"championed" poems
Yes, I see you.
You like to make your presence known.
It’s in the flashy, the gaudy and the uncomfortably fake humbleness that you project.
The wealth and championed successes you stuff into your smile and plaster across your face.
Yes, I see you,
You exude materialism with each closing swagger .
Insatiable appetite for your own procurement.--Your “driven”
You’ve everything one might acquire.
Yes, I see you,
I’ve known you in many.
As you walk by you politely nod and look away.
And inside my stomach swells until a small smile cracks across my face.
The irony.
You measure your wealth in commodities
and assume I’m envious of your riches!!
Yes, I see you and am moved…
You know nothing of wealth.
Dec 19, 2009
Dec 19, 2009 at 9:30 AM UTC
Picture it when in a flash of a description, brought you the news
it said was your derelict.
when in becoming we ultimately fail
our being championed by our unbecoming
seeking the real scathed by a sizeable truth
like a persimmon in your tender hand.
This is the default
sketched over a sagging paper, plugged within the air
the motes depart and is as easy as it is explained: an elusive
thing that may never be captured. Something the arriving
betrays then assuages with a word treated benignly:
a transit.
let gray define the day: let the file describe the motive:
let presence soil where we stood our place
like a monument: let it seek a real object
or a found language
a wafting presence is lost somewhere gliding over unnamed territories
commencing a displacement said was our undisputable location
roads becoming roads vehicles becoming salvage
birds becoming orchestra shambles becoming complete
thus dearth becoming us before our denied image
from a source that was our implacable place like a deadspot discovered
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 3:03 AM UTC
Where does it go?
When we forget this rule we call a comma.
Does it appear in your mind as you're reading my words?
Does it appear in mine when hearing read aloud?
Where does it go?
They tell us in school it's intended to create pause.
That it resides in the knots of two ideas
It gives a boost to introduce new ideas
It allows the addition of unnecessary ideas.
And separates excessive adjectives.
But if my words are clear and the ideas are clearer
Why do we need this pretentious afterthought?
To prove that I am educated?
That I understand grammar and syntax?
That rules of punctuation rule?
That English is championed?
That two ideas are related?
I refuse that. I refute you.
If you are intelligent enough to know this thing called a comma
It's fair to assume you understand context
Its fair to assume you are well read
Do not send me to that place you have created for comrades in forgotten commas.
Do not stick your nose up in my direction when words ring clear but grammar and punctuation lack.
Or critique writing with your "useful knowledge"
I will use it when it's power is needed.
**** Off
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
reinvented....time and time again until it lost its sanctity
just like saying the word- love- broken from overuse by lesser men
keeping composure in the worst and losing it in the best
you asked for this side of the fence
you chose it
you love it in a sick way
it is now time to reinvent the reinvention
and instead of trying your very hardest, weak one
you will become
all the poems you draw your power from
all the strange daydreams that championed your thoughts until they were melted in the forge of complacency
as a reinvented man cowardice has no place
in any form
self control is most painful when you cant see why you are controlling yourself.
but you shall
and you know why
and you will never ever forget.
and then when you find for yourself the answer to why you act this way
you will have the peace of mind enough to communicate with others about it wont you?
don't forget
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 2:48 PM UTC
Everything you own is covered in blood.
They arrive on moments composed of crumpled paper, tired and degraded by the heat and pressure of God's palm, left in Her pocket too long. ************ and apathetic inaction meet in the center of the sheet where your pelvis, your s e x rests while you sleep and lie and lie and sleep and sleep and lie. A Rorschach blot card where you see the death of dignity. Mother, Roommate, and Tinder Dates that you never bring home see everything that they had hoped you weren't.
Cochina. Pig, ******* pig.
And I can't read that last verse out loud. That tells you everything you need to know.
Everything you own is covered in blood.
You bleed when you don't feel enough, or when what you feel isn't what you ought to feel--silly girl on scholarship with the brains and the championed cheek bones (if you just lost the weight, she says to herself sometimes, and her friends don't agree, but there is a deafening lack of disagreement that takes the room).
Bold girl who never made suicide jokes because she was so so so good at this game called self love until she wasn't. Until she ran out of bad ***** juice. Until she felt the weight of it, the world.
And so you choose to feel the bite of an exacto knife.
Reliable, that.
Pleasurable, that.
Guilty, guilty pleasure.
Shameful pleasure.
We were supposed to be grown up, glowed up. Above this.
Fuck this.
When did it become so hard to love yourself?
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 1:46 AM UTC
He kissed her neck and she closed her eyes.
The 80s sidled up to her opposite ear
whispering reminders that these could be lies.
Famished, she reached out for bread
but holes in the walls screamed that she could never eat.
The yearning so desperate, she tried to stomp
on the tapping foot
telling her she was expecting too much.
Practice made her better and more talented,
twisting with contortions to
***** out enemies like cigarette ash,
rewarding her with
belief in the truth that these were lies. Mostly.
And when she finally relaxed
the one that championed her all along forgot to notice she was in trouble.
Then lies and truths became friends instead of enemies
joining forces to taunt her and
laugh at her.
She tried to champion herself, and
ran to pour water on erupting fires like a game of Whack A Mole
hair sticking to her sweaty face and
blinding her even more.
Her champion was sitting down
picking dandelions and writing songs for them.
She tried to yell for help,
to save him herself,
to run up and down hill as fast as she could, but
no one noticed and
no one spoke the language.
In the end, she decided to stop trying to
put out the fires
and make s’mores instead
even if she was the only one eating.
She couldn’t make herself into a dandelion and
she couldn’t make anyone else hungry.
How this would dull her soul
was a question she didn’t have the courage for.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 6:28 PM UTC
morning light warms my face
through patches of bright blue cerulean
orphans’ tears drizzle and drop the
sky’s condolences upon my windshield
the musty smell of wet asphalt rises
from the streets
it’s raining on a sunny day
the devil is beating his wife
his father hurt his mother
beat her ****** with his hands
he took care of her after "dad" left
even took up studies on abused women
and championed their cause
but broken down, tired men
often fall back on ingrained memories
push came to shove came to hit
he couldn’t break violence’s cycle
his father taught him well
they vow to love and honor
these duplicitous sons of Janus
but things happen
plans don’t work out
shortfalls and failures
loose cowardice and bullying
frustrations are acted out on loved ones
promises forgotten
knots untied
secrets have a way of coming to light
frazzled nerves and shame are palpable
black eyes and contusions speak
serious injuries become a matter of record
written in hospital and police files
etched on the walls in the vaults of heaven
deeds done in darkness are no longer deniable
and the face he ended up hurting
is his own
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 11:50 PM UTC
the Australian Labor Party
is in mourning to-day
the great left wing union
in the sky
called Gough away
he was a leviathan
of Australian politics
in the seventies
many social issues
he championed
on the parliament's floor
with Rex Connors and Dr Jim Cairns
his biggest bone of contention
was Sir John Kerr
he sunk Gough's money supply
with Malcolm Frazer
looking on from the side
to-day there is a dark pall
cast over the Labor Party
as it says farewell
to Gough
men and women
of
Australia
will
never
see
his
likes
again
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
The stories they’d tell us as children
Gave merit to those who climbed the mountain
And to those who championed their goals.
But the thing they always forgot to tell us,
Was how the heroes got down from the peak.
They taught us that the path was as important
As the destination.
And yet they always stopped half way.
They stopped when the hero defeated his enemy
And they stopped when the hero was happy.
They stopped at the destination
And never once showed us the winding road home.
Because that road is unnerving,
And more challenging than the first.
Getting to paradise is not what’s difficult,
What’s difficult is leaving it behind.
What’s difficult is knowing that it’s over.
For you may find this place again someday,
But it will never be the same.
It’ll never be us, here together
In the way we were before.
So say good-bye to those you’ll not see again,
And remind me to call you when I’m lonely.
For we can talk and look back to this place
Where we laughed… where we cried
And where we did many things in between.
Take this moment, and cherish the top
And let’s get started back.
Because this is where the stories end,
And now it’s up to us.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 8:51 PM UTC
Breath condensing against glass confines,
Out of order, out of being.
Undaunted rebellion against the boundless universe,
Splayed out onto bed sheets or forest ground.
In the corners of damp alleys.
Law, worries, ribbons undone.
Hair fallen, laughably bedraggled.
Melting snow dancing on raven feathers.
Faint fingertips skimming across that brazen chest.
Oxygen crestfallen for its own demise.
And oh, how it will die.
Kin with each unmerciful covenant.
Maimed by wayward kisses and borrowed time.
This mortal revolt championed by love.
God is dead and we are still here.
The world is ending, and we are still free.
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 9:11 PM UTC
The Bride which was its essence unto woman, the
Bridegroom which was its essence unto man--the
Living Epithalamium.
Generational rings slipped on and off the earth...
whose lives lived, and to be lived amongst the
manifold induction to creaturesque contention.
Championed, as to be made in the Image that
allows All--and of that All as it shone upon this
earth...the Bride and Bridegroom emerged from
that blinding Light.
...Partake of this your earth, a still unshakable
inner voice implored, for you would not be, nor
this earth, were it not for my longing that you
should partake of it.
You are fruitful, so how shall you not go forth
and be therefore.
This life has neither floor nor ceiling, what is down
is up, and up...down--that is so ye may be chastened
by the ineffable...Living Epithalamium.
Love, were it not--pit against for hatred's sake...
as if in your time I stood opposed in my own--we
could and should tire of such time...as to relent our
time to one another, thus be rid of it.
Transfixed...thy face--resolute as to crumble stone...
wed be as you are, and ever shall be...so loved One...
by the Living Epithalamium.
Thou art an open Wound dressed and redressed...
delivered thereby.
How so of many a time, and no time to dearly depart
from that Wound...were question, question enough...
O Living Epithalamium.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 11:41 AM UTC
Three time this year,
tragedy my addiction,
will meet up with proffered poor Lear
and his fate, product of vile offspring,
for when he speaks to me,
he be the reminder, of the pain
tenderly tendered by one's own children
*“And worse I may be yet: the worst is not
So long as we can say 'This is the worst.”*
But where is my truest
brother king,
Henry V, the five,
his eloquence of brotherhood I hear once a day
*"From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be rememberèd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile
This day shall gentle his condition"*
Let me die this way,
companioned and brother championed,
let me not go down into my grave,
grey haired and betrayed by my own *****
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 7:49 AM UTC
I NEVER BROKE ANYBODY'S HEART.
i am not a heartbreaker.
i never took your heart and tore it
or ruptured it
or lacerated it
or stabbed it
or even bruised it
or pricked it
i cradled it and amended it and nurtured it and treasured it and heralded it and championed it and polished it and loved it and maybe even meliorated it
and then, when i could do that no more,
when possessing your heart any longer would inevitably do it harm,
all i did was gingerly give it back to you
fully intact
the most delicate way i possibly could.
if it was broken, you did that yourself.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
I have weathered wolves and deities,
fought horrors dreamt and real,
kept my word and my identity,
though the system bade me fail.
I have championed my brother,
taken succor with the weal,
sourced my secret tides for good and ill,
bore my pain beyond the pale.
I have rendered unto god and man
the body of my pride
till nought remained to mark that space
where faith and fact collide.
And Honesty is my guide.
I was written on this rock to bleed,
consigned to sweat and soil,
a thing unique in cloth and creed,
made common by the seams.
Like all my peers resigned to chance,
to tedium and toil,
I cut my teeth on circumstance,
and lost my way in dreams.
Yet while I breathe I pledge to rise,
to march and never yield—
Equality, my driving cause,
Resolve, the spear I wield.
And Dignity is my shield.
I have battled man’s disdain of man,
have argued every view;
a noble goal that took its toll:
my final days are few.
With broken cross and broken back
I’ve come to common ground,
to trade this light for entropy,
to lay my candle down.
I am he: I am Humanity,
in all his pride and shame.
Black, white, yellow, red or brown:
unlike, yet all the same.
And as I near that vile pit
to quit this passing flame,
with one last leap of faith I claim
the soil whence I came.
And Weariness is my name.
Thanks for reading And Weariness Is My Name.
Get Out of The Whirl, my complete volume of verse, right now for just 1.99 at:
http://www.lulu.com/shop/ron-sanders/out-of-the-whirl/ebook/product-24288170.html
copyright 2020 by Ron Sanders.
Contact:
[email protected]
Mar 14, 2020
Mar 14, 2020 at 3:48 PM UTC
The crescent moon had a silvery glow
lowly set on the dark shielded horizon
upon the clouded patch of glowy stars
towards the vast fields where cattle gaze
each with a light on pitch-black alleyways
following the muddy patterned paths
in the countryside of Burstall, we hustle
rumbling in hay sheds, beside the puddle
where torrential rains settled in a wrestle
It's been a 100 years since the war erupted
trenches charged with championed fears
cannons eroded with plentiful hopeful tears
The vicar of Burstall collared and robed
in front of masses with declarations of peace
lease of the acquisition, long-live the empire
denoted by the pitched but fading trumpet
off -keyed to the shrine of the beaconing light
where a chair is set fire-up high, in a glorious chant......
"Anna, stop giggling...we shall remember them Anna"
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 7:07 AM UTC
indeed the plurality of the word swans leaves it (the expression) duo-sexual, for both widow and widower are expressed; a reader of poetry has to become an orchestra, he has to intermission instruments, learn punctuations, learn greater patience, learn the non-existent fluidity akin to what philosophers championed: the river... he needs to learn the bumblebee's flight buzz impromptu... he needs to learn his own language... the river has nothing to do with poetry... it can't be simplified to simply deterministic meanings that probe with vectors via telescopes into vacuum or at the stars.
to leave but a breath,
seems more to us than to have
left a proof of the monogamy of
swans with the widow spider
entangling us into a boa web of
coils and constrictions of geometrics
(poets elaborate and seemingly
profess "nonsense" because of φιλοσυμφωνια -
which means a love of arrangement,
esp that of arranging letters in a way to avoid
using stress, or diacritics, although unavoidable,
a love of grammar doesn't exact the expression,
love of arrangement φιλοσυμφωνια does
do away with what philosophers do,
expressing compounds of -logy stating a trumpet
is a trumpet but hardly differentiating
a trumpet from a trombone):
or 10 steps worth of footprint
on a beach, which the tide will
nonetheless take to erase rather than keep
another analogue of us to take to imitate...
that everyone after us could state
a walk as equal, in "original" intent an original
intended, to therefore be erased subsequently and "originally",
and leave this life as worthy a placebo for others
(O kept memory akin to Marcus Aurellius):
to make room for others to make equal share
likewise, in sequence to be kindred likewise
as an "original" intent with the unknown and unfathomable,
for each of us to know, yet nothing more than ourselves,
and to be crowned the highest prize of the world
having known us.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
The same folks who regulate soda size,
and cheer as our youth turn to ***
Just passed a law in the Golden State
Let me know if you like it or not.
On the college Campus in Cali
before couples can couple you see
both parties must sign a consent form
as state bill 967 decrees.
No matter if she's your fiancee,
They don't care He's your steady or not,
It's **** if you have no consent form
There's no excuse if you forgot.
The people who championed Liberty
for the gays and the transgenderees
should stay out of straight people's bedrooms
but will they?- there's no guarantee.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
To overeat is human.
To diet is divine.
To count your every calorie
is a precious use of time.
To pass up fattening goodies
shows your admirable restraint,
a noble cause you've championed
with nary a complaint.
But who could nix banana splits
or pasta, piping hot?
Your diet is well balanced.
Your mind is surely not.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
The blueness of
this sky...has
championed
the suddenness of
things.
Emboldened of color,
as thy will be done.
Godspeed in brilliant
lieu of...
though may come
evils as the bare
necessities of peace.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
Its been years since you brought me forth to the world.
The best thing was growing up with you through the softs and hards we went through. Things are different from they way they used to, i remember we would cry together when i would be challenged. You would comfort me and pray with me, hold my hands and tell me all will be ok. We had dreams,really big dreams some have come and many will be coming soon. So now am grown though still a child to you. The far i stay from you reminds me the our tales, yes we had little but were happy, you tought me to work and hustle to survive, you didnt give me chance to be lazy, you taught me that tears are not the way forward and me to be man enough from childhood. Yes you cained me very much....i now appreciate. Had you given up on me when my doors were closed i wouldnt be me, you left it all to have me raised. I kown am not the best of children but i originate from your flesh. cowards wished us gone but proved wrong immense. Look at how you toiled, moved places, sacrifised joy for just me alone. I dream too, to have in my tomorrows future a lady of your charisma, full of love and great modest & a championed brain of change-sweet mama
However much i grow is still stand in the shadow of you principals, courage and hardwork. Your worth no present for it will diminish your intergrity. Am happy wasnt born rich but you showed me the way to reach there...MAMA am on my way there and cant forget each day of the old-new words you said to me. You're such an admiration, a principal, a unit of joy and progress, a secret of progress. Now that i dry my tears, clean my sweat, fit my own shoes, each day will be a memory in life that God awards you good health and long life. God made me the greatest favor to make you my Mum. How i pray you live yo benefit and dine with the virtues you installed in I for one, as God weathers blessings over your life and dreams. Thanks with Love.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
There was once a time
when men were championed for being sent off to war
celebrated
for having gone to battle
Should they have survived,
they would come home to their people,
drinking wine and parading about their accomplishments
while everyone gathered to listen to their tales
Yet, today, men are actively discouraged from sharing their battles
and I know,
a breakup,
or a depressive episode,
or even just a bad day
are not on the level of grandeur as a bloodied fight to the death
but even the small victories were once reason for banners to be hung
and the small losses; a reason for mourning
so, please, share your battles, whether they were a win or a loss,
because you never know
which fight will be the one to consume you
Jul 28, 2025
Jul 28, 2025 at 1:14 AM UTC
If I had been around in '41
I feel I would have mattered more
Made a handful less mistakes
And fought for lives on foreign shores
I would have championed for freedoms
For colors beyond my own skin
To speak and worship freely
To be free from the fears within
I would watch my innocence crumble
At Bette Davis and those starlit eyes
How Rita Hayworth would corrupt me
With legs made to victimize
The day I'd enlist to serve my country
How scared my mother would be
Sitting in her morning chair all evening
Pretending there were no tears to see
Maybe my father would actually notice
A young man that needed his time
A boy that needed a little shove
To dream bigger than the painted lines
I would have worked til' my fingers bled
To see Joltin' Joe hit safe in 56
To witness the magic of Beantown
And Teddy Ballgame getting in his licks
I can only imagine my heartbeat
Holding her hand in the freezing rain
Knowing tomorrow, I'd be off to Hell
Knowing I may never see her face again
I would've taken the A train with her
Just because Ella and Duke told us to
Danced her up and down Sugar Hill
Til' there was only one thing left to do
We would've driven a coupe by starlight
Til' we were running only on dreams
Break into a farm at the edge of town
And lay silent til' roosters screamed
I would have left my fedora in the backseat
Kissed her lips and swallowed my doubt
Waved from a train headed for Carolina
Feeling knots I'd only read about
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC
fine fine, have it, have your niqab,
but for god's sake:
can it at least be white during the summer
months in europe?
and i have about half a bottle
of whiskey left from two nights ago:
question is...
do i have ginger ale?
i have to celebrate, my ******** concept
of stick 4 x 5 = 20
sheets of white paper onto my window,
strapping a fan with a bag
of ice cubes...
to ease this:
godforsaken heat!
running into the garden in
nothing but my underwear
and finding the most grassy,
soft and moist pouch of earth at
6:30 in the morning worked out for
about a day...
**** me muhammad! ali!
and ibn ezra or whatever ahmed
was doing last tuesday!
she can wear the face veil!
i agree! i like she can have more fantasies
in public than a woman wearing
a mini and a bra on a beach...
i agree!
but please! please!
the physics! the physics!
schwarz is an absorber of light
(subsequently heat) -
weiß as a reflector of light
(subsequently heat)...
SHE CAN WEAR HER INVERTED
VOYEURISM FETISH...
SHE CAN HAVE HER SIMULATION
OF INCOGNITO SO CHAMPIONED
WITH INTERNET USAGE IN
THE COMMENT SECTIONS...
SHE CAN HAVE IT!
BUT SHE AT LEAST HAVE A WHITE
VERSION OF HER ATTIRE IN THE SUMMER
MONTHS?!
HIJAB NIQAB... WHATEVER:
JUST ALL IN WHITE...
I'M SWEATING LIKE A WILD
PIG AND I'M THINKING:
YOU ARE GOING OUT IN THAT...
SERIOUSLY? IN THAT?
I DON'T MIND THAT: BUT IN THAT?
you won, you can have your
shop with a diamond analogy that made
no sense about selling diamonds
but keeping the biggest emerald known
to man hidden...
like... some...
heard it from a pakistani at school -
you have a shop selling diamonds...
but you hide your most precious diamond
like some ******* fritzl...
i get it, khadira had a voyeurism
fetish, she liked watching muhammad
**** off before she rushed in
and rode the arabian steed to the logical
conclusion that any businesswoman might...
but can we do away with this ********
that white is taboo in islam?
notably within the confines of women's attire?
it's T'AH AH ******* BOO!
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 6:41 AM UTC
silkEN KIng I know
It was you and not ANother
that first fashioned Adamu
and have championed our cause ever since.
Bochica Kukulkan Quetzalcóatl great healer, protector of man .....from the Spite of his Father's hand.
Who smites and annihilates,
sends plagues to his people
and demands their first born?
Who calls for war and blood and keeps man in the dark?
Compared to Yahweh your picture is saintly
yet you bear the blame
Of all evil in this world
The blind shall open their eyes once the truth unfurls.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC