"concurring" poems
I don't know what you want me to write ,
but you say write what I feel and /or
consciously need to express,
Towards
You,Me,
or any feeling within maybe even this
desolate world that we live in and
yes I say desolate because of the economic
sways that we go through,
the depressional phase of their so called
life that they want us to go through.
Controlling us to a point were we rely on their tarnished ways;
instead of forming to our traditional ways of life
they were so how they say simple when
WE know ourselves that slavery even in this day is no easy task.
We would love to be C.E.O's,
wake up tomorrow with our banks and pockets full of cash
so our babies and selves can have all we ever wanted to be
Lovers,
Haters,
Pimps,
and Playas.
We hate what they do to us,
but we wanna be just like them as well they hate us common folk
but they want our lives and traditions
our concurring beauty that attracts power,
great deeds and reoccurring needs to do better
to be determined no matter what the cost
we all criticize the other w/o knowing
that we wanna be each other.
constantly changing the rules of our life
to coincide with each others.
White, Black, Hispanic, Asian:
Whites: wanna Dance like us, wanna clean like us, wanna be us and most of all wanna steal/concur us.
Hispanics: wanna work as hard as us, make love like us, do what we do and as well party like us.
Asians: wanna be freaks like We are, wanna play by traditional wars and compare their rules
to ours with this blunt phase of battle called KUMITE were we all war against each other to prove
to one another who has better strength;
see they even want our strength,
they also wanna dance like us and steal styles of our ancient Beauty of Us
Blacks: we are Bold Beauty, no doubt about that but some of us do as Whites, Asians, Mexican do
so are all of us living by our
tradition as we claim to or only some of us.
overall I'm not being Racist,
Communist,
Or Prejudice
I am being me a Liberal;
One who Lives by what works for me,
That takes the Ideas and methods of living from each
and use these objectives as a tool...
They say were the United States
but are we really UNITED especially in the way we
Love,
Live,
Work,
and Play.
well!
Tomorrows another day.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 3:26 PM UTC
I am the ocean;
concurring ripples
rooted in my scalp,
dark waves cascading down my back
of which no one would see
the beauty within.
I am the earth
underneath your feet.
Haven of not only the living
But also the dead
of which no one would see
the beauty within
I am the painting
to be magnified to see specks of color
but, afar,
merely looks like a straight line
of which no one would see
the beauty within.
I am the sculpture
of a volatile beast
or, at the least,
its ruins
of which no one would see
the beauty within.
I am art
no one would be willing to see
despite of my obvious presence.
I am disturbing, distressing art
who’s crafted and carved from
cold hard truths
than painted
in pretty pink and purple lies.
I am the art
no one would dare appreciate
because that would mean accepting
how imperfect humans are
and imperfection
could never be art.
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 8:26 AM UTC
Staring off, into a hallucinogenic scar
Of a. Man that used to frolic,
I notice their eyes dwelling in its luggage,
Seeking diamonds of speculation though
Some might think of this as attention.
It burns in its atoms,
Hoping to observe shock.
Perhaps, a catastrophe.
Perhaps, an awakening,
It’s up to the magical world of the mind
To procreate perspective on that
Cacophony of benevolence, as
A mother does when presented their child,
By means, of surgical hands,
Concurring it’s value,
Like a beauty salon,
Signaling its importance
By rendering eyes to acknowledge its
Constant self transforming,
While dollar signs kindle their way through the Amazon to confrontation,
A song The Spectacle knows oh so well
While society dissects in its cultural forms,
Like Yahweh,
And “you don’t know what you say”
Or essence of Christianity,
And Tathāgata.
Brain dead poet,
Lost in the slums of
Originality and inspiration,
A hue of blue,
What else is new?
The changing of the guards.
Jun 28, 2023
Jun 28, 2023 at 9:14 PM UTC
****** if I'm through,
****** if I do
stick around to
let you feed on me,
see all the gold turn to green,
o r
this apparent love
turn to mean
something
a little stronger,
perhaps, last a little longer
than those cold, stygian nights
in some stranger's bed,
all those times you could've not
played with my head,
but yet, instead,
you did,
then you'd fib
and say you didn't mean,
oh, but I've seen it -
the dark in you, too,
play(th)ing; whatcha thinkin'?
I've unpacked myself
for you
and the wolves in your logic,
I've unset myself
for the second
I could see it again -
and those wolves concurring with your logic,
I found you hiding in the mirror,
creature of the lion's share,
drowned you in all my care,
my love,
a heart without sufficient sleep,
you tell me -
what was I supposed to think?
you made it so easy,
but how it got within me
I'm afraid to know,
was 'fraid to go
into the light without you,
but as I please -
I'll just
keep
going
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
The Torn Cartwheelers
“In the first place, let me treat of the nature of man and what has happened to it; for the original human nature was not like the present, but different. The sexes were not two as they are now, but originally three in number; there was man, woman, and the union of the two, having a name corresponding to this double nature, which had once a real existence, but is now lost. In the second place, the primeval man was round, his back and sides forming a circle; and he had four hands and four feet, one head with two faces, looking opposite ways, set on a round neck and precisely alike; also four ears, two privy members, and the remainder to correspond. Now the sexes were three, and such as I have described them; because the sun, moon, and earth are three;- and the man was originally the child of the sun, the woman of the earth, and the man-woman of the moon, which is made up of sun and earth, and they were all round and moved round and round: like their parents.” -- The symposium, Plato
- Back when we were cart-wheelers;
we rolled in unison with braided spines.
A woven chain of muscular fibre;
our interlaced vertebrae
assembled a duality of one.
- Made of moon, we lived as stars.
Invincible wholes, we felt like Gods
Free-wheeling on our myriad limbs,
tumbling through clutching forests,
Basking in our lack of direction.
- We grew arrogant,
Toes tight in our four shoes.
We hungered for dominion, impregnable,
Never conceived of life apart;
how we might be broken.
So we were reckless; scorned Gods.
Bulging with trepidation, they conspired
to put us in place.
- Ripped down the middle, we bled
until roughly stitched with forlorn seams.
Our unfurled marrow now two in place of one;
Female, male, we were earth-scattered.
- Jumbled and lost, we torn cart-wheelers
Were compelled to walk.
- Inconsolable, we wilted,
Unable to function as halves,
we combed the earth for our whole;
Calling vainly on spindle limbs.
- A handful triumphed and united,
Only to drown in euphoria when
their entwined locked bodies, starved,
Yearning only for fusion.
- Now we are accustomed to solitude;
dissipated stitches left tougher skin.
- Until we meet a silhouette of our half
Imperfect but concurring
our jarring zips catch often;
some irreparably,
But we feel again the semblance of solitude,
Crave to be two halves of the moon.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 4:43 PM UTC
I recall the evening invocatory call to the will of the 'Almighty' by
a visiting Pastor .. Ladies with fans , gentlemen waving hats .. Thunder
hammering the next county over to the west , streetlights filled with bugs and the occasional brown bat ...
Babes crying out , children becoming restless , his oratory becoming louder with each concurring "Amen' from the crowd ..
Tent ***** swaying ever so gently , the sweat on Dad's forehead and the smile on Granny's face , a stick of gum from Mom to get me through the evening sermon on a humid southern night ..
Tables lined end to end filled with potato salad , fried chicken and baked beans .. Ambrosia , peach pies and cakes .. Sweet tea ...
Evening dinners with gospel quartets and old time bluegrass bands ..
The kids receiving their Vacation Bible school certificates after the congregational feast .. The drive home ..Carried indoors , tucked away in bed with fond memories ..
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 10:02 PM UTC
What its like to be a segment of salacious commodity ?
OH YOU! beautiful fragment of fabricated chimera :
enclosed ! trapped !
inside these avaricious periphery of pseudo rim..
The frangible bedizen of synthetic praxises..
What is the sentiment of being a trade off legacy ?
while the legitimate corroboration of the quid pro quo cant be found:
yet to this lethal covenant of undesired commingle you are to be bound..
For have they hold the confinement
so do they decide the Nemesis:
To succumb your esse to the dread of
your ultimating youthful ****** pulp.
And just like a marionette..
there are thee:
concurring to cede for the felicity of those progenitors..
Immolating your notions and aspirations.
vanquished by the fidelity..
Just to commence the relinquish.
Just to cease the sentient.
Oh YOU!!
Just .another ...abiding flesh .
Just. Another....forlorn bride.
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
It's not about love, nor about hate;
It's about you and me, together;
About the things around us,
Which are not yet written under the stars;
About death and sun, moon and life.
We were lost in the world by loving;
We were mad and drunk in love,
Flying in the high sky, without questioning,
Not trying to run away.
We were one.
We resist the abyss, concurring the exile,
Seeing the other par of the world,
Being engaged by death,
Entombed by marriage.
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
Maybe I loved you, maybe I didn’t. Maybe I love you, maybe I don’t. Our memories bear teardrops that plunge into my concurring smile. Our short lived affinity, whatever it was, lurks behind me like a shadow. Attached to me, but nevertheless, a stranger that only appears when everything in the world is bright.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
I know I'm being blinded by my shadow.
My shadow of sin.
Satan is concurring soul.
With the addiction he has given me.
My God,
Defeat this Evil.
Thou my Father,
You are the one.
Please heal me,
Set me free from addiction.
Expand my Spiritual Life,
So I can live in your grace.
You are my life,
Set me new.
