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Trang Nguyen Sep 2013
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea.

At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate.

This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land.

“Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment.

Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement.

Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused.

Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control.

The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed.

In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
This is not a poem but an analysis about the poem
The Wordsmith Aug 2015
Reality is treacherous.
Its conformity is maddening, and the rules insanely sane,
The walls of uniformity are clouded with illusions that seem delusional,
And freedom and constrictions seem one and the same,
I am a dreamer, yet I fancy myself a creator,
I build worlds from the shards of a life that lacks flavor,
I prefer the freedom of love, hope and death,
And I crave the obsession of life and birth,
I am a dreamer, and so a world of facts and truths I shun,
I am a dreamer, a dying race, under the setting sun.
But the optimism of a dreamer is maddening,
Filled with hopes and dreams that are inherently saddening,
I am a wordsmith, a romantic and some might say a visionary,
Creating universes and queens from the extraordinary,
I am a romantic, and I desire the audience of the stars,
I am a romantic, and carved on the walls of my heart are a million scars.
I am a wordsmith, building walls from worlds torn at the seams,
I am a dreamer, fleeing from the banality of life through my dreams.
The Black Raven Dec 2014
Alone, as it started, as it should be.
Into his hands i pass, gently.
His sand seeps into my eyes,
gritted and foreboding adventures await me.
18, the number of adulthood,
but never yet have I felt more a child in an adults world.
Judged as a mature spirit, that still heaps milo with milk,
and i sit, as the last hours of my childhood roll swiftly away,
tumbling, slipping through my open hands.
It pangs me with a sudden sadness that, I
finally an adult, have no constrictions  to surround me,
only a number of roads, on which to start my adventure.
Shane Hunt Sep 2012
You can identify your own flaws by scrutinizing strangers.

I watched a woman
     from across a platform
at the subway station:

Straight, dishwater-blonde hair
glimmering in the subterranean fluorescence;
         striking posture—
     a dancer's figure—
and a thrifty ensemble that bespoke good taste
in spite of budgetary constrictions.

She pulled a circular compact from her purse
the way people in films exhume a pack of cigarettes.
   Then, in deliberate fashion,
she removed a pill and swallowed it.

             Birth control is like receiving a governor's pardon
         in the process of planning a crime.
             I resent her having that kind of indemnity.

I pass judgment on assumptions of character,
       high on the blissful soapbox of bigotry.


As that pill crested the ridges of her teeth
and met the soft tissue of her tongue, then esophagus,
my mind conjured a phantasmagoria of lewd images
on the surrounding subway walls--


         more a reflection of my character
              than hers.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
well, if everyone is
   going to be so *******
honest...

   tender, little melancholics
   attempting to punch
   above their weight...

egomaniac? always a superstition,
littered with scatter brains,
broken mirrors
   and: the eternal fire -
no longer a choking smoke...
   shrapnel from some fungus,
or some whizz-kid's experiment
in the Swiss Alps...

initial psychosis?
   oh sure... peppered with
polka dots of hallucinations,
some visual,
but mostly auditory...
   a bit like:
    being forced out of your
own head,
   but not your body...
i could call it:
     being fertilißed...

mainstream: "transgender"
hot topics...
get a load of this one:
all metaphor,
   the closest approximation
of the truth, or subsequent
"feelings"...
      the body is left intact,
the brain though:
   what's the difference
between psychosis
         and osmosis?

an etymological study:
shared suffix:
    -osis
                and that's about it...
but initial psychosis:
for all the fear,
   for all my travels between
London and Edinburgh
and Glasgow,
and Dover,
   and Athens,
   and... Serbia...
              Katowice...
          wherever i went:
i had ants up my ***,
         fidgety ******, i was...
i'm pretty ******* sure,
that if i decided to drop l.s.d.
i would be unimpressed...
compared to my initial
psychosis... which lasted
for... how long was it?
anyone care for the scale,
i just don't exactly remember:
months, years?
  i'd be boasting if i put it
on a weeks scale...

2nd tier psychosis...
ugh... too much Kant...
                 no hallucinations...
just debiliating thoughts,
a chimera of p.t.s.d.,
  depression and the whole
rainbow of the DSM...
    more ****-heads in these parts
than genitals or anti-genitals
or... whatever hormonal... thing...
there's to it...

look closer at
  the orthodox madmen...
and now look at:
    acceptable madness...
we're hardly cripples...
crippling thoughts yes,
in this case,
   a 2 week period of absolute,
unadulterated debility:
no i know where the word
comes from in ****** for
idiot, i.e. debil...

2nd tier psychosis:
it's a noumenon...
    unlike a phenomenon
you might hear about...
when some schizoid can't
restrain himself
and goes off off the tangent
of: perfectly normal
paranoia...

          what? if everyone's
going to be so ******* honest,
i might as well throw my two
cents into the wishing well...
if i write this out,
bash the blank slate,
that's me one step away
from doing it to a punching
bag... which...
i usually associate with:
exhausts the body...
   and the mind was always
   just silent, in accordance to:
elvis... has just... left the building.

i wonder what a 3rd tier
psychosis is...
              and there i was thinking:
the problem with madness,
you can only go mad once...
apparently you can
go mad twice...
   it was never going to be
a terminal illness...
madness is... like...
fluctuations...
   it changes over time...
       and with it: the language...
unless of course
    i'll be restricted,
akin to that amazon show
homecoming
   (julia wobewts:
tongue numb, forgot to trill,
lisp and all)...
   then again:
   memory is a fickle faculty,
i actually don't possess
the will to remember what
i want,
    or what i don't want...
it's almost automated,
akin to:
         the "ancient" rubrics
of pedagogy on a teen level
of exposure...

  as ever: first comes the drill...
2 x 2 = 4, a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i, j...
like: who the **** invented
this pointless memory gap,
this pointless rust,
this pointless sequence of
non-events?
        memory erosion:
   right there, in school...
and not even a "menial" task
at hand...
   not even a craft that can be
repeated, over and over again:
for a reason...
  that it can be perfected,
and therefore made, easier...

yeah... 2nd tier psychosis
is too orientating,
thereby not disorientating,
therefore not a phenomenon,
but a noumenon...
therefore a cold-sweat horror...
and not as much
of a scenario of running
a mythical marathon
up and down England to Scotland,
or across Europe
   to Athens...

and there i was thinking...
perhaps one day...
    i might have a curious reader
akin to r. d. laing...
                      one day...

infringement on i.q.?
   who said anything about
an infringement on i.q.?
            well there's the exfoliation
process of...
   ridding oneself of the tuxedo
of social norms, constrictions...
like any old person might
given the notion: **** it,
i'm old, i don't care...
        the paranoid aspect is
associated with:
    youth...
        and the whole:
                   not yet, not yet...
well... if not now, then, then?

          brash, crass...
whatever you want to call it:
hit the iron while its hot...
            and here i am thinking...
so... this premature melancholics
is... the new, "normal"?

welcome to the chemistry circus
of lady pharma:
i always wanted to think of
my brain is either a chemical soup,
or my use of language
as a salad...
   that'll go just fine,
with the main course
                            of jesus christ.
Big Virge Jul 2017
Do You Believe In ... ?
  
Freedom of Speech ... ?
Freedom of Thought ... ?  

And ...
Freedom To Teach ... ?  
    
Or ..... ?  
    
Freedom To Do ...    
The Things That You Please ... ?!?  
    
Freedom Is NOT ...
PART of ... Reality ... !!!  
    
Which Part of You's ... FREE ...  
Apart From ... YOUR Body ... !?!  
    
I Believe In The Freedom ...  
To Simply Be ... ME ...    
    
To SHOW My Frustrations ...  
WITHOUT ... " Accusations " ... !!!  
    
"He's ANGRY, HE'S MAD !
His Intentions are BAD !"  
    
I'm SICK of These Judgements ...  
These Judgments Are ... CRASS ... !!!!!  
    
I Want To Be FREE To AIR My Opinion ...    
On ANYTHING Ranging From ...  
*** To ... Dominion ... !!!!!  
    
How Can We Be ... "Free" ... ?!?  
When We're ... Under CONTROL ...    
    
Control of ... "Your Mind" ...  
Means ... Control of YOUR SOUL ... !!!!!  
    
Men Who Wear ... " Suits " ...  
Have Got The ... Bank Rolls ...  
    
While Those Who Don't Wear Them ...    
Get Left In ...............................................­................ The Cold ..... !!!  
    
We're ... "FREE to Air Views !" ...
    
Is The ... Regular Quote ...  
    
But How Can This Be ...  
When So Many Can't Vote ... ?!?  
    
I'm SICK of Politicians ... !!!  
Who Have NO Constrictions ............ ?  
    
They Seem To Think It's Okay ...  
To BAN TALK On Religion ....  
    
But The Parties They're In ...  
DEFINE Their ..... SEP - ara - Tism .... ?!?!?  
    
Of Course Your Mind ...  
Can ALWAYS ... Run Free ..................................  
    
But ....  
    
" Freedom of Thought " ...  
Is Now ... Under Siege ... !!!  
    
When Those Who Hold POWER ...  
Decide ... Who Can Speak ...  
    
They Speak ALL THE TIME ... !!!!!!  
About ... CONTROLLING Streets ...    
    
When THEY DON'T Walk Them ...  
But Are Driven Around ...  
In COMFY ... Leather Seats ... ?!?  
    
They Procrastinate ...  
About ... " Freedom of Speech " ...  
    
But SHOUT Like A ... " Tout " ...  
About ... Wars That They Seek ....................................... !!!!!!  
    
These People Are ... "Weak" .... !!!  
    
From People In Congress ...  
To ... Lying MP's ... !!!!!  
    
I'd Rather Observe ...  
A Debate Between SHEEP ... !!!  
    
Than Watch These MP's ...  
Tell Us LIES On ... TV ... !!!!!!!  
    
CONTROLS Are Now groWING ...
  
...... EVERYWHERE ..... !!!!!!!  
    
BIG BROTHER's WATCHING ...  
PLEASE Beware ... !!!  
    
From Lyrics You Hear ...  
To The Clothes That You Wear ...  
    
Wearing A ... " Hoodie " ...  
Has Got People ... " SCARED " ... !!!!!  
    
What IS ... REALLY True ...  
Is ... SO RARELY Shared ...  
With ... People Like Me ...  
Who DO ... REALLY CARE ... !!!  
    
I'm The DAREDEVIL ...  
With ........ Medusas' Stare .......    
    
The Worlds Now Controlled ...  
By Witches Like .... " Blair " ....  
    
Bureaucrats ...  
Hold The ... "SHARES" ...  
    
Do You Think This Is Fair .... ???  
    
NOTHING In This Life ...  
Is Gonna Be ... FREE ... !!!!!!!  
    
From Clothes That You Wear ...  
To A ... Juicy Fruit PLEASE ... !!!  
    
Girls AIN'T Easy ...  
They're Getting ... GREEDY ... !!!  
  
"Show me THAT Money !  
Then you can PLEASE ME !"
    
"Go Please YOURSELF !  
Girl, you don't need me !"  
  
Girls Seem To Now Think ...  
Cash Can ... Set Them FREE .......................................................  
    
How STUPID They Be ... !!!  
    
Cos' In The End Just Like Me ...  
Money CAN'T Possibly Set People Free ...  
    
Free From THE CHAINS of ... "Society" ... !!!!!  
    
The One Thing In My Life ...  
That's ... EVER BEEN FREE ...  
    
Was The LOVE FROM ...  
    
..... " My Mother " .....  
    
Hey Mum ...    
Rest in Peace ... !!!!!  
    
" Our Love will be free for Eternity !  
I'm sending my love, through this here poetry !    
Your Love was unconditional !
You gave it for free, free like A tree !"  
    
But They Are Now DYING ...  
To Build ... Property ... ?!?  
    
Have You Seen The ...
... " Two Towers " ... ?  
    
In A land Where The Trees ...  
Were Able To ... Speak ...  
    
I'd Ask Them Some Questions ...  
Like ... Why Are We Messing ...  
With ... ALL of God's Blessings ... ?  
    
Like ... FREEDOM of Voice ...  
And ... FREEDOM of Choice ...    
    
Instead of The Sounds ...  
of Political ... NOISE ... !!?!!  
    
Which Normally Leads ...  
To The Use of ... War Toys ... !!!!!  
    
I'm Getting Annoyed ...  
By ... "Constriction Ploys" ... !!!  
    
Don't THEY Annoy YOU ... ?!?  
You MUST HAVE A View ... !?!  
    
THIS Is A Path ...  
We've GOT TO ... AVOID ... !!!!!  
    
Cos' FREEDOM of Thought ...  
Is Being .... DESTROYED ... !!!!!  

By Those ... " Pulling Strings " ...  
of Puppets They Employ ... !!!!!  
    
I'm Simply Suggesting ...  
    
It's Time For Some Questions ... !!!  
BEFORE They Call ... " TIME " ... !!!  
    
On People Like Me ...  
Who QUESTION Through Rhyme ...  
    
Cos' This It Would Seem ... ???  
Is Their NEW ... GRAND Design ...  !!!  
    
To Make Those Who Question ...  
    
SHUT UP And ... RESIGN ... !!!!!!  
    
I'm Feeling That Freedom ...  
Is NOW ... Out of Season ... !!!!!  
    
It's Facing Some CUTS ... !!!  
And Some ... "Internal BLEEDING" ... !!!!!  
    
But NEVER Give Up ... !!!  
    
On This Thing We Call ....  
    
..... " Freedom " .....
How free are we really ... ???
CharlesC Jul 2012
canals and containers
vital constrictions to flow
these common constraints
we find widespread..
at start of each day
a humble cup we see
holding our morning tea..

those outward vessels
mirror many inside..
these carry surprise
in acquaintance..
not knowing 'til just now
their containment of
everflowing light..

our task..
with urgency now..
to focus awareness
on those vessels which
are ours alone..
we need a simple
introduction to those
avoided constrictions
each of us owns..
often painfully seated
in solitary places..

a dear friend's illness
with diagnosis fleeting..
in desperation at last
filtering years of
bedridden strife..
new awareness uncovered
a new container for her
illumined voice..
with gifts for many
journeys unfolding..

my own discoveries
from life's late
diggings
found vessels quietly
buried and residing in
military formations of
gold and gray and black..
these are holders now
of lights of new
scope and scale..

the vessels we own
are lined and defined
awaiting discovery
sooner or late..
illumined..
with healing in-sight
and we are enriched
in knowing
our vessels..our lights
are one...
accompanying photographs may be found at polarityinplay.blogspot.com..
martha Jan 2019
Big parts of ourselves are based on what we know best
What we do
Who we love
Where we are comfortable

The safety of familiar

When a rock the size of a delayed trauma is thrown between those cogs
The machine is still capable of continuing the way it did before
Something just makes it break that bit more
Quietly camouflaged beneath the surface of certainty

Everything now slopes to subtle disarray
As if the plates you had been balancing this whole time have suddenly stopped spinning
And the poles are threatening to snap under the pressure

I have separated myself into sticks and stones
Promised to break my own bones with every unstable step I take towards something I’m blind to seeing shadows of

Talking about it is impossible
It comes out in tongues of unintelligible
Crashing on tired ears too kind to tell me how badly they need a break

Discovering that who you thought you were isn’t who you can keep being
Makes me envy anyone who has had their identity stolen by an outsider

Constrictions come with self analysis
My body now moves through an ever-changing state of inconsistency
My figure defined by dislocated assumptions
Curves contract the changes in all the wrong places

Worries spread their seeds under an ocean of unnoticeable
Trust is now a stranger in my own home
who has figured out how to cut their own set of keys every time I change the locks

Blame is a fallback and the only ones to place it on are those who taught you everything you thought you knew

Heaviness is a weight I can’t brush off my shoulders
I carry everyone else’s burdens on my back because at least it is something I can be good at
A care taker who neglects to take care of herself

Eroding with every passing hypothetical
Every second thought
Every doubt
And every 'what if'

My impermanence is solidified in the knowledge that where we came from will soon call us back

Constellations can’t hold conversations but at least I know they won’t worry half as much

‘Nothing is permanent’ is one tattoo I can’t remove with laser surgery

So now I look for the missing parts of myself in others
In sizes and figures and numbers

What I am not is always something I could become
There’s always been room for improvement
and the empty space is running low on oxygen

Comparison has her cruel hands wrapped around my throat with a thirst I’m incapable of quenching
Self-deprecation isn't attractive
Insecurity isn't ****
Sharing so many similarities with someone who is everything better than me has turned itself into an internal torture device
an omnipotent ‘almost’ that lingers with every non-existent like-minded interaction that will never happen

I place my worth on the pedestal of peoples perceptions

Nightmares show reruns every second night
of the possibilities that now manifest themselves in the lining of my limbs
Leaking toxins that won’t go as far as my throat in case someone else overhears them

An unspoken competition for admiration and attention
The hollow has started to build scaffolds in my stomach for further renovations.

Easing it is a process
I seek shelter in laughter and forcing to forget

And loneliness has become a friendly companion in their absence

Afloat with overthinking until it jumps overboard
Dissolves transparent in glass coloured water

And drowns in it’s own pretty poison
Styles 12 May 2017
Dead man's head on the wheel
horn blasting for siren's to come

a  thought

torn loose by zephyr
travels free

past every Totaliterian sign.

sweet invisible thought

naked
burning

with a mad rush
to explore
what leaves feel
scraping magically down anywhere

a thought untouched by minds
floating through mist
cascading down steep rock,

barefooted boy dreaming for lace wings
along forest edge

a thought
free from panic

free from all addiction

free from all constrictions,
pride
prejudices
and
hatred.

A thought free to roam wild
to feel anything

to leap with fiery eyed squirrels
hopping
limb from limb
better than master ninjas

free to bounce off danger:

objective
loose
skittering across galaxies to reach a radiance
lovelier
than Spring Sunshine
dancing
with vibrant meadow.

petals lean in south bound
gentle on a breeze
begging for a kiss
from a bumble bee

drink my nectar
please never leave
buzz off

fly
fly

but please
return back to me

no more questions of existence
why this
why that

just free
to be anywhere
like God

burning Magnificent
with Red Maples

free from the chain of mad love desire
pulling dead weight battalions through
the Western ghostly sky
haunted by savagely slain spirits
prowling black forests

once
filled
with gun blasts and blood rivers
crazy as human thoughts that made it.

