"arbitrarily" poems
I have come to know who I was meant to be, or at least I think I have
I have come to know how oppression works, at least I think I do
I have come to know what is ethical and what is not, or are my lines arbitrarily mapped
I have taken time to think about my life, but have I moved forward with it
I think of my past, my present, my future the map to my life unfolding
I see what I’ve done and what I hope to experience and I have come to realize something
I am part of an enormous painting, one that is committed
To ending oppression in all of its forms from patriarchy to racism and classism
I don’t know who I am but I know who I’ll be and I know where I will stand
I am one pixel, one dot, one stroke on this painting of ending all forms of oppression
And when I get discouraged, doubtful, and drab I cannot forget this painting
For it is not a portrait of me or of you it is a painting of all of us, a painting of freedom
I will keep fighting the fight for true equality, I will not be deterred
I will listen, I will love, I will chose to speak up
Because without all of us dots, us pixels, and strokes there would be no painting
And the beautiful idea that we can all achieve liberation is a reason to keep creating
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
Etymologically,
paradise
is inherited from the Latin
paradisus
and the Greek
paradeisos
and ultimately an ancient Iranian root --
pairi daêza.
In theory, paradise is a religious term. By that definition, paradise is a place in which existence is positive, harmonious and timeless. It is conceptually a counter-image of the miseries of human civilization; in paradise, there is only peace, prosperity, and happiness.
It’s absurd, though, how we provide ourselves with such a convenient idea, a carrot for all mankind to share in our relentless drive towards death. It’s absurd that we must rely on such nonsensical ideals to inspire us to adhere to literal, arbitrarily-dictated morals. “Thou shalt not do things we say you probably shouldn’t.
Except sometimes.”
“Actually, whenever, as long as you feel bad about it and spend a moment kneeling quietly and thinking something along the lines of ‘So, like, sorry -- my bad. It won’t happen again, unless it does.’”
The fundamental mistake here is attempting to delineate the existence of Man with an old book and relentless propaganda and childhood indoctrination and threats of post-mortem punishment, but more on topic -- why can’t one just live the right way without this kind of artificial motivation? It’s a juvenile concept that we’ve taken much too far. It marginalizes the human race -- “listen, Man, if you eat all your broccoli, then you can have dessert.” But what happens in this situation, when the dessert isn’t real?
What I mean to say is that maybe you should eat your broccoli because it’s healthy, and because, besides what society has attempted to instill in you, it might actually be tasty if you give it a chance.
Live for now. Care about people now. Because you don’t get anything afterwards; however cynical it may be, dessert is just a cold grave or a flame designed for whole incineration of your being. Paradise is now.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
“I think there’s something wrong with you and that’s okay,” she sings with all her heart
and strums the guitar with my pick.
I’m in charge of the chords,
holding the guitar so
she can reach it where she sits.
We dream it up together, but
I phone it in
I admit.
A, D, E - 1, 4, 5 -
arbitrarily chose.
She keeps it alive with her prose
Just 5 years old
A poet with her eyes closed.
You can be anything you want to be, and that’s okay as long as you’re happy.
Like she knows
The greatest longings of the whole of humanity,
Like she’s peered into the depths of the vast ocean of broken hearts,
And know this is the best place to start…
Like it’s easy.
“It’s okay”, she sings with closed eyes,
and strums the guitar in musical bliss.
And it is. For that moment. For a heartbeat.
It is.
Sep 26, 2021
Sep 26, 2021 at 9:57 PM UTC
I'm a fan of Vontaze Burfict
Though he may not be perfect
For he gives players concussions
To continue the daily discussions
Of the power of his percussion
To receive a hall of fame induction
That is where his value is derived
So what do these penalties imply?
