"blogs" poems
WHAT ABOUT THE NEXT GENERATION
THE ONLY WAY TO GET TO THE NEXT GENERATION
IS GET A FLAMING COMPUTER, GET THE INTERNET, AND PAY TV
AND YOU CAN BE AS COOL AS ME, IF YA HAVEN’T GOT A COMPUTER
YOU ARE A COMPLETE LOSER, WHO IS A TAD BRAINLESS
NO THE COMPUTER IS THE SIGN OF THE NEXT GENERATION
NOT LITTLE YOUNG DUDES WHO ARE JEALOUS OF YA
NEH, THE COMPUTER IS THE GATEWAY, TO THE NEXT GEN, BABY
NOTHING IS GOING TO TAKE YOU THERE QUICKER, THAN A COMPUTER
A COMPUTER IS COOL, CAUSE IT SHOWS YOU WHERE ALL THE GREAT PARTIES ARE
WHEN YOUR FAVOURITE FOOTY TEAM IS PLAYING
IT SHOWS KIDS HAVING A BALL WITH YOUTUBE, BY PUTTING ON VLOGS
AND WRITING BLOGS AND YOU CAN DISPLAY YOUR ART ON A COMPUTER
THE WORLD GETS TO SEE IT, AS WELL AS WRITING, IT’S ****** FUN
FACEBOOK IS COOL AS WELL, YOU CAN DISPLAY ART ON THAT AS WELL
SO IF ANYONE SAYS COMPUTERS **** AND NOT THE NEXT GENERATION
THEY CAN GO AND **** A LEMON, AND I WILL BE AS CHEEKY AS I WANT
TO SHOW, THAT COMPUTERS, CAN TAKE YOU TO THE NEXT GEN FASTER
THAN ANY JOB THAT YOU DON’T WANT TO BE IN
I WANT TO BE AN ENTERTAINER, I AM BETTER, BUT DIFFERENT TO OTHERS WHEN IT COMES TO STYLE
HEY BABY, OOH YEAH, COMPUTERS CAN SLIDE YA TO THE NEXT GEN, YEAH
HEY BABY OOH YEAH, COMPUTERS CAN SLIDE YA TO THE NEXT GEN YEAH
YA SEE AS I SEARCH AROUND CYBER SPACE
I SEE SOME NICE LOOKING CHICKS, YOU MEAN, NICE, I SAID YEAH NICE
THEY ARE SO PRETTY, VERY PRETTY, HEY BABY, OOH YEAH OH YEAH
I WANNA PARTY WITH THE COOL PEOPLE HANGING ON CYBER SPACE
YOU SEE COMPUTERS ARE THE GATEWAY, TO THE NEXT GEN YEAH
AND WE OPEN UP A NICE COLD BEER, SHE’S SO BEAUTY
WONDERFULLY, DRESSED FOR THE OCCASION YEAH
COMPUTERS ARE FUN, NOT FOR THE SQUARES, WHO JUST WORKS IN DEAD END JOBS
FOR ME, COMPUTERS ARE THE KEY TO MY FUTURE
I AM NOT LIKE MY BIG KOOMARRI MAN OF A MATE, LYLE
I LOVE SOCIAL MEDIA, I AM COOL MAN, UP IN COMPUTER TERRITORY NOW, BUDDY BOY
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
Perhaps I will become a waxing fiend.
A perpetrator of the nerves within my legs
In order to reach the imaginary beauty
that society has ingrained into my open mind.
Yet how can I ever fulfil this growing hole inside
Urging, commanding that I shall not be beautiful
Without Revlon mascara and tinted eyebrows,
That my diet must consist of a celery stick a day
And I must have a new wardrobe every week
- to keep in with the highest of fashions.
Do men really care if I'm wearing Gucci or Prada?
Would my restricted diet and devotion to thinspiration blogs impress them?
Has society really just given up on the love of personality,
the good old fashioned 'inner beauty'?
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 2:19 AM UTC
The Christmas rush has started, and the countdown has begun
Advent doors are opened, but look what you have done
You've ridiculed the Bounty bar, and your spoiling all the fun
Why buy a Celebration, if your not happy after one ?
What's behind the cardboard doors, what did you all expect
A gold ring perhaps, or the keys for a corvette?
Why bother with an advent, when you have no respect
There's no need for chocolate genocide, or coconut neglect
You shouldn't be so outraged, with your Christmas Celebrations
I don't understand the malice, or the advent hesitations
If you don't want a bounty, buy heroes or sensations
It's hardly a matter for Interpol, or the united nations
Celebrations are your choice, there's no cause for your regret
The outcome is quite obvious, why are you so upset
Are the pictures not a clue, to what your gonna get ?
No rarity of Bounty hunters, so don't mess with Boba Fett
Are Maltesers that much lighter, in a Galaxy far away
Maybe you will find Mars, in between the Milky Way
A Twix or Galaxy Caramel, they we're for a different day
But you've dissed your celebrations, and no longer want to play
Some YouTube clips have surfaced, and I have read the blogs
I think it's just pathetic, seeing chocolate thrown down bogs
Your creating your own misery, as well as yule time logs
You won't be very happy, when your toilet blocks and clogs
On day two you still complained, and you wanted to resist
Is that because the chocolate, was not on your Christmas list
Would you be pleased with mistletoe, if you never did get kissed
Christmas spirit has been lost, with your Snickers in a twist
Some people are just morons, that's the message that they've sent
Their expectations are to high, and cruel jokes are never meant
Why is Bounty not as good, to start of an event
A Snickers in your calendar, doesn't mean a ruined advent
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC
[PART ONE]
xeroxed, RT'd and plagiarized
so many times on so many blogs
tween blogs to republican blogs
to blogs in Russia and
blogs no one ever scrolls though...
original content is prey
but I have a warning for they:
overrated, over-shared
content aggregators beware
the lines you swap can
rot and ware
the World Wide Web
does not care.
[PART TWO]
original content
original contests
original continent
original controversy
original coordination between strangers
original calvary riding their connection into the battlefield of internet memes; creating nothing and sharing everything
[COMMENTARY]
original nothing, nowhere, nobody except facebook "Funny Vidoes!" & "Cool Quotes!". 'Like' pages whose sole originality lies within their own existence but nothing they share. They steal from the rest of the web and re-post what they find for out-of-the-loop troglodytes; often done so in inferior context and with no perspective. The 'refried beans' phenomenon, I call it. I find it fitting because 'refried beans' are a double misnomer. The name comes from 'frijoles refritos' - which means 'well-fried' not 'refried'. They are also never traditionally fried more than once. Yet the name sticks, it gets repeated, it gets re-shared and now that's what they are: refried beans. This phenomenon is why I believe art and all original content eventually become so over-shared and overrated that it's no longer interesting but irritating. These three parts of the poem "Original Content" are separated in abstract authorial presentation. The author has clearly expressed his dislike for the disjunct un-imagination of the internet and presents it as such.
[PART THREE]
original authors losing control of their audiences who believe they are the creators and the artist's art is somewhat shareable
original miscommunication between web 1.0 and web 2.0 reality
original alphabet they use to type on their keyboards
original grammar they learned in school
original money their gov't printed
original content they re-post
original refried beans
original content
orginal contet
ogrinal cotent
ognal ctt
oc
.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
"Everyone wants to be a little anorexic" she says
"You know, like, in a glamorous way, like fashion friendly anorexic"
I bite my cheek and nod, pretend to agree
All I can think of is waking up to stars dancing on the ceiling
Pale skin with bruises of unknown origins
And battered feet on and off the scale
Almonds in Ziploc baggies
Bite marks on fingers
Hair down the drain
Measuring crunches by the marks they leave on your spine
And battered feet on and off the scale
Enough water to turn organs into boats
Eating an apple with a fork and knife
Desperate hands grasping for ribs
And battered feet on and off the scale
Standing and the world going dark
Coughing around shots of apple cider vinegar
Carrying an emergency rice cake for weak spells
And battered feet on and off the scale
Enough green tea to drown organs
Sugar free gum to mask the smell of decaying organs
Whatever nail polish covers yellow and purple
And battered feet on and off the scale
How many calories are in toothpaste
Thinspo blogs
Pillows squeezed between thighs
And battered feet on and off the scale
Is today the day my heart gives out
Waking every day in a new body
Fingers clasped around wrists
And battered feet on and off the scale
Notebooks filled with numbers
Purple crescents under eyes
Fingers clasped around forearms
And battered feet on and off the scale
Elbows knocking into hipbones
Being scared of your own reflection
Lies to get out of dinner
And battered feet on and off the scale
The stench of *****
Oxygen that tastes of Splenda
Fingers clasped around biceps
And bleeding feet on and off the scale
If this is your idea of glamour
Then you can have it
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
[PART ONE]
xeroxed, RT'd and plagiarized
so many times on so many blogs
tween blogs to republican blogs
to blogs in Russia and
blogs no one ever scrolls though...
