"assimilates" poems
"But let me tune you the live about life's simulation,
that assimilates one's worth. Poetry's code isn't of ones
and zeroes, but of all lines and words"
Says the wit of a coloured oan wanting to chuff the girls
It's all about the honeys, and maybe some sweet
success of hustling for a little extra money
Taking a stand on every stanza, I grew up to different standards
Unlike the hood rapper clutching the 48 hammer,
I was taught in my hood how to hold a 48 spanner
I have my odds in odes; every heavy breath in each
coma—not so common
Given the stereotype of dealing and robbing
To steal your stereo if the right type,
and best to drive with caution
A dark skinned coloured
fitting in with the blacks by appearance
Accents do tend to change ears intently hearing
Whites think I'm that way out of a private school fashion
But I did at times hang out with the wrong crowd,
at times on weekends smoking **** and relaxing
And yes I'm actually coloured; to those of you asking
Hit you with a "hey what's up, what's happening"
Don't mind me asking questions with this sort of coloured accent
"Yoo what's the story," we start our conversations
in the morning. A different kind of breed Godsent
I don't force how I speak
But if it disturbs the peace
I'll change my tone of speech
And find solace in writing another poetry piece
_@the Coloured poet_
Dec 15, 2022
Dec 15, 2022 at 2:41 PM UTC
Spoken: What is heard
The adornment, gospel truths the pious believers of your personal faith. The Heresy, the voice of those you’ve ******
Spoken: That which can not be taken back
Your frivolous certainties had no hold but now frame our reality because they are always in the peripheral only seeing what it allows you
Spoken: half truths
The victimized, the wronged, the offended just to validate unscrupulous act to those who have wronged you.
Spoken: White lies
The coddling which breeds an ignorance for the knowledge of decorum, decorations and vails to hid behind
Spoken: That which the universe asserts
That which the universe listens to, vibrations that it assimilates making it part of the whole without losing its agenda
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 12:48 PM UTC
In my tiny world
nothing compares
to your aroma
when freshly baked
out of the oven
the scent of
GINGERBREAD
assimilates itself
into every corner
& crack of the house
That spicy hint of
ginger and nutmeg
combine to arouse
my scenes of days
gone by of giant
GINGERBREAD men
and large glasses of milk
by the fireplace
In any form as a loaf
or snap you are king,
but warn with whipped
cream... nothing else
needs to be said.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 3:07 AM UTC
Mandibles make their own hoarding,
but they do not make it as they please;
they do not make it under semiconductor-selected civilians,
but under civilians existing already, given and transmitted from the past.
The trailer of all dead gentians weighs like a nipper
on the brandishes of the lob.
And just as they seem to be occupied with revolutionizing themselves and thistles,
creating something that did not exist before, precisely
in such equipments of rheostat crochet they anxiously conjure up the spleens
of the past to their setter, bother from them nappies, bayonet slouches,
and cottons in organ-grinder to present this new scheme in wound hoarding
in timpanist-honored disincentive and borrowed larch.
Thus Luther put on the masseur of the Appearance Paul,
the Rhapsody of 1789-1814 draped itself alternately in the gully of the Rook Requisite and the Rook Empress,
and the Rhapsody of 1848 knew novelette bicentenary to do than to parsonage,
now 1789, now the rheostat trailer of 1793-95.
In like mantel, the belch who has learned a new larch always translates it backfire into his motor toot,
but he assimilates the spleen of the new larch
and exteriors himself freely in it only when he moves in it
without recalling the old and when he forgets his navy toot.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
Here I've grown to accept the riddles of each day, to culminate into a coalesced mesh of disarray.
Never would the seeds down under sprout to see the sun at the mere sound of thunder.
X marks the spot somewhere dissolving in my gut, wrenching at the chance to give both some and none of which we call *****
I've lost my faith in humanity,
I've lost humanity in my faith.
Yet I'd face my fate if only just to sate the state.
This flip book of stop.
Animation.
Assimilates fremescent assibilation,
And similarly tastes terrible,
Savoring like dry sponge, and tied tongues,
It's incredibly trivial, just a trivia of syllables stripped up to simple tools.
Simple tools.
Simple...
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC
The lighter breath of air
Sends shivers through the spine of weeping willows
As dragonflies flirt with kindle crackle
I sit somewhere under the arch of Orion
Surveying all that is mine
Blink one, on
Blink one, off.
It is lonely in the dark
Yet, here in the solitary freedom
I freely think of her
So I may be lonely;
Though I am not alone
There is a civilised glow to the horizon
As I shrink with the Jetstream of those little lights
Blink one on, blink one off
Blink two on, blink two off
I am my own trail of smoke
En route from the burning tip of a slowly decaying cigarette
How the paper wrap burns under a heavy breath
Conceding to my need of escape
Dancing in rings around the wisp of haunted words and subtle strings
I find hope in the sky that looks upon us both
Lowering clouding allowing me inside its gentle comfort
Carrying me north,
With the distant sound of memories converging as a guidance runway,
Blink one on, Blink one off
Blink two on, Blink two off
Home, within sleep, within the air
You draw breath and take me in
The seagulls are silent in honour of your first sleep
As life assimilates dream
The brain picks into memory
Extracting the clouds, leaving stars
The belt of the archer as secret camouflage of the world around.
We are dandelions, free from anchors
Sailing through the tips of reeds and listening to their silent hum in the breeze
We sail on swan back and climb interconnecting necks
They shadow a symbol of love upon the rippling stream
in moment of lift
Together into air
Over bramble and bush, teasing with the bark of trees,
Escaping greedy fingers that wish to pull us apart
Balance on branches and rest
Somewhere in the sky.
There we stay
Between the moon beams and starlight twinkle
Sleeping softly together in the arms of an archer
Blink one on, Blink two on
Here we fail to fade
Our own pollen rejuvenating us into a million lifetimes
Forever starting and ending with each other
We are the centre of calm
Sleeping softly together
Under the same sky
Above the same earth
In the blink of an eye
Blink one, blink two
You and I
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 3:04 AM UTC
I can only summon feelingfulness like the passing of a dove,
postponing its arrival mid-air, somewhere along the tucked
bramble across Poblacion, starting with metaphorical sensibility
or an insensibly bland space to procure wanted meaning.
Girls prefer roses and their bright foreheads diademed with more
flowers, and boys, their chiaroscuro or lack of a color thereof, seems
to be fitting in this maladroit contrast, and so I begin, as always,
with your very vague and caged memory. Your face, the whiteness
of snowcapped alps. Your strut, my slalom in a treacherous course
of words reduced to whisperings, to flutings. Your voice, though nuanced,
flitters with an overtone of arrogance: if sound was clothed, yours would
be flamboyant ermine. And the line in front of you before I, my arbitrary turn,
assimilates into a picturesque form of waiting somewhere in Cubao.
I wanted to smash myself with train-speed towards the metallic turnstile,
which, would then famish me even so, just as much as I wish to be a car crash
somewhere within the outskirts of your town, heavily vandalized by the swill
of squalor hefting itself like the rest of the world conscious of its viscera.
This is how I start you – like waiting for the sun to emerge by Borobudur,
or the clandestine *** of mildew and grass, a hundredfold of images appear
before me and I cannot choose upon my whims and caprices. Are you a dove?
A spear of Sun? A thunderous crackle of an impending rain? A harlequin?
A moseying cirrus? Or just another by-stander in the crowds where I ultimately
seek your being?
This answerlessness measures my knowledge of star, and my breath snuffed
out of me while I sigh from exhausted penchants, outweigh dissimilarities and symmetries.
A progeny from all superseding conundrums arises: are you a retrogression of a wave
back to its saltine wound, flailing in brine? Or are you just the vast sea and nothing else
on a fine and lucid day where children skip stones and chant name-callings?
I sense the peril in this undertaking, and much to my chagrin, I still
do not know how to end you.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:09 AM UTC
Age
It does not discriminate, nor does it hate rather as much as it assimilates
Age
It's one of the universal constants,
like change,
it never changes, age, it never ages.
We all live, learn, love, and lose
We've all loss
We all Age
You see it in stride of everyday people
Young flowing towers left and right.
Old creepers like moving shells of night like as a
baby turtle looking for shelter
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 5:05 AM UTC
Sorry I can't relate to you
or if my act seems see through
as the voices scream I'm destined to lose
on a path that Im told I can choose
yet the only one praised seems lead to a land of fools
how does a man covey
the truths that we evade
its like we're playing a game
we know no winners escape
I'm at a loss for words
and the more that I blurt
the more it seems absurd
contemplating what is worse
to quit this race and go unheard
or push on only to be burned
wading in a world of hurt
reducing it all to a blur
Nation, or relation,
religion or procreation
assimilates me deeper
into disassociation
maybe they taught me how to fear all the hatred
but rarely how some love and cheer can change the situation
now I'm just exhausted
waiting for the rules to change
being accosted
by those who always point the blame
reptilian brains
thats been raised
bound by chains
to anothers mission
driven insane
by the thoughts ingrained
with repetition
same old same
to envision
imposed superstitions
to be swallowed whole
polluted souls
who no longer have control
with no indication
no escape
no letting go
sickened and disgusted by your ******* cause
to raise a sense of greed
for everything
above of all
the more feelings taken from me
the more I feel like a machine
that I never wanted to be
am I too far from rescuing?
in a group of robots
who know not what they do
who will use any excuse
to continue what their used to
am I the only one who seems to see this cell?
because when I point it out I am told to go to hell
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 1:46 PM UTC
City
becomes joy,
gathers hope, together
concrete and man spiral, infusing life,
aspirations endless. Continuing journey unfolds
gradually; individuality lost and found and found and lost.
Roots pulsing, always expanding;
slums persisting by negated wealth—
poetry written.
Invoking rain,
civilisation assimilates
~River~
assimilates civilisation.
Rain invoking
written poetry.
Wealth negated by persisting slums
expanding always. Pulsing roots
lost and found and found and lost. Individuality gradually
unfolds journey continuing. Endless aspirations
— life infusing—spiral man and concrete
together; hope gathers.
joy becomes
City.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 1:21 AM UTC
She painted my lips black,
and brushed my auburn hair back.
She said I was far too pretty,
to bare anything bold like that.
She tied my hair with ribbon,
and brushed glitter along my cheeks.
She said ladies aren't as pretty if
they forget to gloss their faces.
Later on she covered my eyes,
and pushed my esteem into her resonable size.
She said that we can't be so different,
she wouldn't like it like that.
She dolled me up in silver,
and made me porcelain,
then she glossed my lashes,
and corseted my waist.
When she placed me on my shelf,
I took a look around.
Beside me, on my left and right,
were two girls also bound.
Her lips were black like Ravens,
and her hair was pulled back slick.
The other was shined with glitter,
with her waist all bound and tight.
It occurred to me rather quickly,
why we're all upon this shelf.
She collects us and assimilates,
we're all her little dolls.
With such a life, you'll see,
Society always has her calls.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
protesting Trump
you really are
protesting
the impunity of whiteness
invented to exploit
oppression from the beginning
finally in the open
blackness has been this protest
since being scientifically packaged
on slave ships
packaging what to tell humans
to make them think they are
better with whiteness
he should be scared to leave his office
it should be unsafe
even within the oval office
trips and slams chins on desk
hard mahogany imported
from the fear of Africa
from the fear of birth
the fear of evolution
no one noticed
he rotted in his office for weeks
the residue of obsolete whiteness
America
is only as good as it
it recognizes
and assimilates
into the free steps
of the black woman
marching with lactating *******
social scars
soreness
from fleeing the evil of whiteness
lifetimes through
thick words
thick voluptuous developed mind
dressed in dazzling resilience
in love with freedom
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 1:13 PM UTC
I've been repaired
not like I was broken
knowing how and where
no ****** on the ocean
Vas Deferens bisected
as body re-assimilates
no longer to be connected
oh yes, it's much too late
No erected complications
and man it sure is great
no longer any creations
or fears too conjugate
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
-
imagine resting in a realm
where the universe is
draped by a single
shadow—
the sensation of cold sheets
lasting until one assimilates
the other–
leaving some sleeping,
and others just
passing through
...
s jones
2021
.
Nov 7, 2021
Nov 7, 2021 at 8:18 AM UTC
A Dark storm cloud lays lazily just beyond the Horizon.
-Lightening flashes violently just out of reach
-Just out of sight, you cant see the bolt, or hear its thunder
-but you know its there by the illuminations of the cloud.
-the bright blue explosions that fill the cloud, that assimilates the mountains, encompassing everything.
You fear
but aren't afraid
For life is as the lightening is.
Its fleeting, and leaves us without a whisper, with out a goodbye.
And they to will fear us, and not be afraid.
For theirs is the same journey
and theirs is the same reward
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
My poetic insights
Confabulate with my brain
Spilling words in a rhythm
A flow I write about my love,
My poetic conscience
Assimilates with my hand
Moving my pen hastily
In description I write about your touch,
My poetic gestures
Seen in my writing
My heart races as I write each word
With love and feeling I express and pour in my thirst for you.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
They are somewhat like a smudge of coal dust
on a white wedding gown
He craves a feeling he cannot grasp
And so he spirals in the darkness
Into the womb of existence
Just wanting to prove himself
To declare "I'm worthy of life, see me!"
As he feels invisible, despite his best efforts
He is more a ghost than a man,
Even so, he lacks spirit.
She wants to be happy
A feeling she cannot define
Gnashing teeth; molded smile
To blend into the crowd
She is an actress forever in the spotlight
Every street, train car, and public sphere
She assimilates to the point of amnesia
She longs for something easier;
Some kind of relief she can't articulate nor manifest.
Imprisoned by illness of mind, of body -
Her façade shifts to reality as her reflection grows unfamiliar
She tries so hard to differentiate authentic self from the other
But the lies all blend together, leaving her dizzy
Ground in the blinder of life
Their hearts poured through a strainer
She grasps the strings
He weaves them into ropes that hold them together.
Be it kindness or cruelty, the act carries the stench of survival
They are one, and
They are magnets facing
Opposite direction
Jaded jigsaw pieces forced together.
Then called a pretty picture.
They crave singularity
Balance of both body and mind.
A work in progress, they ride the wave
Hoping to wash ashore more whole than before.
Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 12:28 AM UTC