"beneficiary" poems
Not an enigmatic smile
Like the constipated, condescending smirk
Adorning, and inexplicably adored, on the Mona Lisa's smug face;
But a smile to justify God's existence;
A smile that, when dazzlingly bestowed
Upon one fortunate soul, caught rabbit-like in its
Wondrous radiance, infinitesimally, and cumulatively,
Increases the World's joy. Where every living thing -
Whatever exists on the planet, imperceptibly hums
To a new, more celestial pitch -
An effervescent vibration celebrating Life's mysteries:
A reason for existence.
It's a smile to make an Alchemist cry -
Turning a leaden heart to gold in an instant.
It's a smile to make a mediocre poet struggle
To articulate an adequate description
Using all the hyperbole, simile and metaphor at his limited disposal.
Inestimably more brilliant, and more valuable,
Than the most flawless diamond ever found -
And, perhaps, just as rare.
Thankfully, a renewable resource,
Enabled to enlighten and heat
The recesses of any beneficiary's
Heart and invigorate their soul.
Helen may have caused a thousand ships to sail,
Destroying a nation as a consequence;
And Cleopatra nearly caused the collapse of an Empire;
But Tao's smile, unleashed in all its glory
Could melt the Antarctic ice-sheet -
Drowning us all in its magnificence.
Mayan's have a myth that states such a smile
Only comes around once every twelve thousand years,
In the Great Galactic turning.
Einstein's General Theory of Relativity
Is often mistakenly considered to concern gravity,
But is, in fact, concerned with one's relative position
To Tao's smile - an inescapable vortex of pleasure.
No music conceived of the fabled Celestial Spheres
Compares to the silent, ethereal harmonies tattooing my heart
Whenever, beacon-like, that smile flashes fleetingly in my direction.
And Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle has not a Quantum core,
But revolves around the statistical uncertainty of being blessed
With the ephemeral thrill of a benign grim.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
I am no longer a Roman,
Though my nose would differ.
I'm not Viking,
But my descendants have blonde and red hair.
I am a beneficiary of the dark ages,
The scriptoriums and monasteries
That brought the Greeks and Romans to life.
I am not Gael, though my eyes smile
When I hear the harp and pipes.
Neither am I Saxon nor Norman,
Victorious or defeated.
I, we, have metamorphized,
Casted of the moulted casement,
Spread dry wings and lifted,
Carried on fresh winds
To new worlds
To read, write, fish and hunt,
And I have gathered
My lineage,
Framed it in genetics on my wall,
To point at in fond remembrance
Of what I once was.
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC
wind like a south wind carrying a plane south
deposits him, beneficiary of a backwards current
on a branch with nothing companionable in sight -
no answer, no voice to answer, no voice,
no alarm, no succor - just an afternoon
and nothing pressing. No urgent business,
maybe only the rigors of trying to prevent
there being urgent business later.
He's not all smooth. A little feather
cowlicked on his narrow jaw, and I don't know
how he bathes, what he eats, what he wants,
who would want to eat him. I don't really understand
anything that is going on around me. But look,
I understand more than him:
the tree is dying.
Oak wilt blew in from Canada,
took a long time coming and finally cracked the veins
and this one is all bad on the inside, a meal of
corked-up flesh, big spongy patches and tainted roots
at the search.
(Amateur diagnosis. The tree is probably fine.)
There is a similarity neither tree nor bird know about.
Or his legs know it, and that message
is stuck somewhere. Or he's afraid.
The blighted oak is all fungus and refusal, and he:
his skeleton is spun from delicate copper.
If you open him up, he's like a penny -
pretty, and useless in this economy.
People and things always trying to get rid of him,
and he's listening because he knows it,
and he's singing because he knows it.
Open the tree up and the whole food chain comes down with it.
(Listen to your sweet flesh that wants to go on living.)
It's not a curse, not specifically:
just one fragile thing standing on another
but - count mercies -
too light to break it.
A basic brazier licking behind a splash of yellow, he chirrups.
His song comes from the throat.
