"clique" poems
Thank you ~
for a life not to trade
blessings, in spades
tight spaces
behind laundry doors
packed closets
and open drawers
gator tails, tarnished brass
cracks in kitchen sliding glass
wet towels, withering plants
foundation filled
with carpenter ants
buckets piled with
shoes and tags
village clothes
and saddlebags
peeling paint
and broken walls
****** seats
in bathroom stalls
clogged pantry
frigid rooms
table scribe
and carbon fumes
comfort capsules
empty tanks
broken limbs
from children’s pranks
**** finger
double tongue
long goodbyes
and sidewalk dung
cluster flies
chavie’ clique
accompanying
the hypocrite
cracked back
and hidden smiles
chalk on board
with mr miles
atomic wedgies
closing doors
wrotten eggs
and open sores
jaw jack
nasty folk
dinner calls
for pig in poke
penny pinchers
double dip
yellow mouth
and silver tip
brown nosers
thick red tape
paper cuts
and pimple nape
gallivants
so out of norm
the joy of life…
in basic form
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC
That workaholic lady who's always on call,
keeping up with the market fall.
That newly married lady with chunky red bangles,
returning to her father's big castles.
That person who's scared to get lapse,
so stays active on the google maps.
That person who swings like a kid at the back door,
Or the one who perform calisthenics on an empty floor.
That next door girl with a red lipstick,
flicking her shinny hair & gossiping with her clique,
That dreamer gazing outside the window,
That overworked soul dozing on his elbow.
That 21st century kid,
listening to Eminem & playing video games.
Or That 90’s kid,
listening to Jenga Boys & playing outdoor games.
That banker with a big fat stomach,
filled with his beautiful wife’s love.
That lady who eats like a thief,
in her big fat bag hiding a beef.
That old man who can’t stand Bombay's winding turns.
That granny spotting & criticing every fashion trends.
That man who has Raju Rastogi’s concerns,
thinking & chanting for earns & returns.
Those kids who believe their job is to fill the voids in a battlefield,
in the still crowd surpassing like electrons into a magnetic field.
That lady sitting under cold seat like a glacial,
than standing with 7kgs in a crowded central,
& tryna stay sane listening to George Michael.
That geek who switchs from Linkedin to Arjun Reddy,
when the masses flee into the scenery.
That trader crunching numbers so rapidly,
when the stock prices go down hourly.
That person on the last seat,
diagressing from work & gazing around,
soaking in her pashmina, with a career newfound.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:35 AM UTC
From Alan Lomax to the commercial art and now the money machine.
At the turn of the century; when sound recording 1st became available to the masses, recording a song was an opportunity for folk to reach out; and tell the world something up front and personal.
It meant that people were able to put themselves on “The record” A way of leaving a permanent audio statement, an epitaph, an audio sound bite immortalising ~ life, mood, emotion captured and bottled for all eternity.
(A medium that conveyed messages from artists and storytellers of all kinds)
A recording was also a great addition to "The family album" something more tangible, a window to a real person, with a real life, a message and a point of view; a legacy, a blast from the past.
Few people expected sound prints to be re-designed, homogenised, formulated, copied, repackaged and that art and the message would be played over and over again by new artists in the form of "cover music" or that the style of the messages would become secularized, seperated into distinctive groups, or constrained by an elite clique or commercial genre.
Labelling and streamlining art & music mostly benefits the commercial art & music industry; and no longer the artists and creators.
I've no problem with good business, or the multi-billion pound industrys that have gained commercial success.
However the process of mass homogenisation, product synthesis, marketing, streamlining and then packaging fashion, sound and synthetic culture to sell a product, leaves very little room for creative people to just be creative.
A medium originally open to many for self expression, a historical record, an archive, a voice, a personal message;
Is now just a vehicle for advertising and perpetuating a genre of nonsense, so much so that there is now more white noise immortalised than messages.
To re-cap ~ I Think that creativity and expressionism; like story telling conveys moods and messages from the present and past!
Artists and musicians should have the opportunity to create and produce more information than they copy; thus creating a richer more colourful tapestry, whilst not devaluing the message of their predecessors!
Purcy Flaherty.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 10:38 AM UTC
Oh you a gangsta now?
Let me guess cause you got those "hard" tattoos
Jordans as shoes
And blow more green in your in between time
Oh you a gangsta now?
Cause you fight a little bit
Stay on that corner and quick to pollute your nation
With the wicked ways of degredation
Oh you a gangster now?
Cause you roll with a clique
To weak to stand on your own
But there validation gives you the courage
To steal without hesitation
Peddle drugs with no reservation
Take life as quick as a minute passes...
Well I hope those tats come with teflon
Cause while you out here playing the don
There's plenty associates that'll aim at your head
For your place just to save face with a few so called good men
I hope that corner has insurance or at least comes with benefits
Cause as past gangstas before you predicts there are only two outcomes present
Lifetime in a 6x8
Or 6 feet under while your soul patiently waits the outcome of where it will spend eternity
I guess this is what our forefathers gave their lives for
For this ignorance of the so called gangasta
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 9:08 AM UTC
freshman year
Happy, scared, young, full, and ready for whatever it is thats about to hit you.
You loose your bestfriend, and your virginity.
You gain a new clique, and a body count.
sophomore year
your freshman expertise kick in and you think youve got the feel for the highschool life.
You fail chemistry, and go to your first party.
*you are now a ****
You think youre cooler than your ex
bestfriend because you have ten bucks saying that shes never had a boy see her underwear or that shes never been as drunk at you.
junior year
You spent your summer in therapy, in
and out of mental hospitals because your eating disorder became deadly, and all of the friends you partied with cut you off because your newest bestfriend convinced you to sleep with one of their exs.
You come back to school as dead as
you have ever been and you spend every lunch period in the art room painting your sorrows away and you spend every night at home doing the same only this time your wrist becomes the canvas.
seinor year
Your down to one medication a day now and you have commited social suicide all summer by staying in to gaurd yourself from turning to drugs and alcohol again to hide the pain. Graduation is arround the corner and you realize you could finally be happy once this is all over.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
I can be you, or I can be them
I can be she, or I can be him
but why be a con artist of someone else
like a shadow to my best friend, when I
can be my own person, a unique creation
created in the image of God but representin my own reflection
because I don't wanna see you, them, she, or him in the mirror
I wanna see me through my own eyes, 20/20 vision, but clearer
but the more I conform, the image of someone else draws nearer
and I begin to lose sight of myself, look back in the mirror, and see myself in the rear
a shadow to another figure, a copy of a personality
livin' out another person's dreamed out reality
copying what they think, and succumbing to conformity
but that ain't me....
what you see visually and how I appear physically
is what makes me comfortable, that's why I'm an independent, politically
I don't follow the norms and rules of what's most accepted socially
the only commandments I live by are the ones given Biblically
I ain't the best saint though, I mean I do sin every day
but the only one I wanna copy is Jesus Christ, in every possible way
on the other hand, Satan is out there,
trynna tempt me on how to act and even what words I say
he's out offering me drinks, but I reply, "I'm okay"
cause I don't care if "everyone else is doin' it"
I just live how I like to live, that's what makes me a true non-conformist
I dress how I wish and not because it's in style
I keep my hair big, I do whatever makes me smile
I'm not trynna impress you or fit into your clique
I don't give women pick-up lines and act like I'm slick
I'm me, just me, no facades, just real
and if you can't accept that, then move forward but don't steal
the things that make me special, from my poems to my appeal
so don't try to change me and keep my uniqueness concealed
I could care less about your thoughts and any of your judgements
I refuse to give your words power, I can make your points become pointless
I'm not trynna be harsh, I just love to be different
I wanna be an original and keep my vibe realistic
not a second you, but a first me, no counterfeit
I try to keep up with what God said in Matt 26
verse 41, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak
so pray not to give into temptation and stay on your feet
I encourage us to keep our standards and what makes us unique
and accept anyone else who doesn't wanna repeat
everything you say, and everything you do
sometimes it's the people that are different that come off the most true
because they're not sayin or actin' in ways that you approve
they're given you their honest opinion, you should keep them closest to you
don't conform, forget what people want you to be
just be yourself, not a copy of reality TV.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
Image is everything, spin and white lies are addictive, destined to become ugly truths in a malevolent world, it's all about increasing your number, and binding to the best people available; you'll enter their clique in order to further enhance your image and validate your own false reality; once your host is unable to enhance your façade, they will be discarded; and you will move on to the best people available to you; in order to further enhance your image and validate your false reality.
This cycle is destined to go on and on and on throughout your entire life-cycle.
Friends and family will become worthless in time, becoming just one of social climbings many downfalls.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
Exotic & dangerous
Life is shorter than what we know or think
so i must enjoy my life freely
do the extreme things before i die
Had to do things that i want
and dreams that i want to fulfill
even from my last breathe
Because i want to
Because im curious of every single thing
Even from the way you breathe or ****
Then i want to spread this
and lend me a hand
Then come with me!
And make this world worth living!
then we can jump to tallest building like hell
This things that i wanted really so bad
To fly somewhere
were everyone can't recognize me
To play in the rain
and be a kid once again
To travel around the world
were i can find myself
and perhaps discover something knew
that i haven't been before
Go picnic and eat some snacks with friends
were i could laugh on top of my lungs
Go partyin' late at night
were i can control and make some noise
like a dj bass
Go to a concert
to a great rock band
Go shopping to the mall
and be a fashion clique
Produce a music
were birds could come and go with you
Represent to your country
and be a world champion human beatbox
Write stories
and be an author
of my own journey
Cause YOLO
you only live once
in your life
and there
*g
o
e
s*
A D V E N T
U
R
E
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
People sometimes ask me why I study so hard.
The question always stumped me.
Why do I study so hard?
Why do I stay up till the wee hours of the morning to study?
Then, I realised.
I don't have looks.
I don't have a good body.
I don't even have a good personality!
All I had was my brain, and my words.
Knowing this pushes me to study harder so that I won't be left behind.
Maybe I just want to belong.
I mean, each clique has it's distinctive trait which unites a group of people.
The good-looking (and typically popular people) group together.
The outgoing ones group together.
The athletically inclined ones group together(and they run in every single marathon that they can.)
I don't fit in any of those.
I can only hope that by studying hard, I will not only get good grades and a sense of accomplishment and pride but,
that I'll belong.
And that's all that I've ever wanted.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:02 AM UTC
resuming vogon poetry
altering website logos
pretending everyone cares
playing "east hastings"
asphyxiating well-nigh denouement
depicting twitter status
obfuscating coincident deletions
translating from Sḵwx̱wú7mesh
assuring Sḵwx̱wú7mesh exists
painting skwiḵw's mother?
decrying micropolitical maelstrom
imbibing fireball fountain
inundating lexical foofaraw
crafting poetic wonders
desiring other mediums
remaining practically invisible
ending internet-only depression
drafting noetic blunders
requesting astute clique
blazing perilous trail
aging ominous grisaille
depicting kmart realism
seeking darker groups
increasing pre-weekend laughter
appropriating communist symbols
making lone chuckle
offending worldwide communists
colonizing hello poetry
colonizing parallel universe
relaxing e-migration policies
пить чистую водку
photographing abduction scene
¿losing consistent format?
increasing bluebird insignia
avoiding frivolous legalities
striking astraphobic comments
assuming near-universal automation
lowering latent inhibition
traversing oneiric plane
laxwadding afebrile loodies
wallscaping pitchsourced chthonicities
closing one-star conveniences
sharing alien-looking alphabet
writing system downtimes
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
Growing up
In a small town
Where everyone knows
Who you are and where you come from
Your childhood friend
Becomes your worst enemy
As you reach-
The middle school years
As you enter high school
You become defined by your "clique"
Not as the individual
You have spent so long
Building yourself up- to be
But once you get out
Into the real world
It only matters
What you think of yourself.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
Reese’s Pieces are for people who
Are used to picking up the pieces
Of broken hearts
But they still want to make it
A good experience
Smiles that look like peanut butter
And kisses that taste like chocolate
Butterfingers are for the kids who
Are used to being picked last for
Everything except to cheat off of
In math class
They’ve grown accustomed to
Not being thought of
Popular kids like the M&Ms;
Because in the end
What else do they have except
For the stories of muses
And the parties they attended
One-by-one they picked apart
Everyone who didn’t act just like them
Pop Rocks are terrible and
So are Peppermint Patties
Crunch bars and 100 Grand’s
Made the jocks think they would actually
Go somewhere and do something
With their lives
Hope comes in strange forms
Monkeys don’t know the difference
Kit-Kats are for the hipsters
Talking a little too loud about mustaches
Listening to music that nobody knew
Grouping around vegan lunch tables
They would break off one by one
When another clique accepted them
Anything made by ***** Wonka
Was a favorite of the kids who
Knew who they were and
Weren’t ashamed
After all, what does candy say
About any of us
Clothes and shoes
Were only disguises
To hide us from the world we
Desperately wanted to fit into
If you had a Five Star notebook
Started mattering a lifetime too soon
When I step into the convenience store
I picture the kids that I know
Because of the candy they ate
I regret having such a sweet tooth
To pick apart kids’ lives
With nothing to satisfy the bitter
After-taste of social humiliation
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Blow, blow your trumpets till they crack,
Ye little men of little souls!
And bid them huddle at your back -
Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals!
Fill all the air with hungry wails -
"Reward us, ere we think or write!
Without your Gold mere Knowledge fails
To sate the swinish appetite!"
And, where great Plato paced serene,
Or Newton paused with wistful eye,
Rush to the chace with hoofs unclean
And Babel-clamour of the sty
Be yours the pay: be theirs the praise:
We will not rob them of their due,
Nor vex the ghosts of other days
By naming them along with you.
They sought and found undying fame:
They toiled not for reward nor thanks:
Their cheeks are hot with honest shame
For you, the modern mountebanks!
Who preach of Justice - plead with tears
That Love and Mercy should abound -
While marking with complacent ears
The moaning of some tortured hound:
Who prate of Wisdom - nay, forbear,
Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath,
Trampling, with heel that will not spare,
The vermin that beset her path!
Go, throng each other's drawing-rooms,
Ye idols of a petty clique:
Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes,
And make your penny-trumpets squeak.
Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds
Of learning from a nobler time,
And oil each other's little heads
With mutual Flattery's golden slime:
And when the topmost height ye gain,
And stand in Glory's ether clear,
And grasp the prize of all your pain -
So many hundred pounds a year -
Then let Fame's banner be unfurled!
Sing Paeans for a victory won!
Ye tapers, that would light the world,
And cast a shadow on the Sun -
Who still shall pour His rays sublime,
One crystal flood, from East to West,
When YE have burned your little time
And feebly flickered into rest!
3k
Celebrities make poor politicians.
Poor politicians become celebrities.
Click. Clique.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 10:25 AM UTC
I shot up in 70's/ 80's England
For sale, there really was only one dream
It was sold to us through Thatcher
Star wars, Magnum P.I. and The A.team.
Now that dream is old and dusty
And the world looks for something new
Will it come from India, China, Brazil
Or will it come from the shaky E.U.
Or will, as I hope, there be choice
For my daughter and her 4 year old clique
Will she choose the American dream
Or will she dismiss it as a kitsch antique.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 6:28 AM UTC
Laughter and degradation
Put-downs and humiliation
So you don't like me
Why must you hurt me?
You see the way I dress
You think I'm such a mess
You fear me so much
That you keep me out of touch
And you put me in my place
And you sit back and laugh in my face
You go through such tribulation
To protect your stupid reputation
Refusing to accept the unaccepted
Refusing to acknowledge the dejected
Such a slave to conformity
Such a slave to uniformity
Follow a few; step on many
Go out with the crowd in hopes that any
Weirdos who show up happen to be weak
So you can pound and beat that freak
You might not even hurt him much
But you will still tell such
Unbelievable lies; such incredible myths
So that you and your clique can resound with
Laughter and degradation
Put-downs and humiliation
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
Each time i hear you are not well,
my eyes can't blink even while on bed.
Hearing you're sick, i don't need to think,
everyone know clique rhymes with quick.
The ill have made you shrink,
get up, and do these for my sake.
get well soon
You don't know how you look now,
your beauty had been tampered,
the look on your face doesn't fit,
like working in place with no rate.
rise up and bounce to your feet,
all you need is little faith.
get well soon.
i know you'll be missed in your office very well,
imagine the work undone while you're not there,
stand up and wipe your face clear,
sound health i wish you dear.
No other ladies can compare,
'cause your kind is so rare.
Please get well soon.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC
Ever have that I want to be alone, but I’m lonely feeling?
You know like, on a Friday night everyone is out in good company
While you’re home on the couch because that’s where you want to be
And as you stare at your no missed calls or messages on your cell phone
A flash of loneliness comes rushing throughout your body
But then again
You’re home on the couch because that’s where you wanted to be
Right?
Ambivert by nature, surround me with people so that I can run around the whole room
Conversing with every clique and crew
Then when I’m drained take them away
This is the way I’ve always been
I don’t know why, It’s something I cant really explain
I cling onto my personal space, stay away from it I don’t want you in my way
But come back and be with me I need affection and some attention
I don’t really have any friends
An emotional roller coaster that’s never ending!
You cant be outgoing and be a loner at the same time
Choose A side and stop leaving people in confusion
Its like you’re bipolar, I cant take it and so I’m leaving.
I’m older, and now it’s affecting my love life relations
Brokenhearted
When will I ever become synced with my feelings?
A complicated mass mess walking amongst the crowds with her head down
One day I’ll conquer this mental confliction
Until then to stay hidden…
I keep talking
And to be heard
I remain in the dark corners, silent
[?????????????]
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
My least favorite feeling,
I now feel all the time;
it has me, nightly, kneeling,
God, I need a place that's mine.
Everywhere I go these days,
I feel out of place; I don't belong.
I've tried living multiple ways,
but everything feels so wrong.
I've tried on different hats,
tried being a different person,
but on all these different tracks,
this feeling only worsens.
No one I know puts me at ease;
no one out there understands;
no one out there disagrees
that I must make my own plans.
If I feel so **** out of place,
then it seems to me I must seek out
my own comfortable space
and find exactly what I'm about.
I keep hoping that I'll fit in,
but that's impossible for me;
I'm unique in my own skin
so a unique place, I'll need to be.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
Accepted clarity
Muddied only
By half-truths
Perceived as real
A contrived conscience
With volume control
Lowered by convenience
And narcissistic survival
The retail outlet
Of self-patted shoulders
Selling in real time
One's own significance
Safety in numbers
A comfort of thought
The inclusive community
Of light
Through fractured prisms
Individuality
Sought in the scope
Of a petri dish
Hopefully,
There be an artisan
Peering through the lens
An expert in restoration
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 7:21 AM UTC
the drama in a ****** of crows
the clueless jive of the chickadee
the serious expression of the phoebe
hide and seek flickers
overly dramatic plovers
sleek kestrels, scanning the meadow
gulls always headed somewhere
the mystery of owls
robins, Art Carney-like
nuthatches that waddle through the air
an advertisement of goldfinches
vile, surly winged jays
waxwings, safe within their clique
ospreys, fat on minnows
snapshot herons always posing
patient vultures, ever on call
the perfect beasts to rule this world
they reveal personalities
to this lifetime observer
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
Im Laughing.
Seriously.
See you down there.
Staring right at me.
Asking for the answers.
When you dont know the questions yourself.
Your so pathetic.
Its not my fault you went and became a snitch.
I would say something else.
But I dont need stitches, or my mommy's kisses.
You can go tell your clique.
To spread rumors about me.
But thats not my problem.
Ill say you got stitches because of me.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
I always hated them--
how they left me behind the curtains,
worthless, unseen, forgotten
So when you told me
I was part of one,
shame flooded the courners of my soul
And yet, so did joy;
spreading like a warm fire.
Finally, a place where I belonged.
Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 9:09 PM UTC