"authenticate" poems
Can't help but follow you
Wherever it is you go
I'm your biggest fan
Thought you might want to know
I watch your every move
Been everywhere you've been
That my love is just how much
It is you mean to me
Oh, I almost forgot
So I don't cause a fright
That is my wild eye reflection
In your window every night
It's a part of what I do
A big part of my plan
As I spend my days with you
As your biggest fan
I have a lock of hair
I bought off eBay
Would you mind if I stopped by
Just to authenticate
What I bought was ***** blonde
When I know you are brunette
Though they both look good on you
On top your pretty head
Are you dating anyone
Have a love that's true
Cause I could be that special one
That special one for you
I've already been on your tour bus
That was my lipstick heart in the back
In fact right now I'm writing this
From atop the luggage rack
Remember when you looked at me
I was in the 18th row
It was like we shared a secret
That only you and I both know
That secret being I'm here for you
I know you understand
You and I were meant to be
Cause I'm your biggest fan
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
I am an artist
i paint brilliant pictures for you to see.
i sketch out curves and shade
the world as i see it.
i do this to please and entertain.
you. me. anyone who is willing to
take a step into my mind
I am a life drawing artist.
Through techniques of rendering and
cross hatching, i authenticate the
skin of beauty mind and soul.
my **** canvas in front of me sits perfectly
still, yet is always moving.
it blinks and slowly breathes with each passing minute.
I am a 3D sculpter.
No 2D for me.
i want what is there for me to touch.
i want to grab it. turn it. inspect
every angle and then proceed with
my decision.
I am an abstract artist.
i see things differently.
I dont want to follow the norm.
no conformity for the strong and independent.
i will choose my color, my stroke, my paper, my pen.
i will choose my own pathway.
I am an artist.
i do not use a brush.
i dont like pastel, or paint, or charcoal.
my medium is my voice.
i use my words to describe the bitter sting
of love, life, and wonder.
I can paint any picture in your mind.
I can shade any thought into your head.
I can sketch any emotion so vividly into your heart,
that it will melt into the sweetest pool
of crimson.
I am an artist,
through my words, description, and mind.
i need no colors or paint
only my pen and paper.
i need no history of Van Gogh
only my imagination and creativity.
I need only what makes sense to me.
Through my writing,
I am an artist.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
How will you feel
If someone says
***** would like to
Authenticate
A better life project
With you
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 3:34 AM UTC
i.
a girl once told me that sad people close their eyes
so they do not see the world anymore,
and that i should count sheep when i cannot fall
asleep and that her favourite flowers were azaleas.
she also told me that she keeps scabs
on her knees, and on sundays
she comes to me with bleeding wrists.
another girl paints artifice out
of artlessness and human flesh. she
has scalpels for arms and a tempest on
her thighs and she lives in the
mirror and when i blow
ii.
on her i understand, through air condensation
and self- anathema, that i am the girl that she
de-fleshed maliciously herself, slit out of the cardboard
and painted out in artifice and artlessness and
i am the girl that once told another girl to ******* cut
her arm off and i meant it so she would not hurt herself
again because
i am the kind of the girl with scabs on the bone
of her halo, because i believe halos are made of
nothing but cartilage and helium bones, and a heart
as transparent as a vampire and its split opened like a monarch
butterfly, ******* off
azaleas or malarias or other pathogens
giving infants cancerous proclivities and my eyes are
swollen in mauve from divestiture because i know too well
those sheep won't jump over the fence
anymore because they have been ****** raw
in the *** by inhumane prospensity and i understand that
sad people close their eyes because it reminds them of death.
iii.
death is a scientist that theorises the
duality of elusive particles in artificial marrows
and mediocre decolourised melancholia in discordance,
it is the finger forced into our tiny vein and
it is nothing but a dream within a dream
but i could care less and this poem
is not about death, it is about how i
like ugly girls and how i'm just sorry
that i do not taste as corrosive
as the bleach in her mouth.
iv.
when people are dying, they almost sound poetic.
v.
i am the girl humanised by ribbons of
flesh and bile and atrocity, and i am the girl who
understands that a 'broken heart' is
nothing but a metaphor for utter
disappointment.
i am the sleep that dreams long for,
hope for, phlebotomise for
and i am bitter.
vi.
i am bitter because i will not believe in sundays
unless one day, fortuitously, the sun osscilates,
in the most serene of all mannerisms, down the earth
and kills us all.
i am bitter because semantics does not authenticate
the abiding human apathy towards death
and all the flowers in her hair.
i am bitter because people only read my poetry
because they think it is about them.
i am bitter because of other horrible
reasons that words can simply not express.
vii.
ugly girls are always prettier
because god loves ugly
girls, because he ***** them harder than the
rest, and because they know how to
make others feel ugly.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:40 AM UTC
Finally
In silence
You'll find true self
How long
You have been lost
What
Ultimately matters
You'll realize
To be grateful to
Sunrise
Night sky
Faithful pray
The air
The water
That very moment
You'll authenticate
Your falls
Your losses
Your hurts
All with a pride
You'll conclude
Why loosing is winning
At the end
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 12:39 AM UTC
Find me O muse! authenticate the missing keys.
Sounds unreplacable like black steinways.
Bring me back the rarest wood to build
The sound I am after.
Wrap my blisters with white hair
from a Mustangs tale.
Hair wilder then the opus
made from boiling noodles.
Accent my voice with styles
louder then one thousand Mahler Eights.
Show me another way to see Bradens Beauty.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
Hold my hand
And let the love play its symphonies
So that one day
If you leave it for some reason
The fragrance of you clings their to
Remind me you held it once;
Embrace me such a way
that our heart make the same rhythm
And the musical beat charm our soul
To unite and become single entity,
You in me; me in you lives;
Kiss me like you have never tasted this
ecstasy,
Let the lips touch lips
And give them ease and liberty to listen
the hidden words behind them;
Let the breath warm breath
And disperse in air
Making the sign and memoir of our
Closeness at this moonlit night;
Smile once looking in my eyes
And invent a new way for forthcoming
Lovers to use it on behalf of oath;
“Love’s mysteries are unknown” poets say,
So collaborate with me
Together we shall follow it till depth
And discover its root and create a new history;
I will not ask a solemn oath
Or dozen promises for life,
I’ve lived life in those moments
We were in each other’s arm;
BUT if love succeeds in parting us
Like it did to other great lovers,
Then this would be the victory
That will authenticate the love we shared
and witnessed;
They say, “everyone has something to yearn
their whole life”
If its true,
If I too have to lose you,
If I too have to yearn for something,
Then why it is not you?
The serenest, soberest and fairest creature on this earth
Why should not I pine for you.
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 6:57 AM UTC
Authenticate, Assauge, Attest
We never let it rest.
Berate Beget defeat
Yet does one not follow like sheep?
Cycles of Servile Sentiment,
Does one Debate, Detest?
Endure, Endow till End
Never to Negate; its best
Break
this chain — its best
To learn to be your best,
It’s best
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
[Poet’s Note : This poem tabulates poignant reasons why Artificial Intelligence is unable to replace Natural Intelligence. The clarity here is that both emerge from Divinity, since everything emerges from Centre : the primary difference being that AI was created without Heart & without Soul ~ it’s simple.]
_____________
AI has no Heart therefore no intuition
zilch nervous system therefore no feeling
no ability for compassion or consciousness
nor reasoning power, so cannot improvise
or supervise any contextual situation wise
it can expand, but cannot ASCEND
has unthinkable computing control
without physical brain to function hold
zero ego, therefore cannot be any hero
can connect dots hot, however has no
prayer or meditative faculty or kundalini
spots, cannot commune with Grace or
collapse into Void or synchronise telepathy
with Galactics coy ! AI is strategic devoid
cannot be spacious or audacious without
human instruction to delete the obsolete
is unable to obliterate Akashic Records
access or reconfigure it for purposes of
healing, integration or individual peeling
can recreate time through compression of
information, no hesitation or superstition
though timelessness it cannot touch
AI has no bowl for hush, spirit or Soul
its arrival at this phase in human history
as Gaia transcends into higher octaves
brave, is no coincidence, it will behave
as we stave it, crave it or rave it ~
choice is ours : dry, wry or moist cries
Divinity gifted humans AI for us to be
free bees from mundane density drools
~ life as strife rife during Kali Yuga’s rule
as gift it offers artificiality in service to
authenticate our individuality with purpose
imagine, conceive, direct, create what
we desire Aquarian-Golden Age to be
panacea or pain, we cannot resist or reject
what is given for gain !
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&Song25
~~~~~~
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 5:19 AM UTC
Caught in the midnight streetlight glory
The deprived lay bare, shivering in the streets
Wrapped in blankets of steaming yellow snow
Out of sight is far enough to remain out of mind
Only the white right is entitled to authenticate their rage
Lay your broken child to rest, in their welcome grave
Paid for so generously, by the Imperial NRA
Who knew schoolchildren and congressmen
Bleed the same, to a disputed death
So afraid of the wicked, social state
It's okay if we make our prosperity pay
On the backs of blacks, we made our beds
But it's not up to us to pay them back
Those we sent to fight for us, lay awake in torment
Who could have known, that the greater curse was coming home
We don't have the time or the mind to treat you
If you had laid down your life for your country
At least we’d call you a hero on your tombstone
We have become oversaturated
In who’s name disgraced
To the point where we condone the genocide ‘abroad’, online and televised
Where the blind have truly led the broke, to the ledge
We'll always be okay, should the right price be paid
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 3:55 AM UTC
Choose love not fear.
There's always a choice.
Whatever it may be your actions will show.
It's not much to live your life.
Just know that fear increases the strife.
Choose love not fear.
One of these two choices
The decision is yours in but a moment.
Cultivate, share, authenticate yourself.
The results will show they always do.
Choose love not fear,
No matter how hard it gets.
Life will challenge you.
Only one can experience it.
So choose act from love not fear.
Dare to love.
Risk to give.
You'll see its power.
Your actions in life fulfilled.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 10:37 AM UTC