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"civilly" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
0
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Paradoxical Tendencies
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
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47
We being so hidden from those who Have quietly borne and fed us, How can we answer civilly Their innocent invitations? How can we say "we see you As but-for-God's-grace-ourselves, as Our caricatures (we yours), with Time's telescope between us"? How can we say "you presumed on The accident of kinship, Assumed our friendship coatlike, Not as a badge one fights for"? How say "and you remembered The sins of our outlived selves and Your own forgiveness, buried The hatchet to slow music; Shared money but not your secrets; Will leave as your final legacy A box double-locked by the spider Packed with your unsolved problems"? How say all this without capitals, Italics, anger or pathos, To those who have seen from the womb come Enemies? How not say it?
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2k
The Children Look At The Parents
I My five-five-fingers of my hands Zestfully lived In serenity. The three thrill fingers of my right hand: Thumb, index finger and middle finger Stoutly lived civilly and gleefully Amongst her BROTHERS: They rested gleefully upon the placid, SHARP-SABLE-POINTED-DART. II Sharp sable pointed-dart; Perched in the midst of the three thrill fingers And laid rest upon the hungry, ****** DUSKY-SHEET, which sprawled Bear flat on the glossy desk. The glossy desk accompanying the earth The earth accompanying its depth. III The other two fingers of my right hand: Ring finger and little finger Calmly leisure, plopped on the hungry, ****** dusky-sheet And lent ears to the Sharp-sable-pointed-dart, Sharp-sable-pointed-dart, Muttering vignettes of yesterday Muttering vignettes of today Muttering vegnettes of tomorrow. Upon the glossy desk My five fingers of my left hand too Laid rest, and eyeballed the sharp-sable-pointed-dart, Muttering deep thoughts. IV Look, All you who waded through lines: All you who unearth the heart Of this earth, hunting for treasures Pore over my ten fingers. My ten fingers, As pure as a full ****** moon. I have dunked deep my five fingers Of my right hand with my progenitors In a bowl of sweet dishes And nibbled singed YAMS amidst The thriving vegetables. V But my forefinger of my left hand Never been raised above To curse the heavens Never been raised up to pinpoint My progenitors' homeland Never had it tasted any depravity And never will it be licked Or bit by the savage butchers of Meat Who loved to fatten themselves on ****** And gratified their heart with Juicy cup of blood and gore.
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Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 4:34 AM UTC
MY FIVE-FIVE-FINGERS
I My five-five-fingers of my hands Zestfully lived In serenity. The three thrill fingers of my right hand: Thumb, index finger and middle finger Stoutly lived civilly and gleefully Amongst her BROTHERS: They rested gleefully upon the placid, SHARP-SABLE-POINTED-DART. II Sharp sable pointed-dart; Perched in the midst of the three thrill fingers And laid rest upon the hungry, ****** DUSKY-SHEET, which sprawled Bear flat on the glossy desk. The glossy desk accompanying the earth The earth accompanying its depth. III The other two fingers of my right hand: Ring finger and little finger Calmly leisure, plopped on the hungry, ****** dusky-sheet And lent ears to the Sharp-sable-pointed-dart, Sharp-sable-pointed-dart, Muttering vignettes of yesterday Muttering vignettes of today Muttering vegnettes of tomorrow. Upon the glossy desk My five fingers of my left hand too Laid rest, and eyeballed the sharp-sable-pointed-dart, Muttering deep thoughts. IV Look, All you who waded through lines: All you who unearth the heart Of this earth, hunting for treasures Pore over my ten fingers. My ten fingers, As pure as a full ****** moon. I have dunked deep my five fingers Of my right hand with my progenitors In a bowl of sweet dishes And nibbled singed YAMS amidst The thriving vegetables. V But my forefinger of my left hand Never been raised above To curse the heavens Never been raised up to pinpoint My progenitors' homeland Never had it tasted any depravity And never will it be licked Or bit by the savage butchers of Meat Who loved to fatten themselves on ****** And gratified their heart with Juicy cup of blood and gore.
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56
Did your English toughness lead you to reject the ancient discontents of history, to rather seek modern realms of ethical choice, Wystan? There were no streets named after you, nor monuments sculpted in the parks, nothing that would say more than your words. Words read and pondered in ritual to better grasp the gruel and poverty of my own. You talk in my sleep, Professor, staring back at all that I am not, teaching that art is born of humiliation. Did the shaving mirror stare as cruelly? The task is in the present moment, Auden's poetry civilly requests a comment.
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Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 11:10 PM UTC
The Task of the Present Moment
The desert is a place of contemplation weaving baskets.. to be sold in the market and talking civilly to flies and scorpions
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Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
Weaving Baskets
I feel you in the nuts and bolts of me And if you want to be mechanical about it You leave the very hinges of my soul undone Come in No one ever said a sweet word to me Without a knife to my spine soon to follow No one has woke the ghost of my mother I asked her, “Mother, can you see that light across Peck’s Beach, to the North?” No one owns light And it cannot be contained by any set of four walls or three You see, if I wanted another piece of property In the form of a pretty face I’d have traded my mind again For the spoils of another less-than-honorable war And her name would be… What use be a name for that type of woman? At this point in my life, what name could evoke anything? Other than yours, the one that I want to sing I scaled a bridge the other day What a lofty bridge it was, Like something you might have dreamed up Atop I saw a sun so bright, So piercing I could not look away To say it reminded me of you would be no truer Than all those pretty faces, You my dear are less harsh than that blistering orb But to be sure, I wanted you next to me all the while that I burned in the sun.
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Jan 2, 2010
Jan 2, 2010 at 8:13 PM UTC
Civilly Mechanical
When I dream of equality...what's that got to be? Should my business only hire people that look like me? I should buy a white slave and set them free-In some centuries Then never trust their kind simply standing next to me Even though my kind brought them from their land! I wont lift my feet when they need a hand! I mean who do they think I am? The descendant of the people who owned them? Or that I'm living on stuff they built? How dare they try and throw this guilt? I'll never trust them publicly or expect them to be close to me How tragic they cannot behave civilly- Just like me They say my money is stained in blood And I cringe when I hear them sling this mud I mean I don't get anything for free! Always screaming take some responsibility Is it my fault all the owners look just like me? We all believe in equality so go build your own   economy!
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Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Black America
It the competition bro, It’s the competition bro. Its them against us, it us against them. Reactions rooted in our brain stem, **** them means win. We compete against our own human skin, our own akin, Luke Anakin, I’m your father. Competition have you Kane and Able, killing your own brother. Competition is division, submission, inferiority, hierarchy, inequality, habituated, into a sophisticated jungle of pleasure and identity.   Can’t realize equality within a system grounded in competitive mentalities, the Olympics, our games, who you rooting for? Lebron James, it’s all the same. You can stand against hate, you can hate injustice, throw you money and morals, type a tweet and rest on your laurels, but till competition dies,  it matters not what's spoken oral. It’s all a power struggle, its us against them, and somehow the ideal is everybody wins? The hierarchy continues and you are a part of what's condemned. Lets not continue to pretend that its all racial, competition accommodates all ends.     This dynamic wont change, don’t hold your breathe, number one death is cardiac arrest. Fatality by food, that’s fear and survival, too much is never enough….don’t be fooled or get political correct tough, competition is cannibal, makes us remain animals, breeds one to see threat, to defeat and make victory one’s meat, to compete and civilly eat another person's heart beat.
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Jan 10, 2021
Jan 10, 2021 at 1:53 PM UTC
The Root of Inequality
Ruminating epoché, ‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay. Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay Initiatives imperative consolidation, Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray. Practicing semantic contemplation, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, Forecast in vague extrapolation, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging Aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
0
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 1:24 AM UTC
Linguistic Illusions to Probable Solutions
There is a human race for existence in outer space amongst stars and schemes, intergalactic dreams of Milky Ways. A cosmic myriad of eventual opportunity. The future is written there by astrological stars in horoscopes and scary self inflicted prophesies of extinction. Climates will change and Mother Earth will be estranged from humanity if that is what you call it. Her wrath will be felt in polar ice cap melts and selfishly we'll drown in the name of progress, technological advancements, and our deluge of need. Or comets will dive in flaming skies, meteors will give rise to mass panic and the deathly cries of life's demise as we know it anyway. There is a human race which the wealthy embrace, and money is no object. Rocketing ambition to be the saviours of their own obliteration billions is showered in pollution and metal birds jet packing to Mars. There is a human race and idiocy is life when a bank balance means more than equality and care, the poor can just wallow in despair and die of starvation and squalid degradation. While the fortunate can awe at an international space station, and visions of new beginnings in an alien atmosphere. A destiny in stars, humanity on Mars and the meek will be shipped off like convicts to build the golden paths and the construction of a new society, guinea pigs of life in a brave new world Insanity unfurled in slavery of a new civilisation. If that's what you call it civilised. With no regard for life, Man kind civilly traded in destruction of the other eight point seven million species they shared their home with. Their is a human race rich in stupidity their greed, and money was the seed for war and the annihilation of morality and sensibility and sensitivity to the beauty in the gift of life and the world. There is a human race and it's intellect is misplaced, as self appointed custodians of galaxies and distant clusters. We are all the losers. ©Jacqui Slade
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Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 6:30 AM UTC
Human Race
There is a human race for existence in outer space amongst stars and schemes, intergalactic dreams of Milky Ways. A cosmic myriad of eventual opportunity. The future is written there by astrological stars in horoscopes and scary self inflicted prophesies of extinction. Climates will change and Mother Earth will be estranged from humanity if that is what you call it. Her wrath will be felt in polar ice cap melts and selfishly we'll drown in the name of progress, technological advancements, and our deluge of need. Or comets will dive in flaming skies, meteors will give rise to mass panic and the deathly cries of life's demise as we know it anyway. There is a human race which the wealthy embrace, and money is no object. Rocketing ambition to be the saviours of their own obliteration billions is showered in pollution and metal birds jet packing to Mars. There is a human race and idiocy is life when a bank balance means more than equality and care, the poor can just wallow in despair and die of starvation and squalid degradation. While the fortunate can awe at an international space station, and visions of new beginnings in an alien atmosphere. A destiny in stars, humanity on Mars and the meek will be shipped off like convicts to build the golden paths and the construction of a new society, guinea pigs of life in a brave new world Insanity unfurled in slavery of a new civilisation. If that's what you call it civilised. With no regard for life, Man kind civilly traded in destruction of the other eight point seven million species they shared their home with. Their is a human race rich in stupidity their greed, and money was the seed for war and the annihilation of morality and sensibility and sensitivity to the beauty in the gift of life and the world. There is a human race and it's intellect is misplaced, as self appointed custodians of galaxies and distant clusters. We are all the losers. ©Jacqui Slade
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87
Your words cut like a knife, Your actions make me scared. The feelings you give me full of strife, It seems like you forget what we shared. I’m afraid of losing you, But you leave me no choice. If you cant be nice to me, If we cant talk civilly, I can’t be with you. I love you more than anything, But out timing is all wrong. Our days may be numbered baby.
0
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 6:55 PM UTC
“Afraid”
Ruminating epoché, ‘I am…’ ‘Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay. Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay Initiatives imperative consolidation, Civilly disobedient in expedient disarray. Practicing semantic contemplation, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, Forecast in vague extrapolation, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating the linguistics of silent enclaves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. Probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, The Apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
0
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
Advanced Aporia
When respect is gone When the rules are no more When martyrs have to win No lives matter When titles and ranks of authority Are constantly attacked, and can be scrutinized for doing a service No lives matter When no one is there to listen, to help, to protect you Then your life matters Your life cannot matter Without others lives Lives keep balance Just because there's disagreement Doesn't justify irrational behavior This only proves No lives matter Once we learn to respect all Once we learn no one including ourselves are perfect Once we accept violence is not an answer Once we accept accountability for ourselves Once we stop pointing guns and fingers at one another Will we start to civilly start thinking Of our actions and the price we pay for them Then maybe then will All lives matter.
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Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 9:10 AM UTC
No lives matter
You came to me 12 years ago as I was laying in a gutter. You stuck out your hand and said your name was Joe. Your hand was neither cold nor clammy, like they say. It welcomed me, without a second glance. You've been with me throughout the years, in many forms. You come to me in my dreams, and conquer my nightmares. You came to me outside a bar, and took my finger off the trigger. You came to me in Louisiana and whispered that "Everything Will Be Okay". Then you told me to "run". And run I did. I haven't been back since, yet you remain beside me. You are the calm in my rage. You are the glint in my blank stare. You temper my anger and chart a course for my wrath. You came to me in my sleep once, and told me its okay to cut a man's finger off, as long as its not his trigger finger. You do not take away another mans right for vengeance. This is a form of respect, for as long as he has his rights, and I have mine, then we can both talk civilly. Thieves however, are never afforded respect. I've asked you for what I wanted, but you only give me what I need. We both understand that if I want anything more, I have to take it. And when I make a plan, and that smile creases my face, I know that's your smile. I can feel you looking out from behind my eyes when the ******* hits. I can taste you in my kisses when I bite. we are one and the same being, but you know so much more than I ever can. I learned patience when you locked me up. I learned temperance when you released me. You taught how to to hit someone with a claw hammer. And you taught me how to stop. You taught me that you don't need safe words when you understand each other. You are always with me. Your cloak kept me warm when I lived on the street. Your hands give me strength, when they guide my own. And yet, I can offer you nothing. I can't offer you my life, because it's yours any day you want it. I can't offer you my soul, because its been yours for over a decade. I can't offer you fear, because I find comfort in knowing you will be there at the end. I can only offer you loyalty. And return it to my family in kind.
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Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 3:46 PM UTC
An ode to Santa de Muerte
You came to me 12 years ago as I was laying in a gutter. You stuck out your hand and said your name was Joe. Your hand was neither cold nor clammy, like they say. It welcomed me, without a second glance. You've been with me throughout the years, in many forms. You come to me in my dreams, and conquer my nightmares. You came to me outside a bar, and took my finger off the trigger. You came to me in Louisiana and whispered that "Everything Will Be Okay". Then you told me to "run". And run I did. I haven't been back since, yet you remain beside me. You are the calm in my rage. You are the glint in my blank stare. You temper my anger and chart a course for my wrath. You came to me in my sleep once, and told me its okay to cut a man's finger off, as long as its not his trigger finger. You do not take away another mans right for vengeance. This is a form of respect, for as long as he has his rights, and I have mine, then we can both talk civilly. Thieves however, are never afforded respect. I've asked you for what I wanted, but you only give me what I need. We both understand that if I want anything more, I have to take it. And when I make a plan, and that smile creases my face, I know that's your smile. I can feel you looking out from behind my eyes when the ******* hits. I can taste you in my kisses when I bite. we are one and the same being, but you know so much more than I ever can. I learned patience when you locked me up. I learned temperance when you released me. You taught how to to hit someone with a claw hammer. And you taught me how to stop. You taught me that you don't need safe words when you understand each other. You are always with me. Your cloak kept me warm when I lived on the street. Your hands give me strength, when they guide my own. And yet, I can offer you nothing. I can't offer you my life, because it's yours any day you want it. I can't offer you my soul, because its been yours for over a decade. I can't offer you fear, because I find comfort in knowing you will be there at the end. I can only offer you loyalty. And return it to my family in kind.
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38
Muscles fatigued, grave diggers duties endure with war Continuous seems never ending, a keeping of the score Nation challenged and ripped in two Who's child next for the red, white, and blue? Memorial Day, forever remembered, forever we pray For day no future soldier lie under, funeral bouquet Can't we more civilly celebrate our diversity? Instead, bury our grudges, our hatred, our absurdity? Finding peace amongst brothers, is man simply ****** Please love one another, and shake each other's hand For "In God We Trust," is not such a bad slogan Yet, for "In Goodness We Trust," may also be chosen They say over and over that, "History Repeats" Seems this type of credo is humanity's ultimate defeat So, why not take on a tenet of love? Is not all this hatred, something we can rise above? Reflex memory, what we do time again and again Can be changed, if from hatred, we learn to abstain So give it a try, learn to love your brother And by chance, we may spare the tears of a mother
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May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
Reflex Memory
I was a boy. As a  boy/girl   I don't need to fit Your descriptions. I don't need to be Published. I don't need a date to take With me To the dance. I won't need to worry; Won't need to look At you, Won't need to be married Civilly, Or inside a church Don't have to be elected.  I can just dream For my entire life
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Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 9:09 AM UTC
I was a Boy
It has been said truth should be shouted from the tops of the mountains Truth defined a fact or belief accepted as true What kind of definition is that using truth to define truth to me it is saying truth is as we see it So whose truth should that be my truth your truth what truth should be shouted from the mountains Truth that brings about battles between neighbors destroying civility Truth that sends countries to war leaving death and dismemberment in its wake Cannot our truth be told civilly respectfully without words that become infused with intolerance of others and their beliefs It's been a long time the words are still the same Can't we all just get along! Or at least try
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Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
Whose Truth