original content is prey
but I have a warning for they:
overrated, over-shared
content aggregators beware
the lines you swap can
rot and ware
the World Wide Web
does not care.
[PART TWO]
original content
original contests
original continent
original controversy
original coordination between strangers
original calvary riding their connection into the battlefield of internet memes; creating nothing and sharing everything
[COMMENTARY]
original nothing, nowhere, nobody except facebook "Funny Vidoes!" & "Cool Quotes!". 'Like' pages whose sole originality lies within their own existence but nothing they share. They steal from the rest of the web and re-post what they find for out-of-the-loop troglodytes; often done so in inferior context and with no perspective. The 'refried beans' phenomenon, I call it. I find it fitting because 'refried beans' are a double misnomer. The name comes from 'frijoles refritos' - which means 'well-fried' not 'refried'. They are also never traditionally fried more than once. Yet the name sticks, it gets repeated, it gets re-shared and now that's what they are: refried beans. This phenomenon is why I believe art and all original content eventually become so over-shared and overrated that it's no longer interesting but irritating. These three parts of the poem "Original Content" are separated in abstract authorial presentation. The author has clearly expressed his dislike for the disjunct un-imagination of the internet and presents it as such.
[PART THREE]
original authors losing control of their audiences who believe they are the creators and the artist's art is somewhat shareable
original miscommunication between web 1.0 and web 2.0 reality
original alphabet they use to type on their keyboards
original grammar they learned in school
original money their gov't printed
original content they re-post
original refried beans
original content
orginal contet
ogrinal cotent
ognal ctt
oc
.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
Finally someone different,
someone beautiful focused and confident,
Has an elegance and a magical aura,
Saw her first passing by when I was reading quora.
Her face is a delicious treat,
Whenever I see her my heart skips a beat,
She looks pure, she looks innocent
kinda shy, her smile is my stimulant.
she loves writing, what a coincident,
Has a decent sense of fashion,
discovered writing blogs is her passion.
She smiles less often,
Looks pretty worried most of the time,
Maybe because it's a new place for her,
or maybe something else,
Yeah, She does speak less,
She seems like a mystery,
Wish we match a great chemistry.
I want to know her more,
I want her to know me as well,
I am interested I wanna tell,
For now, I just wish she is single as well.
On her, my <3 got stuck,
gonna give it a try, Wish me luck! ;)
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
Some get that way by playing it safe,
memorizing mantras, righteously abiding by rules,
some get there by cutting seams,
lost in purposelessness, partaking of
ether, marijuana, alcohol, or anything
that's buzzy enough,
some find their sweepstakes in curls,
in fantasies, on the internet, or in the aftermath,
some claim the spoils, some gracefully accept
determination, some divorce their wives,
some happily raise their pulse to the heavy metals,
some review albums and cut down the ********
some write love stories for our grandmas,
our moms,
our ex-girlfriends,
some find it in politics, right winging, left winging, chicken winging,
some in bomb threats,
some find it in supremacy,
others in melting pots,
some cheer up over breakroom chitty-chats,
some in **** ***
some in sympathizing with pedophiles trapped in iron lungs,
some when they have hit the bottom rung,
some by rationalizing,
boosting themselves above half-wrongs,
to coast on the half-rights,
some by breaking up,
some by declaring war,
only to get discouraged, yet proud of the scars,
some kids dance to experimental music,
some write blogs about capitalism,
some find it kicking it with bitter vegans,
others while murdering their parents,
but everyone is a winner,
everyone is right,
everyone has earned the paycheck,
the vacation,
the **** wife,
and the key to eternal life.
Dec 16, 2010
Dec 16, 2010 at 8:03 AM UTC
I wrote this for a slam to explain who I am
It's PoetryByMAN
Yes I am a pseudonym
Mystery I provoke
Take it in let it soak
Word playing every stroke
Savor every ****
Next level set the tier
I'm here to make it clear
Though Twisted is the mirror
Rhymes you shouldn't fear
Competition vital
Here questing for the title
Who shall be my rival
In this game of survival
Hit with love
Vibrating like a hub
Ba doom Ba doom
Hit like a Sub...Woofer...
Heart full not hallow
LIKE ME!
If there was a button would you follow?
Messenger I am
Also I'm a fan
Diggity **** he thinks he's a rapper man
Simple..direct
Vocabulary wreck
All due respect..
Don't want to be correct
Commercial break watch me pop my snapple
Many skills acquired hope my talent is ample
Kung fu poet
Choose style I'll flow it
Talent the seed
Nurture grow it
From my bones
A melodic tone
Comfort comes from coming home
Shaman Buddha
Hybrid to school you
Sand a vibe
Runs right through you
Play my part
In this world of art
Butterfly to a new start
Blow nose with prose
Words without flow
Stand on stage
Put on a show
Hope you enjoyed PoetryByMAN
Spoken in 3rd I am
Blogs on tumblr..Facebook can't stand
Throw all in the air top rope poetry SLAM!!
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 7:03 PM UTC
The whole city is full of it – in the squares,
The coffee shops, the ‘blogs, the op-ed pieces
The emails, the news sites, the grocery stores
They are all busy arguing -
If you ask someone to give you change
He says the President is the Begotten One
If you inquire about the price of a croissant
You are told by way of reply that he is not
That the Supreme Court is greater, and that
The President is inferior; if you ask
“Is my cup of Blue Mountain ready?”
The barista answers that Congress is nothing
In the squares, the coffee shops, the ‘blogs,
The op-ed pieces – the whole city is full of it
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
tinyurl-dot-com/d-m-latest-poems
That's a shortcut to my poemhunter poems.
The search my poems option helps ME find my poems.
Visit the standard webpage or the print-friendly text version.
The end of October 2013 has meant quite a few poems were added.
Some were about the Stephen Gayford wildlife prints.
They are being sold on UK TV's Shopping channels.
I visit their websites and view the images and watch the TV demos.
Since joining hellopoetry, I visited several members' blogs and websites.
I've also visited the youtube-dot-com website to see members' videos.
My Stephen Gayford blog is here: denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
I've checked Google for any websites that have used my poetry.
The images search also found lots of fantastic websites, too.
The deviantart-dot-com website features lots of fantasy art images.
They can lead poets to brand new poetry description ideas.
Just use the search site option for a desired poetry topic.
My Fantasy Art click-a-pic slideshow has some Superhero artwork,
view the wonderful galleries here: jennifersjpgs-dot-shows-dot-it
and some of my Superhero poems have been published based on these.
The Google image 'my name' search found lots of images like never before.
Regards, Denis Martindale.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
1. If it doesn't take place at 4 in the morning, immediately change the setting.
2. You should center all your work. Centering makes the piece unique and improves readability.
3. You should invoke the idea of The Mask. Paul Laurence Dunbar didn't do it well enough.
4. One word lines improve readability and do a great job of making emphasis. Use them a lot.
5. On the other hand, really long lines explain points wonderfully. Feel free to be essentially prosaic.
6. The subject should be obvious and everyday, that way everyone can easily understand what you're trying to say. Subtext is dated.
7. Confessions and heartbreak are unique to you.
8. Not editing makes the work extremely human and relatable.
9. Emoticons and the ilk are the cutting edge of the English language. Feel free to use them without reservation.
10. Rhyme scheme doesn't need meter.
11. Making a word into waterfall letters tells the reader you're falling apart (See #3).
12. Journals, diaries, blogs and Tumblr are old news when it comes to venting. Write an angry poem about your day instead.
13. You're probably going mad according to the DSM-5. Definitely write about that.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
Hey!
You, yes you,
The one looking for love.
Searching, scavenging,
every opening and cavity,
shifting perspectives from high to low.
From sea to sea, coast to coast,
textbooks, blogs, looking for an explanation,
Why have you not found her?
Where could she be?
For you won't find her,
simply because there is no "finding" necessary.
She's been there the whole time.
You think of her as your friend,
but she knows of you as more.
Open your eyes man!
Just look around, stop your despair,
What if she's already there?
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
"PuppyCat"
By Arcassin Burnham
Magic letters,
To the soul,
Once it sparkles,
Then behold,
I need noones everlasting help,
But yours,
Are you a cat?,
Maybe a dog?,
Letting all your memories become victims,
Of smog,
Then turn into a blank Requiem,
It goes to show I'm so appalled,
I guess you'd never thought I'd with chocolate covered strawberry blogs,
Can't look for proper income,
Than you better get a job,
Can't ever get one,
So you worship bones and skulls,
May I say more about you overreact,
Better keep the faith and love in puppycat.
"Chandelier"
By Arcassin Burnham
We won't be the only two hanging here,
Blinded by the light,
We should make it last while we still have our dignity,
I hope you're not too into me,
Cause in a distant memory,
I see clarity,
Couple drinks in my system,
And the remedies,
I just hope you're not too into me,
Another line sniffed,
So we're in another place,
Let this not be a penalty,
I hope you're not into me,
Still hangin.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 2:01 AM UTC
We are all going to live forever
As fragments floating in the ether
As tweets and emails
Photos and blogs
Our digital footprint
Will leave an imprint
On all of our graves
On the Internet
Nothing is private
Everything is public
Nothing is fleeting
Everything is forever
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 1:17 PM UTC
concrete shades the yellow-lighted symphony.
The peso-heavy take taxis;
security valets motors steaming castle gates.
I ask, which way is the 158?
Indifferent, they say, walk straight neath the freeway —
there is a bus stop two blocks away.
****
****
****
Clocktower hands transpose Cindarella-brick
to embers of electricity,
a factory aside scrawled graffiti;
fingers timidly ricket pitchfork fences.
Palermo is 11 km north.
Where is the north star?
I look straight ahead, repeating what
the travel blogs said like,
Be lost, don’t look lost;
flappy plastic maps scream vulnerability.
Be lost, not rich;
iPhones in gotham alleys are batman signals.
Walk fast.
Don’t pay attention to the eyes that pass.
Careless ponytails and brass hair attract
glances back.
Two blocks deep into the homeless shelter
beneath freeways, blankets
in shopping carts toppled over,
cars screaming away the symphony
into shadowed silence between heels striking.
Tunnel breath emerging on the other side,
gasping past stacked Jenga towers,
wired with antennas and empty clotheslines;
families and crack ****** sleep inside.
Safety’s herd thins as couples dart left down
cobblestone tributaries
that either lead to bus stops or parked cars.
I walk straight ahead with
sleeve-covered hands that swing like sticks
in the wind.
The symphony turns to
heartbeats and footsteps
plucking quickly;
fearing the 180 behind,
to zombies with sunken eyes,
thirsty for a thirty-cent high.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
Lining up batteries of anti-aircraft anti-everything
all anti- something this and that
distribution centre for psychological pressure
backed by radio, TV presidents staring straight
newspapers, journals and dialogues around
flash round tables on the whys how’s and who’s
sneaky microphone hidden in flower pots,
long distance listening devices. Telephones tapped
wives tapped, senior diplomats and doormats tapped
wives tapped on shoulders
whispered to: watch out for Joe blogs he has a roving eye.
see me tonight, after dinner.
The russians have warship A into Zone B
the chinese have shifted anti-missile up
the mountains near tibet, near nepal
near taiwan, near the hormuz straits
into africa, zimbabwe, fiji, and northern china
who cares. Tomorrow they will shift out again.
the pressure is building in the ukraine, turkey is on fire
The north koreans have no power
as seen from satelllites
The president has run of tomato sauce so he has asked
for a shipload from us of a
ship it with some spies dressed as tomatoes
god its killing me
these acupuncture points
three more needles please!
Author Notes
Relentless. ( an wacky I s'pose). Think about it all.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
There once was a candidate Ryan
The right wing see in him their lion
This nemesis to our healthcare
Paul only fights for good wealthcare
He voted with Bush to disaster
The economy never fell faster
Wee is his knowledge of foreign affairs
If he gets the job we'll need daily prayers
A bad Catholic some blogs call him
Some hope pestilences befall him
Many think he's no wiser than Palin
That could cause Mitt Romney's failing
He'll hurt poor folks; he'll hurt the middle
We'll starve as old Mitt plays the fiddle
So it would be better to vote not at all
Than choose young Attila, this candidate Paul
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 1:50 PM UTC
girls in high school wear infinity scarves
and expect their love to last as long.
their hearts are hidden under
mounds of dyed wool, and I'm sitting in
U.S. History learning about slavery.
this is what I know.
we are all slaves to our own hearts.
we pick fields of lust
and try to sew it into love.
we wear combat boots because we feel threatened
by our own bodies.
like we are at war in our flesh, and need the extra protection;
the leather safety net with laces.
we walk down those black, salt-licked stairs
with our heads down because we have trust issues,
but when we trip we never forgive our clumsiness.
we swallow bitter tears like sugar after medicine,
and we pump hate through our tumblr blogs like gasoline.
we pay for affection with skin.
we accept the words ***** **** ***** ugly, MAN, as nicknames.
a wave to the opposite gender is now thirst.
we need to grow up; put down the sippy cup.
this is high school.
cut your hair. dye it purple, and then regret it automatically. dye it black,
and then spend five months and $597.00 getting it back to your natural color.
mismatch your socks. eat almonds when you feel like you should starve your insides.
paint your nails, mess them up, and paint them again;
paint your soul the same way.
we are moving at the speed of light.
slow down your mind.
you are in high school.
you are still growing love in fields, you just need to find the right soil.
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
I really love Dave
Blogs and Briefs are a plenty
Check on Knowledge Base
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
The Muted Commoner
You don't see them,
......Just past them......
Speak but unheard,
perforce, thus, muted,
against their will
blogs bread unread uneaten,
poem orphans better than us,
vine ripened unto death
Truly dare you say I/you the better?
Shamed heat, you spit,
outed, no penance offered,
non granted,
the forgivers are muted too
**so this be your charge,
so this be your salvation:**
free the mutes from the trance -
exhume, exhort find them
in the back pages, then
acknowledge that we are all
Muted Commoners.
find the poem unread,
revive it with a read, a heart,
and then you can speak your
Peace.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
Back in the day when I first started writing poetry
I was writing just to pass the time
Because at the time things weren't all too great
and the pressure came crumbling
What I wanted and hoped to gain from it was always there
In the subconscious of my mind
Though back then I wasn't thinking of it
Because like many others I was just writing
To relieve myself of years of emotional pain/abuse
What I really wanted from writing poetry
Wasn't just to write and never share with the world
Wasn't just to revel within fits of insecurity and manipulation
What I wanted from writing poetry was fame
That's what it's always been about for me
Though as I stated earlier I didn't know it at the time
But it was always the fame, the power, the popularity, the respect,
The admiration, the love etc...
And in my opinion poetry did bring me a small amount of it though to others it may seem like a bit of a larger slice of it but compared to other poets I really wasn't doing **** lol but yet I received numerous accolades.
MyPoetryForum Top 50 Poems Of 2013 By Rating
#13. "+ America Walking -"
#45. "Passing Clouds"
MyPoetryForum Top 50 Poems Of 2012 By Rating
#12. "Wonderwicked"
#13. "Download"
#14. "Evergreen Suite"
#15. "Pixel Juliet"
#16. "Coffee Fashion"
#28. "Vanilla Amour"
MyPoetryForum Top 50 Poems Of 2011 By Rating
#28. "When Two Poets Fall In Love Pt. 4"
MyPoetryForum Top 50 Poems Of 2010 By Rating
#41. "7 Years"
#50 "Extraordinary"
MyPoetryForum Top 50 Poems Of 2009 By Rating
#5. "Spontaneous Desires"
#13. "A Thousand Words Of Beauty Pt. 1"
Today's Writing February 2011 Black History Month Writer Of The Month (Prior to defunction)
People in different parts of the world using my poems in their videos, in their photo captions, on their blogs.
Poetry featured in a few anthologies etc...
Wrote and published my own poetry books
Ran my own poetry club at my local library
Hell, I even had subscriptions to about five different poetry/writing magazines at once with my subscription to POETRY magazine spanning nine years because I would by a ******* subscription every paycheck so I would never have to worry about renewing.
I pretty much got what I desired but then I suddenly woke up and realized that I yes I do truly and badly want the fame but I want to obtain it through another medium.
Poetry isn't my passion.
Music is my passion.
So stop ******* asking me if I'm still writing poetry!
I don't and I don't ******* desire to write!
**** off!
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 1:51 AM UTC
since the first pop use of the phrase
window of opportunity
(was it Bush or Stargate SG-1?)
politicians big and small
corrupt and incorruptible
fallible and infallible
have all bombarded
the media – on radio, in their blogs
and personal sites
newspapers and journals and broadcasts
and through any speech
they get a chance to make
with that ready phrase:
window of opportunity
Oh, turn on the radio
as you drive maybe
and some glum Finance Minister whispers:
* …grab the window of opportunity…*
read the papers and some plump Minister of Health says:
…we must grab this window of opportunity…
Oh, whole speeches in the English Language now
are bullet-ridden with that cliche
and of course the financial planners
and educators
and doctors and even unimaginative lovers
they have all jumped in
into this window of opportunity
till I’m so irritated and angry now
that if I hear one more eminent personality say:
window of opportunity
Oh, the next time – just one more time –
if I hear anyone use that phrase
window of opportunity
I’m going to send in contract window cleaners
and they’ll grab the window-of-opportunity-user by the collar
and throw them out through the window
and clean the window after –
and I’ll assure you,
those contract window cleaners
will not miss that window of opportunity!
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 8:36 PM UTC
Leave it for a day and the world forgets you exist. Not all followers, mind you, but most. Over 4,000 followers on Twitter and they'll retweet the latest tweet only. Most won't ask "Where's Kendra? Is she ok?" They won't go through my archives of posted poems to read or find some kinship. No. Only the latest & greatest, thank you very much.
Is it my poetry? Does it throw people off? Is it because I don't constantly write about erotica & flaming *** Is it because I discuss domestic violence like an uncaged soul? Or is it merely the beast of social media, itself? These questions I often ask myself.
I suppose it sounds like I'm feeling sorry for myself. Perhaps that isn't too far from the truth.
Not to put myself on some pedestal. I do the same thing. I simply find it sad. Thousands of poems posted between here, Twitter, blogs, etc. and it all goes unnoticed - except the latest one posted. Surely I'm not the only who feels this way but it wouldn't be the first time if I am.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
Bottles of water, gallons of gas, blankets,
dried beans, rice. Use cash, don’t spend it all
in one place, two, or three. Unload supplies
quietly into the basement, maybe at night.
Mail-order a hand-cranked radio, solar lamps,
seeds. Buy Q-tips, kerosene, candles. Books,
downloadable music, seasons of X-Files on DVD.
What’s important?
Have friends bring you antibiotics from Tijuana.
Buy vitamins, batteries. Tuna, salt, barley.
Sweep the chimney. Get new shoes.
Get that cavity filled.
Stock up on bourbon and bullets.
Acquire trade goods –
cigarettes, wine, marijuana.
Watch the news, read the blogs,
find time for target practice.
Keep cash on hand. Don’t forget
dog food. Think about God.
Hurry.
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC