"assimilating" poems
I can’t wait to be a hundred;
turning over the thoughts
and plots, of Caledon
floating on Zimmer inserts
and dusted Florsheims
three steps forward
in a dream woven
summer afternoon
Through the barn doors
and bee keeper flats
assimilating voices
from Sachems
and Forbes
and Hope Healers
coming and going
as the countryman
comes and goes
You can feel it
in a place like this
the 3 in the tree memories
of Allis Chalmers
and combine parts
of Sundrim poppers
and shallow carp fields
of patterned lawsons
and fading caulk
(on the ripped and rolled
frontier seats)
it’s a wishing well
for the peddler
and bold hydrangea...
both peeking their way
through the rusted
grinders wheel
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
the urban ecosystem
breeds the urban beast;
the two-legged feral brute
they board their clockwork motorcages
the young ones in predatious packs
the old, too weathered to care
animal autonomy
born from sweatshop routines
i imagine myself
as a metropolitan jane goodall
observing and assimilating
taking note of the cacophony of
hoots and and hollers
the city-born mating calls
the high-topped courtship dances
******* civility born from enslaved mindsets
a young, dark-skinned boy
let's rhyme flow freeformed
to the rhythm of a young girls dancing feet
stomps and claps excite the celebration
of abandoned social etiquette
and of my foreign presence
i resemble some exotic missing link
a mix of this, that and the other
my skin, a rare quilt
and this draws more attention
than a gold-dusted african queen
i place myself in the back
peering through the windows of this transit jungle
feeling my heart skip beats
boom...boom...shhhh...
i must've left my rhythm in my other heritage
because i can't catch the ancient flow
but my neck leads my head in bobs
my brain rattles with old soul memories
and i see these young folks on the train
held back by centuries of black struggle
but forever rejoicing in african pulse
forever embodying our ancestoral pride
and i think, how peculiar
on the outside looking in like a fishbowl
exiled from my own brown-skinned tribe
with my oppression fitted like a glove
my blackness a mere disguise
my blackness camouflage
my blackness
not quite
black
enough
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
Thinking with short breath, gripping my chest, sinking with stress?
Just to attest, Imagine putting stress to the test
Over pushing boundaries set with intent
Chasing leads, gaining lost time pursuing a lust with broken trust
Only to rise to the question
Can the duality of morals and ethics which define us..
Be overwritten?
Misconstrued needs for skeptics lost in line
Slowly assimilating breathless methods
Hijacked
Black rose petals spiraling to conclusion, Decomposing as if to forget this
Why don't I neglect this elusive euphoria defined in terms of confusion?
Split paths once veering in opposite directions begin running parallel
I know I'm here, but who's that there?
Ominous reflections veer back with eyes unfamiliar
A face with no definition grabs my wrist lurching me forward
Weightlessly ***** following a diverging direction with questioned intention.
Where are you taking me? (Silence)
Operating in two places at once, questioning who is the driver
Hijacked
There but ever increasingly distant, attempting to reach you
The sunrise rekindling the spark of yesterdays intuitions
Preserving eloquence like a flower in full bloom
Suddenly fades eerie in an instant, dwindling on gloomy restless expressions
Cloudy perception refracted by crystalline illusions
The evanescent cypress terpene, king of bliss
Flowing in the direction towards what has been calling it most
An icy chill enters my chest, a constant race to chase an endless quest
A ploy of acceptance with a cotton ball
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 11:50 AM UTC
my future partner,
Hi, I’m anna. I guess we’re co-writing this chapter of our lives together. I’m sure it’ll be epic. It takes a while for me to viscerally latch onto another being, so congrats to you for stealing my heart
because if I’m with you, that probably means I really love you.
I like sushi a lot, empty bookstores, and tea sipping sessions with my cat, xiaoxiao, who you will probably hear me talk about twenty-four seven. I hope you’re a cat person.
Within the realm of the arts, I like to write poetry and play piano. But my secret hobby is photography. It’s the best way to know someone without really knowing them. And if you hurt me, I’ll probably create an entire musical composition or a playlist of poetry about it. But I’ll forgive you instantly.
I might make mistakes, too. For instance, I’m horrible with directions, remembering events, deadlines, or anything unrelated to pedantic learning. My erratic and changeable moods can be quite the predicament as well, but I promise to be as tolerable as I can be through my storms.
I’m a biomedical science major with a minor in neuroscience. Assimilating an array of medical innovations, education, and terminology is, personally, my zenith of academic interest. I have a love and longing to help others. But sometimes, moving towards this ultimate vocation is strenuous and I do hope you understand how much medicine means to me. This means late night MCAT study sessions, mountains of neuroscience books, stacks of terminology notecards, homework, and paramounts of stress.