His song is about something he saw once.
His song is unquestioned, muscle moving
without will.
His plumage is mostly air
And the tree is anchored in the ground
by the very thing that chokes it,
and we're all standing together:
me, tree, bird. At least until
I finish my sandwich, packing the greasy paper in
a rectangle, with unquestioned neatness,
and leave whistling.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
Young Kalachnokov made an odd discovery,
Odd because no beneficiary it had ever since.
He complained over
the dust of amount it brought
into his purse
as a bridegroom who would be served
whine in pint by the in-laws
at wedding party.
The sound achievement
brought him an ocean of reflections
when he saw how tense-eyed
became lads holding the AK-47,
When he saw that they crawled like snakes
(which move to bite),
Forcing their fellows’ lives away,
Forcing their fellows’ to become foes,
Forcing their fellows to flee abodes and gardens around,
The gardens he saw without care,
And bitterly old Kalachnokov regretted
he hadn’t made a lawnmower.
Note :
1. Mikhail Kalachnokov was twenty years old when he made the fire weapon.
2. AK47 : A : Automatic ; K : Kalachnokov ; 47 : The year 1947 the automatic weapon was made by the man who gave it his name « Kalachnokov »
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
The beauty of differing opinions calls to me.
The fact that we can see the same problem and come up with completely different solutions is a testament to the human mind. Beautiful.
We should prize above all: each other
But instead
We are told and taught that anyone different is (1) wrong (2) stupid or (3) evil.
Even I , believer in one God can not believe that this is the way we were created to be.
Minds and hearts are each intrinsically unique and special. So why do we instead hate each other for beautiful creation?
Today we see enemies out of brothers, villains out of friends. Politically, socially, religiously
To me it seems obvious.
My first command is to love my neighbor like myself
How could anyone be so self righteous to think that THEIR solution alone will benefit those that are not them.
I talk not even of compromise.
Things that benefit everybody can not be compromise but only the best way to love one another.
There have been times where every group has had good/been good.
And the inverse is true as well
What astounds me is we let the crazies, the extremist, the nuts, and the talking heads set the stage for hate; their only goal being the preserving of themselves and power.
Instead of rising up, we worship. And our neighbor becomes our enemy.
I do not have to agree with you my friend. And you do not have to agree with me. That is true beauty. If we were all the same, it would be tragedy. If we were all poets and lived in the words and only for words and sought nothing solid but our own lyrical melody then that would be tragedy. If we were all simpley content with what we had then there would be no dreamers and it would be tragedy. If we were all nuns/monks then what would be our purpose in life? If we were all only concerned with knowledge where would be our compassion? All elements are needed. Required for perspective and humanity.
Why can't a republican and democrat be friends?
Why can and atheist and spiritual be able to converse and love!
Why can't those who think they have nothing in common find common ground?
Why can't we seek a solution to the problem without hating anyone else who tries?
We are to busy pointing out everyone else's failures to unite and find the best solution. We can not respect anyone who has a differing point of view.
Why?
When we assume the other has no value,
We render them valueless in our minds
And seek to destroy them
Until we stop and stand together
We will continue to let those without compassion or insight for us stand for us and tell lies and lead us astray.
Why can't we bond together.
Why can't we discover truth and solutions beneficiary to all?
Stand up my brethren. All the oppressed, poor, rich, Muslim, Christian, atheist, down trodden, confused human beings on the earth rise together
So we can gain our humanity
Back from the darkness.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 10:11 AM UTC
At this point
we haven't talked in a while
and maybe that's for the best
I don't love you anymore
perhaps that's for the best too
I hate to romanticize the past
a beneficiary of history like socrates
I'll never be
even so
At this point
we are two completely different people
indistinguishable
not only from each other
but from past versions of ourselves
we are stationary bayonets
placed dutifully and lazily
on top of the guns
we used to be
Always the second choice
At this point
We are strangers to each other
not that we would not recognize each other
but in the sense
that if I waved to you
or you to me
the other would not know what to do
At this point
I don't feel like checking in
because I know the past was better
and I assume the future will be too
its the middle of the story
the part you don't really need
but where you're still unsure
where it might lead
so how am i?
cautiously optimistic
At this point
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
i like an animal
licking its wounds
hold my attachments near
their multitudinous ****
once comforting
now a spin cycle of teeth
i a lover of harsh truths
meet a killing blow and
reach beyond for
i have lain with devils
and lived to tell
the tale
i am
the owner of
my compromise
and its sole beneficiary
they say
but i know better
i am the hundredth monkey
be full
i whisper…
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 8:56 AM UTC
By Arcassin B
"Its simple as me and you,
Simple as one and two,
Simple as a church being filled up in these pews,
You think this the real you?
Will Reincarnation make the same you?
Will you go to a heaven-like state or a dying Hellish virtue,
So many choices , you gotta choose,
To be honest,
Might be beneficiary to you,
Open up your eyes,
Death is not the end,
Dead not dead at all,
Its spookism,
Everyone got a time,
Got a date,
Everyone has their cake ,
Inherited their space,
Matrix Reloaded so many times,
We need the spell to break."
New poem titled "Reloaded" full poem link below <<<<
✅️
Jan 4, 2025
Jan 4, 2025 at 5:50 PM UTC
you want my signature on the line
where the blank space lives
tarnishing the pure white
with nothing to give
but why?
should I sign
where is the beneficiary of
any agreement?
you created these words
and transferred it onto the
once beautifully grown tree
slaughtered and decimated
bull dozered all over
and you want me to agree?
What will I have?
I give
and
you live
off my cents that I've
emotionally and physically
slayed over
you want that end result
it is all i have
I wont allow my name
to be slandered
corrupted
ripped apart if you may
if the time calls
my name is accounted
for more than fancy words
adjectives and verbs
there is no agreement
we did not come together
for a conclusion
you've created the
perfect detrimental illusion
and your waiting for me
to comply
I am all that I own
All that I know
my name
perfectly cursived
signifies my dignity
and all that I am
you can't own that
no you won't own that
you can
take a spear
and pierce me
take a rope and
hang me if it'll
make you prevail
but my fingers
wont meet a
single pen
because my nature
will be revealed
any way that you
perceive
it'll give you the power
to deceive
others and blindly me
on this line
I'll have to disagree
because my signature
is all that I am
from the P to the T
it reflects the beauty
that's I see in the mirror
and I wont let you destroy me
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
Three stories tall, and a city block wide
I created this castle with no place to hide
"The World's Fair Hotel", you might know it well
Located in Englewood, my own private Hell.
I hired and fired through its construction
To fully ensure only I knew its power of destruction.
Once it was built, I hired employees
Female and blonde, my favorites of playthings
Under conditions of insurance policies
Of which I would pay (but I was also the beneficiary)
Soundproof suites so sweet to my ears
With gas lines to asphyxiate you - Drowning in fears
Or my secret hanging chamber
And lime pits to change you from human to stranger
I took pride in stripping you to bone and sold you to medical schools, made professors seem fools, all of you dead and alive at my disposal
All in all, 200 was the proposal, I confessed to 27 and later to 2...my dying wish is that I could have done it to you.
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 12:17 PM UTC
And I said to her that I need more than a friend.
That I need that compromise that calls for her immediate attention.
That my head has been the beneficiary of her shoulder for quite sometime.
Through the laughs, the jokes, the long talks that end with a deep stare.
To be as honest as I can, I revealed the fact that I've been digging her for quite sometime now.
You know that subtle weakness that makes it hard to say no to the smallest thing.
That cool but uncool moment every-time the phone rings you hope its who your thinking of.
That one person whom makes it through that thick fog of possibilities and it could be's.
That sometimes your right, sometimes your wrong. Gradually bidding your time until they call subtleness.
Revealing that the small moments we've spent together equates to somewhat of all her time,
And with her busy schedule and all that it's all she has to give.
And trust me that's all right with me.
That I am blessed to stare right into her eyes and be able to feel the exact thing
Holiday felt. The pause that captivated a audience until the end of her performance.
The same thing Stevie Wonder felt, that sort of superstitious that causes pause whenever I go to speak.
It's that urgent manifestation to tell you that I miss you, that if your not too busy stop by after work.
As her voice is the transportation that takes me from one job to the next.
That energy that could otherwise be describe as divine.
That is why it's important that I need her to know this.
This certain philosophy that she is needed to get through the day.
And here I am at my window seat seeing the world from a totally different view.
No longer sitting at the bus stop watching the world speed pass a moment at a time.
Without need for a transfer, just bidding my time without a thing to do. Tossing my bus pass in the wind.
At that moment I said to her that I need more than a friend.
What I need is that feeling that only you can provide
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
I am not grounded by this poisonous dirt
My roots do not fall into your social disease
This country is not the soil on which I am fertilized
Lies only serves to sap the earth of her nutrients
It is the world that birthed me
Nurtured though sometimes hurt me
I am not a creature of my local society
But a sapling ready to spring from the entirety
Of humanity
These aged rings that mark my time
Can be found in every sound that nature mimes
My mind is free to be a grand improvement
The earth that birthed me is our shared history
In science, art, education, love, and poetry
My hands are leaves that branch forth from me
So when I flower blooming beautiful petals
When they fall like a warm autumn shower
When my limbs crack, snap, and bend
Heavy with winter’s water laden wind
Lay me bare right here to wither and rot away
You, my beneficiary will emerge from the same dirt
But grow to be a brighter bigger more beautiful tree
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
Oft times I wonder what I should do with myself.
I look off in all four directions at any given time
And there is no direction.
I find myself wandering--in a period of wandering.
What does a man say to himself during such times?
It’ll be okay, things will work themselves out in the end?
There would seem to be little solace in this axiom.
Life is strange.
Like the sickening loop-de-loops on our best roller-coasters.
I type this out on a digital tablet with virtual keyboard
In utter perplexity.
An old soul in fast times…
Tense times,
Shallow times.
My neighbors amidst this age haven’t the patience to see how
Events birthed from hollow promises and hasty decision will work
Themselves out.
Promises from leadership whose god is the U.S. dollar.
We get a logjam of hurried consumerist theoretical practices,
Ruthlessly implemented as some kind of workable
Reality among a conditioned populace.
In the end, the only beneficiary to this manufactured bliss
Is the savvy and rich manure shoveler--that neighbor
Among us who throughout each and every day shovels
The materialistic dung into our throats and fully expects
His fellow neighbors to swallow this **** in expectancy
Of the utopic times to come.
And so the tail teases.
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 1:24 AM UTC
Twelve times.
That's how many rounds were fired
Into eighteen year-old Michael Brown
As his head absorbed the gun powder
And he fell to his death
On the hot asphalt beneath his spine.
Twelve times.
The frequency at which twenty eight year-old Darren Wilson
Shot this boy in the brain
He is responsible for taking a life prematurely
He is responsible for advancing the race precedent
Set by prior generations.
Twelve times.
The jury could have indicted him
Held him accountable for his actions
But instead they let him walk free.
Freedom, the very thing Wilson extrapolated from Brown.
Freedom, the very thing many brown boys and girls in America
Will never see
We teach them there freedom does not matter
It is in the hands of white men
As it always has been.
Twelve times.
And many times after that
Will children
Who are just as American as any other human being living on this soil
Be told they are not good enough
Merely because of the pigments in their skin
They are worth less than others
And why do we let this prevail?
Because we do not want to change it.
We are part of the problem.
Twelve times.
I can count more than that
In which I have been the beneficiary of white privilege
Which I did not earn
No, you see
White privilege is being able to say
"I am disgusted with this verdict"
But I will never be the direct recipient of its consequences.
Twelve times.
The fact that people still claim it was self-defense
Disgusts me.
Most would agree that
Beating a child into submission
Rather than acting on another form of discipline
Is criminal
Therefore, just because you want to believe
That firing twelve bullets into a barely grown boy's head
Is acceptable during an attack
Does not make it just.
Twelve times.
The starting point
The amount white people can do
About racial preference.
Start by learning from history.
And learn what you can do to change it.
Twelve times.
The amount of shots it took
To end a boy's life
The fire has been taken from his lively eyes and soul.
But the real flame
Has just been ignited.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
None could rip apart this
My mentality sharp as cactus
Make use for fools target practice
Once the light collides with the darkness
Invoke death like a carcass
Off in yo sarcophagus
You go cuz you know
They cant hang with me
Replica of the past history
My story hittin- all categories
While enemies stay worried
I stay buried
Deep in the ground
With knowledge all around
Pain comes with gain
Like thunder clouds to rain
Like nerves to the brain
Wake up man understand the change
Slavery never left
Game hasn't end
Cuz Washington's are the refs
Calling fouls unnecessary
Rich folks the beneficiary
Kind of scary poor folks go broke
To the cemetery
Only to be collected
By a status thats legendary
Like taxes goes the treasury
Hypontized by the tv
Nothing but a lighted hypnotist
Sick of this if ignorance is bliss
Im really not at a miss
Withthe world thats so cold
Hard to stand bold and evade the scold
When new things are really old
Break the strong mold and hold
On to something worth livin
Be who i wanna be
Ears become my sight
So vividly a blind man could see
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 3:07 AM UTC
O religion, don't laugh!
Life on earth is tough.
Creation is downright ridiculous,
There is a camouflage looking fabulous.
I don't see any mercy in nature,
Dying and eating is its real feature.
Everyone wishes to be winner,
Loser is marked as abominable sinner.
O religion, shameless beneficiary!
You can make people only scary.
Can you give relief from pandemic?
Very much efficient in selfish gimmick.
Waiting for an afterlife full of greed,
What a hypocritical role plays the creed!
You cheat on the weak and frighten,
You degrade humanity, never heighten.
Jun 12, 2021
Jun 12, 2021 at 12:53 AM UTC
A Chained Camel
I am like a chained camel whose rope is with lord
Whose destiny and destination are but destined
The rope is a string of love, never ever time barred
I follow the verdict my master is but my real friend
Love is like a rope with some spores of pain,pleasure
At times I am ungrateful but my master is sober,serene
I am a beneficiary my lord is a hidden worthy treasure
He is lord of the heavens and I am like a little tiny teen
He loves me more than me at times I do understand
Shower of His mercy never ever stops to flow and grow
His love binds me to that frequency and proper band
He is forthcoming in love and makes me but to glow
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 5:28 AM UTC
my message is not as easily dismissed
Minimized and catagorized
Like the stereo type of black profanity
Black music rap hip hop
I refuse to be isolated and sent off to the prison
Of white elitism trickled down into poor white persons
Pure White Island boasting made up origins
Aristocratic dream
Having only an absolute ending
My words come from light skin
The honors class war on insides of white institution
My words come from within the confines
The razor wire fences of whiteness
beyond premeditated
Pre-infiltrated always looking for the harshest
Most efficient
Most direct ways to declare
Unflinchingly whipped and slaughtered and *****
in any order
domesticated international doom
I find myself constantly surprised
By the reserve and compassion of criticizing whiteness
Even in weapon yielding
Terrorism
Mild and peaceful by comparison
Black think tanks beyond slave based Ivy League colleges
Centralized Africa dissolving the black made white efficient
To sustain slavery
Or the after effects genocide on bravery
those depths of imperialism
where outsourcing of labor massacres
Starves and destroys humanity
All of the sudden
With enough funding to make whiteness
By design
language history engineering sociology philosophy business
To make American whiteness the underdog
Not enslaved like blackness has been
Not the priority without its historical purity
Not the reason for existence
Or the beneficiary of human harvest
Malevolent adventure story that captured
The imagination and focus of leisure
Taking advantage of poor light skinned ethnicities
white American Feminist
in a sweatshop with women making her clothing
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 4:41 PM UTC