"brackets" poems
I just want to ask one question
Is the human race obeying the mathematical rule called BODMAS?
Just a refresher...
Brackets, Orders, Division, Multiplication, Addition and Subtraction
We have created different brackets
where we enclose people like casket
He's black, she's white, they are rich,
those are poor, she's educated, he's religious, he's fat, she's slim... Brackets
People are treated differently
Based on the class that we've put them in
Some are raised to power like exponents
Others are trapped in like square roots...Orders
The segregation has only intensified our division
I don't fit in here, I belong over there
My group is stronger, those ones are losers... Division
Disunity and absence of love has caused
A multiplication of our problems
Threats, deportation, persecution
We don't like them, we'll bomb them
War, insurgency, terrorism, hate speech... Just problems Multiplication
Every second, our population is experiencing several additions
Our population keeps growing while
Our natural resources are being exploited
And depleting at a rate faster than our population growth
Our resources are experiencing severe subtractions
I just want to ask one more time...
Aren't we obeying BODMAS?
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC
Brackets
Your mum picked you up in daddy’s BMW,
we had to wait an hour while they scrubbed the brains of another son off the roof of the 125
(Why they built a multi storey car park on top of the bus station is a mystery to me.)
You carefully colour coordinated your files and scrutinized your revision schedules,
we watched nicked CCTV footage of two blokes smoking crack and burning down the bowling pavilion next door
(the old boys never did raise enough to repair it.)
You snubbed each other because of different tastes in jumpers,
we watched acid casualties talk politics with football hooligans
(a hastily rolled joint bridged the obvious gap.)
You lounged in the common room in your study periods,
our lesson got cancelled because John had been smashed in the face with a fire extinguisher
(and our tutor used to be a lifeguard.)
You worried about fashion and discussed the injustice of last night’s X Factor result,
we watched Neil’s head crash into his keyboard after he’d scoffed all his methadone in one go
(again.)
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
**** this coffee's really sour
I've been drinking it for half an hour
Wanna hear a poem
Wanna hear a poem
Wanna hear a poem about a cauliflower
[Cauliflower's foolish
It doesn't fit the theme
I'm sick of all your nonsense
I'm tired of your memes]
Woman selling knickknacks
I'm not eating tic-tacs™
Your words were put in brackets
Check out my rhyming tactics
I see that you're not one for fun
Your a cloudy day, I'm the shining sun
My absurdity
Is the key
To happy for eternity
[You're clearly deeply broken
And only you can cure
Your fundamental problems
But really I'm not sure
The only one who conquers
Is one who really tries
So stop with the gorillas
Since everything will die]
Maybe you don't understand
My foolishness goes hand in hand
With making things that are the best
Like giant squids and turnip fests
Order, chaos, streets and bogs
Them, White, Color, Talking Frog
Odd on top but clear below
From ash and fire life will grow
Then again I see it's true
I am right and so are you
Maybe we both have a claim
In this crazy poet game
**
Okay]
That didn't rhyme!
[It doesn't have to]
I love you
[Mmm hmm]
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
see little Tommy
no, you can’t see him in the trolley -
like a monkey
or a possum on the tree
he’s well-hidden
so expert, as mom
pushes the trolley
through the aisles
And then nimbly
he crawls out
and hangs by the handle
feet on the brackets
still hidden
and suddenly drops
on the floor
light as baby Tarzan
And Mom says: “Tommy!”
and Tommy laughs
and climbs back into the trolley
like a little Alexander on a metal Bucephalus
and there he stands commandeering
the trolley: “Cheese, mum! Lollies! Lollies!”
And Mum says to Little Tommy:
“Shhh! Shhh! Shhh!”
But little Tommy
he’s the Master and Commander
and pirate
but mostly the monkey
on the shopping trolley
down the aisles and down the corridors
and the food court
sliding and jumping and hiding
in his fantasy world of the trolley
see little Tommy -
no, you can’t see him in the trolley
like a monkey
or a possum on the tree
he’s well-hidden
so expert in the trolley
he so happily commands
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 9:01 AM UTC
I play with these words out of boredom and habit.
There's so many of them! From "Aardvark" to "Zoo".
And then you add in all the odd punctuation
Like semi-and-hyphen; And Oh! Exclamation!
(and poor little Comma: He hops like a rabbit...
He's never quite sure if a Colon would do.)
I play with these words like a cat with a twitching
Small mouse in his grasp all squealing and itching
(the cat... not the mouse... for the mouse is a wreck...
With pussy's teeth grasping the small of its neck.)
The cat is quite happy! It just takes its time...
While Comma allows the Ellipsis the rhyme...
I play with these words and the dots and the dashes;
Parenthesis [brackets] and to/or/from slashes-
With all of the keys 'neath my ten little digits
"Somewhat like the cat with the mouse as he fidgets".
I've learned to write well from my Pa and my Momma:
Yet still I feel bad for that poor little Comma.
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 6:13 PM UTC
*the cost
of
'a post-strophe fee'
is a pouted heart
placed in parentheses*
(yet still on that ledge:)
1.
like the tail of a kite
caught on a wire
or high branch of a tree
waiting to be eased off
and breezed out
free
it hangs upside down
seeing 'everything'
tipsy-style
as its force is slow-drained
2.
this apostrophe
is
the mere tail-end
of a dragon
(in a pit of exhaustion)
dragged in deepest-red ink
leaving an inimitable trail
with emphasis on sincerest care
brackets are just (two curves)
which jealously guard
all what lies inside
while giving so much
love in indivisible power-curls
3.
better to
let nature runs its course
of rivers flowing
and wild winds
while beetles walk on stones
yet
while trying to make a mark
with missives in the sand
the waves make sure
to wash them all away
best then
to let know
in this now
that some things never die
(it's enough for veracity to flap its weary wings)
4.
flee then
this finest core-duel likely
there's always..maybe
the next now
(all the previous
were not quite squandered
in cold flight
but unexpected loss)
and
no use hiding from one's (own) shadow
for kites will take off
and fly high
in the sun
where shadows have no place to hide
*futile wondering
if it really
(has to)
spell
catastrophe
it does not*
(it really does not :)
S T. Saturday. 27 July 2013
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
"You are inane,
sweet-heart.
That's why I love you."
"Are you calling me all things, unintelligent, nonsensical and lacking sense?"
Her eyebrows knit together; the corner of her red lips twitch upwards slightly.
A soft line brackets her mouth.
Parentheses to all the words she has ever voiced and will say.
"Well, clearly not then. I was just checking."
His eye winks; curving into a
tipsy,
upside down moon crescent.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 6:43 AM UTC
I think we should all semi-colon close brackets or capital D,
we need to make time to just be semi-colon capital P.
Just be happy, maybe even throw in a colon close brackets.
Refrain from creating stress with semi-colon capital S,
on hearing an opposing opinion don't be offended, semi-colon capital O.
Just accept it, let go, there is no need to be so semi-colon forward slash.
Turn that open brackets around, there's no need to frown,
drop that greater-than arrow and take things less seriously.
Seriously there are many things to less-than arrow three in this world,
don't overlook the little things. Appreciate them.
Give them an open brackets capital Y close brackets,
maybe even an asterisk applause asterisk.
Send out the message, keep up that semi-colon capital D.
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 4:57 AM UTC
For the Disney print princess
who knows what she's about,
who finds fascinating worlds within dust cover jackets,
who sends smiles in parenthesis; lost love brackets
over classroom mid-drifts,
a bare silence interrupted by pure kindness;
for who walks in noise behind inaudible
commuters from this station to that station
all the way home and back out again on her family vacation,
who can match and pair t-shirts and jeans with
bowler hat crowns from the palace of queens,
who, for all we know, could eat with elbows on tables
and read not prose, but short fiction fables,
who wouldn’t hold doors open or say thank you
to bus men and their drivers,
who might smoke away her pay
with great plumes almost every day,
who might not be the girl I thought she was.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 3:18 PM UTC
What do you feel when you jot down that stark syntax
Do you feel full in your stomach of pretentious factions
Building your philosophy with Lincoln logs and political tactics
What a young poet feels when he's unsure of what his feelings mean and what to write in between those brackets
Laying to rest past selves in a row of six feet deep holes lined with caskets
Sometimes the words we write have more meaning than we put to them
Funny how a letter or a word can make a difference in self
Life can be like reading a book and putting it back on the shelf
Or the shelf gnome right next to it that stares back but doesn't
You give false meaning when you don't know how to feel
That's why the best poems are rewritten and not written
That why I'm on top of this world,
and im flying, not sitting
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
You are nothing now,
but if I had the chance to wish one thing of you,
it is this:
(may your past rest in parenthesis)
only an aside in the monologue of life
a soliloquy to the fourth wall of dramatic irony
a bracketed prologue to your story
interjecting an understanding of now and everything from now
in a seemingly never-ending pattern
as present becomes past and enters the parentheses
when your death came and your last words and thoughts slipped behind you
death was the only thing left unsheltered
as your brackets came to a close
but may you rest in every moment and memory you contained in interjection thus far,
(may you rest in parenthesis)
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
**Inspired by Meg Cranston's Artist for President
(http://www.uniteddivas.com/megcranston/megpresident.html)**
We assert that there is a youth culture that is different and separate from all other cultures and that our culture is governed by principles which the aged population finds peculiar or offensive.
We are tired of being labeled.
We are tired of being segmented.
We are tired of hearing old people talk about us.
We are tired of being the respondents to your 20 city questionnaire.
We are done with being ignored.
We are sick of 1980s spandex.
We are sick of your Top 40 hits on a compact disc.
We are sick of your rom-coms and big budget fantasy sci-fi sequels.
We are sick of 60 billion ad messages being hurled from satellites in outer space.
We are done with being disappointed.
We demand the right to change everything.
We demand the right to create our own words.
We demand the right to define what is cool in the morning.
We demand the right to re-define what is cool in the evening.
We are done with being told to follow.
We reserve the right to be elitist.
We reserve the right to choose our heroes.
We reserve the right to create jobs that never existed before.
We reserve the right to outsource, open-source and crowdsource everything and all.
We are done with your rigid ways.
We condemn the wars that you started.
We condemn the poverty and hunger you created.
We condemn your irresponsibility in ignoring our dying planet.
We condemn the forces of greed that keeps an honest man from climbing the income brackets.
We will fix the mess you left behind.
This is for school kids
This is for college students
This is for young professionals
This is for the young artist who shares his creations on DeviantArt
This is for the young blogger who dreams of being a travel journalist
This is for the podcaster who is on her way to become a successful RJ
This is for the YouTube user who dreams of her own television show and feature film
This is for the photography enthusiast who spends his pocket money on a Flickr Pro Account
This is for the opinionated Twitter-for-Blackberry addict destined to become a Twitter celebrity. (Even we don’t know what that means!)
This is for the coding guru who gifts his geek friend a mobile gaming app based on Dungeons & Dragons for his birthday. Yes that is cool...for now.
This is youth culture
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 2:24 PM UTC
You are my life's apostrophe
The part that has always been missing in me
You're right where the hyphen used to be-
You are my life's apostrophe
Once a question mark was all I had?
And commas dominated my soul,
Semicolons; separated my dreams
And the ellipse was firmly in control...
Then you placed your brackets around my [heart]
Your braces around my {soul}
Your parentheses surround my (dreams)
You're the exclamation mark in my life so droll!
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 3:27 AM UTC
I (never) liked your touch.
Your kisses are (n't) sultry.
I (never) say what I mean.
That's why you (can't) trust me.
Your slaps (do)n't hurt.
I (don't) know you love me.
You (never) mean what you say.
That's why I (can't) trust you.
k.g.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
_my parentheses:
in need of a Venice Beach
semi-colonic
;)_
Aug 2, 2019
Aug 2, 2019 at 9:27 PM UTC
Imagine a world with plenty of air
Which doesn't care less
That your lungs strive with pain.
Imagine a world filled with sunrise
Which doesn't care less
That your eyes cry senseless.
Imagine this kind of water
Which doesn't bring mildness
To your dry, dusted lips.
Imagine the world I imagine...
Sights painted with unknown,
Words in brackets tortured and thrown,
Twisted sounds in mirrorr unfolded,
Lies in black bags, stories untold
Thoughts like salted sands, fears unhold.
There are many the things I see
In the "too many things I can't see".
I imagine too much, too many at a time -
Then reality falls in a deep distress.
Imagine a world with air, water and sunrise
Or create our own universe
Which doesn't care less.
Sep 10, 2011
Sep 10, 2011 at 6:49 PM UTC
I stand beneath this crumbling bridge
An echo from the past
And ponder who has come before
A matey or a lass.
Did they cross this bridge
With hopes held high
With dreams of far off lands
A soldier on his way to war
Two lovers hand in hand.
I stand beneath this crumbling bridge
It's brackets Worn and old,
It seems to bow before me,
It's secrets still untold.
Standing still I faintly hear
A whisper or the wind,
Maybe those who've gone before
Are coming home again.
I stand beneath this crumbling bridge,
Drinking in its glory,
And if I listen closely,
I hear it's untold story.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
Sublime wildflower
As I lay here awake from juxtaposed sleepless nights of thoughts of you as my own again
I wait..
I wait for a breakthrough through your pearl shaped, intricately carved paths and pink marble stone cover you call a brain
But my love..
I am using a chisel made from cotton candy and dead stars made of designer drugs and fragments of my pale fragile heart
As the chistel works its way through marinating the surface of your "brain" I wait attentively in amusement -
The type of amusement a child wakes up early to on christmas morning anxious to open the largest anonymous present under the tree
But unfortunetly he has not eaten yet, he has not brushed his teeth yet, he has not kissed his mother goodmorning yet or fetched dads newspaper under the mistletoe..
I write dispite of the chapters I have left unwritten to write your chapter (4)
I wait despite of the uncertainty my heart feels - I don't listen to him anymore by the way.
Waiting for you is like waiting for Winter again. I love Winter so I wait but in the process I fall in love with the shades of other seasons and that is the issue
My heart paves way to anything close to the words you spoke, the scriptures you wrote, the spaces you poked
I wait..
in lights of my fragile soul - I don't know if you haven't come to realize this already but it feeds of you, you are its daily grace as the bible is to a nun you are its bible and my soul, the nun
I await to love you again and I love that because you love me too and the love I have for you mutliplys by a thousand with each of the four letter word (love) mentioned in this here stanza including the one in brackets
I still really really love you
I won't pretend that I intend to stop living but I do intend to stay faithful to the love that you have given me.
As the constellations you have built inside my dark matter still shine/burn bright as our future together
-----
Leks
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
Sent away from the church
To keep her hipsters away
And that almost transparent dress
That terminates
Several inches above the knees
Told that she was,
A stumbling block to the sheep
Soiling the mind of the male congregation
The pastor still in the brackets
Denying the chosen ones
The power of the Holy Spirit
And the Spirit of God was moving
Above the surface of the waters
When Adam and Eve were very naked.
Told she stirred the Spirit of desire
The spaghetti dress
Starting too early and ending too late
Cooking immorality in the society
Hungry men, say lustful
Evil minded
Yet they claim the Spirit reigns
Overcome by their selfish nature
A willing Spirit
But a weak flesh
They blame it on the church lady
And I have never seen
A bull rape-and-murder
And never seen also
A dressed Freshian cow
And they call her church demon.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 5:27 AM UTC
Landscape silhouettes
pirouetted off
pockmark lights in the dark;
the city shivers
in its myths and windy whispers,
Just a subtle rumble 'neath his humble feet,
heart aflutter, stuttering
palpitation structure sputtering; the lightless rain
glanced across the window brackets
of the moving train.
Silence yawned across his vapid eyes
like labored lullaby sans interlacing rhyme device -
Home, the beckoning, fulfillment's underlying premise
calling off at every stop
'til seats bowed under weight of emptiness.
Friendless in the long stretch
between conductor's breath,
fresh with mints and benevolence,
punching tickets
with a lonely sickness...
Ah, fitful sleep awaits us
past the sliding doors
and walk to familiar shores,
horizons bleak,
and nothing more.
Locomotive groans
pervade the embers of the gloam
and glitter bright,
against the clutching fingers
of this woeful night.
Aug 4, 2011
Aug 4, 2011 at 7:38 PM UTC
My heart has been
d,
since your eyes met mine.
i
The little gaps punctuating the Z's are
filled by the little crease line that gently brackets your mouth right before you smile,
z
the way your eyes flickers in amusement; it's like a dozen of stars winking at me.
The words you speak from those lips flit recklessly in between.
z
It's the tiniest of winks that causes my heart to stutter a little.
Just a little, ok-ay, sweet-heart?
Don't flatter yourself.
y
It's that inexplicable yet silence that does not quite feel like silence.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 7:22 AM UTC
Interpersonal relations strewn across the nation,
across my the country of my bedroom floor.
My sticky palms give me shaky qualms
as I feel too exposed and shudder
Cluttered and muddy, my mumbling mind speaks
in fragile fragments secured by black brackets.
Memories linger, held fast to my fingers
to help me remember what I want to forget
Why, or what, can you do that I can't?
Speaking slowly in a voice with a slant
I'll tear up and down what "it's" "supposed" to be,
if you'll pay for my presence with an bi-weekly fee.
Apr 11, 2011
Apr 11, 2011 at 10:16 PM UTC