"arian" poems
Malakas ang bugso ng hangin
Bunsod ng pangangailangan
Bumubuhos ang ulan ng pananagutan
Daluyong, sunud-sunod ang hagupit
Mabuti pa ang kabuting mamunso
Magkakambal lamang karaniwan kung sumibol
Ngunit anong kalupitan mayroon ang kapalaran?
Di na nga makaahon sa dagat ng kahirapan
Ilulubog na naman ng alon ng kamalasan
Bibilangin bang muli ang galos ng panghihinayang
Tatapalan na lamang muli ang sugat ng puso
Ng dahon ng ikmo ng kapaitan
at binulungan ng orasyon ng sama ng loob
Bigo pa rin sa paghihintay ng kayamanang mailap
Litanya ng kabiguan:
Pagkawala ng mga ari-arian..........
Pagka-ilit ng lupa at tahanan..........
Pagkaulila sa magulang..........
Pagkasangla ng kinabukasan..........
Sakuna..........
Tila mga butil ng rosaryo
Walang hanggang pagtitiis
Bukas darating ang maniningil – ng hinuhulugang 5-6
Nakasangla pa rin ang ATM sa ‘Lend Bank’ – di na matubos-tubos
Tinawag na lahat ng santo at santang maaaring utangan
Ng panustos na biyaya –
GSIS Loan, ipanalangin mo po kami
Provident Fund Loan, kaawaan mo po kami
Kooperatibang Malapit, maawa ka sa amin
Bumbay sa palengke, ipag-adya mo po kami
Kubrador ng huweteng, patayain mo po kami
Lotto, GrandLotto, MegaLotto, SuperLotto, UltraLotto,
patamain mo po kami
BIR, patawarin mo po kami
Presyo ng langis, kahabagan mo po kami
Lahat ng ito’y isinasamo namin
Dahil lahat na yata ng kahirapa’y nasa AMEN.
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 5:08 AM UTC
Simula sa araw na ito,
Hindi na kayo pwedeng tumawa, magalit at malungkot,
Hindi na kayo pwedeng makadama ng kahit ano mang emosyon,
Emosyong nagpapakita ng kahirapan, kahinaan, pagkatanda at pagkapagod,
Huwag kang magsasayang ng hininga sa mga letrang alam **** wala namang makakarinig,
At kapag nilabag mo ang isa sa aking mga utos,
Tumayo ka sa sulok,
Ipikit mo ang iyong mga mata,
At harapin mo ang dilim na sa iyo’y lumalamon,
Patungo sa apoy ng impyerno,
At kapag naramdaman mo ang init ng apoy na sayo’y sumusunog,
Pinapayagan na kitang sumigaw,
Sumigaw sa taas ng iyong mga baga,
Palabas ng apoy na nagbabaga,
Patungo sa mga tenga ng mga taong sabi mo’y iyong mga kaibigan at kakilala,
Ngunit huwag kang aasa na ika’y aming sasagipin,
Hindi ka namin aangatin,
At mas lalong hindi ka namin ililibing,
Sa mga lupaing,
Pati ang mga damo ay ayaw kang tanggapin,
At kung ayaw **** maging tulad ng taong iyan,
Bumuo ka ng bahay,
Gamit ang mga bagay na iyong natutunan,
Bumuo ng bahay,
Gamit ang mga bagay na naiwan ng mga mananampalataya,
Ang mga mananampalataya na nagpasabog ng mga bomba,
Upang ingud-ngod sa aming mga mukha,
Na kami’y mga anak ng mga makasalanan,
Pinanood naming maging abo ang aming mga ari- arian,
Sa isang pitik ng kasinungalingan,
Pinanood namin ang mga pinto, mga libro, mga litrato na masunog at madurog,
Nadurog sa sunog ang lahat ng aking minamahal, pinapangarap at hinahanap,
Inalis nila sa aming mga mukha ang kasiyahang panandalian lamang nadama,
Tinanggal nila sa aking katawan ang pangalang minsan na sa akin ay kumilala,
"Ako ay taong makasalanan,
sige,
eto na lang,
totoo naman,
kaya sapat na,"
At kung ayaw **** maging tulad ng taong iyan,
Magtrabaho ka nang mabuti,
At kapag naramdaman mo ang dugo na tumutulo mula sa iyong ulo hanggang paa,
Ipunin mo ito sa isang timba,
At ibuhos mo doon sa nayong nagbabaga
At kapag wala ka nang malanghap kundi ang usok at ang masangsang na amoy,
Hanapin mo ito sapagkat ito raw ang amoy ng mga patay na pangarap at sigaw ng mga bata,
Na sabi nila, ikaw raw ang may sala,
Ikaw ang may sala,
taong makasalanan,
Taong makasalanan,
“Mahal Kita,
Tutulungan Kita,
Pangako,
Patawad,
Paalam,”
---
Dagdag na utos sa paaralan:
Huwag kang maniniwala sa mga salitang inuulit- ulit pa,
Sa mga salita ng sumasamba sa kasinungalingan,
Dahil sa oras na mabuhay ang mga patay,
Hindi ikaw ang una nilang papapasukin sa pinto...
