"conflate" poems
Spinning on the north pole.
Truth be told, it's being pulled
in all directions thus the spinning inflection.
A prosaic misdirection.
4 cardinal directions but when they conflate
you get eight. If you prorate
in-between you get sixteen
directions you can take.
The only mistake you can choose is standing in place.
At the pace your face is rotating on your flesh case,
your bones will displace. your mind will efface
from it's designated space.
Don't be a waste. Move along.
Pick one of the 16 directions you can take
Whichever one you pick is the road you belong.
Just get to where your going before your swan song.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
I always see forever in my angel's eyes
I believe that tomorrow for us never dies
I feel him here, a man so kind and wise
Yet everyday, his love is a great surprise
Never did I see that forever is true
A better tomorrow becomes bitter for you
Devotion is a lie, it's an illusion, too
A cruel fate until you fall through
Oh, an illusion for someone with hatred
Why I should listen to you who's outdated?
What I know is love is something that's sacred
I don't want now my time to be wasted
Ha! Hate just brings too much weight
Perhaps, love is an infatuation state
Temporary as it is, a passing moment to abate
Time is wasted into dreams that don't conflate
Why do you always tell me what you think?
Those things in your mind they always slink
Don't you see your limits, your own brink?
Can't you just let me find my heart's missing link?
I am just seeing reality, thinking out loud!
Reality is crowded as life is full of cloud
A prince without a crown is not allowed
A heart lost in the dream town is now cowed
I know you have so much words to say
You can turn me down all the way
But I will still stand and hold my love's bouquet
Hand in hand we will walk forever and a day
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
There's a pretentious air
In the way you presume I care.
How could it possibly be fair
To treat brother like mare?
To pass on your obligation
Is to inspire my frustration.
The thoughtlessness and abdication
Resumes hateful thoughts of vindication.
One asks not for reparation
Or from friendship a vacation.
Just a token of creation
Of an equal-footed communication.
I won't hold grudges, or hate
But you've been tense as of late.
You've been jumping my words to conflate
The words for your anger I use to negate.
Could you just chill out?
Nobody is out to get you.
It's hard to be a friend
When even enemies get more respect too.
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
ive been brooding,
lurking your pages,
thinking of how we would conflate so well..
do you think of me?
do you ever ask yourself, "does she exist?"
i admire your cynosure.
& i hope my eloquence impresses you.
will we ever be?
erstwhile.. maybe
im tired of relationships that are evanescent,
so when you get here, will you be here awhile?
i will imbue my love in you..
it'd require you to have interest in a non-ingénue being.
a being so brilliant that you will start to question your soul and the size of your crown, my King.
you will not become jaded,
inure,
for i am a Queen of lagniappe.
i will have you twisting and turning at the quakes of my soul..
is your mind as beautiful as mine?
is your soul as deep?
can we be panoply, i hope.
can our love be sempiternal..
wherewithal of our love.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
The pen is mightier
Than the sword
But what to consider
The keyboard?
How many stanzas
Phrases
Words
Must I conflate
To imbue in you
My love?
Is there no panacea,
No way for me to convey
The hold on my soul?
My heart
My being~
Such dulcet thoughts!
Your eyes,
{My cynosure}
Pure felicity
So lovely
A million ships at the ready
The cue being
the sight of your smile.
Helen is such a fugacious
Pipe dream fixation
When compared to your gaze
Until then,
Try as I might,
The depth of my feelings
Remains the deep ocean
Only a ripple wavers
At your knees
The rest waiting
For the Golden Bird
Of language
To release it's curse
Mere English isn't sufficient.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC
I thought there was something about a cigarette
I started smoking because I was fascinated by the power it has on some people like my old man, or you
“It calms me down” you said
“It’s my escape” you said, and the other clichés I’ve been hearing you whined about
And you know, I just nodded and shrugged to each of your excuses
But last night
Last night was different.
When we sat skin by skin,
I could feel your breath on my neck
My ribs collapsing to the thought that you’d leave your scent all over me
Your fingers leaving traces on my arm
And I said to myself you were the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me
I was losing my mind trying to understand yours and
It hit me.
It was not about the cigarette
It was about you
It’s always been about you, actually
It is the way you put your Marlboro Red between your fingers
It is the way you put it between your lips
It is the way you inhale and conflate all the shining stars inside you with chemicals that will **** you in age sixty two
It is the way you bite it, writhing in such disappointment because we both know, we both know **** well that the universe treats us wrong
It is the way you get so addicted to it to notice you’ve been my favorite addiction since that first “hey”
It is the way I find you in the most comely form as you exhale and I watch the smoke lilt its way to the dark night sky
It is the way you stare at me when you smoke every eight in the evening in your balcony facing down the concrete jungle I adore the most, with rage in your eyes, yet I find it fetching in every possible way
It is the way you smell like tobacco in the next dawn but all I can think about is how much I love you
And just like the other nights,
You’d come to me as a storm
Screaming it was just a little dalliance
Screaming it was all a mistake.
How was that a mistake when I find myself in front of your door every single day again and again and again and again and again and again?
How was that a mistake when you open up your door every single day again, and again, and again?
Baby,
Love was never a mistake.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 4:12 AM UTC
This crazy conundrum has been conspicuously contrived quite cordially. Of course, one could concede this cordially contrived conundrum could carelessly conflate the countless quandaries causing quintessential quantities to question the conspicuously questionable conspiracy. Conversely, carelessly questioning conspicuously contrived conspiracies as cordially quantitative quandaries could create considerably confusing claims countering the critically acclaimed crazy conundrum so callously clarified as to continue to count as cordial. Consequently, with careless acquiescence, I must confess that the conceptually contrived conspiracy, so inconspicuously inconsistent, conflated considerably contrary quandaries quite questionably and continues to confuse the crazy quite cordially. To conclude, the crazed conspicuous conundrum confuses the cordially questionable quantities of conceptually countless claims clearly clarified as conflated quandaries continuously contradicting a considerable count of conspiracies.
11/2/16 11:59 p
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
Do not conflate mortality and morality.
You can die a sinner,
Or you can die a saint,
But we all die just the same.
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 5:54 PM UTC
Yr cancer is inevitable as love.
You didn't last forever. The pain
wasn't the main problem, unconsciousness
was. Dad cannot see or hear,
the walls of the house contain just dust,
that's it, and if he shows up as a ghost
I'm lost, all my theories false.
Dr. Cherry certified my cancer as a cyst.
A drupe, a stone, a past mistake.
I left the examining room elated,
and have gone on to conflate my happiness,
relief, with that of the whole village.
The message is: to the east and west, the self
which is carried around as a pound of garbage.
"I like to be kissed before I'm ******
And what is poetry anyway. Its role,
local and global. Well, I for one have no
friends or family sufficiently interested
to come to a reading. Don't take offense,
we prefer novels, and especially movies,
coffee, sugar, oil, parrots, ponies, you
name it. Seven goes to six. Prices
bust and burst, but life (and school) goes
on, or whatnot. Atomic bubble gum. Protein computer.
Grass roof. Sun spot. Perfect error.
In the mirror where everybody hides the body.
Finally, I have been going for walks, girls
with protection dogs, black flies in my eyes.
Peace of noon, bird siesta. August returns,
the snow flies. Did you survive summer,
beat the reaper? I hope so, and yr fern allies.
Perfect rest is priceless, paradise.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:02 AM UTC
Two minds but one heart
twenty fingers of a firm grasp
four eyes but a soul window
an elixir of togetherness
an ensemble of laughter
two girls but one world
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
I hear the falcon
but not the falconer;
its prescient screech
claws at my ears
The shadow of its wings
is delivered by the sun
but those who gather
in its path cry out in vain
The worst conflate
their ways with
passionate intensity,
belied by lack of
true sincerity
And yet the best
decline to rise or cease
virtue as vulnerability;
they watch unwittingly
as the falcon turns above,
finding no footsteps
into Bethlehem
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 7:59 AM UTC
For the dreamers
who'd rather live white than free.
And channel the hubris of hue
To conflate liberty
With trans-Atlantic ****
And slavery.
A captive beast
Shares not the butcher's dream.
His cosmic struggle
Demands a course higher
Than filet du-jour.
A course that preserves his body
In it's natural state.
Free of *******
Free of hate,
Free of fear.
Free to dream his cosmic dream
Beyond the hubris of hue.
~ P
#Hubris_Of_Hue
2/12/2017
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 8:31 PM UTC
Tea and bubbles:
they may cure all your troubles.
If the world would listen to the silence,
Maybe we wouldn't experience such violence.
We hear all these words each day,
But they all conflate into one eventually, and just go away-
Almost as if they had never been said.
God, this is how people end up dead!
And I cannot enumerate,
All these beings surrounding,who cannot communicate;
Yet, they refuse to absorb the silence-
They give birth to and raise up these tyrants.
Tea and bubbles.
May very well solve all these troubles.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
The pride to my shame.
The fuel of my flame.
If life is a target,
Then you are my aim.
The calm to my storm.
The cool to my warm.
Together we fight,
Against all the norm.
You stand beside me,
And you help me see,
The infinite choices,
Of what I could be.
I'll stand beside you,
Happy or blue.
A living reminder,
Of all that is true.
You see on my face,
The pain and disgrace.
The remnants of guilt,
That I tried to erase.
In you, I confide.
All ******** aside.
When I am with you,
There's nothing to hide.
I see in your eyes,
Beneath the disguise,
The purest of hearts,
In fear of demise.
There's nothing to fear.
Though it isn't always clear,
Should you stray from your path,
I will always be near.
Our friendship is fate.
From the way that we prate,
I can tell our connection,
Will never abate.
Our lives, they conflate.
Our wisdoms equate.
Imagine the wonders,
That we can create.
The void has been filled.
This friendship, we build.
We look to the future;
The both of us thrilled.
So here I will stand,
In reach of your hand.
The greatest of friends,
In all of the land.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
I wonder when I'll hear from you
Will I hear from you?
I guess these things have their own rhythm
A course of actions
Unfolding at the precise moments
That they need to
A cadence
Sometimes so bold
So quick and fiery
It makes me melt
It makes me bend
It makes me feel conscious again
Then it fades
Goes cold and crumbling
It's as if
The landscapes of our fate
Were barren to begin with
In this time of fluidity
Of movement and transition
I want to feel grounded
I want to feel like I belong
Together with you
Do I?
Or am I just waiting?
For these moments that seem like they're fading
To conflate into a meaning
A purpose
A feeling
That I've been missing all along?
I wanted to grow
Transform
Expand
And just...
Move on
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
I have proverbial boot straps
And I pull them everyday
They bundle tight the kitchen knives
And keep the guns at bay
But there will be a time
I mean there's gonna be a day
Where I let loose these imaginary shoestrings
And take my life away
And you may think don't go
You might even yell please stay
This is not a game of wills
I have no cards left to play
Do not conflate my mental illness
With my willingness to stay
This world and you were beautiful
Come what may
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 10:00 PM UTC
Body Never Let Me Go
Fire in the drifting snow,
Pools of blazing steam,
Together our bodies glow,
Like a burning dream.
Never let me go,
My mind will stop faction,
I no is not your mission,
With you feel ablaze ,
My dear never let me go,
My love is as fever,
It will rest with your soul,
Oh please never,
You are my peaceful land,
I feel Conflate To blend together ,
It is so Attractive.
Promise me you will never,
Just please babe never let me go,
You calm my ego,
Ish what will I be without you,
Please don't think of leaving me....
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC
A soft sheer of cold air shivers thy soul,
An obligation to conflate, in bareness, i'm told.
To feel the sorrow, of the ones i borrow,
To feel the shame, needing someone to blame.
As i bedight myself, alone, by myself,
The feelings i felt, weren't mine to be felt.
Strangling my empathy, as rain drips sympathy,
Fearing oblivion, as oblivion fears me.
A soft sheer of warm air shivers thy mind,
An infatuation to affection, unless out of sight-out of mind.
To feel the love, of ones who love.
To feel a swain, who is never ashamed.
As i comfort myself, around much of else,
The feelings i felt, were meant to be felt.
Grasping my empathy, as sunshine blares carefully,
Loving inevitable, as inevitable loves me.
A soft sheer of hot air shivers thy body,
An inspiration to hatred, is thee state of my body.
To feel the pain, of fire sustained.
To feel the hate, of but one's mistake.
As i defend myself, around everyone else,
The feelings i felt, should never be felt.
Fearing my empathy, as thunder strikes terribly,
Hating hate, as hate hates me.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Slaves didn’t share in the American dream
They were living in a nightmare
And if they dreamed at all
It was how to get away from here
See they weren’t immigrants
Like the ones who came through Ellis Island
And those who don’t know the history
Should simply just be silent
You can’t conflate what slaves went through
With those who followed the dream
Of seeking a better life over here
All of us weren’t on the same team
Some came of their own free will
Others were brought here in chains
Some enjoy the full benefits still
And the fact of the matter remains
Slaves didn’t share in the American dream
They were living in a nightmare
And to try to imply that they did
In a word is insincere
It’s been said that ignorance is bliss
And the words of the ignorant
Provides more grist
for the proverbial mill of bad intent
You can’t conflate what slaves went through
With those who followed their dream
When the remnants and legacy of slavery
Are still here it would seem
Actually there’s no comparison between the two
Yet there are those in high position
Who haven’t got the slightest clue
Are guilty of the sin of omission
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 7:30 AM UTC
I suspect that if I was taller,
I'd get laid more.
Think Basketball: I'd shoot my shot
over her friend zone defense and score.
Her weak knees would wobble at
my every move.
And there’s research to prove it:
the female psyche is hard
wired to conflate height with power.
Leadership. Responsibility.
Extra large shoes.
As if size mattered
more than say,
Endurance
as a true measure
of the lengths I'd go for the people I love.
Still, if I was taller,
I'd have an evolutionary edge.
I'd play the game
like a guitar.
Because guitar gets girl, right?
Picture this:
me strumming at heart strings
under the lights of a coffeehouse stage,
a tall post-modern Troubadour
with say, an east European or French accent.
A Filipino with a French accent:
how baller would that be!
I'd be unstoppable.
I’d have fans. Groupies.
Her phone number.
And the decency of a reply
to my text.
I’ll give the crowd what they came to see:
the tousled hair and rugged eyes,
the unshaven charm that makes her
want more by appearing to care less.
Hard to get: that’s what the crowd wants me to play
on that guitar
I barely know how to use.
(But I’m trying, right?)
yo who is it she's really after,
because that vertically privileged
guitar hero
sounds nothing like me.
I wish I was taller (high chord)
so she'd see me.
Because I am tired
of being turned
into a ghost
writing songs
for an empty room*.
Guitar gets girl.
If thats true,
I suspect she won't get me
because maybe this isnt
the sound I'm supposed to make.
We'd just be pretending
to strike a chord on
strings attached
to a dissonant tune.
We'd play each other out:
a one hit wonder
on a radio station:
Guitar gets girl.
My nice guy cover falls flat.
My Asian appearance falls short
of the socio romantic standard she
is conditioned to fall for*
Guitar gets girl
Same song. Play on.
And forget accompaniment (Ditch guitar)
All I need is a pen
to write lyrics
for my new single.
I’ll start a one-man indie band
and swoon in solitude
over who I sound like
on my own.
(Strum Flourish)
Sep 6, 2020
Sep 6, 2020 at 11:37 AM UTC
The sounds conflate around me-
Haunting my ear drums,
Taunting my senses.
The sounds conflate around me-
Intoxicating me soul,
Lifting me into the comfort of the night.
The smooth and heavy darkness-
The thin air and swiftness-
The sounds lift all into nothing.
The sounds are everything, yet nothing.
They put the soul to rest,
A night time lullaby to bring peace to even the most bureded soul.
It conflates heavily and intoxicates fully.
This, until the end has been met .
This serene darkness,it all rests within this eternal and forgiving atmosphere.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
A conflation of personalities
Two merged into one
In a single being
Who are you?
I don’t know
How do you feel?
I’m not sure
There’s war
Inside my head
I want everything
And nothing
All at once
There’s so much going on
A war inside my mind
I don’t who I am
I don’t know how I feel
All I know is I want
This confusion
To end
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
A soft sheer of cold air shivers thy soul,
An obligation to conflate, in bareness, i'm told.
To feel the sorrow, of the ones i borrow,
To feel the shame, needing someone to blame.
As i bedight myself, alone, by myself,
The feelings i felt, weren't mine to be felt.
Strangling my empathy, as rain drips sympathy,
Fearing oblivion, as oblivion fears me.
A soft sheer of warm air shivers thy mind,
An infatuation to affection, unless out of sight-out of mind.
To feel the love, of ones who love.
To feel a swain, who is never ashamed.
As i comfort myself, around much of else,
The feelings i felt, were meant to be felt.
Grasping my empathy, as sunshine blares carefully,
Loving inevitable, as inevitable loves me.
A soft sheer of hot air shivers thy body,
An inspiration to hatred, is thee state of my body.
To feel the pain, of fire sustained.
To feel the hate, of but one's mistake.
As i defend myself, around everyone else,
The feelings i felt, should never be felt.
Fearing my empathy, as thunder strikes terribly,
Hating hate, as hate hates me.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
I linger at the gate
She is coming late
I can only speculate
How long to tolerate
This painful wait
Woven in my fate.
Suddenly I elate
My heartbeats vibrate
As my eyes locate
Her eyes violet
My woes abate
As lovers’ conflate.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
It’s not even open to debate
ISIS or the Islamic State
Proselytizes nothing but hate
While trying their best to conflate
Islam with the things they do
Which is forbidden in Islam’s view
Look at the sins that they accrue
By doing what Muslims eschew
ISIS leader, Al Baghdadi can’t wait
To take on the mantle of the caliphate
Even though they always assassinate
Those who assume that lofty weight
There’s death and destruction everywhere
Which is evidence Baghdadi doesn’t care
How he conducts his foreign affairs
And the whole world's acutely aware
Was Nine-Eleven the catalyst
And the neo-cons the strategists
How did it all come down to this
And who said they’re the pragmatists
Now ISIS has gone full throttle
Because the genie is out of the bottle
But who called them a role model
When their own mothers they wouldn’t coddle
By now the only logical deduction
Is there were no weapons of mass destruction
That was just the introduction
To shock and awe the full production
So now we’re reduced to counting the dead
And all of the snakes from Medusa’s head
The whole Middle East has turned blood red
And we all must sleep in that messed up bed
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC