
The fear, the expectation, what was I doing
Could I object, they said I could
I never believed it
One by one, through the machine
Every day, someone goes in someone comes out
I’m pained because I know it
I firmly want to explain to them
And to those who will others in
One by one, through the machine
They come out soulless,
Are they dead inside or have they found it
I never did, but I wasn’t ready
Who says that you have to
One by one, through the machine
But on who’s terms are we going?
H W Erellson Oct 2015
We shouldn't be remembering war
we should be remembering the aftermath
the smoking shells of homes,
the lasting hunger,
no Johnny or Jimmy or Dave or Sandra or Sarah or Marie
at the dinner table tonight
flowers gathering on graves.

Learn a God ****** lesson, don't retake the class
Yo check it
So many folks out there jealous of yo riches
Multiply the stitches
Eradicate em leave em in ditches
These hyprocrite
Still suckin' lady liberty ****
I aint backin down ****
Til burnt to rubbles i got troubles
Just cuz im a stolen man
My enemy aint even in another land
My enemies be of the USA
so i give a **** what a cop say
Justice aint never there for us
All they show is guns to bust
Faced off closed caskets open caskets
The nerve of these *******
We gettin paid off
Even though ya cant bring back the dead
Tears still going to shed
From all of the hurt and bloodshed
My nigguhs need to reunite
**** black n white
Thats just a game the media love to play
So they led us astray
Followin' the path of these devils
Rebuke these *******
So i had no choice but to be a rebel
See me uh this is tha life of an outlaw



In the 90s fools didnt hear me though
To caught up in the dope cash flow
Yo i got rocks to go and fiends to blow
Yea even though we lost in the eye of the father why bother
Cuz we on some *******
The matrix
Got us actin like dumb tricks
Cant make our own profit
If we rebuilt our ****
Lets make it bulletproof
So it'll be hard to knock it
Al sharpton jesse jackson
Cant see the actions
They house *******
Only get a pension for the
White surpremacys satisfaction
Yea we know jesse killed king
And the crows sing
****** ****** blast homie
Tell me what ya see now
If i showed u lynchin' of me
Would u still smile?
Or go buckwild
**** the fortune and fame
My momma had to struggle man
Tryna keep.out the prison system
But they provoke a *****
So i gotta show em im not ya average *****
Uh when i fight back they get mad
When we get surpressed and bow
They get glad
Uh even though never had my dad
Son of *****
Left me with missing puzzle pieces
Of life so i had to find a fit
And get this americas a culprit
Guilty of killin' us since slavery
Ask the indians about thanksgiving
And how they living?
And bet they smack the **** outta you
Make you get a clue
So the words i speaks is nothing but true
Vanish demons and replenishin'
Souls through barrel gunfire life expire
Dont ya know never step to my crew ?
Only a few
Can be down so indulge the silence
In yo jaw
Or else be prepared to face a millions
Vexed outlaws
This is the life of an outlaw outlaw
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
1

I say I'm a designer of systems, plans
Man's
Parts that stand together, set in place to serve
Trees and planets, too, which are unplanned by us
The observant, wise man
Tries to understand
Name the parts, pistil and stamen
Rocks, eskars
Elements.

Winter is shuddering to an end, mud roads
Cardinal pairs
Robin flocks return that will soon pair off
Buds
Soils swell
Will I live to smell it again, learn the lobelias
Understand and name the parts
It ought to be a great comfort to be so insignificant
Go among weeds, a wind
Thinking to myself

One's never alone
A dichotomous key is needed, a book of twigs and fruits
Accumulated over time and generations
Without it mine would be a blank mind

To be blank but knowledgeable
Without any machinery
In a perfect silence
That is the definition of death for which we have only to wait
But in my panic last night I thought death's inert
Grace requires consciousness
Hold on long to the senses
At least a century, maybe more
A boy hanging upside down from a fence at sunset, counting
      clouds

2

Now we go to our daily practice
And chosen disciplines
Sustained by the satisfactions of being good men among our
      fellow men
Women
Choosing to do this and not that
With the finite days allotted us that at first seemed like a lot
They're now few
But the chickadee's life to the chick and the cankerworm
      moth's to the worm
Seem as long to them as ours to us
What question am I asking today
By now, past half a century, I should have chosen a discipline
And been satisfied

To be a war president one must have war
May you live in interesting times - wish or curse?
Squirrels, high in oaks,
Fiber, fat and protein in acorns
Strong runners, leapers, climbers
Should stay off the roads which some cannot avoid being
      where they're born
Natural selection is occurring
Those that look for machinery in motion
Hesitate or don't as needed before crossing
Live in larger numbers than those whose modus operandi's
Guessing
The ravens eat the fur and guts of bad guesses off the roads

I impose my own small order
Having chosen mountains over plains or shore
Go to my daily discipline
And estimate the motions of the seas and stars
Measuring my satisfactions by my children's satisfactions
"I design systems that allow people to do their best work regularly and predictably, instead of intermittently and by chance, and to produce outcomes in quantities large enough to make a difference in their communities."

www.ronnowpoetry.com
DaSH the Hopeful Aug 2015
I keep drawing air but nothing sticks
   You being taken left a puncture wound that can only be fixed by your presence
         I take in oxygen in spite of its futility

              Reaching *
true stability
an unlikely solution with every once clear path but a smudge underneath anxiety laden lenses

       I wheeze as I walk this graveyard of a town
          Cars all different shades and shapes
                      Passing by me
         I want to ask them what the point is of having lungs when you have nothing to breathe for
    And I light a cigarette in light of heavy irony

At this point I'm just feeding the only beast I want to ****
              I can't find you
         I can't get to you
            I'm scared I'll lose you forever to these f#cking monsters


But I can't stop
     Even when I lose sight of where I'm going
    Because these cars have to stop eventually
         Logic dictates they will find a parking spot
Pull off and find a place to rest
         And at that moment I'll ask
In a tired, raspy, wheezing voice *I'll ask
Abbie Crawford Jul 2015
My voice is louder than the amphetamines that pump through my system,
Like a myriad of violins,
preaching on a soapbox.
Surrounded by self-proclaimed writers,
who control their mindless devotions with their pen to paper.
They believe,
not only in themselves,
but in the system.
They don't challenge what's really happening,
and is instead,
hazed by propaganda.

I am told that confidence is one thing,
and being self sufficient is another.
But i think they amalgamate to each other,
like the rivers do in my head.

We wonder,
what if the dust on the moon really is acidic?
what do we do then?

I give my money to my hierarchy above,
and I challenge what really is happening.
Next page