"annotate" poems
Bald heads, forgetful of their sins,
Old, learned, respectable bald heads
Edit and annotate the lines
That young men, tossing on their beds,
Rhymed out in love's despair
To flatter beauty's ignorant ear.
All shuffle there, all cough in ink;
All wear the carpet with their shoes;
All think what other people think;
All know the man their neighbour knows.
Lord, what would they say
Did their Catullus walk their way?
2.5k
I'm looking outside the classroom window
thinking of how i'm going to manipulate this ink
into symbols expressing emotions to catch those of others
how to annotate pain
how to demonstrate euphoria
i look outside the window again. i'm trying too hard
no aches
no delights
no inspiration
cold-blooded and passionless
i wait for ingenuity
but it's not coming
i can't ******* go on like this
i can't look people in the eye and tell them i don't care
knowing i'm not lying
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 6:21 AM UTC
Hope you Annotate see
It won't mean a thing to me
I've been doing this too long
Baby girl, I've felt it all
So watch out
If you try to play your luck
Ain't nobody gonna care enough
To catch you fall
So don't you fall in love
Don't make me make you fall in love
Don't make me make you fall in love with a ***** like me
Nobody needs to fall in love
I swear I'm just a bird
Girl, I'm just another bird
Don't make me make you fall in love with a ***** like me
Like Me
You tried
You tried to warn me
But baby, I'm warning you
Girl, I'll show you
This is no game
You'll be falling to the point of no return
No return
I know you're rolling hard with it, don't lie
I know it's got a hold of you
I know you're rolling with it
Baby don't you lie
I know you're rolling hard with it, don't lie
I know it's got a hold of you
I know you're rolling with it
Baby don't you lie
So don't you fall in love
Don't make me make you fall in love
Don't make me make you fall in love with a ***** like me
Like me
Cuz girl I'm just a bird
I'm just another bird
Don't make me make you fall in love with a ***** like me
Like me
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
This is from the mind of the deranged--
Little did I know, I had a pleasure for carnage.
It always made me intoxicated.
To conceive the crying children,
As they pray to their begetter--
For a place of refuge.
I explicitly annotate--
It's not me who you resent.
I have so much tribulation--
I wish I was habitual.
But I'm afraid I am a bit melancholy--
Which leads me to foresee.
Many deaths that are to be--
Between this fraudulent identity.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 7:22 PM UTC
I want to annotate your margins with my mouth.
Then I wanna arch you, till your spine curves.
I’ll take your pretty cover off and touch your soft paperback.
To affirm the words you wrote to me,
So forth, I’ll even say: And I, you.
So I, so you; so much.
You’re so then, such a good girl.
I’d use you and reuse you, maybe even never, ever let go.
You make me turn to our next chapter.
So, I do.
Apr 30, 2025
Apr 30, 2025 at 1:14 AM UTC
I want to create art for the rest of my life but I don’t want to paint flowers I don’t want to draw ocean waves I don’t want to photograph the sunset
I want the art of the oppressed and the needy and the weak and the tiresome, I want their words to break down walls and I want to be an outlet for better days, for the moments that create lifetimes and the stills that hang on walls in your robust mansions that are cleaned by the very people who live in the cities hanging as part of your decor, the cities of workers and lovers and people who depend on one another
I want screaming and crying and the capture of a second of time that will not be erased by your mahogany dinner dates where you talk about the politics of war from the perspective of someone who has never fought a day in their life in the war that a going on right here and right now
I want change and I want to write a piece that years down the road high schoolers annotate like the way I annotated Martin Luther King’s Letter from Birmingham Jail and I want it to ring in those high schooler’s minds until they realize what it is that is bothering them,
what is bothering them is the need for action the need for expression the need for art that is not currently in existence but is instead hanging in an uncomfortable state like an elephant in the room but guess what,
that elephant has a bigger heart than you and guess what,
good things come to those who wait and better days come to those who pray like a little boy who was robbed of his innocence when he saw a shooting in the light of day but was still given a warm meal and a place to stay
bitter cold and bitter winds flow through the blocks of city streets like snakes weaving with a hissing in their teeth but we are the magicians
we are the ones with the power to create something from nothing and you’ll never know what hit you, you’ll spend your whole life trying to figure out our trick because you are not on the inside
you don’t know the method behind the madness, and for the first time
you will be the one in the dark.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
Unless you are here for a reason, your presence
thrusting and thrusting, what for?
This thing has no name it does not understand -
its incompleteness, its sleuth for finality. Maybe
when a hand is buried with a manifold of many
others in the fall -- to initiate a conflagration
is to remember it for the first time.
All versions of the same absence. If you are here
for no reason, then what for, what use does the
body subscribe to?
What about, say, the abundance of Balete had you
consciously wearing your shirt inside out so as
to feel placeness? What now that your hand
fastens my entrails? There is no multiplying
feeling into truth. We do not know that the Sun
through the interstices of leaves is a small child,
or a swift woman. No other answer but rue
and rage, across our slanted shadows in the
dank perimeter. Your eyes finagle to annotate
the bow of my leg. Or the curvature of moon.
Anything it has in their own, vicious sights
grappling the flesh now inflamed; anything they
will ravish completely and leave drained. A wrinkled body of a log, or a forgotten manuscript.
These are all answers I have to invent. Intuitive,
unwise, unsolicited. Somewhere, I had to point
out the differentiating margin between
speaking too much and conveying so little,
and the finite amplitude of silence sensing out
something in you, about you, and arriving here.
Why are you here? What are you doing? What must I be when you are not?
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:35 PM UTC
It's too late
They said as her petite frame
Spiraled then plummeted into the sea.
She's already ascended like a dove,
They felt no need to hesitate
At proclaiming the unfortunate's fate.
Always quick to hate
What they cannot annotate
Yet so eager to love
The greatest of us
Reborn from our ashes.
She took the leap
Not to cease
But to breathe -
Through airborne lungs
To see-
The greatest moments ignite
To fuse-
With an infinite moment in time
In one fleeting hope:
After the waves
Drew her lifeless limbs away,
After she slept
On the ocean bed,
Her words might eminently thrive
Though no one heard while her lips held life,
Their once-deaf ears would at last listen
To a phantom's composition.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
Procrastinate
Proliferate
Pontificate
Peruse
Demonstrate
Decaffeinate
Decontaminate
Defuse
Constipate
Commiserate
Caliphate
Contuse
Alienate
Allocate
Annotate
Never to
Abuse
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 7:34 PM UTC
please place me on the bookshelf.
you can pick me up,
read the fine print,
crease my corners,
cross out the transgression,
and annotate the virtue.
but Please put me back on the
bookshelf.
If I’m left on trains or
on benches by the bus stop-
If I’m put in places I don’t belong-
I’ll fade.
my print will pale,
my creased corners won’t recover,
my transgressions and virtues
will interrogate themselves.
I’ll become the environment
my fickle pages are left in.
so please put me back and
never touch me again.
-*if we allow ourselves to be placed in bad environments,
eventually, we will become them.*
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
*Under the waxing moon
Where safety is secured in -
the throes of madness
Where ambiguous , vocal figurines annotate abject sadness* ...
* Reversus de pit ignis Ad .. .. Amen: alleluja habitabo in medio populi mei misericors deus in misericordia* ..
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 2:00 AM UTC
Dear Reader,
I give you permission.
I give you permission
to scar the spine
of this book
from the countless
times you will
crack it open.
I give you permission
to highlight
and underline
and doodle
and annotate
these pages
until they have
no room to breathe.
I give you permission
to accidentally
drop
wet
spill on-
backpack-shove
the cover.
I give you permission
to dog-ear the corners
when you've lost
your bookmark
(and your way).
I give you permission
to break in these words
with the same
calamitous,
neurotic,
frenzied
passion with which
I wrote them.
I give you permission
to make this
Poetry your home.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 4:34 PM UTC
*Good evening streetlight
You've been promoted to a star
Your white light shall bathe this -
planetary cul-de-sac come dusk
The asphalt and grassland inhabitants will journey -
from afar , attracted to your beaming , -
mind consuming elegance with eyes -
wide open an mouths ajar
The katydids and crickets will chatter jealously as the -
moths and mayflies endlessly circle
Tree frogs will perform concertos in thy name
Aviator grasshoppers will annotate thy location -
across the great magnetic plane
Your benefactors will sing your praises
Poems and stories will tell of your divine -
energy and grace* ...
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
take back
what was planned
i'm new again.
annotate
my
fate
before it's too late
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 3:07 AM UTC
Ya only wake up at death
Once ya take ya last breath
Ya see the sun and the moon align
Wickedly created design braille from the asinine
Across ya mind messages sublime looking for the lime
Light but it's in you Ill chop into
Many pieces of the puzzle as knowledge increases
It's many diseases man made playin' us like charades
I'll just be in a breeze a wind parade as the music serenades
My heartbeat in the streets I see the constant repeat
Of punishment in form of enjoyment
This Earth ain't my home
As close a chapter to my tome
Riding my pain alone
In a dark room feeled with gloom I meditate
Then let the spirits consume
Mind body and soul
As I grow through the chakras hold
Scold the strains that unfold slow ya role
If you don't ya bound to roll into the creases that fold
Stuck in a predicament no satisfaction from the government but
Ain't no faking it
This is nothing but a slave planet...
Got folks in a listen over universal rhythm
Born in wisdom then some try to overcome
The atrocities laid by the everlasting in pain society quietly
I annotate my death date make the earth shakes
Once the rhymes mate birth of a nation
Flows creatin' a space time continuum in ya cranium some
Try to come to **** clever however I'll still endeavor
Most Of the necessities mathematics is my psychology
An ology no **** apology sensor sensitivity
Words aggressive carefully selected weapons
Mentally hinder 'em I'm poisonous even without venom
Tough as denhim I'm back on Earth because of a curse
I spiritually ***** like Muhammed thoughts flow faster than a
comet
So I'm lit no **** kin to the Egyptian hieroglyphics
Land of Kemet in it to win it ain't no stoppin' this mystics
Try to attack but I've been strong since I was in a nut sack
Yo this is a slave planet....
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 5:10 AM UTC