But I want to work on that. I promise that whatever I love, I love to a seemingly boundless depth- “from the tip of my apex and beyond,” if you’re into medical puns. I promise I’ll take you out to dinner, plan cute dates, and spend as much quality time with you as I can. I promise, we’ll travel to so many places, eat all the food we can in all the countries we visit, dive in every ocean we can find, and fly over every country we can point to on a map.
Most importantly, I promise to give you reasons to continue the chapters in your book. Because I struggle with that too.
Whether it be in a month, a year, a decade, or a lifetime...
I promise to love you, see you soon
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 8:42 AM UTC
Don't you think it's strange
When the countries claim to support
Multiculturalism and diversity
But so on people go on to say
The food you eat is gross
It's fine, no need to say it
If they offer you some, then simply reject it
What happened to acceptance and tolerance
When all they seems to compensate for are
Western food, do you not feel this way?
There are plenty more;
The cloth you wear is strange, let them be hijab, burka and so many more
The religion you follow is weird, let them be Sikhs, Jains and so many more
I don't like your ethnicity, let them be Chinese, Muslim and so many more
I don't like your gender identity, let them be female, transgender and so many more
I don't like your ****** identiy, let them be gay, lesbian and so many more
We are the minority and always under-represented within majority
Feeling like stifled, palms sweaty as we know we have target behind out back
Identity we have and must continue to protect
For that's what makes who we are
But to which standard are we conforming to?
To which standard are we assimilating to?
(why don't you fill in the blank, as plenty people knows,
western rules and the majority are cruel)
They said we had free will, a human right from democracy
But societal pressure comes and claim the right to express culturally
So I ever so hate the country and the people
For all the promises seem to turn out to be broken
People cry out for them to go back to their original countries
when they have just like others, earned their right to stay
when they have no place to go back to, only in their head
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 11:19 PM UTC
oh such few words are minded,
no bravery apart
from the homosexuals
as skeletons in the chronicles of Narnia
being discovered among
the skeletons of tyrannosaurus rex
making a bed with its wheelchair able
paws - and the flag of the Cymru
fire-breathing turtles before excavation
and the myths of the mandarin too;
now tell me the sub-human plot with the
Normans when the anglo-sax reigned
to teach me to unlearn english
to avoid assimilation,
like you taught your former colonial subjects
to integrate and to alievate keeping assimilation:
which you taught to unlearn the mother's
tongue and learn a discrimination
against furthering the multi-cultural project...
which you taught to integrate and
keep at loss a sacred soul of never assimilating
akin to jew...integrate i must,
assimilate i care not for should i be totally
albino or asserting bleached with peace:
albino oder beteuern gebleicht mit frieden.
integrate i must to utilise the coinage
but to assimilate i must turn into a reggae african
with roots in the Caribbean than the Ivory Coast...
and god willing i will not claim to be
an arab's brother to settle karma over
uplifting the curse over Mecca with ibn Saud's
clock-tower; burn!!!
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
Lucid dreaming, I sit
in a downtown lounge,
swirling ice in my drink, listening
to tiny 'bergs creaking and cracking.
I raise the glass to my lips and
imagine the taste of Shackleton's whisky, after those
100 years in Antarctic ice, assimilating a tinge of penguin, a pinch of
blubber, the turbulence of the sea, the still of the frozen mountains across the tundra, the desolation, the tenacity of survival, the bitter numbing cold, mixed in with
the warm peaty oaken goodness of Scotland at the other end
of the world.
Through the soles of my boots I sense the
thin surface tension keeping my body, the table and chairs
from plunging into the frozen deep that
lurks somewhere beneath the Lower East Side, black and still,
waiting
waiting.
The band starts up in the
next room.
A curtain parts and a blast of brass escapes, a great honking
sound that
reverberates in a molar,
before
a female voice lifts me from my chair, drawing me toward
the source.
Pushing across the floor like Nureyev on ice, I slide deftly between amorous
couples, skirt the co-ed queue at the toilets, dodge the woman at the curtain collecting the cover charge, nod at my pal the bouncer returning to his post and finally
glide/float/fly through the velvet drapery,
focused on the rising soprano.
It's just a dream, I think. Why pay cover?
*Ode to the Living Room
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
Childhood hopes vanished
When you were trapped in concrete walls
Pleading victim, charged as guilty
Time and time, I watched you fall
Psychologically manipulative
Assimilating crime into your life
Not just you, but all of us again
This family, you gave no meaning,
Your words are so empty,
Too often you are missing.
Arrested into an orange jumpsuit
The locks keep changing on you.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
Your trunk is firm
Your leaves collect the wind
You stand alone
Glowing orange
Deeper than the others
Assimilating in brown
You imply attention
With the beauty of your trunk
One with all else
Still one
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
Be oh so careful
My child
Lest you fall into
This same trench filled to the top
With depression
With self-hate
With abhorrence for the world
It never ends
Oh it never ends
It never ends
You think you can crawl out
You have already filled your head
With far too great an illusion
Of hope
There's no climbing out
The top has a glass cover
We're in Hell's prison
And God knows we'll never escape
It's walls
When you first fall through
Deep down into these depths
You don't know where to go
Everything is wrong
You can't say no
You can't just sing a sad song
But with time you figure out which trench
Is just right
But no one ever really picks right
We always pick what cuts the deepest
Words are powerful
And being able
To wield words is no different
Than a sword or a gun or any other weapon
Words will always be used as weapons
Because words is the name
Of one of the oldest places
In this sordid depression in this planet
The sound of
Words
Fades away
So soon
But the remnants
Cut like daggers
Straight down to the heart
From the mouth of those
Who let hate spill from their lips
Like venom from a viper's fangs
A venom so thick
And so abundant
Makes a pool we cannot swim out of
Trapping us like quicksand
Assimilating us into itself
So far in that we cannot remember ourselves
But only the intoxicated remnants of which remain
Our body's and our mind's
No longer our own
But belonging to the void
That this hopeless pointless life has become
Inside the void you only fall
Forever wondering when you'll meet the bottom
With quite the impression
You'll leave in the ground
Your body won't be altogether
But then again you mind wasn't in one piece either
Broken down along with your spirit
From all the pain you long endured
With no body to tether you to the ground
You go to see you can fly
You can
So you aim for the sky
But the glass atop the trench
Still holds you in your place
Always reminding you that
You did not die completely
Because at your time of demise
Part of you was already dead
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
yes, theology reduced to the anti-speculative reasoning
to choose he v. she, as if what pronoun mattered
to be hardly exact - national effigies exist
for ex-patriots - immigrants is a
***** word used by assimilating cultures,
the small intestines and the
the tape worms - she ******* Europe -
he labouring Europe - winged Hussars in Ukrainian mud -
while Versailles was built - Poles, the French of the East -
Moscow was trivialised twice - once by Mongol,
once by Pole - Nietzsche maddened called for
the Slavic-Frenchmen - i can already see the proximity
of French with Polonaise - the duchy of Warsaw -
Napoleon - Justepatron - just partition -
or thus the two bombardments equal -
thus two kept a holy alliance - that the Pole
be Frenchman when a croissant was questioned.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
Rotunda of doors
Select an arbitrary gateway
Rotate a frigid bronze **** and dislodge
Gaze into an opaque, stone encircled realm
Proceed through the division
Inhale damp, stale earth
Hesitate in a moment of hair-raising atmosphere
Ignore and tread slow
Ignore the echo of the sole warmth emanating in rapid succession from within
Ignore the nagging to turn back
Do so anyways
Realize pupils dilate when the entrance is not visible
Debate possibilities
Feel pointless muscle movement pulling white eyes for stimulus
Exhale tension melting air
Whine and tread against small stalagmites
Extend palm forward and to the side
Grasp for sight
Grab nothing
Constrict throat down
Acknowledge and accept the situation
Continue onward
Stumble against a solid
Release pain
Trace the direction of hopelessness
Follow with purposeful motions
Brush against another impediment
Successfully avoid
Allow air to flow against dry tongue
Taste lifelessness and potential
Release resolution and determination
Gain momentum
Allow ears to beg for rays of sun
Decide resiliency
Pant and expend time
Sense vision assimilating
Investigate the environment
Crouch and take in the floor
Gasp and whimper
Behold bones
Three sixty and engage all faculties
Cower as truth speaks: labyrinth.
Lift chin and only stone above.
And collapse, collapse onto knees in dramatic fashion
With back arched over, hands grasping and pulling at hair
Fight against reality.
Terror eviscerates.
Submit on to the parasitic solid inorganic void.
Become more bones.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
Oceans of the Mind
To be destructive ,they say,
Is cathartic.
Burnt limbs,sockets that stare,
Innocence ripped out of the womb.
Burnt branches silhouetted in a
sunset landscape.
Annihilation,Assimilation
Assimilating annihilation
Is our Right
To walk on the sea,they say,
Is Belief.
Lost Children of the Promised Land
Fanatic faith,Salvation,Forgiveness.
Innocence strapped to fire.
Crucifictions on channels wide
With apple juice to pep up the fun.
Manipulation for birthright
Is our Covenant-yes,by Might
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
frozen ass’s *****
their frozen assets
assimilating accountants
asphyxiated by Asperger’s
arranging orangutans
assuaging appetites
all the while
alone
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
Bach's "little fugue"
played while figure eights
whistled in my head,
along with mathematics
to an un-equilibrium point
where self-confidence
meets self-doubt.
So, in
illusions created by the exact same demons
that saw the bottom from the top
and the pope as part of a conspiracy,
I created a theory, and ended in a padded room.
I painted spots on walls not assimilating
anyone others works,
became my own victim,
committed to rationality
while acting eccentrically.
Visions came to me, I sought refuge in them,
things I saw the real world calls bug-brained.
There I envisioned the cosmos as a limit imposed
on one's relation to self. I saw the dynamics of human conflict
as interludes of forced sanity.
I went as quick as I came.
forced into what I don't want to do
I enjoyed the chorus arranged in my head.
Like a game between people I don't understand.
I sneak into Princeton and proved the existence of God. in red sneakers unaware my theory was economic realism.
Then I rejected voices.
And won the Nobel Prize.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
**media holocaust dumbing down society
matriculating detachment's spineless dump,
weapons of mass distraction's convergence
assimilating adaptation's explored transmissions
in conversions of auxiliary's pseudo-redemption
anxiety cast in embittered expulsions of
ubiquitous foghorns flailing in numbing flat notes,
off key in theatrical productions' translation
failure to cease & desist standby sub-humanity,
close-captioned in radioactive hieroglyphics
on the walls of expectations' exasperation**
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
how about... the irish and the scots re-learn gaelic... and the welsh upkeep their pseudo-germanic style of spelling, of what i might call indigestion, or in english: names of chemical compounds in shampoo?
there's a limit to assimilating into a foreign
country...
sure... i'll learn the language,
i'll even speak it better than the natives...
but when it comes to my mutterzunge,
(mothertongue), and my private life,
in my own home?
like **** you're going to force me
to forget the language i was born in...
only asians in england, can be so "humbled",
or rather tricked, or coerced,
just so they think they're somehow
superior... which becomes a complex,
and then they start feeding themselves
this ******** nostalgia, for a "golden age"
of the caliphate;
to me? just ****** parenting,
that avoided the stresses of embracing bilingualism,
and, thus, embracing a fluidity of
a merchant class... instead we have these
parasite bourgeoisie... who feel either self-entitled...
or victims.
like **** am i going to give my native tongue up!
i'll speak yours... but you're not
going to plant c.c.t.v. in my home to make
me forget my native heimatsprechen;
like the idea that these, so called "citizens" have
the right to school me? even the queen wouldn't
aspire to such vermin level of politics.
bo? gówno; życie! na kurwanędzą!
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 9:35 AM UTC
How'd it go?
You're not calling me love?
Why should I, it's not gonna make you feel better.
******* psychopath.
Don't take your frustrations out on me because you have noone else.
Why shouldn't I, your me. I have problems. You are one of them.
pain
I'm the only thing keeping you sane.
agony
I'm the one who lets you stand those idiots you call friends.
alone
I'm the only guy, stopping you from killing yourself. The logical more calmer side of you.
The more calm I am, the more you take over.
This isn't the matrix love, I'm not assimilating you. Were just becoming one.
You have two choices, let this happen again or let me do my job.
Lets end whats causing our pain.
Please, don't ask me to do that.
You've done it before, We've done it before.
Just stop caring and let them go.
Noone will ever know, noone reads this.
But we'll know.
Logical self. Psychopathic self. Hateful self. Murderous self. Unfeeling self. Darker self. All just names, you are my savior. The thing that lets me survive. Created from the observations of people and my idea of a perfect me.
love
Let us toss this house of friendships into the black abyss.
I'm only sorry I put you through this.
It's okay my love, just gives me something to do.
Lets me be with you.
All I want is to be with you my love.
At least it'll be fun to watch.
Like corpses squirming before giving up.
If only they'd see the true me.
And how much this hurts.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
I am atom,
I am quark,
I am dust,
I am ash.
Fluttering in the breeze,
mouth of the beast,
from my pyroclasm there is no retreat,
unto all the ends of the earth,
the east,
the west.
I find a home among the dreams of man,
civilization,
ascension and degradation,
here I am.
I slip between the cracks,
the grass mixed betwixt water and ash,
winding through the leaves,
upwards through the trees.
My arms burgeon upwards,
reaching for the sun,
from whence I have come,
drifting in the sky,
and sifting through sand as I lie.
Fruits bursts from my fingers,
I recede and give way,
on my way I go,
oh how sweet is the sound.
I fall and taste nostalgia,
falling through such familiar leaves,
a tasty treat.
Churning and mixing,
dripping and assimilating,
I find that I can move,
what am I now?
Who knows?
Off to the east,
as far as these feet can carry,
water and salt mix together in my teeth,
slithering across my hair.
I spy and unfamiliar creature,
I feel unsure,
unsure?
I like it.
She spies me and smiles,
a smile?
I like it.
And that's the story of how we,
came to be.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
The Earth, Moon & Sun
Orbit my floating body
A drop of water
Assimilating the Moon
Its surface
Purple
Filled with malice
Appear to shimmer
At the sound of my voice
Ling-Ch'ih
Death by a thousand cuts
A young boy cries out
Letting his insides fall
From his stomach
And onto the cold, stone columns
Of the causeway
Mother cooks breakfast
Knee deep in Ocean water
Eggs over-easy
My awakened state
Exudes
A chateau
On the dark side of the moon
Slobbering with wires
Taking away our ears
Beheading our women
With swords
Made of dark matter
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
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Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 12:46 PM UTC
there is so much i'm afraid to ask you.
i want to know what it means
when it feels like a knife's blade
is trailing down your back whenever
anyone says ma'am or miss
but it doesn't carve into your flesh
the way you'd assume it might
i want to understand why i want
to carve and shape my chest
but don't mind if my curves stay
if it means i could wear a corset
and compress the rest of my body
i want to know why i am afraid to tell you
even though you're my best friend
and i know that you understand
and i know that you're here for me
but i'm afraid you will think
i am making it up as i go, like this
hasn't been long enough
but i have known something was wrong
for over a year
i didn't talk to you much then
even though i knew you for years
but i couldn't figure out why i was scared
why i am scared
why i have been scared of myself
and my body
and my mind
and i don't know where i am or what i'm doing
but i'm scared if i tell you now
it will be too late.
i know you know.
i don't have to tell you anything
but at the same time i know
that if i don't, you won't mold your words
around my mind, you won't plant
the flowers of change in your collar
and it's not because you wouldn't,
it's because i haven't given you a name for it.
one is a name you said reminded you of carnations
two is a name you told me existed
three is a name that even i am afraid to utter
because i don't feel right taking it from you
even if i tick all of the boxes perfectly.
it is a name i am not familiar with yet.
it is a name that would steal my parents' daughter
away from them
and it would not grant them a son either.
i want to talk about it so badly
but my lips won't form the words
and everyone around me has already
begun assimilating their language
without my telling them
i wish you would ask me what is wrong.
and i wish you would choose
'them'
for me.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 12:32 AM UTC
Cigarettes and pheromones
Calloused tips
and olive skin.
Coffee stains
on aching palms
One wrapped around a neck,
The other conducting tendons
tugging at rhythms
********** theory.
Others’ are raised
crying hallelujah—
Yours stuck
Stiff like soldiers’
or unsure anchors—
Lost like subjugated natives—
The Stolen Generation of yourself.
Just follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence, John—
hide inside hollowed boabs.
I ask you if you’d like some tea—
you look like you’d drifted off.
You said:
“Now why’d you have to go say a thing like that?
Why are you always assimilating me to your context?”
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 8:16 PM UTC
From the day we are born
Till tomorrow's beautiful dawn.
we shall be depending
on
all the data we have been assimilating.
Data within our memories.
Can i truly forget the past?
Live only in the present
without any memories.
what are the five extrinsic senses
we depend upon do ?
without any memories.
This trap becomes bigger
the more data you collect.
The same data one of the reasons for diversity.
Hence is required liberty.
and
One day when I truly
start loosing my memory
Please do not throw me away
to the asylums with the tag
CRAZY
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
truth lies in the heart
and there is no denying
that sincerity is bred from within
a space unidentifiable
and goodness is a virtue
impossible to clone
compassion for fellowmen
comes from teachings
of old folks of wisdom
and assimilating it comes
from a sense of responsibility
for the welfare of others
in other words,
love of self is placed second
and what is done be done
despite the pain of suffering
and never complain
nor put to shame
circumstances of some unknown god
who neither had a hand
in the goings-on of this world
for years as i metamorphosed
i watched you
the butterfly within the cocoon
all your beauty radiating
to those inflicted by so great a pain
and their suffering became a little less
because of you
i retained my belief in the human race
because of you
i learned to conquer my doubts
because of you
i believe we can still be free
and because of you
i know ,it is good to be alive..
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC