"collaborate" poems
there are so many of you
that i would love to sit down with;
maybe over a milkshake and a plate of fries;
and just talk.
i want to ask you about the boy that hurt you,
about the anger you feel deep inside
over a father who said he’d come back...
and then didn’t.
i want to run with you through pages of words and say
“oh that’s right, what a lovely metaphor.”
i want to see all your smiling faces and
thank each and every one of you for showing me kindness,
for saving my life.
i want to collaborate on novels of poetry
and laugh with you through the tears of our pasts.
so until we sip those milkshakes and eat those fries...
thank you, to
some of the most beautiful people i have never met.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 7:30 PM UTC
I cried at the breakfast table this morning
my father carefully explained,
"wives must be submissive to their husbands"
"housecleaning is the domain of the woman"
"God created woman because man asked for a partner"
This past semester I wrote two papers
One, a fire and brimstone sermon
I quoted Anais Nin
sending the creators of sexist commercials to eternal suffering
**** them!" I said. "May they burn in hell."
For the women they portrayed were doormats
Misconceptions
Monsters
The other, the role of women in the 1920s,
No longer confined to the kitchen
they dropped ballots with their new freedom
they wore short dresses and short tresses
fingers wrapped around cigs
they quoted Wilde instead of Alcott
they danced until their feet hurt
I read of Anais Nin's "new woman,"
her partnership, not submission to man,
I craved a room of my own, neigh demanded it
For sheep stayed in the kitchen,
The Woolf had a study.
I read poetry
Sexton,
Plath,
I wept for their starved, depressed selves
caged, suffocating inside the clasped hands of a man.
Loved like rib-cage jails.
Adrienne Rich made me angry,
her daughter-in-law
forever trying to fit into a box
she was always too big for, spilling
at the edges, her shaved
legs like "white mammoth tusks"
I was finally
happy with my womanhood.
****** ****** ***** ********
they are mine.
******* free to move unrestrained,
jiggling under my shirt.
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
they are mine.
mine.
I am not ashamed of what I am
because there is no shame.
I am woman,
I am girl,
I am lady.
I am a creature
with a voice
a mind.
a creature who endured much abuse,
continue to endure.
I am woman
and I don't have to be wife or mother
unless I want to be.
I was not created for man;
I was created for the same reason he was,
to serve the same great purpose on this tiny blue dot.
I am not rib.
I am ****** ****** ***** ********
******* free, unrestrained,
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
I am a per.
I am a wo.
I am a hu.
Man and son need to back down,
collaborate not dominate,
speak not command,
for when less are forced into silence,
the maddening scream
hidden inside skin and bones and muscle-meat
becomes song.
this world of car horns and tire screeches
crying and wailing from raw throats
angry protests of indignation
could use a little music.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
Uhh..Young Ston,..
The ****** Disciple. ..OFTR..Yeah this is Only For The Real dawg..Yeah only for (my real ones,Yeah2)..Yeah..(Ohh3)..Let's do it...Lets go..roll up..yeah roll mo..(Ohh*3)..Yeah let's go..
Uhh..(I just do what I do Yeah2)..I do what I do man..(I just do what I do nigga2)..keeping it gangster & trill man..(Yeah I do what I do man2)..Yeah..(I do what I do..Yeah2)..I just do what I do..Yeah..I do what I do nigga..I just do what I do..Oooo,..(Yeah2)..keeping it gangster & keeping it trill.. Ohh,..(I just do what I do Yeah2)..I just do what I do man,..Yeah I do what I do nigga,..(Yeah I do what I do man2)..I just do what I do nigga..keeping it gangster & keeping it trill..yeah, yeah..keeping it gangster & trill man..that's what I do Yeah,..(thats what I do man,..Yeah2)..keeping it gangster & trill man, Yeah...
I do what I do man, I just do what I do man, I just do what I do..(Yeah, keeping it gangsta & keeping it trill*2)..,thats what I do..Yeah I do what I do..Yeah..I just do what I do Yeah..
Yeah I'm staying gangsta , Yeah I'm staying trill nigga..Please excuse me, Yeah I might slip up & say ignorant **** sometimes homie,.. Lord please forgive me..Uhh, I'm changing up hip hop mane, Noo it will never be the same, Yeah its under my control now lames, Aye these ***** *** rappers under mind control, by Satan, they programed to deceive us, they so full of mischeif,yeah they rapping lies to ya just to be famous, so don't follow what seems cool, because they are the white mans trap.. Yeah it's just an illusion dude to fool you, just be yo self dawg, look up to Jesus..
Uhh..(I just do what I do Yeah2)..I do what I do man..(I just do what I do nigga2)..keeping it gangster & trill man..(Yeah I do what I do man2)..Yeah..(I do what I do..Yeah2)..I just do what I do..Yeah..I do what I do nigga..I just do what I do..Oooo,..(Yeah2)..keeping it gangster & keeping it trill.. Ohh,..(I just do what I do Yeah2)..I just do what I do man,..Yeah I do what I do nigga,..(Yeah I do what I do man2)..I just do what I do nigga..keeping it gangster & keeping it trill..yeah, yeah..keeping it gangster & trill man..that's what I do Yeah,..(thats what I do man,..Yeah2)..keeping it gangster & trill man, Yeah...
I do what I do man, I just do what I do man, I just do what I do..(Yeah, keeping it gangsta & keeping it trill*2)..,thats what I do..Yeah..I do what I do..Yeah..I just do what I do Yeah..
My dude, just do you, keep it gangster & keep it trill always dawg..Ooo,..I'm wit my family heading to the top of the food chain homie..Yeah we so hungry eating up anybody that try to interfere wit the gang game plan mane..OFTR..We all real gangsters, we move in silence, but still be making alot of noise, like Jeeper Creepers..Uhh
We don't die man, we just get bigger & stronger & multiply ***** we all one, we are own army & government..we fully armored..
Yeah OFTR, we keep it so trill, Yeah we keep it so gangster man..,Yeah we underrated but still is the best Yess.., I just want peace yeah man, but don't ever try to take advantage of me..Aye ***** ****** keep thinking **** sweet wit me then yo *** will get busted like a soft ***** in jail man & I mean what I say no facades about me, **** policts homie..Uhh
1..2..3 more versers that I got in me to spit, but Imma keep this song short,..Yeah..This is more than just about nothing, what up to Wale & The whole DMV my nig.. & Shoutout to Shy Glizzy yo man, we gotta collaborate one day, but if you don't wanna, then its cool homie, Yeah it is what it is,..Imma still keep it g wit ya..
Noo, I won't steal yo chain, Imma just keep moving along & just mind my business mane..Ayoo..
I got 1,2,3 pre rolls stuffed that I ain't even had to touch,yo woman came over & did it for me dawg.. Because Imma Thug,Yeah..& she prepared bowls for me too, because Im gangster..Uhh..
I just do what I do keeping it gangster & keep it trill, like a real ***** should..Lets go..Ohh Yeah..
Uhh..(I just do what I do Yeah2)..I do what I do man..(I just do what I do nigga2)..keeping it gangster & trill man..(Yeah I do what I do man2)..Yeah..(I do what I do..Yeah2)..I just do what I do..Yeah..I do what I do nigga..I just do what I do..Oooo,..(Yeah2)..keeping it gangster & keeping it trill.. Ohh,..(I just do what I do Yeah2)..I just do what I do man,..Yeah I do what I do nigga,..(Yeah I do what I do man2)..I just do what I do nigga..keeping it gangster & keeping it trill..yeah, yeah..keeping it gangster & trill man..that's what I do Yeah,..(thats what I do man,..Yeah2)..keeping it gangster & trill man, Yeah...
I do what I do man, I just do what I do man, I just do what I do..(Yeah, keeping it gangsta & keeping it trill*2)..thats what I do..Yeah..I do what I do..Yeah..I just do what I do Yeah..
(I do what I do, Yeah*3).., & nobody else can do what I does, Noo, never they ho's, they weak,they soft, even if I send them a verse they could never be Young Ston,..Noo, they can never be down in my gang, Noo they can't smoke or drink wit me, not even yo broad, because she's had you..yo she's infected wit a ***** ***** syndrome.. So noo I don't want the ** for real dawg, Yeah that's for sure..Uhh..
I'm (keeping it trill nigga2) & I'm (keeping it gangster2).. Yeah like I should,Yeah that's for show,..Yeah I'm (keeping it trill nigga2) & I'm (keeping it gangster2)..like that's all I know..that's real, & that's for sure...Oh..
I just do what I do, Yeah I do what I do..I just do what I do,..(I do what I do*2)..I just do what I do..
OFTR (Yeah nigga*3)..Yeah..Young Ston
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
I can’t help but wonder if we have crossed paths
Over and over again, tangling each hello
Catching a hint of mischief when we first bumped into each other
And how easy it was for us to slip into
Conversations, plotting to take on the world
But first things first, we have to catch the moon
And hold the stars ransom in our back pockets
I swear we were pirates singing sea shanties
And conquering cities, but now we settle
For late night dance parties, and one shot, two shot, three
And sure, we are invincible, and I can’t help but wonder
If we have crossed paths over and over again
Our stories layering, life long friends
Or maybe arch nemeses, and each time
Tagging out a new adventure
Where we are chasing after each other
I swear we were renegades, young rebels
Questioning authority and pushing boundaries
Now, we collaborate artistically
Broadcasting in a world of social media, one shout, two shout, three
And sure, we are strong, and I can’t help but wonder
If we have crossed paths over and over again
Our history repeating, kindred spirits
Or maybe pieces of the same soul, and each time
We meet, we find a part of ourselves
We had forgotten
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 1:29 AM UTC
Most of my life, I’ve been a highly independent person and proudly so. I have grown myself up, travelled alone, personal decisions. I am even praised for being so independent. I can’t say I did not enjoy the glory. I have rejected my support system fiercely and craved the glory of independence.
Growing up and be independent! That’s all that has been a goal. I had made personal independence as my virtue. Independence from parents, from education, and when you have your heartbroken, independence from being in love. I hated the word “compromise” and the only way to achieve. Doing something all by yourself takes no compromising. I don’t have to think about someone else’s feelings, I don’t have to worry about their needs, I don’t have to take care of anyone but me. Now, this sounds more and more like selfish than independence.
I realise the bigger struggle is to collaborate and come to a solution where everyone has their needs met, to give as well as take. Now that felt like growing up, the test of real courage. Are we glorifying independence because we don’t want to take care of other people? Because everywhere I went, someone was telling me I needed to find my freedom. Everywhere I looked, I searched in vain for that independence I once had, finally having to accept I would never be an unemotional, unattached person again.
Maybe we need not be independent. Self-made Is so overrated. Nobody is. We need not be. Even world war was won by the alliance. We need 2 for a clap or make a life. You need light and day to survive, you need bones and muscles. The world is not singular, the world is not independent. Even earth is going round and round the sun with a crazy crush that it can’t collide into and it can’t move away from. Earth is so on its own, so much in its own, but its existence is a collaborative one.
I know now that I can’t go at it alone or maybe even if I can I don’t want to do this alone. I want to live a life with friends and family supporting each other through the good, the rough, and everything in between. And I want a romantic partner to experience life with me. I want to have support emotionally, physically, and financially a coexistence.
My feminazi is in admitting that we need more feminine collaboration than the masculine ideal of success and independence. I want to find that freedom of shared submission and being part of something bigger than self-sufficiency.
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 6:17 AM UTC
Collect, collaborate
and share thoughts
from your experiences
knowing that at any
given moment you
have the power to say
that this is not how
the story is going
to end.
Life will expand
or shrink in
proportion to
your courage and
it is not the
mountain that
we conquer but
ourselves.
Realize life while
you live it and
every minute savor
what you have
whether it is
being rich or poor
or being alone
and just be glad
to be alive and
to be here now.
It is not what
you look at
that matters,
it is what you
see and patience
is a companion
of wisdom.
We first make
habits then our
habits make us
so seek first to
understand then
to be understood.
Jon York 2015
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
As culled from an arts magazine, 13 March 2019
Socialist Realism - The official doctrine in Soviet art and literature after 1932 that evolved from the traditional commitment to social and civic concerns into an all-pervasive general ideological mandate.
-Yevgeny Yevtushenko, 20th Century Russian Poetry
collective exhibition space vibe community
interactive narrative brown neighborhood
defined commodified Indigenous
identity tone-deaf decolonial
narratives populist intertwined
exhibition curatorial vision
culture local artists arts district small galleries
DIY spaces speaking out against
gentrification displacing shelter
studio space elsewhere late stage capitalism
collective mantra underdog art savior
corporate entity partnering insensitive
ignorant collective brown people art
contemporary work that may not fit
into establishment art galleries
media advisory venture collaborate
creative community authentic
local statement of expression excitement
creative energy arts district project
many levels collaborate local
creative important creative
community what that collaboration
looks like ongoing local artists going
to be engaged in planning commissioned
project community buy-in consulted members of the creative community Indigenous artists curators museum
directors professors burgeoning landscape
cultural framework critique talk individuals
entities inclusivity open
dialogue opportunities project
conversations collaboration discuss
your projects share our work with you
common ground work together healthy sustainable
accountable decolonization
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 5:41 PM UTC
It is simple, and yet sublime;
Incapturable.
You need not go in,
Take away the man, destabilising the economy
That you so love
Letting them die
You need not assassinate and collaborate,
Scheme and puncture
Spheres of influence that stretch and bubble
In Latin America and Southern Asia,
You need not sign secrets away
Safe and deep
In silos and bunkers
Where Armageddon sleeps.
You need not supply, buy and axchange
Implements of violence and rage,
Picking sides in civil war, tribal conlflict
And bigger,
In lands you do not understand
Lands where the mountains resonate with holiness,
Lands of spiritual awakening awaiting for the young;
Concepts you can’t grasp, that don’t sit well
You need leave them be.
Enough has been done,
Not always with bad intention
But rarely for the greater good
Enough has been said and bought and replaced
Captured, shot at, disgraced,
Caricatured into funny cartoons
Taken over, the masters’ role assumed.
For all the radars and sonar
It seems impossible to listen;
Simple, yet sublime.
Incapturable.
Irreplaceable.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
ALERTS TO FINANCIAL AND MILITARY THREATS IN 2012 EUROPE
By John Cleese (British writer, actor and tall person):
The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent events in Syria
and have therefore raised their security level from "Miffed" to
"Peeved." Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to
"Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross." The English have not
been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies nearly ran
out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from "Tiresome" to "A ******
Nuisance." The last time the British issued a ****** Nuisance" warning
level was in 1588, when threatened by the Spanish Armada.
The Scots have raised their threat level from ****** Off" to "Let's get
the ******** They don't have any other levels. This is the reason they
have been used on the front line of the British army for the last 300 years.
The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror
alert level from "Run" to "Hide." The only two higher levels in France
are "Collaborate" and "Surrender." The rise was precipitated by a recent
fire that destroyed France 's white flag factory, effectively paralyzing
the country's military capability.
Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout Loudly and Excitedly"
to "Elaborate Military Posturing." Two more levels remain: "Ineffective
Combat Operations" and "Change Sides."
The Germans have increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance"
to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs." They also have two higher
levels: "Invade a Neighbor" and "Lose."
Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual; the only threat
they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.
The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy.
These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish
navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.
Australia , meanwhile, has raised its security level from "No worries" to
"She'll be alright, Mate." Two more escalation levels remain: ****** I
think we'll need to cancel the barbie this weekend!" and "The barbie is
cancelled." So far no situation has ever
warranted use of the last final escalation level.
A final thought -" Greece is collapsing, the Iranians are getting
aggressive, and Rome is in disarray. Welcome back to 430 BC."
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
Come, dance with me...
.....hold my back
lead my arms...my hand
push my fingers
they'll obey
release your power, and
fuel my senses,
......got no room for false pretenses...
I'll let my creative ink flow
inch by inch, i'll move your hands, to draw,
together, a field of dreams, we shall initiate
while we travel, our efforts will collaborate...
let's dance, fill our sphere with gems of thoughts
**** my pen.....its fire, my fingers will stoke
i'll guide your brush strokes
in painting bright colors on our walks...
lead my hands
as i lead yours...
This giving and taking,
this push and pull stuff,
let's make great art out of it <3
......
Sally
Copyright February 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 11:02 PM UTC
whenever you want to unchoke and talk behind your brain
better be seated, grab your pen and take down note that related spreading nettle amber grain
question mark your self fondly to lessen your train of pain
collaborate with your tongue unselfishly, so you can have a rainbow without any rain
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 9:07 AM UTC
As you may know, I continue to collaborate with other poets here, most frequently with Helen. Below is a poem of hers that I have edited and reworked, her original notes to me are contained in the notes section below. So if you like it, tell Helen. If you "choke" on it, tell the editor. That's why they pay us the big bucks! So, send me your scraps yearning to be free...
I am choking
on words.
chest clogged,
throat seized,
as I await to deplane,
when I will perforce,
speak these words,
but for now, held in a
prison garb of my own design.
organs can be donated,
the broken heart,
the shattered liver,
the kidney failing,
eyes for the blind,
lungs for the breathless.
the human psyche
is not replaceable.
I need a mind of titanium,
will gladly settle for either the
Tin-man's heart, or
Cowardly Lion's courage,
both, too much too hope for...
but they are not sold at the airport shops.
perhaps my unseen editor
will accompany me,
hand firmly on my writing elbow,
guiding, refining, selecting
les mot parfait...
How come?
How come everything
inside a body can be replaced
so artfully, artificially
except words inside a broken mind?
I cannot get these words out,
who can transplant a soul?
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
I don't usually do this (status updates instead of poetry) but I'm really in the mood to flex my creative muscles and share ideas and concepts with my fellow poets here on HP. I love collaborating. I would like to use kik or fb messenger since it an easier means of communication for me. My kik is hottymelly25 and my facebook is Melanie Wilson (TGWLY).
Also, we have a thriving group of poets chatting together on kik. We're just a small group of poets who have met on here or on Poets Corner (another poetry app we like to use a lot) and we talk about life, poetry, what we made for breakfast, the importance of the decoy vaginas that ducks have to prevent **** and everything in between. It's quite entertaining and we're kinda like a family. If you're interested in joining us, just message me. :) 16+ only please.
Thank you for reading. ❤
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
Collaborate on a spotify playlist that will play on shuffle in my casket after I go.
I want you to add songs you want me to feel the radio signals of.
We know we feel music with a fifth sense,
A full body ASMR tingle
Whispers of russian woman fixing our robot parts.
Well I can't hear you, speak, move or eat
But bones vibrate to soundwaves just the same.
Give my casket the best **** bass you can find.
Bass that will wake the dead.
Rattle me like an instrument the way you plucked strigs while we were alive
You have control over what i hear after I go
So you may play me music beautiful as we played in the space between our fingertips
Play spotify in my casket
Only you and those i trust have access to adding songs.
But don't add garbage music.
Because I swear, I will haunt you.
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 12:22 PM UTC
Hardened exterior ever so slightly
More of a facade, a mask.
Sheltered tenderness
Seldomly shines through.
But ask me?
It most certainly is not true.
This feeling, so unnatural
And surprisingly poignant too.
It seeds a knot in my throat.
Powerless.
Weakness.
I will not let them collaborate with me
For I cringe, as this cannot be.
I know,
I should not be this way,
But for now,
I am going to stay.
I do not have the courage
You see,
To face and claim this thing
Called vulnerability.
But one day
Just maybe...
My arms will be open free.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
outside, my
professor lights a pipe beside the daffodils,
and we make small talk about the cigarette butts in the dirt
and the history of natural science.
He travelled south in a small blue wagon,
for no particular reason
except the summers are dry
and the air is silent,
….
inside mould grows on glass
windows, wood rotting damp
dissipates the rain through its splinters
cracked rooms containing muses, alight
with the glow of creation, reinvention
I am taught to eat with chopsticks at a fast food restaurant
each Friday night; I learn
to break them in two before I eat,
dissect myself in certain manners of precision
indulge in cakes with sprinkles
spires
lining streets
the lamps in the evening
dull for flashes of traffic
souls in sachets about to be added
in a hot drink, or instant frappe
we dissolve
into particles
about
the place in
certain manners of precision
break in two before
we indulge
impart
chromosomes collaborate
in the rooms,
in the mage’s quarters
dollar bills are sniffed and sorted
LSD and Ecstasy crossed, contorted
butterflies have patterns in conversations
on their wings, in teacups, sipping Spanish ***
drag my son up a hill to **** him,
in the ash tree foliage, faces in the sky
and ask of grace
deliver me to the divine class of men
what am I if only captive to contagion?
After all, I spread across windows
like mould each hour multiplying
to become sporadic, spatial,
discovering the heart’s variation
insofar as we are variable
asking Sophie, my daughter, to empty
the dishwasher, I pray she wonders
why we have cups
of coins in our pockets
why we ache
atoms
about
the place in
certain manners of precision
break in two before
we indulge
impart
chromosomes collaborate
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
Confession I: I want to be with you, not just around you. I want to lie with you, gently tracing the thoughts from my head into yours. I want to follow where your limbs go, with my lips, like a map or the north star leading me to your most beautiful valleys and mountains. I would collaborate with your collarbone and back to mine, allowing a skin bridge, a focal point, to show how inherently beautiful you are.
Confession II: I want you out of my head, but not out of my life. I have teased myself into a conditioned state, a procedure that no one should ever live through. I tripped over myself, and then over you, and I just want you the feel some electricity gathered at my fingertips, nose tips, please just kiss me. Kiss me like you would with your bent out of shape, looking for escape, lover. I could show you a thing or two about pleasure and how to love another woman just as much as you could love a man.
Confession III: I hope to apologize in the kindest manner, see some of your exposure – I’m trying to lift composure out of ten thousand gallons of saltwater. I know you have collected nothing but bitter – I just want to be sweet to you.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
These poems that you write
Their words exaggerate.
They notice every detail
They all collaborate.
They turn a fine reality
To this stirring nightmare.
The thoughts in your head
They become your puppeteer.
It's your own fault, Riley.
Why, darling can't you see?
You chose to play this game.
Can't back down and cannot flee.
You caused this endless mess
You chose to start this race.
Your words; your competition
And they're picking up the pace.
Leaping, running, crawling
You're shrinking with each step.
These words are your creation
But they're beating you instead.
They suffocate your hope
They drown your self belief
They choke your happiness
And they won't give you relief
Its as if this fine reality
Has taken a new shape
Has snatched you from your life
Now you're trapped with no escape.
You havent noticed until now
But your world of hopes and dreams,
Good thoughts and happy humming;
You are tearing at the seams.
Your words; your competition
This race is almost won.
Your words; your competition
Now the competition's done.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
i like to be wise with my beautiful brown eyes
my thick thighs and my voluptuous size
fruit flies sticking to me cause i'm so sweet
i make the beats but dont eat that red meat
sensitive but calm and super duper collected
will get you wrapped around my finger, kid
pinky promises is how i keep it real
drinkin' tall boys, always breakin' the seal
addicted to my flavor, youll be on dis fashionistaquena
part puerto rican, but got money but not enough lend ya
crowds call my name and it keeps on echoin'
famous like the amos cookies, keep my green in a tin
i'm so frickin' visual, ROYGBIV colors make me trip all day
so vib-rant, i spy a red ant and rainbows are the color "gay"
lets collaborate, take your hands & drop all the hate, i just ate...
chips and dip, my lip ring fell out so i put in a paperclip
bobbypin in my hair, my lion locks
i'm like uffie "i pop the glocks"
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 6:05 PM UTC
Airwaves awash in the new gospel barrage:
calling forth the neighbourhood hack,
Abe Lincoln toon in towering hat,
the corporation is coming -
will you not
collaborate my friend?
Everything good that you ever dreamed of is here:
Marbonite floored flats with self-terraced roofs;
The swankiest of cars, in imported hues;
Your arm candy drools,
now, brands, bigger brands!
All in your grasp, now, in community gates
shut safe as society decays.
Skies spitting frogs? Pestilences amass?
Listen to the Gospel according to Bane:
in the desert, smell octane. Hallelujah,
everything we make, from watches
to headscarves - your underwear is cheaper
sourced from the next so-lala-land.
Forget your sources tiny of incomes varying:
Bakers, cobblers, tinkerers, we also have
a uniform for you. Oh you rustic
tradition-bound bandy bumpkins!
Abandon your alleyways, and
welcome to the ghettos...where
What you eat, to where to retreat:
we cure everything from heartache to panache.
Wash away your sins in wonder medicines;
Waters can part, yes, see how the Pharoah
is disarmed; Big city dreams, dream
global manna beams. All that is needed for
salvation, is a little bit of classification. Are you
left-wing or right? Center-left or center-right?
The powerdrill tearing down edifices
resonating through noon. A crane arm's shadow
hovering high by the moon. Tablets from skies
now proclaim the new gospel for the land,
the airwaves are awash
of the miracle of Witwatersrand.
The corporation is coming, to a store near you:
Amen! Will you not, then, collaborate, my friend?
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
i have traversed many miles
walking with the night,
she with her satin leash
wrapped around my neck,
ushering me under
a divine compass of stars
who navigate me
into a
grey fog of fantasy;
tempting me
away from
another tired night
of suggestion
and malcontent.
i do well
stepping into my role
of daydreamer
in the night,
eyes glazing over,
body weaving
like some
mechanical soldier,
as I slowly sink
further
and further
into the rabbit hole
of my mind,
where i touch
the membrane,
the pulsing vein,
the sturdy skull
which cups
the hiding
mass of brain,
and the tangled knot
of treasured ideas
and thought.
i enter casually
under the mark
of exit signs
searching aimlessly
for an idea,
stuck in a lightless cave
of a deeper depth,
the one born and lost
on the winding interstate,
without pen and paper
in hand to collaborate,
eighty miles an hour
of reckless power
births creation,
when
neuron,
synapse
and speed
galvanize into
conceit.
but this one escapes me.
it flickers out of sight
like the rest of them,
as i close into
where it hides,
like some feral animal
who knows
not of a friendly hand,
it scurries back
into it's lonesome wasteland.
but i remain
walking under the
invasive moonlight,
for I yearn to take my idea back home,
to wrestle it into submission,
sew it to hand and feet
and give it deserved recognition,
to dive my sharpened teeth into
the thick of it's juicy meaning
to bleed ink
onto paper,
for there is nothing
back in the stagnant terrain
of my body,
or here
lying on my desk
but the blank pages
of the greatest story
never written.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
( by Elizabeth Squires and SilverSilkenTongue in Collaboration)
In an idle ilk the poet
Did **** precious time
Non pursuant twas he
Of that haunting rhyme
The Tap tap tap of his Thumbs
In pulse to the Anxiety that Comes
Resistant and Hesitant this Choice of Word
Like crows on a wire flitting to and fro
Simply to be Assured who is top Bird
He mulled in thought
On his composition
Yet not acting on it
Due to a stalling disposition
Caught in a Web, of Websters Dictionary
Assonance and Consanace Fundimentaly
He Chews each Syllable to Spit out
The Misconstrued Vowels that he Shouts!
By Elizabeth Squires and Silver Silken Tongue
Special Thanks to Ann who suggested Elizabeth and I should Collaborate
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 5:48 AM UTC
I've got a licence to be poetic
and I'm not afraid to use it
Can I stop you for a moment
cos I think you need to hear this
I can work with a little discord
I can dance with juxtaposition
I'm even sometimes partial to
a suggestion by omission
I've got a licence to be poetic
and I'm not afraid to use it
I've got a mouthful of metaphor
and little time to chew it
I get giggly with similes
and silly with alliteration
I'm warning you now
I'm devoted to proper diction
I've got a licence to be poetic
and I'm not afraid to use it
So give me some extra space
cos I think I'm going to lose it
I'm in love with eloquence
and I fawn for fluency
I can't get near enough
of off-beat rhythmic lunacy
I've got a licence to be poetic
and I'm not afraid to use it
But I use it for the good
and avoid the call for nasty
I'm tired of hearing hate
bred from agressive bitterness
I'm looking to collaborate
with writers with forgiveness
I've got a licence to be poetic
and I'm not afraid to use it
So let's sit down to talk
cos I think you need to hear this
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 2:44 AM UTC
When you have your company
couple of years its already been
working now with your best team
successes, failures you already seen
i will find you eventually
Facebook, linked in or via Lee
asking you a bit of your time
food or drinks will be on me
easy going preferably
over time we coordinate
in a bar, after eight
striving just to co create
worrying we are already late
looking for the perfect date
launching project collaborate.
----February 29, 2012
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC