"castration" poems
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea.
At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate.
This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land.
“Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment.
Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement.
Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused.
Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control.
The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed.
In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
I let the hate overtake me like a bull chasing a fool, my horns focused deep into your chest, my anger becomes my tool. Taking a step back I can see how much I really hurt myself, I feel so gone, am i sadistic or something far beyond and more wrong?
Watching you bleed, I still feel nothing but hatred in myself so I'll peel off your face and separate you from your spine, I can feel something clinging on but its just too hard to find.
Perhaps this is an act of greed or maybe i'm just a monster that needs to feed. You're so deceiving, you throw around trust just to see how long it takes to rust, you're so misleading, you laugh in the face of your creation before you give a slow castration, you deserve all the pain your receiving.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
To prolong such an absence of vexatious jove
Denying the will of instinct to arouse elation
Self-inflicted desolation in which we all strove
To create an empty shell like a fronted castration
All the while being comforted by a depressing superiority
As the uniqueness of our struggle blends in with conformity
Yearning for our relations to meet with a tragic end
Anticipating the consequence of a self-appointed woe
Glorifying our character as we passionately pretend
To endure an exclusive emotion that we all undergo
This proclamation of individuality through insipid gloom
Conveys nothing but the relative depiction of what I assume
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality,
is waking up in dazed desolate imitation,
that creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Blades of grass, sharp tipped spears of unreality.
A chilling, a challenged negation;
to lose the robust and ephemeral vitality.
Spinning round the ugly formality,
are snickers, unshy sneers of an evil salvation,
that creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Thrilling no longer a verb, piano key pressing its precious mortality
into her throbbing thrashed temple dictation.
To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality.
A ****** numb soul with the criticality
of skeptics, chewing their lips, a dead cell castration
emotional stripping, slipping into complete impromptu filtration.
That creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
I Can barely put up with this ****** frustration
that can't be cured any longer, with furious ************
it's like every one but me across this great nation
has known the flesh of another, it's like mental castration
to not know the taste of a woman's flesh
To caress her body while fondling her ample *******
To drunkenly sup from her womanly cup
Am I going to die alone? is that my plan from above?
Now I know that my body is supposed to be sacred
But I can just barely, just barely take it
That primal instinct, that feeling deep in my bones
to finally live out the ****** desires of my own
The stigma that's with a guy who's the age of 18
"Ohh you're still a ****** get out there and drink lean!"
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
I'm not sure what it was about that day
Perhaps the child in me wanted to play
Between the Rad and the Chemo I needed to pray
But I knew the pain wasn't going away
I walked to the counter to ask for advice
And there she was this angel in white
I couldn't believe such a beautiful sight
She told me "Don't worry you're going to be fine"
The chills ran rampant up and down my spine
She told me my life could use some direction
I knew I was in dire need of correction
I long for the day to see her again
But deep in my heart I know it's a sin
She comes at night and visits my dreams
I need her so badly I just want to scream
A relationship would be purely platonic
For the issue I have they tell me is chronic
I'm sick and tired of all this frustration
The chemo resulted in chemical castration
I look to the day to see this reversed
But up until then my life is a curse.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
Is it infatuation combined with the new lovely scent
With saturation would the hail begin to make a dent
The flirtation fades with each and every hour spent
The deflation sets in on our slow inevitable descent
The stagnation creeps up like another month's rent
As temptation calls out wondering where you went
A Castration can't compare to this type of torment
No frustration in the world like time"s resentment
If you could only flaw less in your never ending search
Go back to the drawing board or maybe even try church
History repeats itself, feelings of heartbroken violence
As you lay next to me breathing a beautiful soft silence
She"ll never truly be free, never let down her guard
Ironically we can never be, both emotionally scarred
Shared memories framed by another fleeting exposure
Shall never come close to providing adequate closure
No matter how this ends my soul will still need a cast
Smiling big as it mends, for moments lived like our last
Optically delusional to the pastures of greener grass so vast
Finally destined to arrive yet can"t stop longing for the past
Tragically we are meant to be, only if we are actually apart
Insane levels of pain tearing through the veins of my heart
Today we are again away, but our time I shall forever cherish
Tomorrow"s just another day without you until I finally perish
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
You ask in a moment of affection
afraid of any sort of rejection
but your desperation
is volcanic.
Your strangled ********
mangled flesh
is stressed by
over handling.
Blood vessels
over expanding
till there is a little bit
Of blood in your ****
and it is a little sore.
You are tired
of those lonely ejections,
messy ejaculations
that shoot up and over your head
making it hard for you to ***
then go to bed.
Not to mention
you got to be a ************ ninja
in the bathroom or your bedroom
hoping no one catches you.
All that ****** frustration
you’re facing
if you knew ahead of time
perhaps you would find
chemical castration a
more preferable option.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
Twisted thoughts aren’t awful things
They are my things!
Great things to be exact.
I wish upon a star for blood,
Blood dripping down the face of a horrible creature called a man.
Wounds so deep in his chest he can’t breathe.
Are my thoughts so twisted if they live inside soft lace?
A spider within the lace
Waiting to bite you
I’ll never hurt you but I dream of hurting other people.
People who are bad, evil, who deserve punishment.
A spider within the lace.
Poisonous. Unfelt. Obscure. I crawl in and out your body.
I dream sweet dreams of castration.
Bright and brilliant
A hidden world of rainbows
Meadows of sweet flowers
Drops of rain on ****** spring petals.
I creep between love and hate,
daisies and death.
heaven and hell.
A beautiful spider in the pollen of your bloom.
I’d cry for you. I’d die for you.
I’ll protect you.
And I’ll leave them drowning in their blood.
Eyes open. Still.
And I’ll erase it.
And take you back to the field of flowers
and the gentle rain
and I will keep you safely
tucked away there.
In the pasture, staring up at the sky.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
Application of misinformation
Falsify a failed nation,
Eradication of all creation
Misinterpretation
Of representation
Deny the station
Granted by occupation
And the inhalation
Of justification
No prerequisite information
Just accumulation
No moderation,
Their determination
Through stimulation
Cultural ************
Communal degradation
Societal desecration,
Dehumanizing revocation,
Worldly humiliation,
Mortal sterilization
Never achieving mobilization
Lack of communication
Excelling in vile persuasion,
Proponents of procreation
Birthing digitization,
Destroy civilization,
Indications of adoration
Isolation in delineation,
Irrational indexation,
Fluctuating indignation,
No innovation,
Divination
Retaliation,
Immolation,
False ovation,
Lacking limitations,
Contextual intonation,
Divine fabrication,
Private publication,
Evolving fornication,
Give me extermination,
Notwithstanding annexation
Of dismaying oxidation,
Of valued perpetuation,
Global mass-castration,
Redundant rhetoric, dictation,
A donation, a dilation, a fixation,
An annotation of fibrillation,
We are personification
Of Contamination
Through globalization
Praising idolization
And finalization
Through **********
No pragmatic exoneration,
In all frustration
We see not utilization
Nor stabilization,
Fearful implications
Of wayward stations,
Surplus mutilations,
Seeking militarization
Of worthless nations,
No conservation,
Just excavation
Of the population
******** on education,
Spitting on graduation,
No validation of aspiration,
Indoctrination of baptization
Mitigating litigation,
murdering habitation,
Quelling all vegetation
We will end in radiation
Through faulty navigation,
Abdication and abnegation,
All worldly agitation
Leads us to expiration,
Self-made annihilation.
There was never an end in sight,
We’re lost, and hope is a lie.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC
If I were a man
I would ask out a girl just for the hell of it
Because either way ive been waiting far too
Long to try that restaurants grilled halibut
I would sag my pants down low
In any given social situation
I would wake up in the middle of the night with a cold sweat
Fearing that doctors castration
And in the same situation I would burp real loud
Because I drank too much beer
Or ate too many chips
And what is a man to do
other than flip his own scripts
and rip on other men’s trips
and say, “dude you’re so gay”
if I were a man
I’d probably put bumpin’ speakers in
My Honda civic
And id bust out loud rap as I turned and whipped it
In front of all the pretty girls
The ones with hair curled and necklaces made of my pearls
Ones I wouldn’t call back because I paid attention in math
And knew the male to female ratio was 1 to 4
And that left me with 3 other girls to score
But sense I am not a man
And according to them I am some-what less than
I’ll belt my pants suffer your ****** glance
Deny you a dance and instead of implants
I will wish for a transplant.
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
In school we learn to be
Not intuitive nor ambitious
Or creative even
In school we learn to take
Not the path with the
Most vibrant colors
But the flattest one.
College is charged
With the castration of young minds
And too often we forget
Just what is left behind
Do I want to write this essay
On the interesting or the easy
Mar 13, 2010
Mar 13, 2010 at 7:55 AM UTC
1
The Clowns in Brussels Sprouts
have sent me a notebook. Tossers.
The latest thrilling instalment from ******** Creek.
The Animal Events Recording Notebook —
fits in your pocket,
if it happens to be a school bag.
A little picture on the cover
Jack, the farmer, a cow and her calf.
Equally gay as it is oxymoronically inaccurate.
No sign of a tag on either the cow or calf.
The cow has a pair of horns
that would **** any animal, never mind the farmer,
statistically dead. Plus,
the calf’s a bit too healthy looking
and the cow ain’t trying to **** the farmer either.
Between the covers coloured-coded sections
chronicling the animal’s progress
from Foetus to Fork.
2
Though, I do thoroughly enjoy filling out those
additional comment columns.
De-horning
Next to castrating lambs,
I love this job —
all-the-more if there’s a gang.
The first has no idea what coming
and the last wishes they weren’t.
But seriously, I’d say it hurts.
A lot.
Castration
See Revival, issue 6 P.14 —
revised in Inheritance P.26
Weaning
Always good for poem.
I laugh from the comfort of my bed.
Ye’re only halfway lads
And how far along are you?
They inquire back.
3
Ok, I get it. Seriously.
Stop depleting the rainforests please …
I have my own notebook thanks.
I understand their dilemma.
They fear mindsets will be inherited
form the old flock, the old stock —
the canners and brass tags —
who never converted.
It’s like auld women and the church
engrained since birth
and no amount of jibber-jabber will sway.
So they concentrate, groom us
weanling growing up
in the Age of A.I.M
on BETTER Farms
4
Regardless, the second you tag a calf,
the cunt’ll croak. So wink, wink:
so not to jinx yourself
and have to write a cheque;
adjust your Balance Sheet,
invariably affecting your Gross Margin.
I know … I know
S.M.R 6, 7 and all that $*@#
But it’s so cold the frost is complaining.
Plus, they said on the radio: be kind
leave food out for the birds.
I’m just thinking of the foxes.
And, if anyone asks —
she never came in calf
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 2:27 PM UTC
Our prez is now Donald J Trump
Who has promised to clean out the sump
Well he's certainly no wussy
When groping a *****
What more to expect from a gump?
In charge of the Vice, Michael Pence
Said some things that embrace little sense,
"Global warming's a myth"
But's now taking the fifth
In attempting to straddle the fence
We all recall general Flynn
Put in charge of security spin
A trained atomiser
No more Trump's advisor -
His deal with the devil's his sin
The billionaire Betsy Devos
Making plans for a school albatross
Hating free education
Backs private castration
And kids will be bearing her Cross.
The Congress approved Jeff B. Sessions
Ignoring his racist obsessions
He seemingly cares
More for foreign affairs
While forgiving Klan's toxic transgressions.
Chief strategist Stephen K. Bannon
Develops the Great Again Canon:
The Goldman Sachs Bankster
Turned yellow rag gangster
Flings crap from the New Order cannon
Says EPA ruler Scott Pruitt
"Instead of dry facts, we intuit..."
(His work as denier
Keeps profits much higher)
"... If everything dies, well, just ***** it"
The war whoops of Mad Doggy Mattis
Awaken the death apparatus
With boundless expense
For a doomsday defence -
Armageddon administered gratis
The magnates no longer need lobby
Or fight regulations thought snobby -
Now set in the saddle
They're herding the cattle
And pulling the strings as a hobby
Now the Don can start wielding the axes
Truncating the tariffs and taxes
The Mafia boss
Is dismissing the dross
And poverty's pain as it waxes
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 7:11 AM UTC
Accepting brute fact would permit
a sad
self-induced
mental castration.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
*oi! Bronson! **** ya matey! i'm a sardine oiled up! that paddy is gonna hang like a dog on a serpentine of a leash's worth of walkies... that paddy's gonna hang and ask for the relay gun at the Olympics going off... paddy was never the bricklayer... paddy always gangrene flex, got lucky in Arizona and New York, forked St. Petersburg and only forked a steak nibble... Bronson settled into retirement just fine, came out a ******* act-tor! pepper the bobby with parking meter fines for his bureaucratic funfair study... sooner or later Jimmy the literate will turn up, and replace Bob the illiterate swine cuffing someone ******* in an alley.*
oh, i'd probably become
an english teacher
and sing fuck-yeah
when the drone army of
Amazon couriers fed us
the next 21 hour trip in
defence against the Koran...
so i guess ha ha is in order.
and with every mythical Mrs.,
you tell 'em about the castration
in the synagogue, and never about the
baritone in the morgue.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC
*it's just a selfie... don't forget my face is mandible and is non-representative of whatever idealism you have of dundee / glasgow. you ever noticed it's only paris that's mentioned in 20th century classic literature? oi! **** why not oslo schweggenladder stockholm or edinbrugh? so 20th century of you to mention any place south of london.*
when i hear modern poets wheeze and ooh and ah
and climb the everest... i think of the bee gees
or michael jackson, not one wrote the illiad... but it’s
still memorised - what’s the point...
poetry begins with the thought:
i can rhyme bling with bee sting... **** i’m in!
heave of relief interlude with abba’s super trouper
in the background to breivik’s slaughter...
now that’s taking satire to the extreme of absurdism:
you know that french thinking movement
that changed hammering a nail in with the elbow
rather than the hammer.
‘orchestra!’
‘ yes maestro?!’
‘play me the divination of vivaldi in #strauss for winter!’
‘yes maestro!’
‘ah the autumnal leaf waltz via psychadelia
of femininity given to the beast of feminism
of lost ego, what splendour... and the reindeer,
ah... it’s only missing the alcohbolic reindeer of the
puffed-up cheeks and red noses of burst veins to hue
the canvas of red with streaks of blue.’
as benny hill said... it’s not called black english humour
for reasons that might suggest it was the oxford rowing
team losing against h.m.s. belfast that made the cambridge rowing
team sing the chritmas carols in halloween costumes:
the wise pumpkin, skeleton and hybrid tarantula sang
in soprano: the shepherds put on castrato opera for a reason
that became apparent with roman authorities despising
celibacy but turning quiet fond of castration for the pope's opera:
plus the **** orgams sounded more feminine with
guilottined ********
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 9:04 PM UTC
Flushed red
from the anger of the situation.
The blade pressed into your neck,
shaking with anticipation.
Should I cut your lips,
or just go straight for castration.
Don’t beg,
sadly there can be no negotiation.
I can’t feel it, but I can see it.
The knife in my back,
Words form perfectly in my mind,
but my mouth hangs slack.
I can’t cry, yes I have tried.
I should probably cut this short,
all because you lied.
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
walking through artificial American Dream
where the air tastes like $100 shirts
and the fraternity of extravagance
the light shines through the perfectly spaced trees
to turn everything filigree
and all of the people
walking tall and confident
like plastic action figures of success
the silver spoon tastes bitter
when it’s been in someone else’s mouth
just like the $30 dollar entrees
and the four story department stores
these people are not my people
my people sport scars which they wear like tattoos
my people sport second hand cars with junked up speakers
A ferrari engine sounds like a the cries of every young kid
who falls into ghetto trappings of big dreams gone unmatched
and even the homeless people were eating ribs
drinking starbucks
with cups filled with ten dollar bills
the prestige drips down the wall
like fresh spray paint
to drip into storm drains
where diversity goes to die
this alien land of hostile takeovers
and university donors
where the **** is non-existent
but ******* cirroc, and xanax
flow freely
chemical castration of the lazy philosopher
an injection of man made ambition
where the hands on the Rolex
keep tight around throats
because being late to that meeting is no option
Children being driven around by chauffeurs in Bentleys
women being driven by the promise of security
I think to myself
I’ll never see the benefit in the scheme
which leads to El Dorado
and Atlantis is just a myth
maybe I just bleed the black and Gold and Richmond
like the ink dripping off my hungry fangs
to see the benefits of injecting a syringe
of Hoya blue liquid sapphire
to get so high
that I lose sight of the ground forever
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
mazes of fire and ice
mazes of notes and letters on pages or dreams
re-written at pages seams
slip the triple disked knife
and plow through the world vision
seen as a prisoners gun
using mental capacity to over rule mental castration ,
take the blue pill NEMO!!!!
and swim - in the all pervading ( surrounding )
magnitude forces of universes glow -
making possible all to be known. .
stalling into the oceans
78654610978893836485048262537859694826284949505958585575674652424242416112
Binary code
is the internets verse
throwing up pages and screens that look nothing like numbers
but are in actual fact
the elephant in the room
a magnitude of worlds - exist on inter fabricated planes
plane 1 - 'real life'
plane 2- macro cosmic
plane 3 - micro cosmos
plane 4- number plane ( this is the binary code )
Plane 5 - mental world
plane 6- dream world
sixteen dimensions
further than christian or Buddhist invention
but a plethora of random incidents that seem to have a pattern
that sinks deeper into oceans magnificence
arn't we all fishes ?
arn't we all snowballs?
aren't we all just culminations of distractions dissertations
born and thinking
well maybe we should do something now we are here....
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
Castration of inward vibrations
reverberates through these impetuous echo halls
Catapult cadavers over scrupulous formalities
I choke on every word I hold
Let us baptize our divine ineptitude in a mortar of glorious lore
Most of them are oblivious to the revelation of rushing thunder
Dripping needles, perfidious servitude
teetering on the precipice of war
Jun 19, 2021
Jun 19, 2021 at 4:35 AM UTC
(
•
)
~~~ ^^^ ~~~
TROLL : ( one who tries to control the narrative and bend it toward some desired end ---- destructive for the naive reader / most often used to describe implanted government operatives )
••
VULTURES :
Feeding off youthful innocence and uncertainty
••
Most of the poets here seem to be TROLLS
//
The debasement of youth sexuality is no accident !
••
The image of STALKING the ****** object
In order to capture them and control their emotions
And to deny them their FREEDOM
THIS IS A PURPOSEFUL PLAN
To weaken the nation by driving its children
Into confusion
To turn the sexes against each other
To destroy all future families
And all possibilities of a united front
Against the fraud and criminality of our
Poisonous leaders !
THIS IS NO ACCIDENT!
These are not poets !
These are TROLLS !
•
Read them carefully
Their techniques are subliminal
But become obvious
•
Oh
They SOUND like they are kids too !
•
They SOUND like they are HURT
BROKEN
etc
But underlying it all is
HURRY HURRY DO IT
HURRY HURRY
BE LIKE US !
SO ADULT LIKE
IN OUR EXPERIENCE !
( TROLLS ! )
////
They teach that if you OPEN YOURSELVES
( note the violent imagery )
Allows you the status of VICTIM
allows you the option of VIOLENT REVENGE
•
And in a way reminiscent of our adult torture culture
With threats of DISMEMBERMENT
CASTRATION
Etc
Not only for the LOVED ONE (sic )
But for FAMILY and FRIENDS !
/////
And all this described as a NATURAL COMPONENT
OF LOVE !!
••
TROLLS !!
//://
Here to destroy you
To destroy the nation's Youth
to forever make you unable
to truly love at all !
//
TROLLS !
Promoters of EVIL !
Agents of Alien Entities !
Disguised amongst us as poets !
/:/
To rip you up and spit you out as good as dead
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC