"acceptability" poems
Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety
How we worry about the safety
Of our dreams null and dainty
And our wishes of hope and subtlety.
Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety
Maybe a disorder in personality
Don’t know my main priority
But weary about a certain casualty.
Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety
Forgot all my functionality
Living life with absurdity
Death with such acceptability.
Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety
Please more of anonymity
Dealing with such difficulty
Of one having anxiety.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 10:28 AM UTC
*
*O
dear hater!
do u matter?
of course not!
but thanks a lot
for letting me know that
people have right to reject
i am still not perfect,
and for equipping
my mind with neutrality!
my heart with equanimity!
my soul with magnanimity!
my life with acceptability!
for the black and the white
the wrong and the right
oh i think you matter
love you my hater!
yes you matter!*
*
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 2:07 AM UTC
To look at my face
you need the mirror of your eyes.
Your eyes never wonder
how they reflect
an image of my ‘I’ to your senses.
When you read this poem,
you find an image of my thoughts
through a mirror of expressions
and judge my acceptability,
just as you do when you face this ‘I’.
All through one’s life
this ‘I’ is reflected by others,
parents, friends, wives, children, foes….
giving us a feeling of existence,
solid proof of this inseparable ‘I”.
24th Feb. 2017
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 4:03 AM UTC
My wife's father
Never gave me acceptability for his
Grown daughter
He came to except me later
When I impregnated
His daughter
Then the father in law
Liked me
Don't understand that one.
So it took my seed
Into a wet dream
Too make him like me!
And now many grand babies
Entice me
On grandpa's knee's
They say grampy please
Please just give us one dollarino
For one toy from,
San Francisco.
I always give in
To their pocket-thief smiles
They seem to like stealing away
Gramps old farting heart.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 6:13 AM UTC
my younger sister
never allowed fun
to limit her imagination.
at a mere five years old,
she decided she wanted to become an ice cream truck driver
at six,
she wanted to save the world.
seven,
she wanted world peace.
eight,
world peace.
nine,
world peace.
ten,
love.
eleven,
a boyfriend.
twelve years,
nine months and three days,
lighter skin.
i remember her
questioning days in pre-school
what color am i? she’d ask.
and her inquisitiveness
never allowed black to be accepted
as a proper answer.
Ruthie, we share the same color
but not the same complexion.
too much melanin, not enough skin.
the people in your pigment are waiting for a prayer
to be prayed back to the hands that once found
power in praying.
let not the lashes of historical context blind judgment.
they oppressed our kind.
feared the golden in your flesh
so they bore a color wheel of acceptable shades
and suggested brown be bad.
she laughs at black jokes, but don't be one.
and somewhere between spanish sailboats
and slave ships
you lost the strength in stride.
you let them white-wash your worries
and bury your woes in waste.
they beat her blue until she bled acceptability,
not blackness.
But
pale isn’t perfect
and black isn’t bad.
embrace the dirt in your darkness
for what could explain the foundation
that fertilized your fancy
better than you?
your people stomped on grounds
they called home
and sprouted seeds of
brown
black
beautiful
babies,
you.
she questioned God’s existence today.
she questioned why her skin tone was
the color of disease,
but she knows not the shade of ailment.
our culture brought freedom
to a situation where we could only see *******
I want to tell her to not hate God,
not even close,
not even a little bit,
not even at all.
that our black is not rooted in shame.
that she should not feel ashamed,
or silenced,
or transparent.
I want to tell her to
enjoy the diaspora in her Africa.
she's thirteen today.
Nourish your plateau sister.
Find the strength in your coffee,
and never ever let the brown in your *** stop dancing.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
Here's the thing--
I don't like to lie.
So, if you asked me where I am from,
I'd have to assess you and your prejudices before announcing in a single breath --
"I am a Malayali from Bombay raised in Saudi Arabia."
My identity comes in as a triple threat.
And people treat me like an escaped convict
"Oh, how many burqas do you own?"
"Four, and they're still not enough to save me from your ridiculous questions."
I don't like to lie.
So, I'll tell you I've had a terrible day
and the best thing that happened to me today was lunch.
I will voluntarily admit that my feet hurt in those shoes
And I'd rather be at home.
But, my pen refused to stop writing.
I choose not to wrap my truths in acceptability
Because my identity does not need to be graded
(not like I deserve less than an A+)
I decided to let my bottom sit on a throne in my own mind
Rather than at the feet of self-proclaimed lords of the universe
I'll fix my sights on what's here today.
I'm a queen of my own will;
Of shoes that fit
and jeans that never will.
I am also confused and I write to confuse some more.
Maybe I'll just wrap myself in words
And hand myself over to you and say --
"Congrats! It's a story."
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 5:07 AM UTC
It will be fine with me
If I finally end up to be
An annoying buzzing bee
In the ear of a society
Sated on complacency
And gluttonous dependency
On the masters of larceny.
It is for the future to see
If the rhymes that come from me
Help heal the national infamy
That passes for propriety
When the heads of society
Treat celebrity notoriety
As conditions of acceptability
And even some kind of laudability.
With sad and appalling sincerity,
Maddening sycophantic celerity
And unfortunate lack of probity;
And what seems to be jocularity
All pretense of care or integrity
The villains in Washington DC
So constantly convince me
That we need my kind of poetry.
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
What is fun, in its perceived definition? I can only imagine bountiful beauty as I contemplate such psychological explorations. It takes me to places where there are no limits, and where that which is deemed to fit inside the barb-wired fences of acceptability do not prevail. Let us retire to this intimate beach of oneness in a state of being which transcends time.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:02 PM UTC
So many options, so little to do.
Strike that, reverse it.
Man I’m not sure what I mean. I look ahead on a thousand scenic roads and still feel like I’m stuck on my own off-road adventure.
Except I ran out of gas and supplies long ago
And my shoes have holes in the soles
Comparable to the ones opening in my soul
And I’ve built up and torn down SOS signals
Afraid that a search party won’t ever be sent
And terrified that it might find me
Dragging me back to a civilization I no longer know how to live in
I want to spin in barefoot circles in the middle of an open clearing
Screaming out to the sky and the world and my mother and my self
Large and loud and absurd in the only way I know how to communicate
Honestly the deranged circus in my skull to anyone who’d listen.
But maybe they won’t understand
Won’t reciprocate
Appreciate
I delegate
To the stand-in I call I
Present her to the world
As I watch that world pass by
Behind the windows of my soul
And torn soles
They’ll take a passionate lunacy
As heresy
Against the Church of Social Acceptability
And haul me away to a place where I can’t see the drifting sky
And smell the colors of my beautiful off road adventure
That turned to a wandering lost nightmare
Longer ago than I’d care to admit
With my heels dragging in the mud
And a sign around my neck with my social-chosen label printed for the world to read as a caution against
approaching a broken beautiful lunatic.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 12:54 AM UTC
Losing
is better than winning
you acquire humility
Losing
your egoism
sets you free
Losing your pride
lends you
acceptability
Letting go
of your temper
gives you tranquillity
Losing
your selfishness
confers charity
Losing
your greed
your prize is being content and happy
Ridding yourself
of bad habits
you gain mastery
Losing
is a word to be watched
it will save you from a lot of misery
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 3:10 AM UTC
I gag when those who treat our flag
As nothing more than a rag and tag
Along with the Klanners waving banners
From the war against our country;
Their bad manners somehow a badge
They hold up as a symbolic gesture
As they put equality out to pasture
So they can separate, segregate,
Discriminate, and call for assassination
The leaders of our nation that disagree
Like you and me, if we dare object.
It is them I reject, deflect and yes, object
To in the loudest, most heated terms.
They are germs that sicken us all
And drive us toward a fall, thinking
That they can rebuild the land
So they have the upper hand
And the rest of us can just whistle
If we think this will never come true.
It is so most dangerous for me and you
If they get their way so you can’t say
The slightest word against them.
This is the gem they want for their crown;
To put anyone down who says otherwise
And to freely point to the other guys
And order their destruction and deaths
With what they believe are sainted breaths
But are really exhalations and perorations
Of the devil on earth here to challenge your birth
If you don’t fit their template of acceptability
And deny their culpability in the holocaust
Their evil machinations will ultimately cost.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 9:38 PM UTC
Much akin to love everywhere,
Largely differs in acceptability,
Taken as a stigma in my nation,
Contrary to positive receptions,
It is put under hostile scanners.
Although optimistic we still are,
Her young optimism is stronger,
O'course people here admire us,
And we both smile to ourselves,
She makes me proud of myself.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 4:29 AM UTC
(This is by no means an attempt at poetry. It is, instead, a piece of satire.)
Making Adultery Great Again
Make America Groan Aloud
Making Americans Greedy ********
Male American Grandiosity Association
Many Americans Grabbing *****
Mediocrity Actually Grows Annually
Men Acting Grossly Asinine
Masculinity And Grossness Amalgamated
Meanness And Greed Acceptability
Megalomaniacs Abrogating Government Accountability
Mostly ******** Getting Aggressive
Masking All Government Aggression
Miserable Atrocious GOP *****
Mad Animals Getting Angry
Making America Grow Antisocial.
Misanthropic Association Gutting America
Mistaking Accuracy, Growing Artless
Misery Accompanies GOP Analyses.
Misquoting Anybody Gains Approval.
Misspelling Anything Good Anytime.
Magic Ain’t Gonna Appear
Maybe All GOP Avoid
Meanness And Gouging Anytime
Money And Greed Always
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 9:12 PM UTC
We pair of home-comers
built from painful baggage a water-tight dream,
we painted an idyll of walled delight.
A bright corner where care could cover old scars.
Oh that happy hand-in-glove fit of regenerative
pleasure which we dared to admit
into the picture of autumnal love.
Such easy laughter sparked need to spend more
new-found treasure in glad togetherness.
Fresh as youth the stream we dug from aridity.
Your tenderness stoked heat
in forgotten feelings, blazed pathways to places
I had never been
and seared heaven into every greeting.
So gentle our mountain
of unleashed freedom that time gave us
chances to climb to new heights.
I thrived in sweet air of acceptability.
You re-sculpted sallow existence, blushed my
palid future, accessed the girl inside
and unfastened this
latched-up former conformist.
You let loose love's abandon and I did not refuse.
Beautiful man your breath
warmed every fold of compatible essence, toned
any slack in my short-sighted outlook
and de-misted
smeared myopic signals.
Duo-passion soon oiled and honed rarely used
adaptability so we could reach bliss.
Our joinings were something greater than flesh
and that better otherness I shall
always remember.
No ocean of parting can break devotion's deep
integrity and I know for certain
we shall meet again.
Oh unforgettable man
you stole into destiny, captured my soul
and now you hold it forever.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 9:53 AM UTC
just keep nagging about poetry stealing
if not simply invigorating
people's index curriculum vocabulorum
(day-to-day pint of milk
what's the weather like speech) -
keep nagging - it won't make a difference -
i have a grievance all of my own -
one word - slang - or the effective
tool for unprecedented use of misnomers -
slang is, after all, a practice of using
misnomers with social acceptability -
some claim that poetry is incomprehensible -
too difficult - too cult-like -
too whatever it is that people think poetry is -
i'm in it for the long-haul -
i'm looking at the fame of Homer and of
Horace and i see no fame in the modern
definition - the certainty of Nietzsche:
perhaps my true readers haven't been born yet.
i'm that certain of what i write,
capitalism and the short-term effect -
the cure and the same song as stated
on the album *********** -
just keep nagging about what poetry is
and what it isn't - i just spotted an pink elephant
of the easiest of comparisons to nag about too...
urban slang - slang in general - but instead
of a single people being incomprehensible
(like the tweeting format? no? we have an antidote
for that) - i never bothered or knew how
to learn slang, the "cool talk" of being recognised
as a part of a pack of hyenas about to "change the world";
if you explain slang to me i'll explain poetry to you,
some does mature outside the realm
of adolescence - Rimbaud certainly did - and with
him as example i guess we should only write
in our teen years then forget about it,
never age with it - never do a Sistine Chapel pinnacle
with it - poetry is the secondary fashion statement
of the young, the primary fashion statement is
slang - i don't know why i kept it up as i did -
and i don't care much for being too technical
either, Tartar stake for me - i guess the trick
of the novelist is that he knows he can take breaks
in between writing a novel, he can always
come back to it knowing the reader will probably
take days and different yoga positions finishing
his outpouring: as already suggested, poetry as
something that constantly requires a revision of
meaning (esp. in the age of twitter) -
fair enough for the haiku crew - but consider
my deliberate care for a counter haiku: the ensō (zen)-
maximised with the Tao teaching of forgetting
the world and letting the world forget about you -
lethal combination................................
so this slang debate... can you tell me why
it's so akin to the incomprehensibility of poetry
and why it fizzles out after adolescence of the teen years?
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
Might I travel through time to see the crulety?
Of what we define as death or human mortality
That Limits our joys and the Godly given totality!!!
It keeps us in fear of the mythical divinity
Regardless of not knowing to which divine is superiority.
Leading us to rage, grief, and pain with helpless tragedy
Which we might even come to enjoy its collateral beauty.
We are told that time would heal the wounds with its mystery
Pouring rains of happiness to the unforgotten memories
Instead it flows like a wind shaking the pleasant acceptability.
I'd say time is a rutheless illusion full of ambiguities
that make you question why on earth would Gilgamesh seek immortality!?
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 11:59 PM UTC
I.
fumbling fingertips, bounce upon
the cold aluminum surface.
the chills don't reach your nerves.
you ask questions.
II.
repeat. day on repeat. not shuffle.
same album 5 times in a row.
walks on sunday. ever stagnant.
acceptability of circumstance.
III.
apologies to the self and to the others.
masking goodbyes with see you later.
flash of memories, fabricated nostalgia.
you have no answer.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
Alcoholic insanity rules the youth
Music is now on the background
A way to grind their nights away
To get ***** and ***** to define their existence
Love is dead
Love lives in the acid tripped minds
That groove to the beat that some ***** created
An attempt to distort reality
Laying on a ground somewhere, abused
***** by the society's perfection that they crave to achieve
'ACCEPTABILITY' has taken over individuality
Money has taken over minds
Conversations dont exist
A drunken blur hovers around
People are not themselves anymore
They love their pride too much to let go
They love themselves too much to care
Pockets define the soul
Humanity disappeared somewhere
Between the whiskey filled bottles
And ******* filled minds
People are not themselves anymore
They'd rather be someone else
Just to stay relevant!!
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 10:03 AM UTC
Welcome to Trumplandia--
Where truth and falsehood collide,
And voters blindly commit
Political suicide;
Where people vote for a man
Because he "speaks his mind"
And don't care how many
People he's maligned;
Where general politeness
And a thin veneer of civility
Are worn away as bigotry
Finds acceptability;
Where extremist views
Completely transmogrify
The democratic process,
And justice and clarity die;
Where clever speeches ignite
Passions that become scary,
And governing becomes
A concern that's secondary;
Where in the guise of freedom
Of religion, people create
Laws that give them the right
To cruelly discriminate;
Where there's baseless distrust
Of scholarly opinions
And the leader prefers his UN-
Educated minions;
Where equal and civil rights
For which people fought
For many, many years
Sadly come to naught;
Where the middle class
Through clever bait and switch
Are talked into providing
Tax breaks for the rich;
Where facts become suspect.
The leader makes it clear:
Invented "facts" are the only
Facts he wants to hear;
Where freedom of speech is stifled,
And millions do not squawk
When the ones in power
Turn back the clock;
Where people need a scapegoat
And constantly look for someone
To blame and do not think
That they could also become one;
Where values, tolerance, morals,
Compassion, and decency fade
While anger and xenophobia
Are on a vicious crusade.
Welcome to Trumplandia.
America, farewell.
Bemoan the ever deepening
Crack in the Liberty Bell.
- by Bob B (12-5-16)
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
It's a different buzz when
I hear of someone who isn't like anyone else,
Like a mellifluous cukoo in middle
of a metropolitan, a wave of fresh air breezing past
the sailors of Atlantic or as if it rained upon
the deserted desert where ozymandias is buried.
All the myths were buried
About things glowing brighter when,
I happened to glance upon
her gleam; where else,
Have I seen such shine, never in mine,past
which only she stands, next to The Sun, none in middle.
This sestina is hers,thou shalln't disturb in middle,
Those traits Methuselah said, is long lost and buried,
I don't know if it's hers, or she borrowed from the past,
Maybe she learnt at the right time, I don't know when,
Maybe she learnt it from someone, I don't know who else
can guide my way to the place, Redeemer was once built upon.
She is the Horatio, you can freely trust upon,
Tom to the Huck Finn,when stuck in middle,
"Acceptability" as she puts it, is second to none else,
Eleos must be proud of things she left buried,
Aesthetic in itself did her trait sound when
I caught upto myself in wake of my past.
Don't fool yourself, everyone still has a past,
But weak are those who keep clinging upon
the setbacks of life , the scars you get, never when
you came across but when u get stuck in middle
of holding onto it over keeping it buried,
But she isn't us, changing times doesn't wear her but everyone else.
It's not something I only observed, ask someone else,
It's what she stands for , way above her past,
I always worry about the good things being buried,
But oblivion is what her world's built upon,
Infinity and beyond is what she will be deciding in middle
of choosing destinies she'll own, time will tell when.
Who? I hope you got her upon, the hints I dropped in middle,
My examples are all the buried , yet her hint lies in only their past,
I might sound cliché when, I say like you there lies none else.
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC