"affirmative" poems
In your presence, where desire takes its hold,
Yearning surges, a story yet untold,
With eager lips, I seek her tender kiss,
A dance of tongues, an intimate abyss.
Exploring further, my tongue does trace,
Her sacred curves, a path I gently trace,
Whispers of pleasure adorn her sacred mound,
Each taste, an artistry of senses unbound.
As I delve deeper, a mouthful of her essence,
A symphony of flavors, a divine presence,
It's the elixir that calms my restless soul,
Truthfully, her nectar, my senses extol.
Jun 27, 2023
Jun 27, 2023 at 2:51 PM UTC
From the cultured hood of Beverly Hills
Young rich white kid rapping
Blonde hair perfectly combed and trimmed
Blue eyes shaded from California sun
Spitting ghetto slang about unfair pain,
Affirmative action, cultural injustices
Daddy’s allowance, racial profiling
Pimp[le] mobile and spinning rims
Gold plated teeth over pearly whites
Slinging 401k’s and time shares
Baggy pants sagging down past his ***
Tugging at his crotch
His hand permanently attached
To his little white flaccid ****
Trying to keep from tripping
While he’s running from the police
Wanted for questioning
On insider trading
And insurance scams
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
Spring blossoms gentle acceptance
Of vagaries of desperation
Like variegated autumnal leaves
From the core of the stone of floods
Undeclared truths
Affirmative requests
There is chaos as a whole
In the expanse of the unending.
Fear fades mystically.
Death and boredom leave your lungs ...
There. Exists
Justice and pleasure... .
.... thoughts of living, laugh in the face of Death.
all the thoughts of failures
Conglomerate and are cast away
Into a deep trench
the soothing currents lull
Sinking green verdure.
Embraced by the biosphere
And forming a reef,
Thereby even your failures succeed.
Even now your image is being painted on the dull white canvas of my love.
Violent storms may rend the world
scattering lesser unions,
There is endurance in our madness...
Laughter, the golden bird, with bejewelled feathers,
Leads to the oasis of truth, in this desert of deceit
Reciprocation of sensation
Every intention to remain
And the rapidly ascending choir of broken angels sing the song which massacres despair.
And the body I wish to settle
Caressed by the deepest dark of night
Birth of the morning
The genesis of pleasant daydreams
Calm, hope ...
..... And a sense of success
Blue morning justice cascades
With dispelled illusions, and realized wishes.
Everyday upon wakening
I discard hate
As love, is mildly colored supple flesh
Withdrawn and plunged, into the crack of a stoney heart
Space infinitum opens before us,
On the petals of the lotus
Space through which two beings connect
No matter the distance.
We know that beneath this dull white nightmare
Dwells a vibrant black dream,
That is neither evil or good,
But just is.
On the workbench of despair,
Disassembled hearts are heaped.
In this pile I dwelled for an age of pain,
Until you plucked me from the pile
And made me whole again.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
So primitive that it should be criminal
like a limited pyramid of minimal
innocent citizen, inhabitant, or denizen
infinite vision and mission subliminal
principled, committed and disciplined
addicted to the privileged derivative
affirmative velocity, motive inquisitive
inhabiting, uninhibited, where prohibited
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
I get it America
I really do
I am mixed race too
just like you are
I understand how hard it is
to make it look like
there is no internal race conflict
to try and conceal the race war within
putting on fake appearance
to show cooperation
affirmative actions
I also wanted it to look like I was progressive too
moved on from race war
just like you America
There is raging race war within me
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 8:07 PM UTC
For Her
The call came late that night. The voice on the other end asks for him; he answers in the affirmative. It then proceeds to deliver the dreadful news.
At first he does not believe the voice. He asks it to repeat it self. It does, this time offering words or sympathy and comfort.
But it's to late. She is gone. There are no words of comfort, no spells, no nothing that can bring her back to him.
The phone falls to the floor with a sharp clatter; he with a soft thump. He stares blankly ahead as his brain works to understand, comprehend, believe what has happened.
DEAD
The Word rings through his mind, his body, his soul. It consumes him. He understands nothing else. It traps him in its hold till he is numb, then it releases him.
First comes the grief and the tears. It washes over him crippling him once more. The tears stain his cheeks forcing him to remember.
Then the rage. Rage so red, so hot, it burns the Word out. He begins to blame everyone and everything. How could this happen? How could Fate be so cold? He blames and blames till there is nothing left to blame.
The rage passes as the guilt begins to seep in. It starts at the skin and slowly makes its way to his core. She had done nothing to deserve this! It should have been him, not Her! She had been innocent!
As the guilt reaches his core, his thoughts take a deadly turn. He could step off a chair, pull a trigger, take pills. Anything to end this pain and join Her. He could flood the tube, cut till he bleeds out...
Suddenly a cool calming sensation washes over him. His thoughts begin to clear, his emotions begin to calm. Her voice whispers in his ear, soothing him, begging him not to join Her.
For Me. She whispers then fades.
Her words strength him. They lead him away from the Darkness and Guilt and Rage. For Her. For Her, he must continue.
Day after day he gets stronger. For Her. He tells himself. For Her. Week after week. For Her. Month after month. For Her. Year after year. For Her, he whispers.
Till one day he sees her. she looks the same as Her, walks and talks the same. But as he begins to learn about her, he realizes she is not Her. she is like Her but not Her.
Month after month and year after year. Finally he has a reason to live, a reason to fight.
He realizes that She was right all along. Her words were right, for time had passed and he had healed. However he would never forget her. Every now and then he whispers softly to the sky For Her, Thank You.
High above She gazes down at the small family. The family she could have had. But She has no regrets. He his happy and that is all that matters.
A smile tugs at Her lips as She watches him. Finally he had found peace. Finally he had found love. Finally he had healed.
She would forever gaze down to watch and protect for though he was happy She knew She would be forever in his heart
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
We, too, had known golden hours
When body and soul were in tune,
Had danced with our true loves
By the light of a full moon,
And sat with the wise and good
As tongues grew witty and gay
Over some noble dish
Out of Escoffier;
Had felt the intrusive glory
Which tears reserve apart,
And would in the old grand manner
Have sung from a resonant heart.
But, pawed-at and gossiped-over
By the promiscuous crowd,
Concocted by editors
Into spells to befuddle the crowd,
All words like Peace and Love,
All sane affirmative speech,
Had been soiled, profaned, debased
To a horrid mechanical screech.
No civil style survived
That pandaemonioum
But the wry, the sotto-voce,
Ironic and monochrome:
And where should we find shelter
For joy or mere content
When little was left standing
But the suburb of dissent?
3.1k
A young Filipina - they're awesome,
they are born conservative
Unique beauty,
Modest - affirmative.
Helpful in aspects
and you cannot tell,
They can cast your eyes
with an aestethic spell
Gentle as the wind
but sharp as an arrow,
equality is present,
social Trend is not followed
Rights are powered,
Fair with men.
respect is a must,
It Cannot be bent
Mix of modern ways
and culture tradition,
forms a young filipina
of the new generation
Enchanting charms,
strucks me like a dart,
Embrace me warm
an ideal sweet heart
Oct 17, 2010
Oct 17, 2010 at 8:59 PM UTC
*oh did you know, aliens eat kids for lunch, it's a rip,
school bells ring, pencils, books, superfast typing
and mr. finch, we're under attack, and away we run..
who are you?.. you can call me the doctor, says he
a mystery, hurry let's go, aliens goodbye, i'm in control
come with me baby, it's time to roll, and off we go
hello robot dog, goodbye flying aliens, hey love
building blocks of universe, in my hand, says he
time, space and matter, they're all my friend
my batteries are failing, lalalalala, you bad, bad dog
affirmative, and i cry, doctor, doctor, where are you?
i need you now, give me the blue pill, so i can chill..
"oh my lovely doctor, my love," and i laugh happily
"you can fly me into the future, or fly me, back in time
you can make me yours, and i will make you mine!"
"oh my love, you can spend the rest of your life with me
but sadly, i can't spend the rest of mine with you
it's the curse of the time lords, my love, says he..*
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 12:35 AM UTC
Some folks hide behind blinders only seeing fantasies instead of truth.
Truth that has stayed before many to witness and not be fooled.
It's the new racism that trickled down from the old.
Oh, to the news , it's like something new.
To those that has dealt with it constantly.
They just never has been asked the question.
Whether it's on the police force.
Or simply from co-workers.
The new racism never fooled many of us.
Some use the blame affirmative action excuse.
Others states, they more qualify than you.
When in truth both aren't always true.
Especially, when you aware that many with college degrees.
And you probably without can do the job better.
And it's has nothing to do with color.
Some feel comfortable around their own.
Then these the same you see in those segregation videos.
Advising others, they should go back home.
When in truth, it's now a choice if you chose too.
Cause in this new racism , many still using tools to defeat you.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
Liberal affirmative action!
Bill Clinton responds with the bananas of racist market economies.
Paula Jones holds meetings on the trade embargos of Republican controversies.
Thus Newt Gingrich has affairs with voluptuous filibusters!
Congress serves subpoenas to socialist health care.
Knowest thou how the Justice Department debates with Social Security's agony?
The Religious Right wants to impeach poodle ecstasy,
But it's known that Rush Limbaugh spews forth fundamentalist tax cuts.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
early after-noon, she quizzes,
“would I be ok with
skinless boneless roasted
chicken breast, with sautéed
mushrooms for our dinner,
ce soir?”
so smile I,
for it is a favored menu
of pleasure,
from one who has never
presented us a meal
that is less than perfect
later, she shyly inquires,
“would be ok if we to eat
a little early, I have a salon,
followed by an
Argentine Tango dance milonga
tonight and one starts early (and
tango parties
end typically
the next day?
(no|si, me, don’t dance)
of course, respondez in
the affirmative, thus
confirming our love with the
consideration that veins
out affection mutual
and then I add:
“instead of an hours food prep,
which distracts you from the hour
deeded for dressing
for dancing motivation proper,
and add a little kick-her:
*I love you so much,
would happily consume
your tuna fish salad sandwich,
every night, for the rest of our
lives together, it’s fast
and simple, a dis-less-stressing
concoction, that we both enjoy*
she (s)miles a sweetened thanks,
after numerous reassurances,
that our love only grows
stronger with acts of smart
sensitivity to each others needs,
no standard of care breached,
au contraire, meant sincerely,
earning me a secondary
whiling smiling
and this true story is a poem,
has been writ a thousand times,
in a million different tiny gestures,
of which, I am proud
she exhales a breath elongated,
a release of an admixture of differing
pleasures released, and goes into the
night to dance in the arms of strangers,
which concerns me
not at all,
after all,
these many years,
aware she moves exquisitely
in a dance that demands years
of practice, for it requires
intangible silent of the merest
slight finger pressures to guide
the dancer what next steps
are coy coming,
and I have stolen this
knot of knowledge,
for mine own purposes,
secretly & selfishly,
employing these techniques,
for most of the time we’ve
been together
this poem of
tuna fish sandwiches,
becomes a dance of words
which is
my specialty, which she will
read in the morning l, maybe,
if I send it to her,
though obviously,
that is unnecessary 😉
as she returns to our bed,
me asleeping, she,
exhaustingly satisfied,
sleeeps deeper
secured by the knowing
that we, are both,
the beneficiaries of:
my learned dancing
practices
for such is
the ways of the poet!
Dec 14, 2024
Dec 14, 2024 at 10:39 AM UTC
Just what do we know about
Ward Churchill?
That radical agitator,
That Colorado college professor
Most famous for calling
Twin Tower 9/11 dead technocrats
Little Eichmanns.
Noteworthy is the fact that
The United States Supreme Court
Denied certiorari,
Passed on hearing his claim of
Unlawful discharge.
Unlawful discharge?
Sounds felonious and vile:
Like pus laced with *****
A criminal secretion, like mucus
Smuggled past Customs:
Vaginal contraband.
Sorry, Ward.
We just don’t give a ****
Your fake Indian pedigree,
Your bogus Vietnam fairytales,
Your phony combat record,
Your forward ops recon
Way out in ******* Cambodia,
Fall flat like Buffalo turds.
You’ve been slick, Ward.
Hired originally to fill
Some gratuitous affirmative action quota,
Denied tenure in two legitimate departments,
You create some ******** academic discipline
For campus freaks & geeks.
Self-appointed Department Chairman,
A fraudulent college professor from the start,
Once tenured, a courageous warrior for free speech.
Describing Native American history as genocide.
Summing up American history as Holocaust denial.
Professor Churchill was all of these things,
And less.
But using the Holocaust metaphor
To anchor one’s fakakta politics?
That was the proverbial last straw,
The camel buster, if you will.
Especially since most of the
Stockbrokers & market analysts
Crushed in the rubble were Jewish.
Hava Nagila, Babaloo!
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
The Loss was beyond MY understanding AT THE TIME.. How could she have been taken away so Quickly?? She had only been gone One hour, when The Call came in.. A Raspy voice,,Speaking Slowly, Asked,,"Missing Something??" My Heart raced within me, My Mind trying to gather it's senses. The *Voice said "If You want Her back,,,You *Must follow these instructions". "BUT First",,the *Voice Firmly announced ,, "You Must answer the following questions.. Do You Really LOVE Her, Miss being able to talk to her everyday, Miss kissing Her Lovely lips, Miss the Touch of Her hand, Miss the Sound of Her voice in those *Precious *Private moments ??"___The *Voice then was quiet for a few seconds,,,,,,As I had had answered Each of his questions in the Affirmative!! I Forced myself Not to say anything else,, but just answer his quieries...____The Pause seemed as if minutes!!_____THEN,,the *Voice Announced in a STERN WAY,,,,"WHAT if I took Her away Forever?" My Heart was now Pounding as I tried to Calmly Say,,,,"I Would Miss Her Terribly!!",,THEN I Quickly asked "What do I need to do,, to Get Her *Back??"______Another very Long Pause as my Mind was racing in *Prayers... The Pause seemed Dark and Ominous! *FROM NOWHERE!! I felt this sudden Pain Hitting the back of my Head!! Nextly, AS if from out of a Cloud,,a Womans Voice,,,"SIR,,SIR!".. Thru Blurring Tears,, A Nurses uniform appeared before me,,"SIR" she continued,,,"The Heart transplant was a success".. *Death had been Calling for My Love,,,BUT *GOD's Hand had "RECAPTURED HER"
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 3:51 AM UTC
Witness the gentleness of her spirit
soaring with affirmative hope.
To nurture the kindness and decency from others is her guiding goal.
Men aren't brutes it's just a notion,
a characteristic strain to be loved away.
Her sympathetic understanding is like a potion.
Her words hummingbirds, her tongue a bouquet.
Beaming smile, laughing eyes,
tender of heart for the witnessing.
You'll feel like a present or a prize
because she believes all people interesting.
Everyone and all want to be around her,
as far as the eye can see.
Who is this person of such profound magnificence?
It's YOU if you want it to be.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 8:02 PM UTC
it's not a memorisable lullaby, i don't want to write poetry that requires memorisation by school children; perhaps a riddle, perhaps a jigsaw, perhaps an awakening after the words dig in from their arrangement into your own usage, distinguished.
these days, someone on a social
strata of being absolved
might require a concerned dis-involvement
from nouns, and thus juggle
the pronouns, over-use pronouns
to remain politically accurate and sound,
for to replace nouns with pronouns
would bleach people, entrapped
in the constant affirmative of something
they once owned but were dispossessed of,
they do that, they stress the usage of pronouns
by a relief a diet of noun usage,
so that a Pakistani dare not use
the associations of the noun that might
decipher his skin as cinnamon in writing,
unless it be pronoun inclusive and noun exclusive,
so as modern society teaches:
become pronoun users with a few distinguishing
nouns congregating, don't learn carboxylic,
don't learn onomatopoeia... keep up with
the bleak egoism that states: not so much self-interest,
but over-pronoun-use and a lack of nouns,
or if used, reduced to quizzes of crosswords
with antonyms and synonyms pronounced;
he who confesses to censoring noun usage
will control the pronoun category
by usurping noun usage freely with a censored usage
that will only provoke counter-nouns / slang /
encoding / the need for surveillance.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
seventy-three silk worms
live on the peripheries
of my consciousness
i see them
encounter their stares
hundreds of silver eyes
their ravenous mouths
that keep me emaciated
in my own mind
long vertical ropes of thread
spiraling in molecular contortionisms
among my thoughts
there is an elasticity in their movements
their speech is laden with androgynous chic
they possess and exacting ambition
not to be kept alive by toxins
and look to their Dadaist progenitors
for encouragement in their silken tasks
seventy-three silk worms
who find affirmative properties
in the rebirth of my brain cells
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC
We as writers have the ability to do many things.
We know how to change the tenses of many different words,
Such as love becoming had loved
And together becomes we were together.
We have the knowledge to change things
From the affirmative to the negative,
Such as we’re in love
To she isn’t in love
Or she is always by my side
To I rarely see her anymore.
We can combine the two
To change something that is happening
To something that might have never even happened,
Such as how will always be in love
Changes to were we ever in love?
And how I love you
Could be flipped to ask
Didn’t you ever love me?
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
The salvation of yesterday's tomorrow
creeps blisterlingly by,
torturingly
resurrecting stale hopes of today's past.
In silence we dream of golden canals
and fluttering kisses
of the white man's world,
left superficially untouched by loose laws and pendulous light.
Only history's kings remain incumbent.
Zestless promises of the white fence linger ceaselessly in the campus of hippos
unencumbered by the passive revolt of tomorrow's yesterday yet
lost in the oceans of affirmative action
and unsteady governmental regimes.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 9:36 PM UTC
Did you never know -- how much you loved me,
that night, with those prone rolling hazes
around us -- the ones entrapped in such dim,
salubrious air? Your charms, your smiles, and your
reddening cheeks -- all are the ones that flocked into
my mind. I was enthralled, I was flattered!
But you were too pure and fresh-hearted, I admit,
untouched like the faint showering rain; and its gay entourage
as though in a singular dream in the moonlight
-- but frowning again, again, and all over its wings
at the alarming torch of the morning sun.
Full of hesitation was your soul, and affirmative instinct --
but unsullied as my own unripe grace, and eloquent
seriousness -- you were but too pure, too pure to know.
Fate is a wind, and when the snow did fall again
I could not help but smiling at that memory --
with just a shaded tint of plain curiosity!
Memory of you -- so precious; and duly monstrous
amidst those roaring vapours, and gales -- of the sky.
It’s our secret, you know; but as I gazed into you again
in this serene morning walk --
I suddenly knew what it means -- my dear, my dear.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
An anxious amortal
archnemesis
affectionately
allowing an amoral
animosity
achieve an attitudal
agressive and aversion against
any and all
annoying,
aggravating,
afflicting,
and almost annihilating
alliterations,
although all
aforementioned actions
are absolutely
artificial.
An amiable
abomination
and architectural abuse
at an alphabet achieved
after aesthetically
arranging ample
arbitrary
alternatives alone,
amounting an acclamation.
An affinity at
awkward avante-garde arts
arising at
an astronomical acceleration,
aside an archaic
argumentum ad
antiquitatem argument
awfully appraising
an atheistic and agnostic
apparition,
anthrophomorphically
alive and apparently
alright after asphyxiation,
alluding an astral authority
absolving accusations
and all allegations.
An advantageously
astute and adroit assassin
always actively
acting and assaulting
alone, ain't assisted
anyhow,
already
antiquating auxillaries
altogether.
An alliteratious afterfocus:
Aborting all anticipations.
Anticipating affirmative antagonizations.
All are alright.
Already airtight.
Adios, amigos.
Author: anonymous,
an acorn-afflicted,
assassinatrix affiliate.
attributed as Agent Argent.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
Last year
you weren't here
for my birthday. I
understood, of course, even though
it hurt just a bit. When
we talked on the phone, you
told me when you returned, we
would do something together, and
I giggled, playing through my mind
the word you used, tasting
its heavy cream on tongue,
"decadent."
Last year
you returned
and you had forgotten
your promise. I understood,
of course, even though it hurt
more than just a bit. You were
busy, though time for criticism and
loud shouting matches and afterwards,
muffled sobbing into my pillow was always
made. In the back of my mind I
kept waiting for an acknowledgment,
maybe, if I was feeling optimistic,
even an apology. It never came. My hope, turned
decrepit.
This year
I look back
at what could have been,
and I understand, of course, but
memories of my blind faith in you hurt
the dying spark of optimism, the one
you haven't killed off, yet. Now,
I am the one who will not be here
for my birthday. You, wanting
only an excuse, will try and gift me with
your presence, commit actions
in my name, actions I do not want. Our love
lost, I do not ask if ever it existed, I know
the affirmative will only hurt me. We
are so shattered, we are far past
the point of being
Delicate.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC
___’Ego sum hic.’___
_Calling to the dawn,
Baying at the moon,
Petitioning the horizon,
Summoning the faithful;
The yearning indefinite,
In pursuit of an enduring affirmative;
An echo searching for its source
In the boundless beyond._
___’Ibi tu es, tu es, tu es, tu es...‘___
Oct 4, 2020
Oct 4, 2020 at 1:28 AM UTC