---
Ang pagpapalit ng administrasyon ng paaralan:
Iguhit ninyo sa inyong mga palad ang inyong mga hangad at pangarap,
Gamitin ang dugo na lalabas sa tenga at mga mata,
Gamiting pang pinta ang kada hibla ng iyong patay na buhok,
At kapag ubos na ang likido mo sa iyong buong katawan,
Ngumiti,
Tumingala,
Buksan ang pinto,
Kasabay ang pag sabi ng mga katagang:
“Ang makabagong paaralan ng mga nawawala’t hinahanap”
Mar 14, 2022
Mar 14, 2022 at 11:07 PM UTC
I can't remember ever wishing I had lighter skin.
I was always amazed by the way they glowed;
all of those beautiful black women.
I observed other women, and yes,
they were beautiful too. They just....
Didn't have that "umph" about them.
You know, the way beautiful black women do.
I have endless people to thank,
My mom being on top of that list.
"Mini-me, you're so beautiful,
and don't you ever forget this."
Society is constantly throwing shade,
highlighting no one but the "Arian race".
Leaving beautiful black women embarrassed
and too ashamed to even look into the face
of the next pretty girl, and most importantly herself.
Spending countless hours comparing,
and harping on the imperfections.
Too big, too small, not good enough.
Never pointing out the features that she loves.
Let me be the first to tell you
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. And
YOU ARE WORTH IT. And
in case you haven't heard,
YOU SET THE STANDARD.
Beautiful black queens, and
Black queens in the making, This is your world.
Everyone else is just living in it.
Love the skin you're in, because
truthfully, they'd love to be in it.
Rock your crown with confidence,
I see you shining from afar. And
if you don't love You,
Today is the perfect day to start.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC
sinusunog na mga bahay,
sinasamsam ang mga ari-arian,
sinasaktan pati ang mga bata,
ginagahasa ang mga babae,
at pinapatay ang mga lalake.
ganito araw-araw ang kanilang sinasapit,
hindi sa kamay ng mga tulisan o rebelde,
hindi sila ang salarin sa pang-aapi,
kundi ang estado at militar ang pasimuno.
sila ang pasistang halimaw na naninibasib,
pagkat gusto nilang maubos ang mga Rohingya.
hindi daw sila taga Burma,
latak daw sila ng mga Arabong dayo,
kaya kailangan na sila'y malipol.
walang magawa si Aung San Suu Kyi,
pati s'ya hawak sa leeg ng militar.
walang ginagawa ang Amerika at UN,
palibhasa wala silang mapapala sa mahirap na bansa.
isa na naman ba itong Rwanda,
o katulad sa Gaza?
walang gustong tumulong sa kanilang walang pakinabang.
maramot ang saklolo sa mga madaling maloko,
hindi kinakalinga ng langit ang mga tunay na api at kapos palad,
sapagkat ang mata ng kasaysayan ay nakatuon lagi sa Europa
at sa mga bansang masagana.
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 4:04 AM UTC
A bite of meat
I dare not eat.
I'll have some fruit instead.
No milk for me
Why, can't you see?
I'd rather have some bread.
Faces haunting
Proteins taunting..
I don't want it if it's meaty.
You like to eat entrails
and brains,
A bit like zombies--beastly!
Hormone laden,
Child-sacrifice
to make the thing called "Veal".
I can't believe what you go through
for your tasty high priced meal.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
Is humanism Utopian?
You really have to think about it.
Or is it rather more dystopian?
No, then I think you’d never doubt it.
It seems that disbelief is best.
Humanism owes a debt
to thinkers of the Enlightenment,
although I haven’t paid it yet,
I think of it as my entitlement
to settle it at some behest.
I very early cleared my mind of Kant,
experiencing a vast relief,
approaching his chef d’oeuvres extant;
removing knowledge to allow belief;
the opposite of what he had expressed.
It occurred to me I ought to dig up
(or should I say instead ex-hume?)
what constitutes at least an egg-cup-
full of wisdom that I might consume
with non-platonic zest.
But wondering how on earth to do so
and thinking he might hold the key,
I fixed my sights on Jean Jacques Rousseau
and set sail for my destiny,
while trying not to feel depressed.
Voltaire’s voices loudly rang in deaf ears
as did the Persian Letters of Montesquieu
and failed to still my latent fears.
And thus I felt no need to rescue
Adam Smith (morality-obsessed).
To put Descartes before the Horse-
men of the Apocalypse
War, famine, pestilence and worse.
Who could guess it would eclipse
my thought, wherefore I was oppressed.
Or take the case of Denis Diderot
a friend of Hume and others seedier.
and one you might consider so
rash as to produce an encyclopedia
to get his knowledge off his chest.
That precious quality of truth
was Mary Ann’s# description of it.
It would not take a Sherlock sleuth
to simply thus produce a conviction of it:
an elementary request.
I cut my questing teeth on Russell.
His secular logic had a profound effect
and seemed to stir each red corpuscle
inhabiting this fervid non-sect-
arian but doubting breast.
I later turned my eye on Dawkins,
and his concern with my divine delusion.
A sceptic whose inspiring squawkings
validate my disillusion
and emphasise an ill-starred quest.
And so I felt the pointlessness of it.
Progress is the best end for a man to see
And belief simply produced less profit
for reality’s dispelling of my fantasy.
So, in the end, I acquiesced.
#Mary Ann Evans, aka George Eliot, in Adam Bede
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
Its nefarious arrogance, that's scaring grandparents, but its in the air and I'm airing it, as we are seeing all the signs, but just staring at them.
Somehow there is safety as an arian, where we are safely alien to Americans made in sapient sanitariums, shooting you first for glaring at em.
So what if i'm Dolling up my delirium for a serum to cure them all.
I am awol, from my call to duty, recreating movies, for serial groupies, suiting up to slither a delivery of a soothing sour piece.
I am stalling to clean the secretions from hostel sheets from the screamers being eaten, by Cretans, with beaten dogs at bay, staring blank at the fanfare from a cage.
Im burning white sage, under pages of poetry anointed by a stoical spleen, tuning out the dreams, of lesser beings, until complete.
A zoo within a zoo within a zoo, i barely know you now
Barely know how, to know you as a model citizen with baller trimmins, fixins, and a life with others wives, in the rough diamonds of the bluff, before the door opens just enough, to look through and confirm what you already knew.
Love is the stuff dreams are made of.
And through you..
Im through.
Pleading, to seed the need for repentance and with reduced sentences, bleeding the demands on stances of chance, in costly cants.
I am convulsing in the congruence, in which I am influenced, by my afflictions of depictions in my head
I might be addicted to the dread of previously said decor, in my adorable horror show afloat, deplorably denoting the nopes of logic, and the slippery slopes of khangi, that spring off me when i'm coughing on my green tea.
You are wrong to stop me in my dislogic, dodging the narcotic mocking of toxic strong arming, in proxy alarms, setting barns ablaze.
I praise the poetry pushed on me, dauntingly haunting me with savant like ambiance, from the have nots, having things as far as the eyes can see.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
I know I’m better,
But I know you’re wetter.
That’s why you came in your favourite sweater.
So why don’t you just go out and get her?
Grab her by her peach Caucasian face.
Pull her by her yellow-corn locks of the Arian race.
Soak her up in leather and lace.
Maybe bring a weapon, just in case.
She’s nothing to me.
A weathered apple from the bordello tree.
You can eat her while you’re on your ****** knees.
You can drink the black wine of her aided disease.
You come here in your pin striped suit
Your pale pink tie and polished boots.
Well, I hope its worth it when she plays your flute.
In this house of ill-repute.
You can have your little **********
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
With much Delight your Frequent Friender stays
Only by Her shows un-equalled Relief
With her Barmy Flag fixed your Sight in-place
Which rooted your Foundation beyond belief
Past Merrimost Fraggles keep to your own
To Prime Achievement your Focus succeed
As Time-Soaked Techniques caused Foxers to Blow
And nailed the Arian from shredding your Creed
So did your Jockish Coach in Spice and Pride
Lift his earned Tassels with a Glass of Wine
His Fancy - as his Postdecessor cried -
Knowing his Strategy paid-off in Kind.
Then to Her - a Thankful Bouquet you Show
Then to HER - a Pucker soon most will Know.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
“Let me lead you in a dance,
Around the fire in a trance,
I'll take you to a wonderland,
Where you will learn, and understand,
What it is we're here for,
And glimpse those who came before,
Your ancestors who roamed this place,
Forefathers of our superhuman race,
Would dance around a fire, just so,
Shadows and substance in the glow,
Generations joining in such a dance
Not all of them were in a trance,
But those who were, said they could see,
The ancestral spirits wandering free,
So come on people move those feet,
Build up the rhythm and the beat,
All together in our rhythmic dance,
As we work ourselves into a trance,
So we all once more can be
The purest folk in history”.
He became a master of the fire dance,
His folk they followed without thinking,
Around the bonfires of wisdom, in a trance
Thousands of torches through the darkness, twinkling.
The ancient symbols on banners unfurled
Chosen as the new racial identity,
A rising crescendo of hatred was then hurled
From the throat of this monstrous entity!
'Now I have you all in a trance
You've joined me in my fire dance.
You made my fire burn even more bright
By burning books to my great delight,
And so the scene is now set,
Most criteria have now been met.
I have already built the stage
From which I can scream out my rage,
And I now see a global panorama
Where I can now act out my drama,
In which millions are about to lose,
especially those sub-human Jews,
And Poles, and Slavs and Gypsies too
They're going to see what we can do.
And as we purify the land
For the greater good of the purest man,
Then the rest of the world will see
You can't afford to mess with me.
And for all of you who accept the yoke
Of total obedience, the chosen folk,
The Master Race above all others,
Born of pure Arian fathers and mothers.
A thousand year ***** we will build
Don't dare ask how many will be killed,
Because I know all, I am as God,
I hold in my hand the lightning rod
To smite our enemies, all to ****
For the Fatherland I will fulfil
My plan for living space for you all,
As the sub-humans beneath us fall
More fuel for our fire we will provide,
In the burning of the millions who have died! '
Tom Higgins 10/06/2012
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
He said he was a Jew
And I was an arian.
I hated that label.
I am a Protestant!
But I hardly knew how to speak.
So I just called him “Jew”.
And he was the sweetest.
He was 6 and I was 4
And I wanted to be his girlfriend
He asked his mom
If it was ok, him being older and all
She said we were allowed to kiss.
But I snuck out of bed
To sleep next to Jew
And he cuddled me back to sleep
And complained in the morning
That I stole his blankets
I cried for three days
When he left.
Whispered in the silence
At the age of 8,
That my best friend was a jew
And I’d never turn on them.
He waived at me when I was 10,
Watched me swim at 12,
And kissed me when I was 14.
He caressed me and I lost my senses.
He fought for my honour at 15,
And that was the only time
I ever flashed my ***** to anyone.
He found me when I was 16.
And told me he still loved me
At the age of 17.
We cried together for months
When I was 19.
And many times after that.
He is still today
My very own Jew.
I’d still hide you if I had to
Like that time we lay beneath the stairs
While your father screamed
Anti-semitic statements
And you covered my ears.
And I eventually fell asleep holding you tight.
You were John Smith and I was Pocahontas...
I guess that’s why I got these tattoos.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 2:04 PM UTC
Her locker was below mine
She seemed to be
of Arian descent
At first glance
we both knew
she was out of my league
tanned, strong jaw
healthy
long legs, Roman nose
She was kind to me
and would compliment my shoes
or secretly wink at me
while she walked to class
arm in arm with the boy who could
she was too beautiful to ********** to
my imagination held on
the girl with the space between her teeth
the girl with the cheap clothes
the pudgy girl
the girl with the painful laugh
they were all my conquests
The godess below me would pinch me
and call me “boyfriend”
My position kept her pure
an untouchable trophy
to the man who could have her.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
There, my steps will never ever go through,
where this road of ours, will divide
in two !
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 6:55 AM UTC
Boy, I am a loser,I wanna go outa
race,
can't leave Arian,my heart,is her
place!
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 6:39 AM UTC
Professor Longhair's piano
Tightly wound strings
Bottleneck traffic the honking horns
A bluesman sings
Freedom freedom
Freedom amongst the braves
Roaming the west crossing
Markings in caves
Bent notes on Little Walter's harp
Arrows as sharp as a dart
B flat, low-F,
Trumpets muted
The occasional fiddle
An ex-rolling stone chugging some Berry soul
Get me started with the James
Go to the country for some shine
American music is the way to unwind
Cloaked in enigma and sweat
Back to the blues, Muddy couldn't read
His mojo was working
Followed by Elvis twerking
Sugarcane Harris and a wishy washboard
Mandolin and a back to the blues man sings
Ain't no Arian twang like Downy sang
Just the rhythm and vibes of some stranger stranger than a steel drum... come and get some
Dec 9, 2021
Dec 9, 2021 at 10:22 PM UTC