That the referees have a preconceived notion of him
And are preemptively looking to treat him grim
Which gives his team a lesser chance to win
Which makes the biased referees grin
We are a country that idolizes quarterbacks
Every other position we're quick to attack
We only care about who has the ball
And laughing at others when they fall
We worship that which is shiny
And view everything else as grimy
Quarterbacks become celebrities incredulously
While everyone else is treated impetuously
The NFL is like America
Politics makes it harder to watch
The Patriots are boring and plain
They win constantly
The Bengals are entertaining and rough around the edges
They show promise and potential that is never realized
In a nation
Of provocation
I'd rather proudly call myself a bengal
I know that seems an idealistic angle
But Cincinnati provides no coziness or protection
You must always avoid discriminate detection
Of those that call themselves patriots
That drive blue and white chariots
And penalize players unnecessarily
For African Americanning
We really fumbled the ball
Because of the ref's call
That treats us unequally
How they have fun evilly
They can arbitrarily treat whoever however
But a concussion will make them less clever
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 5:31 PM UTC
There are bluebirds flying all around
Inside my head
And I am reminded that tomorrow,
I may not hold your hand again
and I may never feel your teeth sink
Into my skin, again
*and wasn't that
supposed to be
a good thing?*
I'm left cleaning up the scraps,
the mess we leave behind
Like it's my responsibility
to carry your heartbreak, too.
*wasn't it
supposed to be good
when I was with you?*
I read somewhere
*This is where you fire your musket,
and this is where you fall and die*
but I've fired my musket-heart
and I haven't fallen and I'm still dying
for you to look me in the eye
Like you still mean it;
Like there isn't some line in the sand
you have drawn arbitrarily
to measure what has been inside my heart
When you never cared to ask.
Love, those bluebirds are making it hard to see
through all their Pulsing wings,
But in their eclipse,
I'm finding a ring of light.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
if you slit your wrists
only nectar flows
You are not this body
You are Spirit eternal
Your body is a sacred temple
fashioned by
God for you to learn how
to love more expansively
So suicide is not an option
Swami says this:
“DEVOTEE: Swami, when I am distressed, I feel like committing suicide.
SWAMI: You should not. However difficult life is,
try to be its master and not its slave.
Every human being has a preordained life span.
It is like staying in a leased house.
Before you actually vacate the house,
you have to find another one to move in.
Similarly, before leaving one body,
God selects another body and a span,
depending upon the karmic debts.
In case death is inflicted arbitrarily,
you are denying yourself a chance to work out
your karma as early as possible
and reach a permanent abode.
In suicide, you are stranded midway.
It would be a frightening state of affairs for you.
There is no vacant space in nature.
God has filled the space with spirits
and many other invisible entities.
When suicide is committed, they show up and terrorize you.
Moreover, a jivi is blissfully aware of God only
for one hour in its life. First, fifteen minutes
while shedding the mortal coil, i.e., at death;
second, fifteen minutes after coming
out of the womb, i.e., at birth;
and third, thirty minutes during the marriage.
God is present with the jivi on all these three occasions.
Hence, do not destroy the life that God has given you.
Lead the life you have got righteously.
The person who faces the trials in life calmly
and always remembers God will one day,
definitely, get His grace. Do not doubt its veracity.
Face these tests with faith in Him.
(Swami asked other people to get their doubts clarified.
Nobody asked anything.)” ~Sai Rapture, p.82
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
I keep help close to you
Three numbers away
So that if you are in need
I will be there
I am a savior
I keep you healthy
With quality care
So if you are sick
I will be there
I am a nurse
I educate you
Through years of monotony
So if you face a problem
I will be there
I am a teacher
I protect your rights
From unnamed terrors
So if you are in danger
I will be there
I am a protector
I am a savior
Who enforces laws
Arbitrarily
I am a nurse
Who heals you with
Poison
I am a teacher
Who educates with
Propaganda
I am a protector
Who saves you from
Nobody
I am Big Brother
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
Stop arbitrarily replacing commas with semicolons. Stop it.
Thanks everybody!
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 12:30 PM UTC
Some would say the heart is the most precious ***** in the body
But I disagree, see for me it’s my mind
It’s hunger for reason must be fed
It’s thirst for information must be quenched and this precious vulnerability must be protected
Solitaire exercises of discipline strengthen these walls with lessons so essential their very nutrients must be extracted from the most sacred of confines
Locks, rusted with petrifying shadows of blame
Contempt fills these boxes that if released arbitrarily could prove to be terminal
Preparation has skilled me of such treachery but no YOU attacked the heart
An ***** most would say is the most precious because it can cloud reason and influence the ********* that is the human brain
Turning pain into tranquil contempt
Removing logic from the vital equation of understanding into a dismal acceptance of average
Well I’m here to tell you though your best efforts, your attempts at my emotional demise have proven to be futile
I stand before you wise to your woes spun effortlessly weaving a pictured filled with promise and no action
My heart, although damaged will learn from this strife and beat stronger and better than ever before.
It shall not ache nor bleed for you, but it thanks you for your time….and this lesson.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
When the night falls,
I am at my best.
I could topple from the sky for a saunter amongst the wingless owls arbitrarily.
Carrying my futile attempt on serving the sun with a contempt glance,
As I let my imagination run free like nine jockeys in one horse race.
When the night falls,
I am the captain of my own ship.
I could set my course straight to my hiding place without any further ado;
Where I'd sail to where dreams and phantasies collide until the clock strikes two.
But most importantly,
When the night falls, life isn't like crossing a palisade or walking through a horrible gale;
Life isn't like a perpetual movement of climbing up the rickety stairs or losing a bet to the middleman.
Life isn't as stilted as when I stood dead on the yawnful street or as boisterous as the crowds watching King Louis guillotined to death.
Because there is only peace.
The skies may be the blackest black; the air may be the emptiest space,
but none like the night
where I can sit and stare,
and watch as the moon and the stars
shine my way.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
prison walls enclose sky
darkness sparks pyre
definite
articles get cut out
where rivers empty
into bitter oceans
where mix
morbid metaphors
of narcissism
to test my dead flesh
in vacated premises
condemned to destruction
blade as absent tenant
insert line about cutting here
then murmur teenage angst
over lost boyfriend
lifes meaninglessness etc
add some more weird
unpunctuated lines
oozing like a mediocre
razor ****
no caps even
then arbitrarily bold something
as if you knew what the hell
you were blathering on about
holy band-aid batman
my poetry *****
(does yours ? )
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
Spells of immaculacy,
enamored by divine blasphemy
Oh, the glamour of defeat;
Illuminating my delusional illusions of grandeur.
The facade erected
in the name of my dissonant lunacy -
Replenished to diminish, ease the tension
while I watch the world around me burn
Ascension/
With purification, the nameless and faceless yearning for the knowledge
God blesses upon his prophets
Rather burning in oblivion,
fate earned by blind devotion and faithlessness.
Only time can tell, when shall we
separate ourselves from this abomination?
For only from the ashes of chaos
brings forth the promise of creation -
Salvation bathed in blinding light
Only with open eyes will one see an end
for which there is no sight.
Eradicate your spite
and take a deep look inside yourself
It is only then you will ultimately find
you are the sole Creator,
of your own Paradise, and of your own Hell.
Call this my dissertation
on a nation rife with desensitization.
Certainly plagued by monitors and screens,
can your hear their screams?
Why, but of course not. We fear no evil.
The evil is unseen. -
Lying in wait
behind the prospect of the American Dream.
The interests of the men lurking behind the curtain permeating our everyday ideology -
Lulling ourselves into a false sense of security
Why question such a monumental absurdity?
Too distracted even to leave our homes.
Our minds have been effectively infected and collectively we've turned ourselves into drones.
Reclaim your mind, Or in time you will surely incur horrors I perceive worse than Death;
The beast has swallowed you whole.
Mind only your indulgence of all that is true and you will find that which is eternal bliss.
I'm impatient and far from complacent with a world so blatantly detrimental to itself.
Allow your wisdom to be your might,
lest we continue to arbitrarily pass judgement amongst ourselves.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
I have so many things I need interventions for.
Like not taking enough showers,
Definitely.
Q called me an eccentric genius yesterday.
What a label. It might be my favorite one yet.
Better than ****
Said R.
My life is a disaster.
It’s perfect.
No one knows me.
I have friends.
They don’t know me either.
I don’t know them.
They are strangers.
I love them all.
But I can’t help them.
I can barely help myself.
Sometimes I just want to stop breathing, but it’s too much effort to hold my breath.
Sometimes I just want to scream at the sky, but I don’t want it to scream back at me.
And don’t try to tell me that dogs aren’t people.
Of course dogs are people.
They are more like people than we are.
We are not people.
I am not a person.
I am a little bit of a person, a sliver of a person.
I am a mug, maybe. Fill me up with caffeinated beverage.
Brown sludgy liquid. Let’s all pretend we like it.
It makes it easier to accept that
We don’t want to get out of bed in the morning.
What if we stayed there just,
Forever?
What if we lied on our backs,
Pressed ourselves between our
Sheets like people-paninis
And waited and waited
Till we starved half to death?
It would be the new crazy
Weight-loss miracle diet
And everyone would suddenly want to come over
And take pictures of us but
We’d too proud and dignified
To allow them to publish the pictures in magazines.
Only we wouldn’t be able to stop them
Because we are technically considered public figures
Which in this country means
People are allowed to take pictures of you
And make up stories about you
And print them on sheets of paper
And hand them out all over the world
And then people read them and think
That the words on the paper are little bits of you,
That they are true.
And the funny thing is they are,
But we try to pretend we’re not.
We all do it.
We all say we aren’t things.
We’re not judgmental.
We’re not mean.
We’re not worried about superficial aspects of our faces and bodies.
We’re not going to go on a diet.
We’re not going to stop smoking and drinking and hacking all over the place.
We’re not.
We’re independent beings.
We are women!
Men!
Androgynous beasts!
People get so angry about things. It’s hilarious.
Things that are
so
so
so
so
small.
Like the color of a shoelace.
The time on your watch.
Countries with arbitrarily sketched borders.
Why not just erase them?
Who would care?
Certainly not me.
I think
We should all be more sexually active with one another,
Or without one another, and that
We should all start wearing helmets.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
Sir Isaac Newton wasn't "using his head"
When the "aha moment" fruit fell
He assumed it was gravity, an attraction to the earth
It was weight and decay rate, no romantic pell
Many scream "separation of church and state"
In the Constitution you will not find that phrase
But in a personal letter to the Danbury congregation
It has been arbitrarily elevated to "law" in our nation
In the Scopes trial Evolution was criticized
Scopes was arrested, the masses cried "victimized"
To play on the "heart-strings" of the "under-educated"
Those worshippers of Evolution were placated
Hypocrites obscuring all God-given laws
Building a "strawman" with individual straws
Satan has questioned all God's "thou shalt nots"
NASA has filmed in a studio basement "our Astro-nots"
Jesus' words have been futurized by Baptist dispensation
Jesus said plainly it's "in this generation"
Scripture is not a "wax nose" you can eisegete
Exegete in the present tense Greek
How do we equitably represent all voices, in a
Public school system that claims they consider all choices
Public schools don't exist, "special agendized" schools do
Claiming universal intolerance, they're intolerant of truth
Let us say in the "Dagon bye" to all "blessings in disguise"
We'll be in[spire]d by the "blessings in the skies"
We're all from Adam's atoms by God's sovereignty
Lord roll my soul in humility, cajole my spirit patiently
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 11:25 PM UTC
In transit
(in parenthesis--you've not arrived)
waiting time this is
it's as though
time is arbitrarily suspended
and frozen
no forward movement
until the journey is resumed
'in transit'
the hardest test
of patience
whoever you are-
it applies to all--
no exception
and you can't exit
the gate is closed to you
there's nothing you can do
a time for unwelcome reflection
what were you yesterday?
what did you used to be?
what would you be
after transit time?
if
if only
you could grasp
that life is all about
being in transit
with you held in check
with untold possibilities
for change and acceptance
you would rise in triumph
from the ruins of your unhappy past-
a resurrected being
who has mastery over your life
and be thankful
for being kept in transit
only those
who can wait
will be the victors
and will never regret
for being kept in transit.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
Now, if I don't say goodnight,
it's weird.
We're not together
still we seek affection, comfort
in each other.
But if time goes by
and we don't talk,
you're in tears.
This fall it's a year.
I go out
and I don't want to have to
answer to you.
I don't feel like
making excuses
but you know everything
I do.
I care though;
I don't want to upset you.
I could lie
or be vague
but my pride is at stake
So I'll stick with vague,
force you to wade
through my words
so carefully chosen,
––off-handedly given
so if you find out
I'm dating again
you won't blow up
we can still be friends.
I'll be forgiven
and you won't close up.
'Cause I would hate for that to happen.
And I know you would too.
So don't let it happen
Let's just build something new.
Intimacy without ***
Love and trust without a partnership.
I know it's possible.
But with us,
every drink turns into
another night together.
Our hours go by
because it feels unnatural
'cutting things short arbitrarily.'
Tearing apart what has
grown together now.
...You and I are not a perfect match.
There's space between these ridges.
Separately,
you can see we're not the right pieces.
You're not the right fit.
For me.
And it *****
Because I wish you were.
It *****
seeing someone you care so much about
be so torn open, heartbroken
(I think of everything a parent hopes
will never happen to their child
because, I think, they know how it felt
when it happened to them.)
It. ***** Knowing
that person your mother feared is me.
At least I have a reason now;
something to grasp how
I could disgust her so much.
But it's not.
I want to say it's not.
I'd rather you didn't know of my shame
that thing I feel
when I pull you back and forth.
I know, I know, I know
I'm to blame.
Wanting one thing for you
So I say it.
I don't want to play this game
But I know it's what you want to hear.
So I hold you close
because I think I'll hurt you less
if I'm near.
Leaving means retreating means fleeing
to you. From something 'too real'
you think I'm incapable of handling.
But that's not it.
I don't feel what you feel.
I will suffer repercussions of
not seeing you,
someone I've grown attached to
and feeling the void I've created.
I've instated.
And I know you'll be so mad.
**** you'd be such a
loyal friend to have.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
The language of Los Angeles
gets lost in translation.
Even the rain clouds
drop their contents
with an unfamiliar accent.
The peculiar way
she tilts her head,
the distinct way
she crosses her legs,
are every bit incorrect.
The uninvolved way
she sits, steps, speaks,
alludes to her lack
of the irrepressible nature
surrounding her day.
"The rest is rust
and stardust."
She is quite
American.
There is no turning of the shadow
under a European sun.
The silence of her heart,
the stillness in her limbs,
is barren, muted,
her leaves brittle.
In the breezy part
of the afternoon,
her core lay hollow
and unfelt,
regardless of...
He wakes her,
demurely she makes
an effort at soixante-neuf,
arbitrarily she bends for him.
"Her dream-gray gaze
never flinches."
She is quite
American.
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 4:35 PM UTC
there were borders between you two,
arbitrarily defined, a line divides the marbled gods
of differentially existing praise. praises sung in Goidelic
and the Queens impeccably imposed prose.
beyond the rambling border,
our division from all else contracts.
secluded by the raging atlantic seas and
ancient cliffs of inhabited crumbling shale.
our tongues and words would lash each others backs,
compounding our need to gather for a day of rest.
when we decide to depart this divided space,
our wounded flesh transforms into a welcome mat.
away from woolen wear and greening rolling hills, we gather
together where borders and belongings melt on mornings toast.
divided tongues and limerick prose now rest from lashing licks
because now we share bleeding blood and a boundless beating love.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC
A section sliced from morning rainbow
Arbitrarily roam over silver waterfall
Merge into long river running through
Vast plain, lake and tree of wisdom
****** the very ancestors of ours to fall
Whilst appearing like colorful strips enclosing
A gift box full of banners collected from astral
Waiting to decorate a gallery hall
Scaling the distance between earth and space
Shooting jet trails to every shore
Aside this vertical, asphalt sea
Glowing like night sky
Pouring down into my eye
Oh, baby,
It's a butterfly.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
I'm not farther from death than you are,
Tender leaf, slender branch.
We all live very close to it.
But my heart has been salvaged.
It's nearly off the map.
The heart doesn't reason this way
In every man. It doesn't take wings
From its subterranean shell like this.
You are the stars of night,
You are the tree, a ballerina
Of grace. I'm the root.
Now you are exhausted.
You say your load was too heavy.
I forgave you, but you failed
To listen to me, drifting into your life
Of earnest foliage and birds' nests.
What were you saying to me,
To the one who always redeems
Fear has left you just skin and bones
Look: you are the one being tested
And tried. I am the root.
You close your windows feeling
Diminished, belittled.
Your tiny world is fast disappearing
Into my immense space.
I don't know you well,
But I wasn't so crowded
Just a little bit earlier.
You're a bullet in the barrel,
An irrelevant splash.
I am the root.
The dead summoned their courage
And gathered to find arbitrarily, in one another
Love never seen before,
All-encompassing love without boundaries.
Maybe something will occur in the end
Your farewell imagined its own reality.
Your mouth said:
I am taking wings,
I'm contemplating.
I am a long and narrow road,
And will be closed down sooner or later.
I am the most disloyal traitor
To face your mask. Look now:
Your specter is lost inside me,
As if it had disappeared into a mirror.
You did this. You offered
thousands of lies to me
Instead of the truth. Death smiled
as a way to humiliate. I know
The earth. I am the root.
Koray Feyiz
(Translated from Turkish by Dr.Nesrin Eruysal & Prof.Dr. Kenneth Rosen)
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 6:13 PM UTC
In this world,
there are some of us who get left behind
because we don’t fit the bill.
A bill that is arbitrarily in place and which
makes some magnificent, many perfectly normal,
and some of us a bunch of unworthy f***s who don’t
deserve affection, attention, and any of your time.
Go on, erase us from your narrative, from this world’s narrative,
erase us completely because our bodies are a certain way,
because it would require you to change your perspective slightly
to accommodate us into your view,
because there’s a billion to choose from who are perfectly normal
We might as well be not human because some of us don’t get to
experience human joys strictly because of how we look.
The least you could do is understand very clearly this fact
that for whatever reason, not all of us are able to experience being a human in the sense that most of you are able to
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 1:42 AM UTC
I am not rooted like a tree,
Yet, I too, cast shadows all around me.,
Sunbeams waltz through my shade.
Within its chill I start to fade into ponder,
Filled with a curious lust to wander.
Not in thoughts which pressed pulp is written upon,
Or with cuisines made from oiled salads and hearts of Palm.
The sun’s ****** pushes me to uproot and go as I please,
Each day’s truth, to follow this warmth and majesty.
Royal colored panoplies illuminate,
The sky’s wide open path on which it roams.
Crossing borders at dawn,
Bringing to the world enlightenment’s pageantry.
While most sleep thru the moon’s hidden release,
Wind convinces the sea to rise,
Only to fall from the sky’s grip arbitrarily,
Quenching primal thirst to travel beyond one’s shores.
Gone from its known onto somewhere, change never ending.
Anxiously, I stare, aware of the horizon’s beyond allure,
My prayer, for the same journeys to stop it’s pending.
To be caressed and uplifted from the comforts of me,
Then scattered liberally back into the newness of myself.
PFL
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 4:26 PM UTC