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"allegiance" poems
Great tragedy suffered, Impossible circumstances conquered, The warrior walks upon the field flanked path. The wanderer's armor tells a tale, Battle scarred and partially rent asunder, A face of stoicism that hides the haggardness underneath, Peeking out beneath the mask of a hardened soldier. The clouds clap ahead, preceded by flashes of light brightly illuminating the world, Accompanied shortly after by the rainfall. A trickle becomes a downpour, The battered individual trudging along as the road becomes a bog of mud and slop, The message firmly planted within their mind. Coming upon the dark outline of the castle ahead the warrior picks up pace, Reflecting upon what would happen to those that the Warrior helped. The pace is now fueled by a different kind of urgency. The rain is cold upon the face's of those that it falls on, The torn edges of metal digging in at places, Some already wounded and tender, As the final hilltop between them is crested. The gates are closed, And this loyal soldier is for the moment shut out, A fist is raised, The declaration of allegiance given, An angry detailing of the warriors achievements and adventures shouted, And a challenge of one's path, Building in anger and fury as the dam finally breaks and gushes forth, Threatening to shatter the gate and doors to splinters and twisted metal. A long ago promised gift to be rewarded, For all the things endured, Things that could be considered so cruel, The storm picks up in force until it's akin to that of a hurricane, As if brought forth by the warrior's grief and pain finally being released, For the first and only time. These things ringing out despite the storms roaring wind, Gathering force, Perhaps in affirmation of the warrior's words. After a pause the gate begins to lift, It's metal screeching, The doors groaning as they begin to swing outward, and the battered soldier is bathed in light, Taking the weight from the warrior's shoulders, As the threshold is finally crossed.
0
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 9:22 PM UTC
Threshold
Great tragedy suffered, Impossible circumstances conquered, The warrior walks upon the field flanked path. The wanderer's armor tells a tale, Battle scarred and partially rent asunder, A face of stoicism that hides the haggardness underneath, Peeking out beneath the mask of a hardened soldier. The clouds clap ahead, preceded by flashes of light brightly illuminating the world, Accompanied shortly after by the rainfall. A trickle becomes a downpour, The battered individual trudging along as the road becomes a bog of mud and slop, The message firmly planted within their mind. Coming upon the dark outline of the castle ahead the warrior picks up pace, Reflecting upon what would happen to those that the Warrior helped. The pace is now fueled by a different kind of urgency. The rain is cold upon the face's of those that it falls on, The torn edges of metal digging in at places, Some already wounded and tender, As the final hilltop between them is crested. The gates are closed, And this loyal soldier is for the moment shut out, A fist is raised, The declaration of allegiance given, An angry detailing of the warriors achievements and adventures shouted, And a challenge of one's path, Building in anger and fury as the dam finally breaks and gushes forth, Threatening to shatter the gate and doors to splinters and twisted metal. A long ago promised gift to be rewarded, For all the things endured, Things that could be considered so cruel, The storm picks up in force until it's akin to that of a hurricane, As if brought forth by the warrior's grief and pain finally being released, For the first and only time. These things ringing out despite the storms roaring wind, Gathering force, Perhaps in affirmation of the warrior's words. After a pause the gate begins to lift, It's metal screeching, The doors groaning as they begin to swing outward, and the battered soldier is bathed in light, Taking the weight from the warrior's shoulders, As the threshold is finally crossed.
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41
I can still hear your lisp the way it covered every "r" you sounded bare skin under mist, your eyes matched your hair the first, all blue raspberry stained lips the second, pure spring sky Never before, had I loved the rain, as much as when we ran through it we let the downpour soak our clothes and congruent, thunder couldn't scare us we felt naked, or I did, but I didn't mind it to be naked with you was all that I wanted Never before, had I looked at a girl, and wanted to hold her, the way I held you suddenly, the laws I believed in felt paperclip thin, and completely untrue it didn't take much strength to twist every one of them into a shapeless and easily ignorable pile of waste You knew the flags of every country as if your allegiance was to the entire world I wanted it to be to me only and I think I knew that it was, but that doesn't mean I didn't want you to say it
0
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
Lisp
Ask me, Ask me now daddy. What I want to do when I grow up. I want to be happy. No, not happy I want to be happiness. I want to be joy and cheer and admiration Confidence and peace and optimism I don’t want to be like others, no, I want to be love. The smile that comes across your face when they say your name, The look that makes your heart skip a beat, The song that makes you rethink every second you spent together. I don’t wanna be the poem, I wanna be the emotion behind it, Not the first kiss, let me be the nerves, Not the dance, let me be the excitement, Not the Officiant, let me be the vows. When I grow up, I don’t wanna be a doctor mommy. I want to be the feeling when someone’s told there’s a cure, Or when a parent finds out their child will live to be a teenager, Or maybe I want to be 3 in the morning when a mother holds her child for the first time. I want to be affection and adoration and passion Oh, I want to be passion. Let me be passion. So that you cannot do without me, because nothing without me has meaning. So that when you are playing the final strain or scoring the winning goal, Or writing the last chapter or finishing the last paint stroke, You will think of me. Maybe I’ll be allegiance or devotion or respect. I won’t be the soldier, I’ll be the loyalty. Or the surprise in a child's heart when their dad comes home early, Maybe I’ll be the feeling when a father meets his baby for the first time, And the child already knows his name. I want to be piety and faith and worship. I don’t want to be the pastor, I’ll be the lesson. Maybe I’ll be the obligation behind the first baptism or first communion. Maybe I’ll be the words when someone so low is told someone loves them. I’ll be the salvation of the gospel, The redemption to the guilty, The forgiveness to the sinners. When I grow up, I want to be the opposite of sorrow, The antonym of misery, The reverse of fear, The contradiction of rejection, The antithesis of disappointment, The inverse of insecurity, I want to be the alleviation of anxiety, The ease of pain, When I grow up, I want to be happy.
0
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 10:17 AM UTC
Happiness (After Sekou the Misfit)
Ask me, Ask me now daddy. What I want to do when I grow up. I want to be happy. No, not happy I want to be happiness. I want to be joy and cheer and admiration Confidence and peace and optimism I don’t want to be like others, no, I want to be love. The smile that comes across your face when they say your name, The look that makes your heart skip a beat, The song that makes you rethink every second you spent together. I don’t wanna be the poem, I wanna be the emotion behind it, Not the first kiss, let me be the nerves, Not the dance, let me be the excitement, Not the Officiant, let me be the vows. When I grow up, I don’t wanna be a doctor mommy. I want to be the feeling when someone’s told there’s a cure, Or when a parent finds out their child will live to be a teenager, Or maybe I want to be 3 in the morning when a mother holds her child for the first time. I want to be affection and adoration and passion Oh, I want to be passion. Let me be passion. So that you cannot do without me, because nothing without me has meaning. So that when you are playing the final strain or scoring the winning goal, Or writing the last chapter or finishing the last paint stroke, You will think of me. Maybe I’ll be allegiance or devotion or respect. I won’t be the soldier, I’ll be the loyalty. Or the surprise in a child's heart when their dad comes home early, Maybe I’ll be the feeling when a father meets his baby for the first time, And the child already knows his name. I want to be piety and faith and worship. I don’t want to be the pastor, I’ll be the lesson. Maybe I’ll be the obligation behind the first baptism or first communion. Maybe I’ll be the words when someone so low is told someone loves them. I’ll be the salvation of the gospel, The redemption to the guilty, The forgiveness to the sinners. When I grow up, I want to be the opposite of sorrow, The antonym of misery, The reverse of fear, The contradiction of rejection, The antithesis of disappointment, The inverse of insecurity, I want to be the alleviation of anxiety, The ease of pain, When I grow up, I want to be happy.
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50
I pledge allegiance To the discourse Of the divided states of mind And to the guns For which they hold One crowd Under fire Inescapable With funerals and bullets For all
0
Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 12:28 PM UTC
A Child's Pledge of Allegiance
I will disappear in fog and night Subdued in sleep and surprise Blinding lights Overwhelming might They will spirit me away And charge me with my crimes They will call me many names And some I might be But none will be my own I will be a traitor or subversive Or worse Because I refuse to swear allegiance To the police state And fealty to the men Clad in black I will not submit But they don't know That I stole into the great hall of Valhalla And took with me One of their mighty spears Usurped their valor And took it back with me Now they will carry me on my shield Though my burning bier Be but a lonely cell And tonight I will dine In the great hall of Valhalla That place that still lives on In the mind of men
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Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
Valhalla
Welcome to the dawn of a new age Open up the book turn the page Let's excel to highest degree Recognize evolution of humanity Back on track showing I don't lack Doing what I do to make you react Let's take a trip through my mind Poetry prophecy perfectly combine Who has the answer? Let's ask the question Seems no one is paying attention To "Money" which is created by man It separates people Are you starting to understand It's a trap set by death it wont stop Till you breathe your last breath Hmm that's right... Not even death is free Money is the maker of poverty Overpopulation, segregation a messed up nation Leads to mass annihilation Wartime the battles rage on Is it about hatred? Or some politician's song? Time and space The final frontiers Bombs explode people run in fear Annihilation of a species unknown Aliens from space invade our home Pledge allegiance to a flag Whichever may wave whatever they have Science is it fiction or fact? Sometimes it's hard to believe all that Who's gonna do it? Who has the answer? Prophets fall but not from cancer GOD.. Labeled "Almighty One" Spoke to us on earth through his son Whether you agree or disagree Intentions were to save humanity Who'll stand up? Who'll be the one? To bring about change without firing a gun? Each generation builds off the legacy of the last Ignorance of history doom us to repeat our past..
