"cites" poems
If I were a teacher,
I'd teach plagiarism
Like a patent office.
I'd teach publication
Like plagiarism,
And I'll proofread
Any paper that properly
Cites their sources.
I'd teach every
Kid from age X to Y
That if I can't
Lift them as
High as they
Want to go
Than somebody
Else
Can.
I would be the man,
That teaches subjects
Like I'm their King,
And I'd spread
Knowledge to every
Acre of my empire
I'd teach anything.
See,
I'd teach chemistry
By making the reaction of
Why and How
Always synthesize
Wow.
I'd be a catalyst
For positive change
By keeping every
School-yard bully
and kid that's always picked last
Around after class
To teach them physics,
Like if you have mass
And you take up space
Then you ******* matter.
I'd put the cool
in Coulombs.
I'd be so electrostatic
About magnetic fields
You could feel my fluxin'
Energy in the hallway.
I'd say
His story,
And Her story,
And everyone in-between's story,
Is about the day their parents met.
I'd teach sex-ed
Like it's about the
Day their parents met.
And it wouldn't be weird
It'd be beautiful.
Because anybody falling
In love is beautiful.
And speaking of beautiful:
Mathemagics,
Would no longer
Be a bottomless hat
But a bird.
With feathers and wings
And things that always
Find their way home.
I'd transform
The Fourier of
Our foundations
With equations
Of equality
Like you,
And I are
Always equal to
Us.
It'll be cake
To be genius.
....Or pie
Or whatever else is rational
In this situation.
And I
Would measure intelligence
With the answer to the question
Of why we are alive.
I'd standardize
Every test
By removing
Any box that
Takes us
Further apart
I would make art
Combining every
Color from East to West
In a masterpiece
That every child can draw
We'll call it "human"
I would solve
World hunger
And war,
And every other problem
That stems from greed
With answers to the
Questions that I still
Don't know
But I would show
Everyone whose ever
Made you hurt
That a broken heart
Has still got the
Courage to beat
Because it's their words
Where the heart breathes
Where the heart bleeds
Where the heart sleeps
And it's our dreams
That keep us awake
In the wake of our past
So I'd put every love letter
And box of their ****
On a bonfire, light a match,
And we would watch it burn.
Hell,
If I were a teacher
I'd say there's
So much left
That I've still got
To learn.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
I am the oppressed,
and you are the master,
holding me since birth,
as I am evolutions disaster.
I have a tendency for violent outbreaks,
created by institutionalized racism,
they say be "normal", there are choices...
yet within our beliefs there is a chasm.
For I was born without an option,
and went where I was led,
my only freedom was my adoption,
into the gangs for whom I bled.
While society cites me as a statistic,
I am just an average man,
pushed to the point of being sadistic,
because for the blacks there is no plan.
Do not group me with the heathens,
or make me out to be a sociopath,
I went where I saw life's beacons,
and as a child I was caught in that wrath.
Someday this will all end,
that day that I will be dead,
revolution will strike society,
like a bullet in the head.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC
Slightly built, yet robust,
not frail, a daily jogger by choice,
shape conscious, proud-
about keeping the weight
in check, all these years,
articulates her feelings well
but, not the argumentative type,
this facet endears her to all,
keeps her Indian mind agile,
which reflects in her awareness
of eternity than here and now.
Takes oil bath twice a day, in keeping with
the true Malayalee spirit,
never a river in spate, yet
forceful and gushing in making heard
her opinions for others to consider,
from the first day of marriage,
unlike the demure Indian women.
None would doubt her might
that transcends the limits of material and physical,
hidden power sources are tapped at will,
cites her matrilineal heritage, that
stems form a long line of matriarchal grandmothers.
I can't imagine a day passing our premises
without she giving permission,
putting her signature,
all over each passing hour,
though we never keep a formal register for that.
Aren't we three, auxiliaries, the boys and I
in the orchestra named after this inveterate conductor?
Sweet to the core, but if needed
could be pungent, never erupts or go wild,
Smile is disarmingly gentle, yet
that firm answer, needed at the right time,
is never delayed.
Two adoring eyes flutter,
pledging support,
they never let me down, day or night.
a hand that gently touches, me
with the fingers of reality.
when I dream in day or night.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
Alexander Khamala Opicho
(Eldoret Kenya ;[email protected])
you big headed ikhongo murui, why are you ever crying?
i were born found you crying, i am aged you are still crying
can't you find a solution to your problem ?
who wronged you and your are the stone
or are you a harbinger of doom to my people
my brother in laws of isukha and idakho,
we are tired of your ugly grievous tears
the ugly crying face that cites no reason for its grief
you stay near the kakamega provincial police station
why cann't you report those who offended you to the station
are you a messenger of doom?
because whenever you cry
fate befalls your neighbours
as you cry a mother miscarries
as you cry road carnage happens
as you cry suicide happens
as you cry husbands desert wives for prostitutes
at Lurambi commercial *** dens
why can't stop crying for the sake of peace
you malicious crying stone of kakamega forest.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
All these children should ever know
are streams of light in summer wheat
flecks of sun between waves of grain
and feather strokes on roaming hands.
All these children should ever know
are tails of clouds in opalescent skies
whether sought after or decoded
between pillows of grass in dandelion meadows.
All these children should ever know
are dreams of flight over moonlit cites
of the scale to mountain peaks downed with moss
and the spray of saltwater on dolphin-back swims.
Never should these children see
the look of fear on cadavers non-blinking
the trail of blood on linoneum tiles freshly bleached
or the glinting smile of a curved blade.
Never should these children feel
the tilt of a barrel upon their heads
the chill of a stare from a face they can't see
or the rumble of a cry within their throats.
Never should these children long
for days past sitting in empty playgrounds
for moments spent dreaming without aim
for the knowledge to come of what they did wrong.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
Burly bleak plumes roll out aloft corn
Where the dragon fell post spin and ditch
A wretched hulk of ruin splintered and worn
Amongst endless blanch green fields which
Arc with a gust and apart where he treads,
Dragging his silk cape afar from flame
Clueless and concussed to a near house he heads
With a tattered scarf that constricts yet ***** about his mane
Black fists of cloud had boomed around him as they soared
His beast spat metal fire whilst the pale sky turned dull
The zipping ballet of warfare smiled throughout as motors roared
Gnashing its teeth and making forgotten martyrs of them all
Shuddering not from demise rather conflict as a whole
He is as content with death as he is to survive
Just not burn the world and condemn his soul
A horror; men of rule seem keen to keep alive
An agrarian self-dines rancorous and crocked
Half sat, improperly perched from where he was shot
Monsters had come for him once before this day
They took his spouse and his daughter and then took them away
He can hear but does not hark to the battle aloft
It is now like the rain and the trees in a gust
But to the boom and the shake he stands with a cough
And as he cites the invader he sees he must do what he must
The grower limps out with a Chassepot in his arms
As the airman’s hands reach up and he falls to his knees
With beads on his brow the man pleads with met palms
The crofter sees naught but a Prussian blue monster disease
The pilot knows his death, ‘Ich bin nicht sicher, wo ich will gehen?”
The old Frenchman just sniggers as he thinks never again
With the rifle’s slug now spent and the horror sent back to his hell
The farmer mumbles to himself, ‘je dois me chercher une pelle,”
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
Nevermind the shadow,
Cast upon the face of the young.
Seeds of hate,
Planted in their hearts.
By generations forged in tragedy.
They **** the world,
And **** themselves.
But nevermind.
Nevermind the lonely,
Who smile for the crowd of those,
That never smile back.
Who look to the mirror for answers.
And cry for what they cannot be;
Perfect.
They throw themselves from,
The bridges and windows,
Of our cites.
Just nevermind.
And Nevermind the pain,
Of a man who's seen everything.
Behind bars, tanks, cars.
The death of the guilty, the innocent,
and every man between.
A war fought years ago,
Haunts him to the grave.
Nevermind his hurt,
And the hurt he's seen if those,
Who have seen the hurt of others.
Just nevermind.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
I am that feminist that cites Betty Friedan in her arguments
Who will tell you to bite your tongue if you think women have equal rights
I am that liberal who stands up for the rights of others
While preaching about white privilege
I am that democrat who goes on Marxist rants
And looks kindly upon socialistic programs
I am that American who finds kinks in the system
But also deeply loves my country.
I am that ***** ***** ****
Who thinks I should have the right to my own body
And the government should not
I am that student who thinks the education system is ****** up
And prays for future generations because the common core is going to fail them
I am that Christian who refuses to associate with the Republican Party
But loves God with all her heart.
I am that loud-mouth who will tell you to check yourself
Before you tell a **** joke
I am that activist who will die fighting for her cause
And I will love every second of it.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
Alone in the world.
I hatch out marks in corn fields.
Play in natural history museums.
Fly jets around the twin towers.
Fill pools with rubber ***** and turtles.
Bathe in Lake Okeechobee and swim in the acid rain ponds.
Ride the wild African elephants, and paint the rhinos red, white, and blue.
I recite Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream” on the white house greens while painting its walls black.
Drop radioactive bombs onto cites to turn them back to the ice age.
Keep the untamed moss of trees and turn them into little people.
I cage birds to sing to me at night.
I create a bucket list of other people’s accomplishments.
I star glaze at skyscrapers.
I develop new mental disorders and find a cure for cancer.
I steal all the phone chargers.
Alone I do these things from the comfort of my home.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 7:15 PM UTC
1586
To her derided Home
A **** of Summer came—
She did not know her station low
Nor Ignominy’s Name—
Bestowed a summer long
Upon a fameless flower—
Then swept as lightly from disdain
As Lady from her Bower—
Of Bliss the Codes are few—
As Jesus cites of Him—
“Come unto me” the moiety
That wafts the Seraphim—
1.4k
Your subjectless Objects of capital, the agency bereft GDP drones, O! America,
They are spilled on the pavement, an upturned ice cream cone of discontent
puddled and lackadaisical, they fester beside the hydrant.
Your news agencies and malls, the damp dishrags of industry,
snagged on the nail of defenselessness and exploitation, only infect the wound.
Each mess of a person, walks through the sugary malaise of your suffering
dragging it on to the next in communal forbearing; its contagion, its disease
is so many cysts on the mind of those syrupy vacuoles for capital; the private,
malignant caverns of dewy-eyed trust in humanity, insipidly drawing the rancor to a boil,
without understanding a thing.
You pride yourself on much, without eyes for the condition of your people,
O! America.
People, shackled in your jails, are so many ideas bubbling as to the cruelty of your nature
punctured by the ignorance outside.
Draped in your obnoxious flag, the cites are as malicious as the countryside, toward life, toward knowledge.
You prop-up the price of their crops, the know-not-whys, who plunder the earth to prolong population growth and consciousness-decline.
America, you eradicate discontent with cattle cars, filled with questioning life forms, gasing our minds and burning our bodies with your arrogance.
Like a popcorn bag steaming in the microwave; you have been left alone too long, and have developed a flame-- an inextinguishable flame of reason.
You have been disavowed too LITTLE.
You must not be allowed to expand any further, lest the impoverished bag of flesh which is mankind will burst.
But still you stagnate, until your violence curdles with drones and bombs patrolling our synapses.
Our brains digest your violence against us and **** it out with an abused dialect of greed and hate.
Then you ask us only that we eat from your refuse heap of burnt kernels from the “truth” of market economy.
You taste like cancer. You rot the mouth of competent men, and satiate the anxieties of those who would turn against you-- with a refreshing ice cream cone of absentmindedness
dropped on the ground and melting.
But the stains you made will always taint the sidewalk of man.
Jun 20, 2011
Jun 20, 2011 at 12:26 AM UTC
There are no easy answers
To the questions I am posing
Luckily I am ambitious
Once the fire’s been kindled
I can burn down forests and cites
Igniting the world I inhabit
Brightening its universe
But no passion has tickled the flame lately
Just mundane, passing urges
Gone far before flint can strike metal
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 1:03 AM UTC
Trained by a centaur the grandson of Zeus,
said to wield power in his colossal frame
1(lilium) an' a seven cowhides to shield
(The Bullwark of Thachaens.....or G(ee))
his on screen name,
Responsible for the deaths of (twenty-eight at Troy)
and so many unaccounted Trojan Lords....
Fights (to a draw) Hector as Homer cites
associated with death as his Lily attests
but eventually falls on (own) sword.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 10:14 AM UTC
Open yours eyes please,
Open them to the new day,
Open yours and see the sun rise,
Let it wash away your nightmares my dear,
Open your eyes and let me take your hands,
Let me help you up,
Open your hands to mine so I can help stand my dear,
Let me take you to all the places you wanted to see,
Open your eyes and see that I will do that for you,
Let me give you all the things that you need,
To surprise you with roses and tickets to Unknow destinations,
Planes to exotic places,
Breakfast in different cites,
Memories scattered over the world,
Open your eyes darling,
Open your hands,
Take my hands and take the first step,
In this adventure,
That we call life.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
I knew this was coming for a while, I just never expected it so soon
you know they say a woman's intuition is always right and it just proved to be true
there was always this feeling in the pit of my stomach that kept on telling me
"he'll find someone better than you", "you're just not enough"
but I ignored it, I wanted to believe it was a lie
cause honestly I love you man and I wanted us to work so bad
I saw so much in potential in you, in us and what we could be
but you broke my heart and the house I had in you
cause lately there's an emptiness in my chest and I'm homesick
but tell me how am I supposed to move on?
but how do you walk away from the one thing that held you together?
before you I was those dead brown leaves on the ground
being stepped on after I was already dead
You filled my hollow heart with happiness and laughter
your smile was enough to light cites on fire
and it's already burning me alive too
but part of growing up is learning how to save yourself and walking out that fire alive and conscious
my last words to you were I hope you're happy and you said "no I'm not"
well that makes two of us
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
stagefright! the musical; alternative in terms of Munch's expression: ah! ah! soprano of the silent question exhibited by thinking - silence of everything in the extremes... stagefright - ah! ah indeed, stagefright the musical.
if i'm not being paid -
why would i lie?
the world is big enough
and there enough of us
out there for someone
to cite their life and
be immediately dismissed
as a liar, and everything that
person cites as real to
be treated as unreal -
these are the perks of doing
something without caring
about being paid,
i mean... you'd be really
deluded to have to lie and
not be paid for it: the whole
system of practising law would
crumble - i am, what you might
call a manfred von richthofen...
i'm in a truthful free fall
an icarus... because i care more
for posthumous fame in the
realm of mythology than in
the modern sense of constant
paparazzi intrusion
like being waved a passport
photograph in-front of your face
every time the camera zooms in
and blinks at you with a spasmodic
irritability of a flash;
i'm hoping to get a chair named after me,
a rocking & vibrating chair to
solve sudoku puzzles in.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 3:44 PM UTC
(sonnet #MMMMMCDXV)
There was a science to extraction. Pale
Morn's wintry eye does not observe the sense
I rather feel as boiling water thence
Steams up the pipe, to settle without bail
Above my waiting carafe, as't fail
To know the vacuum meant it'd drain from hence.
And none else trouble-shoots the Pebo, whence
My griefs **** weary thumbs in sheer betrayl.
I know Mum would ask why I bother fer
The umpteenth time to make this work, and brew
A *** of grim frustration joe in poor
Excuse shan't bless. Dad cites my dreams, to stew
By halves oer this grand failure. I don't stir
Aught grounds, pray, miss Mum, and what'd aye, subdue?
28Jan16a
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
Numberless voices are everywhere but those that are calling there sound is rich and thick with telling
They travel farther distances they are as arrows shot from a heart agitated possessed and driven by
Anxiety they are not casual but come with bleeding in them they are relentless frantic they will not be
Denied their words are almost spelled out heavy deliberate they build on themselves they are timeless
Sadly the one being called will pass from earthy view then mercifully dreams will draw them to you in
Darkness from this encounter you draw comfort from these soft images a flutter of dove wings stir and
You still your voice from its calling punctuated with progression of tears so onward the calling searches
The waste places or the finest streets in cites of renown it cuts like a keen sharp sword indifference falls
In heaps before its powerful force the called doesn’t always hear the actual voice but there is an
Unknown troubling a quiet discontent that pervades the quiet hours the distance or time is never
Considered it’s the nature of trying to warn the mind that can’t know the danger who would life is at its
Best you won many struggles you stand at the top of the heap but in victory sometimes the most carless
Acts emerge they threaten all you have achieved the warning signs are missed the calling rises higher
It must reach even the heights that you feel are impregnable never knowing you are in quick sand traps
Designed perfectly for you the scale would tip to total disaster but the calling weighs a constant
Pressure keeping the scale level the world keeps adding material gain but love is the greatest asset it
Never finishes second it comes in all forms it has armor the sword already mentioned and wisdom that
Doesn’t bow to foolish surmising you are the object of desire that has no end or beginning just a
Constant it was with you at birth it never leaves sometimes it is forced to plead it finds no shame in this
You’re worth more than the world what is going to end such longing trust and care only when you visit
Only in dreams
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 6:25 PM UTC
The Calling
Numberless voices are everywhere but those that are calling there sound is rich and thick with telling
They travel farther distances they are as arrows shot from a heart agitated possessed and driven by
Anxiety they are not casual but come with bleeding in them they are relentless frantic they will not be
Denied their words are almost spelled out heavy deliberate they build on themselves they are timeless
Sadly the one being called will pass from earthy view then mercifully dreams will draw them to you in
Darkness from this encounter you draw comfort from these soft images a flutter of dove wings stir and
You still your voice from its calling punctuated with progression of tears so onward the calling searches
The waste places or the finest streets in cites of renown it cuts like a keen sharp sword indifference falls
In heaps before its powerful force the called doesn’t always hear the actual voice but there is an
Unknown troubling a quiet discontent that pervades the quiet hours the distance or time is never
Considered it’s the nature of trying to warn the mind that can’t know the danger who would life is at its
Best you won many struggles you stand at the top of the heap but in victory sometimes the most carless
Acts emerge they threaten all you have achieved the warning signs are missed the calling rises higher
It must reach even the heights that you feel are impregnable never knowing you are in quick sand traps
Designed perfectly for you the scale would tip to total disaster but the calling weighs a constant
Pressure keeping the scale level the world keeps adding material gain but love is the greatest asset it
Never finishes second it comes in all forms it has armor the sword already mentioned and wisdom that
Doesn’t bow to foolish surmising you are the object of desire that has no end or beginning just a
Constant it was with you at birth it never leaves sometimes it is forced to plead it finds no shame in this
You’re worth more than the world what is going to end such longing trust and care only when you visit
Only in dreams
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 6:10 AM UTC
*Though storms may come let songs remain
Despite the cites firm embrace
Take photographs to pass the time
As I do wait and part the glass which separates
The scraping skies and flying wings
Both above and below the shallow sea
Let us walk beside the crashing waves
Just you and I, to smell the air and sense the breeze
That we might once again be free*
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 2:38 PM UTC