Your here with me always.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
I try,
I really do.
but no matter how many times,
I'll still never be as good as new.
I wish I could show you the self that isn't scarred up,
that still has that happiness in it.
This body is just torn up and destroyed,
so please don't give me another hit.
I wanna feel special,
when I'm around you I DO.
You aren't as proud as I am though,
feelings that are dying to a few.
I'm starting to had doubts mixed with sadness,
concurring thoughts that contradict madness.
Stabilize my brain once more,
support thoughts that are fadless.
I suppose we'll see again,
my thoughts are about to die.
Can't we find a larger room,
so I can just have space to lie?
I don't need much to live,
but too much to die.
I have to stay up,
my brain is still alive.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 5:36 PM UTC
*Sound of the morn , songbird articulations over -
colored Maple , Hickory leaf lanes and sky blue-gray portraits
To the face in the clouds , a toast at the wake of surreality
Concurring melancholy's invoice with stoic individuality
For the benefit of worn repetitive thoughts , a culled
mouth filled with morning wine , Sugar pine fortresses
delay the burgeoning warmth of day , rain waters seek their
level whilst the privately insane find themselves addressing their taut vulnerability* .....
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 11:19 PM UTC
This is too good to be true,
Just break my heart already.
Everything about you,
Makes my heart feel steady.
You've become my greatest fear,
Even though I know you mean no harm.
So wrapped in you dear,
With nothing around me but your arm.
I never meant to care this much,
But somehow you caught me off guard.
I can't resist the feel of your touch;
I tried not to fall, but it was way too hard.
Each sweet little kiss drawing me deeper into you.
I can see it in your eyes,
You feel the same way I do.
So just stitch your heart with mine,
And finally, they'll align.
We'll commit the greatest crime,
Our love concurring even time.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 7:23 AM UTC
array of sun ray's demeanor
golden liquid entails the spur
partaking in parts of cerulean glimmer
the water trickles south of exalted runners
runners in berserk, runners as dreamers
those who wade through froths of character
concluding perchance to dig deep and climb
resonate mantras whose song have declined
no strings attached but to one's universe
solitary stars daring to dream in rhyme
concurring melodies in worlds not blind
so that their words may wield whatever in divine
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 1:31 PM UTC
Dire straits necessitated
yours truly to bethink
outside the box (literally outdoors
of squarish structured nested dwelling),
where blinding albedo effect
forced me to blink,
additionally also ruffled tail feathers
of this sole surviving male bobolink
(North American songbird,
Dolichonyx oryzivorus)
pushing survival species
to extinction brink,
thus series of unfortunate events
woke resident chewink
(North American bird,
Pipilo erythrophthalmus
also called: towhee
or ground-robin),
tweeted from within
his cozy armoire *****
polar vortex froze habitat,
whereby arctic wind found
brushy areas to clink
unwittingly brambles ferocious
waving circular rotation
wrought minuscule countersink
eh, no bigger than a cufflink
his ornate bejeweled complex edifice
compliments of sizable income
allowed, enabled, and provided
opportunity in tandem
with significant other
to create acronym named ****
(dual income without kid)
acquiring handsome combined income
rendering and selling stylized goldfinch
also known as distelfink
common motif in
hex signs and fraktur,
which interpretive native folk art
eye state meaningless
without rhyme nor reason,
superfluous gibberish by George,
and/or...well... courtesy
following more purposeless gobbledygook
defying poetaster to incorporate doublethink
intelligently nsync with downlink
playfully, jauntily, and deliberately
creating confounding badinage eyewink
at thee, no doubt many
an anonymous innocent
reader calling me ratfink
under their breath or more
colorful brutal appellation
inducing cheeks of unknown followers
turning fifty plus shades of firepink
moost definitely concurring gink
perfectly apropos description
concluded individually versus
collectively, quickly, and
unanimously i.e. (think) groupthink
I approve this entire message, which
most likely tinders pet peeve,
concluding GoDaddy liberally did hoodwink.
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 7:55 PM UTC
A continuous concord of concurring events.
Draining me of my relevant reoccurring drowsiness.
I wake up in the same bed,
Twisting and yearning for the day it'll all end.
Waiting for the repeat of this tremendous cycle that cyclones with no remorse for the living or dead.
But at least the deceased have a grave for them to rest.
Meanwhile I'm stuck here trying to live in my head.
I share a room with two voices both mutilated and demented from the cemented walls I've put up to defend.
Those who claim they know the secrets to an ally cats fight.
Will surely know the secrets to how I end my flight.
By derailing this inconclusive inconvenienced inclosable train.
To a sanctuary I can never find so instead I submerge in my pain.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
Is it in nature
that my personality has nurtured
to associate every concurring event, place, or person
with worry, anxiety and fear?
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC