"amplify" poems
I pulled down vicious KKK flyers,
listened to members amplify hate.
Their harmful words only frustrate,
hoping to cease their cruel desires.
Harassment at work occurred
hablas ingles? a lady replied.
I let the racist remark subside,
when I realized I was not heard.
Being bullied at school would soon follow.
A boy shout the Spanish slur at me,
write vile notes for all to see.
Slashed my tires with archery arrows.
I never thought that they would presume,
I was an illegal immigrant.
Their logic absent,
only based on looks they assume.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:59 PM UTC
The Emperor left his palace
with something shiny on his shoulder
it weighed as much as an apple
but was the size of a boulder
it was the greatest weapon
his workers could build
the town awaited its appearance
even though they had foot the bill
Amazing said the scholar as the emperor passed
so much power but such little weight
this right here can save a country
what you hold will educate
we will teach people
and they will listen
and if they won't
we will show them this weapon
splendid said the old lady as the emperor trotted by
I have been waiting all my life for this
we must end all wars
that is my dying wish
now we can do that
we can fight off the opposition
and make sure peace reigns
while our leaders stay in top position
I don't get it said the kid and the emperor stopped
what could you not understand about my gun?
the boy answered this world is full of idiots
and while you are surely not one
there are people out there
who would **** for that gun
let's not act like one large weapon
can change everybody under the sun
what's more likely is that it will only amplify
the issues that should be regional
we'll proclaim "Our gun is big!"
to justify that our choice is final
the bigger the gun
the more people it could ****
and the more people that can die
the more people that will
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
your clean lips and serene eyes
are instruments
they, with fearless precision
play
those neatly folded tufts of skin on either side
are speakers
they, with unnatural ease
amplify
the epidermal pyramid sloping symmetrically
amid your instruments
is a songstress
she, with innate necessity
sings the song of life
your head is a concert
music to my troubled eyes
©Jason Cole
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
Humanity is at the ****** of connection
Connection is plastered to our bones
It’s on our wrists dinging reminding us to take our steps that will apparently make us one with nature, it’s latched to our arms so while we are so spent attaching ourselves to nature that we don’t have to attach our phones to our hands, it’s our sun rise, it’s our evening prayer, heck it’s the only thing reminding us to wake up in the morning and connect with these people that we can only reach through these dull technological connections. Facebook says we’re here to help you connect! The Bible app dings remindign you, “keep in check!” You’re surrounded by connection, it immerses you and embraces you with its WiFi streamed arms and blue tinted light
But shouldn’t you be embracing the connection? Shouldn’t you be the one to swallow connection? Shouldn’t you be the one to amplify connection?
Humanity is at the ****** of connection but we are disconnected.. Shouldn’t the rate of depression fall not rise with every purchase of an iPhone. We are disconnected
From ourselves from nature from the spiritual realm and from each other because we connect our souls to these arguable objects of connection. Seems like we need an intervention from connection. Shouldn’t connection flow within our bones and not simply be plastered to it? Connection is around us, but we’re not making the connection
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 9:26 PM UTC
I met you at the station
you said wanted to go anywhere but here.
I said to look for the tracks that
are the most uninviting. You
took my arm. I wished for
something better and here it came,
disguised by dirt, dislocation and greying days.
Your ticket says no return but
mine is undefined, watchful, ready
to bolt or to linger. You say you love
the stations from afar.
There's not much of me
requested, but the splinters that you
do, I gift hopelessly. The
smallest glimpse of light approaching
filtered through dank, oppressive air
are superior, surely? than finite life
exhausted watching the dark.
By the night you amplify,
when you have enjoyed my fill and
left with little but fingerprints and
recollections, casting parallel shadows
on directions that await.
I give you almost everything
except for the words that
travel nowhere but my head.
You gave me the signal
a briefest flash of red
that stopped this in its tracks.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
Unburden me my wiley friend from all my mundane woes
Release the threads that bind me here, submit me to your throes
Happily you blur the lines and change the days perspective
Mollify me with your lies and kindly dope objective.
It’s pleasant here, I have no care to change this altered state
Inhibitions lose their power to taunt me and berate
I perform well, I entertain, I please so easily
Popular I find myself within your potency
But soon I find the last drops have now dried up in the glass
Your soothing draft has poured its fill, your best has come to pass
And in its wake you leave for me a tender raw emotion
That carries me upon a wave of heady dissolution
The tears they stream, I am a mess, back down to earth I plummet
All former worries amplify now you have reached your summit
I was misled, you’re not my friend, a pariah in disguise
You sought to trick and confuse me put beer goggles on my eyes
So now into my bed I crawl to rest with bland submission
The toilet has already shared with me your vile emissions
I close my eyes I pray for sleep, my head already throbbing
I enter sleep in throes of self-absorbed, repentant sobbing
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
how can such hollow words fool you?
how can you not see from your point of view?
you let them pluck you like a fragile lute,
you let them **** on you as if you were the ground.
stop letting them smell you as if you were foul.
just fight back and start with a growl.
don't let them move you around in a chess game.
let their every advance not allow your mind to sway.
you could be losing but don't toss the board yet.
stay even when all seems to go downhill,
stay and don't let your losses shake your will.
just fight back, break yourself free, and live with thrill.
roar even when they can barely hear
and know that they're not the ones to fear.
do what it takes to amplify your lion heart.
you can borrow my light to see through the dark.
aim carefully like you were shooting darts.
just fight back, shield your person, and make your mark.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 10:13 AM UTC
Heartstone is a reflection in music on a ‘lost’ poem. The poem described in its two short verses a summer’s day, a landscape, a fossil found and placed in the palm of a child’s hand. The poem inspired a seven-movement work for wind, brass and percussion with solo piano. Here is its poetic programme note.
Chert
The piano draws an arc of rhythm
rising then falling.
Above
two choirs of wind and brass
exclaim, fanfare, mark out
shorter, determined
gestures of sound.
The procession, almost a march,
becomes a dance.
Alone
Two choirs of wind and brass
become four couples
whose music weaves
from complexity a simplicity:
Chromatic to Pentatonic
twelve becoming five.
Prase
Four stopped horns,
five extended tonalities.
Together they wander
a maze of Pentatonic paths;
alone, and in pairs, as a quartet
they discover within
a measured harmonic rhythm.
Tension: resolution
. . . and surrounding
their every move
the piano
insists an obligato,
a continuum of phrases,
absorbing into itself
the warp and weft of horn tone.
Sard
Oscillating
in perpetual motion
the full ensemble
occupies a frame
of time and space.
Flutes, reeds,
double-reeds
brass, piano,
percussion
mirror-fold on mirror-fold
layer upon layer
overlapping.
Yarns of threaded sound.
Tuff
Without a break
the mirrored oscillations
patter pentatonics
on tuned percussion
of marimba and vibraphone
whilst
a batterie of drums
lays down
shards of beaten rhythm
against this onward
folding of tonality change.
In the background
a choir of winds
flutes and single reeds
waymark this recursive journey
gathering together
cadential moments and the
necessary pause for breath.
Marl
Relentlessly, the motion is sustained,
piano-driven,
a syncopated continuo,
rhythm-sectioned
amidst layers of percussion.
Adding edge,
a choir of brass and double reeds
amplify the piano’s jagged rhythms
providing impetus for
phrases to become longer and longer,
ratching up the tension,
ever-denying closure
until the batterie
delivers
a conclusive flourish.
Paramoudra
Pulse-figures of winds.
Motific cells of brass.
Both
negotiate a stream of
fractal-shaped tonality
expanding: contracting.
A blossom of fanfares
folding into
pulsating layers
of tuned percussion,
flutes and reeds.
A dance-like episode
absorbs a chorale.
Four horns in close harmony
against the continuing dance.
A duet of differences
flows into a cascade of chords
in closed and open forms.
The piano supports
brass-flourishing figures
before a final stillness.
Heartstone
In gentle reflection
the solitary piano –
a figure in a landscape
of collapsed harmonic forms -
presents in slow procession
the essence of previous music.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
Poison Ivy,
red rash on my limbs.
To the Doc I go,
a shot will do.
It grows on trees,
but they're immune,
their limbs aren't itching.
*Thanks ~timothy~ for a new style.
This is a syllabic poem in seven lines 4/5 5/4 4/4/5
Unrhymed
Lines 1 and 2 INTRODUCE the SUBJECT
Lines 3 and 4 AMPLIFY what is affected by the image/subject.
Line 5 thru 7 Focus on NEW SUBJECT that complements and provides a meditative conclusion.
Shanzi may be Titled*
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 5:23 PM UTC
Question 1.
can you escape the words that so easily want to roll off your tongue
can you put them away
see them off on a ship
have them cross into the horizon and dissipate
under the burning red sun
of the east
Question 2.
Can you replace all letters of an alphabet
that easily taught, rolled off your tongue
can you put them in a shoe box,
seclude them in a corner of your new life,
where 80% of the time you are fine
Do you think they will cross too
cross the horizon, like the things you wish would
and then dissipate
Question 3.
Does the pollution amplify the heat, if so can the heat burn or melt old Polaroids
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC
Amplify my cuteness,
Oh! Bidaal Devi,
Like a cat,
Kitten,
Like a cat,
Oh! Feline Devi,
Amplify my cuteness.
I shall adopt some kittens,
Oh! My Cat Goddess,
Maybe a Tom,
Or a Pushy,
Maybe a Tom,
Oh! My Cat Goddess
I shall adopt some kittens.
I shall adore my kittens,
Oh! Feline Goddess,
Bring me a Tom,
Or a Pussycat,
Bring me a Tom,
Oh! Feline Goddess,
I shall adore my kittens.
I wish that cats adopt me too,
For except my parents, I'm alone,
After them, I can't imagine my life,
That's why I shall adopt some kittens,
After them, I can't imagine my life,
For except my parents, I'm alone,
I wish that cats adopt me too.
I offer my heart, Oh! Cat Goddess,
Oh!! Shashthi Maia, hear my plea,
Without your children, I'm alone,
I don't want to end up all alone,
Without your children, I'm alone,
Oh!! Shashthi Maia, hear my plea,
I offer my heart, Oh! Cat Goddess.
Oct 23, 2024
Oct 23, 2024 at 11:16 PM UTC
The grotesque weight of human ignorance
Has slain the carcasses of innocence
Though I shall amplify resilience
Decline its fascist pleas to vanquish
No more spare **** it shall ****
No severed tissues we shall tape
No stealth blades puncturing the nape
We're foreign to psychotic language
Advance we must, cascade we shan't
Supremacy's the hymn we chant
Our eminence shall never slant
Majority refrains to languish
Not a stain of slumber peaks
Bones of stark rivalry we seek
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC
Arduous late Winter
woes amplify in February
false hope
We’re all sick
of constrictive clothes
and cold climes conducive to staying in
Cabin fever running rampant
45° t-shirts & sunglasses
everyone driving with their windows down
Hoping Vernal rituals
performed early will
hasten Spring’s arrival
I’m done
fed up
ready to move on
Going crazy in the cold
writhing to get moving unimpeded
by frigidness and snow
I’m ready for Spring
for Summer
for Fall
I’m ready for the scent
of thawing soil in the air
biking in the Sun, verdance, and flowers in bloom
I’m ready for grass between my toes
Fireflies, crickets, peepers
and warm night stars
I’m sick of frost reddened runny raw noses
sick of numb fingers and toes
and having precious few daylight hours
I’m sick of combatting glacial winds with layers,
of treacherous icy apathy,
and dreary bleak boredom
I’m sick of not being able to sit on the ground
sick of long pants, long socks, long sleeves,
and silent stagnant long nights
So, despite the fact
that I’ll pine for January
every day over 90°
Despite the fact
that when mosquitoes swarm
I’ll wish a frost would **** the little ********
and despite the fact
I’ll get just as fed up
with temperate seasons
I still want Spring
and then Summer
and then Fall
But February brings false hope
and despite the lengthening cheery sun
months still stand
between us and t-shirt weather
mild nights, grassy hills,
and emancipation from an inclement icebox atmosphere
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
My whippet ran
as fast as the wind.
With a cheetahs gate
he could catch all.
And now he rests
his race is done,
all rabbits happy.
*Shanzi is a syllabic poem in seven lines 4/5 5/4 4/4/5
Unrhymed
Lines 1 and 2 INTRODUCE the SUBECT
Lines 3 and 4 AMPLIFY what is affected by the image/subject.
Line 5 thru 7 Focus on NEW SUBJECT that complements and provides a meditative conclusion.
Shanzi may be Titled*
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
You run your fingers up my thigh
I sigh at the delicate touch and
Inwardly shudder at my multiplying
feelings, I try to say stop but
the cry dies on my lips
this I want
My body belies my shyness
My body electrifies my senses
no shame is felt as those fingers explore
the stimuli they bring, crash into me
like waves upon the shore.
Higher and deeper, they amplify
the lullaby that in my head sings my
shyness away and magnifies my delight.
Detoxified, I soar like a dragonfly
mystified at the brazen me
lying spent in the moonlight.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
It's all much too
Loud.
The world going by me
Is much too
Noisy.
There's already a consistent scream
Inside of me.
The last thing I need
Is to be in this world
With too many
Sounds.
So I hide
In my room all day.
I hide myself away,
Because when I hear
Everything that's happening outside,
How everything moves just fine,
I begin to lose my mind.
Why can't I move the same?
Why can't I become
Part of this well oiled machine?
I'll never fit into
The motions they all execute,
So I sit on the edge
Of their common reality
And watch it all turn.
I watch it
But it gets too much
It grows too loud
And now I have to hide again.
Hide myself from all the sounds
That start fires in my head.
Run
Little freak.
Run
Black sheep.
My ears are too sensitive
To be in anything but
Silence.
To be in anything but
Quiet.
The vibrations of the outside
Go in my sensitive ears
And amplify whatever is already
Being screamed in my
Tortured
Tormented
Time bomb
Mind.
Then they go to my eyes,
Well right behind
And build pressure
And pain
Until I have no choice but to
Cry.
Cry.
Little baby
Little freak
Little black sheep
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 2:19 AM UTC
Was Set, created to establish God, or God, Set
Do we live, to justify death, or die, to exist
Is life filled with experiences, or is life the experience
Does our good, amplify bad, or our bad, the good
Darkness or light
Darkness, shadow, absence of light
Good, defines evil, or does evil make good
If black, define white, what then, makes grey
Does cold, give pleasure to warmth, or its absences
Which was first, which one exists?
Mar 15, 2010
Mar 15, 2010 at 3:59 AM UTC
A subtle carol echoes of the evening
Upon bended knee I am arrested
Betwixt strange refrains
Shaking the floorboards of Teicu
The evocative moans amplify
The foolish peacemaker of astrologists
The English dream of poetry
Those I coaxed by death
Were the witnesses of the tragedy
And were familiar with its ballad
Crafted the design ‘tis conceptual ***********
Eradicated their honor for vanilla threads
As they shimmy and shimmy
They defile elongated hankering
And retreated in the greenhouse of Woodstock
Its language made iconic by efficacious character
Having often been labeled an experiment
Broadening its brilliance along death’s boulevard
‘tis she who was the stunning one
Her language made sacred by her iconic fame
A long time controversial reference
An automaton, an origin of extraterrestrial etiology
The evocative moans ensnares the tourist
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
got so drunk at their little, ahem, initiation ceremony: drank a bottle of whiskey when i heard we were going clubbing wearing lycra shorts... the man with the biggest bulge and the biggest stick... never understood male group psychology... or any group psychology for that matter... it isn't exactly a throng of noblemen following Henry VIII.
i joined the lacrosse university team
for a bit,
left it when the time came to buy the
equipment - i didn't think getting
smacked by the defenders' longer sticks
was worth it, to be a striker with the shortest
stick - too physical - i thought i'd seek
some other physicality,
got stuck-up on rock climbing, and mountaineering
for a while, nothing serious,
a bit of easy bouldering on the edinbrugh crag,
the one lining the skyline at holyrood park,
the salisbury crag, just west of arthur's seat -
i'm not going to lie about clinging off the
matterhorn or something -
but i did an expedition with the mountaineering
club near Ben Nevis once...
Glen Coe / Coire nan Lochan...
and i figured, with all this talk of light pollution,
well, "pollution", to think that a bunch of
street lamps can blind away the stars of what
former poets spoke of: about the illumination
of the heavens for the blind eye to see...
we camped outside one bothy (basic shelter)
set off fireworks, drank whiskey, played music,
burnt a fire in the bothy...
but to be honest... i was not amused by this whole
theory of light pollution...
i looked up at the sky, and the number of stars
was no greater than the number seen in a bright
lit city... i know they say all those telescopes
amplify the chance of peering into the heavens
at night and see more stars...
but why cite light pollution, when, in a remote
highland hideout the number of stars didn't
increase in number... i've heard a girl from
australia cite that, in the outback she said
more stars could be seen... even without a telescope...
so the scottish highlands are unlike the australian
outback? is it just me... or is it simply ********
this whole light pollution argument?
it was dark out there like in an **** after black coffee
and charcoal tablets.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
She is in the blue shadow of a city on the horizon,
the metronomal click of six inch heels, hypnotic on linoleum,
the reflection of one window in another,
the scoliosis of the trees in an unlit wood.
When the sun is setting, and each blade of grass casts a shadow against the others,
here the images are ready, like Velcro, to hold fast to a heart.
In the slumber of dead flies on an attic windowsill,
the cacophony of the contents of a garbage can spilled into the truck before your alarm,
the way the syrupy night covers the windows to make it seem the world beyond has ended,
there are words with which we amplify the beats of our hearts,
most especially when they are too soft for us to hear ourselves.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
I woke up
the sun softly breaking through
resting on the wall,
i left my radio on
playing songs and songs
that i love
my hair is glued to my forehead
i feel it scratching against my skin
i look around piles of clothes
laying on the corner of my bed
empty bowls of cheerio cereal
my guitars laying up against a wall
one that is laying on the floor
two burnt matches on the floor
a poorly painted zebra mask
and a yellow leaf that fell from its place
a lot of dried pieces fell off the dead leaf,
old VHS tapes against the wall
***** dancing,breakfest club,ferris bueller , blues brothers
so much more
books piled in each other
dorian grey,to **** a mockingbird, a farewell to arms
i'm missing two books
i lent them to my friend
red ink from a pen on the floor
i had to keep the guitar cord at a certain bend to it would amplify
it gave in and exploded
a green paint mark on my wall
and a cut out mustache
an old keyboard of the 80's
sometimes it turns on sometimes it doesn't
notebooks of poems
and boxes of drawing i did when i was younger
a big jar with two dead roses
pencils and pens cross in and out
a little emptied out honey jar
filled with all my train tickets
my bracelets laying on the floor
except for the blue one my wrist
it never comes off
my camera lays beside the camera beg
drawings on the wall
and my hats on top of each other
and my sweaters all over the place
vinyl album covers
of the Beatles and Pink Floyd
My mom calls it a mess
i call it
me...
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
There was a story hanging there
from the edge of my bed
but its teller I didn't want to know
so the story went unsaid
I thought I could ignor you hanging there
leave you to gently be
but after days you're still there
I'll admit you terrorise me
You crawl in through my eyelids
to my otherwise peaceful dreams
you mock me as your silence
seems to amplify my screams
and they keep on getting louder
because I keep them locked inside
and so they rage right through me
until everything I once was has died
They ***** my dignity
disemboweled my calm
tortured vociferously
my very entity
after knawing through the logical side of my brain
so that the only part remaining
is the part that is insane
Now as I swing from side to side
from the rope you've spun for me
I see you joyously scurry by
maybe we're both now finally free
And from my perch in heaven
If I ever look back down
I look at you and reflect that
I'd have done it differently second time round
I'd definetly heard you're story
I'd have given it a chance
maybe we could have been great friends
and we could sing and laugh and dance
There's plenty of your kind in heaven
and they're all great dancers too
I regret I didn't know you before
but now I look forward to meeting you
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 6:54 AM UTC
You forgot your pictures
On forgotten bed side tables
In the back of my brains.
I was supposed to sleep two hours ago,
But I was busy tracing the tracks
You’ve crossed with your fingers on my skin;
And when I reach the end of the map
I don’t find a treasure
Instead I find your dead cells
Lurking on my shoulders
Like dust lurking on my book shelves,
Like tanned blondes stretching on the sea shore,
Like red and blue highlights that you’ve kept for so long.
I found your sea shelled bracelets
And 3 fingered rings exciting,
I found the simplicity of you wearing no necklace soothing,
But I knew that I was at the peak of a roller coaster ride-
When everything slows down,
When that loose feeling of safety
Tingles up your spine
And stays long enough
To amplify the shock of falling suddenly.
I picked up a flower shaped safety pin
And as soon as I brought it close enough to smell
Your grenades exploded in my face.
Instead of shattering,
I blew up into a thousand words
That can make oceans of me ,
And instead of you swimming
You learned how to drown;
Avoid my words,
Swim through the sharks and create jewels out of my sea shells
Till I become just another
Pendant from your arms,
Or glitter on the corners of your backpack
Where you hanged memories you force outside
Because the demons inside are not on good terms,
Because the demons inside of you are screeching
But you don’t want the world to hear;
Yet you left your pictures on my bed site tables,
And you meant to keep a retraceable mark of you on my hands
And you want me to come back,
But your mines were too dangerous.
Your mood swings
Flew me over the bushes,
Your cigarette smoke, filtered in my lungs
Made it hard for me to breath out the words “I love you”,
Your eyes are my only solace
But sometimes,
It takes less effort to exit home
Than to stay in it.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
Nobody mourn,
nobody get hurt
We just project
redirect the blame
and sink back
into interactions
with coping devices
of mass distraction
The artificial womb
of the masses
Tethered by an invisible
umbilical cord
feeding us way
too much
information
Like hungry ghosts
salivating
the next notification
We can’t run.
We can’t hide.
There’s a threat to survive,
But we’re so ******* desensitized
Seduced by the school shooter
we don’t hear him coming
singing siren songs
heart-beating shotgun blasts
That leitmotif
in sync with
The American Horror Story allegory
Just forget it
Too much in the queue
Too many new things
We can’t reject this reality
It’s really ******* broken
Em, I’m sorry we’re descending
Much Madness has lost its meaning
It’s just the means to
unlock an achievement
Emulate another scumbag.
romanticize a villain
amplify the bodycount
Like how many do you need to ***** out
before they give you the cover
of the Rolling Stone?
It's comedically-tragic,
Stranger than satire.
The Judge, the jury
Executioner cutie
cut all your losses for ya
cashed in your lil tax deductions
The most sacred snuffed out
before the light could become them
Get woke a-f,
This is enlightenment!
Come on get
your mind blown!
He’s the one who loves
to shoot his gun
But he knows not what it means
knows not what it means.
Do you know what it means?
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 11:02 PM UTC