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Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
Dawn Of A New Age
ken not the vive la différence! entre les deux, these two bed and head chambers, for all poets are seducers, regardless of *** race, creed or color when first we employ our working, yeoman vocabulary, we plain start, to relate but not to regale, the whom we are, hoping our moments unique, will breach the boundaries of our collective commonality connectivity, and find human receptivity thus, the seduction of self commences though every possible combination of words has somewhere been inscribed and committed, we ****** ourselves (the seduction of poetry) with potions of notions that we are and always be our first, and now soon forever, yours as well of course, we are, it's true, our very own first admirer & lover, having conquered the hillock of self, see the universe expanding and the ****** need to conceive and prowess to please beyond the beyond with the poetry of seduction do not want your body, heart or soul, commitment, allegiance, vows, sacred or profane, all such in vain crave your everything, not even a legal nine-tenths satisfactory dare not call me arrogant or presumptive, gaze upon the mirror that cannot lie, rereading thy words assemblage, and deny to lie to yourself want you, you want me, my adoration, we want to be in a poem together, lovers at the molecular level where words dissected into letters, then again, into guttural sounds where a simple outcry is an elegy, a love poem, a wound, a denouement, a preface, a tear, a welling, a heaving, a sigh, an exhalation, all, an entrance to where the need for words is long since past the sin and crown of seduction completed, unanimously now breathe out and then, breathe in
0
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC
the poetry of seduction, the seduction of poetry
ken not the vive la différence! entre les deux, these two bed and head chambers, for all poets are seducers, regardless of *** race, creed or color when first we employ our working, yeoman vocabulary, we plain start, to relate but not to regale, the whom we are, hoping our moments unique, will breach the boundaries of our collective commonality connectivity, and find human receptivity thus, the seduction of self commences though every possible combination of words has somewhere been inscribed and committed, we ****** ourselves (the seduction of poetry) with potions of notions that we are and always be our first, and now soon forever, yours as well of course, we are, it's true, our very own first admirer & lover, having conquered the hillock of self, see the universe expanding and the ****** need to conceive and prowess to please beyond the beyond with the poetry of seduction do not want your body, heart or soul, commitment, allegiance, vows, sacred or profane, all such in vain crave your everything, not even a legal nine-tenths satisfactory dare not call me arrogant or presumptive, gaze upon the mirror that cannot lie, rereading thy words assemblage, and deny to lie to yourself want you, you want me, my adoration, we want to be in a poem together, lovers at the molecular level where words dissected into letters, then again, into guttural sounds where a simple outcry is an elegy, a love poem, a wound, a denouement, a preface, a tear, a welling, a heaving, a sigh, an exhalation, all, an entrance to where the need for words is long since past the sin and crown of seduction completed, unanimously now breathe out and then, breathe in
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54
again, madness! one eye tears, why must you return to the old familiar, the poets prescribed, already so well covered? why? must. it is the only shade of my voice that persists, all else vanity. these are words handily eye-read, given. all I need do is “repeat after me” somewhat well, and fill in the blanks. <> he writes me, in another place, to another name, describing himself: “I'm a charming man with a fragile patience.” no sir, Muses order me to disagree, you are a fragile man with a charming patience! your fragility is a royal hallmark, embedded in every scribing, this human indentation, always well hidden, on the underside of the wine cup, the base of the candlesticks, the inside of the wedding ring of your tying allegiance to the humbled humanity. the charming patience is the wait time tween your visions of the excellence of the common, the exquisites of the small, the delights of loss and pain translated into mercurial milestones, poems. here I cease, for overly long praise is a river too long, no end in sight, making great and wide just another poem. <> But! he writes me, in another place, to another name, describing himself, yet again: *”A thousand poems I don't write, but they get written in my heart.*” A thousand! ours is the patience fragile, your innate screen that filters out these thousand forbidden unwritten, needs a cleaning, open the tiny apertures and release them, for we are the humans needing, for the breathing of your fragile charm. <> the Muses do thee attend. their patience neither charming or fragile, reminding me, they too have a thousand. a thousand other ears into which to whisper that imperative imperial command, and they river no delay...
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Aug 29, 2019
Aug 29, 2019 at 11:12 AM UTC
Pradip: “I'm a charming man with a fragile patience“
again, madness! one eye tears, why must you return to the old familiar, the poets prescribed, already so well covered? why? must. it is the only shade of my voice that persists, all else vanity. these are words handily eye-read, given. all I need do is “repeat after me” somewhat well, and fill in the blanks. <> he writes me, in another place, to another name, describing himself: “I'm a charming man with a fragile patience.” no sir, Muses order me to disagree, you are a fragile man with a charming patience! your fragility is a royal hallmark, embedded in every scribing, this human indentation, always well hidden, on the underside of the wine cup, the base of the candlesticks, the inside of the wedding ring of your tying allegiance to the humbled humanity. the charming patience is the wait time tween your visions of the excellence of the common, the exquisites of the small, the delights of loss and pain translated into mercurial milestones, poems. here I cease, for overly long praise is a river too long, no end in sight, making great and wide just another poem. <> But! he writes me, in another place, to another name, describing himself, yet again: *”A thousand poems I don't write, but they get written in my heart.*” A thousand! ours is the patience fragile, your innate screen that filters out these thousand forbidden unwritten, needs a cleaning, open the tiny apertures and release them, for we are the humans needing, for the breathing of your fragile charm. <> the Muses do thee attend. their patience neither charming or fragile, reminding me, they too have a thousand. a thousand other ears into which to whisper that imperative imperial command, and they river no delay...
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39
I will disappear in fog and night Subdued in sound sleep And surprise Blinding lights Overwhelming might They will spirit me away And charge me with my crimes They will call me many names Even some that I may claim But none will be my own Traitor or subversive Criminal or defendant Or maybe Even something worse But I refuse to swear allegiance To the police state And fealty to the men Clad in black I will not submit Nor ever kneel down Though they may lay me On the ground But they don't know That I stole into the great hall of Valhalla In deepest dark of night And took with me One of their mighty spears Usurped their valor And added it to my might Now they will have to carry me Proudly on my shield Though my burning bier Be but a lonely cell It will be my burial And tonight I will dine In the great hall of Valhalla That place that still lives on In the mind of men
0
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
Valhalla (Edited)
I find myself and I feel myself slowly falling down into your gaze, but is this right? is this okay? It's everything I'm afraid of, everything I'm unsure of. . . Am I? Am I even good enough? to grow with you, to move with you, to just be- with you, in harmony? to ebb and flow- its hard ya know..? to take the good with the bad, not many can handle that. it's a long, hard road paved by patience with diligence, allegiance, and constant cognizance; that's not to mention pure intent, unconditional love, and always going beyond and above... is this.. could this.. could this be what we're capable of? when I think of the possibilities, the places we can go, the faces we'll see, the some that we'll know, the many opportunities. . . w      o      a      h the thought; it ties my stomach in knots the tension; its so easily broken like a button upon cloth held by a thread SNAP I'm a wreck... and its just waiting to happen like the many times before.. I can't, you can't, we can't they all end in divorce.. oh sweet, sweet discourse who knows, I can't predict the future, but what I do know is that you may be the one to sway me but only I can save me from myself.. and the last thing I'd do is ask you for any type of help so give me the time I need and maybe it'll be everly after happy!
0
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 7:49 PM UTC
To Affinity and Beyond
Born in these hills, taken away when I was three. Son of a coal miner who took my mother, my brother, and me. Drove west to the ocean, Pacific. The kids there called me "hillbilly" and "hick." Said I talked funny. Punched me, kicked me, generally tried their best to make sure I knew I didn’t belong there. And I did not. Eventually, though, I learned to speak like them, dress like them, act as if I was not from Kentucky, my daddy was not Appalachian, that these mountains had no part of me. My only recourse was after the pledge of allegiance… I never sang the “Oregon” song. I sang, "Kentucky." But, my father, he wouldn’t change. He was proud of his heritage. He played banjo; he played mandolin; he went fishing, a lot. Grew the best garden in the county, ate soup beans and cornbread. He did not give a hang for their Yankee ways. I hated him. I hated my father. until I returned to these hills. Now I see them, I see him, in me.
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Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 6:53 AM UTC
Notes from Appalachia
I pledge allegiance to the flag of a country that’s done nothing for me. I pledge allegiance to a ticking corporate time bomb, counting down the number of people left outside of its marketing cage. Corporate fat cats full of rage, a million dollars isn’t enough, Give me ten. Corporate law superseding human rights, tying us tight to the system justifying injustice done to us. I pledge allegiance to “by the people for the people”, turned “by the people, for the money”, the fuel of the freedom we value so highly as to put a price tag on it as if that is an acceptable measure of its worth, How can we get much worse than now when there are thousands of people wondering how they are going to survive this month? I pledge allegiance to impossibility highlighted on HD screens, the clarity not giving us a clear view of reality, our beauty is not, Should not, Will not be measured by the numbers on a scale. The girls in the magazines don’t even look like the girls in the magazines, so why don’t we focus on something that can be reached? I pledge allegiance to the flag of a country where being smart enough to expose rapists can have greater consequences than ****** somebody, Where violating firewalls and proxies is worse than violating human bodies. I pledge allegiance to “She was asking for it”, “Boys will be boys”, and “What was she wearing?” When a robbery is committed in a home, the police do not ask if your door was unlocked, or if your laptop was in plain view, So when a robbery is committed on a body, why is that exactly what they do? I pledge allegiance to a country where love is still illegal in 33 states. We are the country of change, so long as nothing changes, I mean Women still get paid lower wages. I pledge allegiance to a place where who you are does not mean you get to be yourself, Where masculinity is blue and being feminine is pink. If you have ever been stared at for wanting to be a rainbow, I will stand by you and stare right back. And I will no longer pledge allegiance to a country consumed by consumerism, Nationalism, Commercialism, Racism, Sexism, Fear. Instead, I will pledge allegiance to the memory of one nation under God, Indivisible, With liberty and justice for all.
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Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 9:56 AM UTC
I Pledge Allegiance (revised)
I pledge allegiance to the flag of a country that’s done nothing for me. I pledge allegiance to a ticking corporate time bomb, counting down the number of people left outside of its marketing cage. Corporate fat cats full of rage, a million dollars isn’t enough, Give me ten. Corporate law superseding human rights, tying us tight to the system justifying injustice done to us. I pledge allegiance to “by the people for the people”, turned “by the people, for the money”, the fuel of the freedom we value so highly as to put a price tag on it as if that is an acceptable measure of its worth, How can we get much worse than now when there are thousands of people wondering how they are going to survive this month? I pledge allegiance to impossibility highlighted on HD screens, the clarity not giving us a clear view of reality, our beauty is not, Should not, Will not be measured by the numbers on a scale. The girls in the magazines don’t even look like the girls in the magazines, so why don’t we focus on something that can be reached? I pledge allegiance to the flag of a country where being smart enough to expose rapists can have greater consequences than ****** somebody, Where violating firewalls and proxies is worse than violating human bodies. I pledge allegiance to “She was asking for it”, “Boys will be boys”, and “What was she wearing?” When a robbery is committed in a home, the police do not ask if your door was unlocked, or if your laptop was in plain view, So when a robbery is committed on a body, why is that exactly what they do? I pledge allegiance to a country where love is still illegal in 33 states. We are the country of change, so long as nothing changes, I mean Women still get paid lower wages. I pledge allegiance to a place where who you are does not mean you get to be yourself, Where masculinity is blue and being feminine is pink. If you have ever been stared at for wanting to be a rainbow, I will stand by you and stare right back. And I will no longer pledge allegiance to a country consumed by consumerism, Nationalism, Commercialism, Racism, Sexism, Fear. Instead, I will pledge allegiance to the memory of one nation under God, Indivisible, With liberty and justice for all.
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33
I'm your Shiva feel my love Wear my spirit like a glove For my Goddess I will melt Illuminate till I'm felt In your body brews a storm *** inside keep you warm Every inch of you is fascinating Hold your stare as I'm penetrating You are divine feel my devotion Explosive with every motion From our bodies spills a potion Lubricating just like lotion Tasty is your elegance Choose me make me relevant To worship every inch of thee Ravish taste you Spiritually I am hard..I will grind Do it fast take my time Command me do as you wish Cook for you your favorite dish On the table or on the floor Bend you over feel me some more Seduction tastes a lot like sin Spoils satisfying  like a win Bodies battle at the core Spectacular is our ****** war Pledge allegiance to my Queen Feel this Shiva in your dreams
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Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
Shiva
O,Thou lands lovely afar, across Those blue oceans,gleaming deep Odd shapes in my old atlas torn, Gazed wistful at, dreamt longingly Of honeyed milks and coffers rich. Having now made you mine by mind, Heart,Faith and an allegiance soulful I kiss your Earth, breathe in the Air, Tasting somehow the same as a yearning For the motherland quit so long ago.
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Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
THE IMMIGRANT.
From the House Of Ali -Najaf to the House Of Hussain-Kerbala, Swarms of people walk 80kilometres for threes days- united, The largest peaceful gathering in the world with free services, An experience like no other. Blessed are those who walk, More blessed are those who serve. No discrimination, Regardless of sect, profession or social status, Rich or poor, Young or old, Men or women, In wheel chairs, crutches or with Zimmer frames, Prams or hand carts, All march with respect and dignity, With one thought in mind, To pay allegiance to Hussain, Who sacrificed his head for humanity. Every eye is moist, Every heart torn in grief, Chanting"Labbaik Ya Hussain." With an iron will to complete the walk. A nation, war-torn, wounded, Embraces the whole world in the name of Hussain, The longest dining table, Where every zuwar is honoured and treated like royalty, To pay in currency, none, Only love and kindness and an urge to serve the zuwars. Along the roadside are set up Mowakebs (tents), That provide every kind of facilities and amenities , Food,beverages medicines,toiletries, Fresh clothes if need be, shower rooms and toilets, A massage of your feet, Services to charge or repair your phone's,zimmer frames or prams, Anything for the zuwars, All in the name of the Ahle bayt, Mohamed,Ali,Fatema,Hassan and Hussain. What Hussain and his followers were denied is served with outstretched arms, The aftermath  of Kerbala was more tragic and callous, The tears of Binte Zainab that retold the tragedy again and again, Has born fruits, The zuwars multiply in numbers every year, The rewards greater.
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Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
Arbaeen-A Spiritual Walk
From the House Of Ali -Najaf to the House Of Hussain-Kerbala, Swarms of people walk 80kilometres for threes days- united, The largest peaceful gathering in the world with free services, An experience like no other. Blessed are those who walk, More blessed are those who serve. No discrimination, Regardless of sect, profession or social status, Rich or poor, Young or old, Men or women, In wheel chairs, crutches or with Zimmer frames, Prams or hand carts, All march with respect and dignity, With one thought in mind, To pay allegiance to Hussain, Who sacrificed his head for humanity. Every eye is moist, Every heart torn in grief, Chanting"Labbaik Ya Hussain." With an iron will to complete the walk. A nation, war-torn, wounded, Embraces the whole world in the name of Hussain, The longest dining table, Where every zuwar is honoured and treated like royalty, To pay in currency, none, Only love and kindness and an urge to serve the zuwars. Along the roadside are set up Mowakebs (tents), That provide every kind of facilities and amenities , Food,beverages medicines,toiletries, Fresh clothes if need be, shower rooms and toilets, A massage of your feet, Services to charge or repair your phone's,zimmer frames or prams, Anything for the zuwars, All in the name of the Ahle bayt, Mohamed,Ali,Fatema,Hassan and Hussain. What Hussain and his followers were denied is served with outstretched arms, The aftermath  of Kerbala was more tragic and callous, The tears of Binte Zainab that retold the tragedy again and again, Has born fruits, The zuwars multiply in numbers every year, The rewards greater.
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43
Smoky air, fedora and billboards, testosterone-fuelled dreams. the purest of all male forms in its finest yet darkest days. Who run the world? Men. The sweat pouring off of the masculine brow that controls what we are prohibited. The lights of Morris Minors flooding the streets. The watchful eye that sits upon the ashes. They’re in charge. Them, and only them. A red right-hand to those anti-them. They will tear you apart if you decide against pledging allegiance. Or you’ll end up in the sand.
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Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
AnimalisMasculinity
when i told you i was a queen you knelt before me sword out and pledged your allegiance to the ruler of your  heart you called me your highness and dared ask for a crown i'll now burn your bridges send knights chase you down chain you in my dungeons and dissect you one slice at a time i'll feed you to my dragons treason is a deadly crime
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Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
queen's justice
I will write myself to sleep. I will write long, pathetic poems instead of texts to my ex. I will write the novel of my life instead of asking you for attention. I will write the new bible on isolation, chronological volumes on loneliness. I will write ten million haikus before I write you again. I will write love letters to myself until my fingers bleed, until I believe them. I will write the handbook on neglect, the idiots guide to dealing with it. I will write vague fortune cookies about self-acceptance and self-forgiveness. By the time I'm finished, I will have exhausted my depression. I will write Shakespearean prose about this rejection. I will write suicide notes on my shield and armor for protection and I will save myself with them. I will write angry, violent speeches to rally the voices in my head. I will write a pledge of allegiance to myself and recite it daily, after coffee. I will pray to the Gods of "move on," and "get over it." I will baptize myself in holy water that makes me stop caring completely. Holy water, oh well, whatever move on. Hallelujah. I will write the ten commandments on how to be abandoned.
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Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
the ten commandments on how to be abandoned.
vote for nobody because nobody cares that you're a wage-slave that healthcare is astronomical and college is unaffordable nobody tells the truth about global warming nobody gives a **** about smashing the patriarchy nobody understands that black lives matter and since nobody has an ounce of integrity it's in our own best interest to let nobody have all the power if nobody can stop the endless war and ubiquitous surveillance apparatus that subjects the world to invasive violations of privacy then i will give nobody my support nobody pledges allegiance to all brothers and sisters and organisms on planet Earth and feels the weight of each life crushed by the gears of capitalism nobody sits alone in the school cafeteria nobody begs for change on the front-steps of Goldman Sachs nobody pirouettes atop a Charging Bull nobody stares back at you in the mirror a vote for nobody is a vote for everyone
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Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 12:22 AM UTC
nobody
The Emperor's new shoes Painted imitation leather, polished and treated with care admired and envied, all eyes drawn, especially yours. Look at me, envy me, look how I dance. Look at my silhouette marvel at how I make you feel, Throw yourself to me,  l make you feel so true We are elite . Walking stronger, dancing so much faster How fanciful I am you,free unaffected How do I make you look and feel, the emperor's new shoes, Legitimizing your nobility But how I pinch, and how I hurt you, how contorted you’v become, How you twisted and bent to fit with me,   contrived , like me ,our artificial natural . Your need for me and performance reflecting my own. This illusion , only granted by me. You never really chose, i led you to believe you are some king. Your allegiance will not be rewarded the crest has to fall, You can not always dance for me . Remember i am painted and cannot become worn , I will not become comfortable for you, I will not become misshapen from accommodation and give. I will not shine if you dull me, my radiance is painted , Only you my emperor masked our deceit. Now i leave you barefoot .
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Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
The Emperors New Shoes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Infinity's Mirror by Nat Lipstadt Two mirrors, set in opposition observe created notional blending, a reflecting pool of bonding's of unglued, contrary compositions. Mirror to mirror, his imagery, fuses to Sylvia's images, hers, faintly recollected, now living face, face to face, with his past insurrections, alters his future visions. From cold water lake she's drawn, impaled by refracting regrets, retrieved, drawing her words upon him, an awakening slap to drink, beloved, tragic magic, infinitely captive. But this old man's tiddlywinks, land-locked words, blunted instruments, needy for release & salvation, are neither silvered or exacting, just stains on a dulled, tarnished brass spittoon, except for the brunt'd bunting of lines across his roughened terrain'd face, black and white, pen and ink etched illustration of howling agitation. His words worn down, hardened, red faced, purloined speckled pellets, damp to roll on down her rutted, almost ancient, tear streak paths, disbelieved superstitions, sacrificed for one of her living morsels of words. Man, here to her, pledges allegiance, audaciously defiling her poetic sanctity, a visage endless repeated, delivers her shiny poem-poised countenance, even though no forgiveness from time can a mirror afford for either, from her words, confession born, terrible truths beyond, beyond the finite. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mirror by Sylvia Plath I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. What ever you see I swallow immediately Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike. I am not cruel, only truthful--- The eye of a little god, four-cornered. Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers. Faces and darkness separate us over and over. Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me, Searching my reaches for what she really is. Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon. I see her back, and reflect it faithfully. She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands. I am important to her. She comes and goes. Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness. In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
0
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
2016 Infinity's Mirror by Nat Lipstadt/Mirror by Sylvia Plath
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Infinity's Mirror by Nat Lipstadt Two mirrors, set in opposition observe created notional blending, a reflecting pool of bonding's of unglued, contrary compositions. Mirror to mirror, his imagery, fuses to Sylvia's images, hers, faintly recollected, now living face, face to face, with his past insurrections, alters his future visions. From cold water lake she's drawn, impaled by refracting regrets, retrieved, drawing her words upon him, an awakening slap to drink, beloved, tragic magic, infinitely captive. But this old man's tiddlywinks, land-locked words, blunted instruments, needy for release & salvation, are neither silvered or exacting, just stains on a dulled, tarnished brass spittoon, except for the brunt'd bunting of lines across his roughened terrain'd face, black and white, pen and ink etched illustration of howling agitation. His words worn down, hardened, red faced, purloined speckled pellets, damp to roll on down her rutted, almost ancient, tear streak paths, disbelieved superstitions, sacrificed for one of her living morsels of words. Man, here to her, pledges allegiance, audaciously defiling her poetic sanctity, a visage endless repeated, delivers her shiny poem-poised countenance, even though no forgiveness from time can a mirror afford for either, from her words, confession born, terrible truths beyond, beyond the finite. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mirror by Sylvia Plath I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. What ever you see I swallow immediately Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike. I am not cruel, only truthful--- The eye of a little god, four-cornered. Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers. Faces and darkness separate us over and over. Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me, Searching my reaches for what she really is. Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon. I see her back, and reflect it faithfully. She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands. I am important to her. She comes and goes. Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness. In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
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32
So many succumb to Group Think in such a way that it is dangerous. From a young age, though I knew not yet of the notion, I rejected opinions passed to me as fact for the reason that opinions are subjective: I did not hold as 'beautiful' what they told me I ought to. I did not hold as 'wondrous' what they said was so. I did not hold as 'difficult' what others had not yet accomplished. I did not regard as 'easy' what others had yet done. I was not serious when they told me I must be. I made jokes when they deemed it distasteful. I laughed at the hypocrisy, right in it's face. I didn't just lay down and accept it as fate. I did not like the music they told me to like. I did not believe the biased history they taught as absolute and true. I did not worship the mythic Gods they made to be literal. I refused to pledge my allegiance in a brainwashed mass to any flag of any nation under any God with Liberty and/or Justice for merely a few. Over time I acquired my own taste for these things: I grew to appreciate the discrepancy between what I was told and what I observed. From there, I formulated my own opinions, I became an Individualist. A Heretic. They sure don't make it easy. Individualism, to me, does not connotate isolationism, though with isolation can come self-awareness and self-discipline. Individualism, to me, refers to finding one's own Path; being a Heretic; staying true to your own Path. To be a Rebel to undue Authority. To not be afraid to defy your peers. To be an Anarchist within one's self. To practice Civil Disobedience. Plus, the friends you will make if you live this way will blow your ******* mind and last you a lifetime. - Opinions are never concrete; they must curve and morph with the ebb and flow of your particular life. Opinions and Taste must be relative to one's own personality and life if they are to be genuine. Even still, the pull of the social tide is not so easily resisted: You are succumbing to Group Think even more than you might think but I think, or at least I think (that) I think that we can all overcome Group Think if we would all just stop and think. Don't you think?
0
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
Individuality [Heresy]
So many succumb to Group Think in such a way that it is dangerous. From a young age, though I knew not yet of the notion, I rejected opinions passed to me as fact for the reason that opinions are subjective: I did not hold as 'beautiful' what they told me I ought to. I did not hold as 'wondrous' what they said was so. I did not hold as 'difficult' what others had not yet accomplished. I did not regard as 'easy' what others had yet done. I was not serious when they told me I must be. I made jokes when they deemed it distasteful. I laughed at the hypocrisy, right in it's face. I didn't just lay down and accept it as fate. I did not like the music they told me to like. I did not believe the biased history they taught as absolute and true. I did not worship the mythic Gods they made to be literal. I refused to pledge my allegiance in a brainwashed mass to any flag of any nation under any God with Liberty and/or Justice for merely a few. Over time I acquired my own taste for these things: I grew to appreciate the discrepancy between what I was told and what I observed. From there, I formulated my own opinions, I became an Individualist. A Heretic. They sure don't make it easy. Individualism, to me, does not connotate isolationism, though with isolation can come self-awareness and self-discipline. Individualism, to me, refers to finding one's own Path; being a Heretic; staying true to your own Path. To be a Rebel to undue Authority. To not be afraid to defy your peers. To be an Anarchist within one's self. To practice Civil Disobedience. Plus, the friends you will make if you live this way will blow your ******* mind and last you a lifetime. - Opinions are never concrete; they must curve and morph with the ebb and flow of your particular life. Opinions and Taste must be relative to one's own personality and life if they are to be genuine. Even still, the pull of the social tide is not so easily resisted: You are succumbing to Group Think even more than you might think but I think, or at least I think (that) I think that we can all overcome Group Think if we would all just stop and think. Don't you think?
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47
readily acknowledge our highest standard of luna loving madness we treat our luna connection with equality - great affection as well as sensible trepidation, for its transgender nature, though well disguised, is but surficial,  that we all ken, when compared to ***** bewitching covens who in the forest deepest dens, exclaim their aroused allegiance over and over and over again but so so many lunatics lurking in the poetic coven, who knew! do not ask all the luna~ticced poets to step forward, unless you wish to crash the internet's servers whom I'm told, who too, are silent secret devotees who  among us has not scribed truth and lies, when standing outside, greeting the divine presence
0
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
Lunar-tics! Everywhere! Who knew?
Mother bear in a waterfall With bigger thoughts than blonde harlots Eating porridge, Fallen starlets with outer space in their hair. Just you wait; I'll be the happiest little sonofabitch You've ever seen. Some small consolation, if any. That weekend we spent with our Necks perpendicular to our spines, Of course I still remember the films we watched. I condition my hair with split infinitives And live off the poisoned dew that settles Every morning in my closet. Turn your little black dress inside-out, I've got this magic idea for a recipe But we're going to need some ants And that crazy Harryhausen dream you've got up in your attic. Ten or twelve little blond kids up On the cliff, each ten or twelve years old And dancing with a flame-Buddha called "Home". Let's spend this week underwater, I'd much rather give up my weight and my due If it ensured me any small hour With you. Oh, god how I love you anymore. I may have told you this a while ago, But did you know the first Pledge of Allegiance Put us some good height above God? Sometimes I find the sugar in my gas tank Makes for a rough start in the morning, Not that I particularly want to go anywhere, But it's what I've thought that counts. He's a bit upset that I skipped movie last night: But I can't play horizontal baseball With my violent, violent imaginary friend. The Rubik's cube beats deep in my chest Without a hand to cheat and rearrange the stickers. Claude enunciates something queer into my ear And turns off the lamp with a snap.
0
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 8:19 AM UTC
Ottoman Blue
Mother bear in a waterfall With bigger thoughts than blonde harlots Eating porridge, Fallen starlets with outer space in their hair. Just you wait; I'll be the happiest little sonofabitch You've ever seen. Some small consolation, if any. That weekend we spent with our Necks perpendicular to our spines, Of course I still remember the films we watched. I condition my hair with split infinitives And live off the poisoned dew that settles Every morning in my closet. Turn your little black dress inside-out, I've got this magic idea for a recipe But we're going to need some ants And that crazy Harryhausen dream you've got up in your attic. Ten or twelve little blond kids up On the cliff, each ten or twelve years old And dancing with a flame-Buddha called "Home". Let's spend this week underwater, I'd much rather give up my weight and my due If it ensured me any small hour With you. Oh, god how I love you anymore. I may have told you this a while ago, But did you know the first Pledge of Allegiance Put us some good height above God? Sometimes I find the sugar in my gas tank Makes for a rough start in the morning, Not that I particularly want to go anywhere, But it's what I've thought that counts. He's a bit upset that I skipped movie last night: But I can't play horizontal baseball With my violent, violent imaginary friend. The Rubik's cube beats deep in my chest Without a hand to cheat and rearrange the stickers. Claude enunciates something queer into my ear And turns off the lamp with a snap.
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39
we **** in towers he missed the bus by hours clean out the garbage pail with high pressure hoses I want to stick my nose in it and pledge allegiance to its cleanliness he feels the lows the lower it goes god only knows this world is just for show the real experience is in the back we're keeping up appearances and paying taxes "please be quiet and refrain from smoking this is the first and last time I'll inform you that I'm only joking" snip the locks pour the contents subdivide the rations according to your favorite fetish better keep this to ourselves...
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Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 3:39 AM UTC
this is not a midterm essay