Medieval Man dilapitated and cruel
Medieval Man desperate as a ghoul
searching for the next war-****.

I know a place beyond the cold Oregon
dripping rain night

safe from the pensive lonely stares
safe from ****** screams
and
mad house Corporations
digesting people into profits,

safe from the alleyway suicides
and
the helpless kidnapped innocence
found in a ditch
near the cold cold tracks
hiding in shadows lurks the ever eluding lunatic
running rampant
all over the world

I know a place beyond the lush green longing
behind
red bursting Magnificent Maple burning
always there longing through my shadow trampled heart
behind buffalo
stampedes
roaring unstoppable
in
the
heat
of her sweet sweet kiss,

behind the songs of silky voice skating through the treasured vistas of memory
so sweet
it flashes suddenly alive
out of sheathe
forever to shine:
BEAUTY'S KNIFE
slicing in your heart
like summer stars dancing in nights
when you snuck away
to melt in life:

barefooted boy running and dreaming for lace wings
behind a captive verse skipping on glassy lakes that pace
a heavy mind
weighed down by decimated loss
of heart and friends.

Long blistered miles add up
on tired cracked bleeding feet.

A cry for HOME is felt in every aching bone,
an invisible lasso pulls you in
but you can't get you out
tattered feelings
lay splattered in the moon reflective puddles of wintry night walks
every Fall leaf absorbing the shine of both worlds
half a sentence away from a lapse
into cold pools of Truth
Once again I know a place that I cannot see
but I know is There
like a brilliant thought you reached
on a summit of illimitable hopes and blinding dreams.

A place beyond sad drenched streets
where hopes and flesh do not starve or freeze.
I know a place I cannot see
but feel is there
some Magnificent friendly Hand reaching to be known
reaching to reach out to me, to us, to let us know
it's Here, It Cares.
I know a place I cannot see
but feel is there
It whispers to me at night
like a Father in my ear
embraces me on a warm Island
floating floating flowing floating
out at sea
lazy waves stroll in soft as eyelashes
to touch and tickle
what I cannot see
impossible whispers turn to invincible songs
I never remember
in naked form
if only You could linger longer next to me
and
SING ..........
these soft waves licking sand across my tattered
hostage dreams.
roll back in
and
take me out
please,
to your singing Magnificent Sea.....
Can I toboggan slide down your cool track of Tolerance
to feel the patience of Unconditional love and peace?
Can I cross star trestle river strikes
where sweet flows course down God's infinite Heart
burning brighter than even these Magnificent Red Maple Leaves?
Can I be invented as Freedom's thought but shaped the size and color of a red maple leaf
That people know are there but cannot see?

Can I float across the galaxy like this just YOU and ME?

Free to express anything
Free to shine twice in the summer twinkle of a child's eyes
who just one something of importance
or
is
reunited with her Mother and Father.

Free to inspire the genius of a tortured artist who overcomes his doubt
with that delicate, special touch that changes lives for centuries to come
Free to be that Voice singing so pure
auditorium eyes are filled with salty tears
making people think of their Mother
and her Garden
and
how bright it was to walk through there.

Free to be a song remembered loved and cherished running
through the world faster than Chariots Of Fire,
Free to be a speech so strong it gets shot down but comes back
forever as Legend for the courageous heroic Truth
It touched upon in a dangerous time
filled with oven baked murders and absolute Terror.
Free to be the invisible thread of love
star-lit and still flowing through incredible
vast distances
half a sentence away from a perfected masterpiece
that will not get recognized or seen or heard until
long later.
Free to be the Light-House of human spirit
and to never kneel or yield
to reins of Totaliterian regimes.
Free to be a smile blooming beneath
soft maple magic.

Somewhere out there
beyond their drab dark talk
plays the wild music he is seeking,
Somewhere out there, in here, a vast beautiful creature awaits to saturate his soul
half a sentence away from vanishing
I could melt away from every burden to find YOU once again.
Once again I know a place I cannot see
but know is there beyond the desolation
of insane deeds
there is a quiet master singing through the trees
trying to help us see
We are Free
We are Free
to be
the miracles of our thoughts and dreams
please please
do not turn away
but take a leap of faith
rise rise
rise through Me
to be
everything
and more
than what
the eye can see
please take this limited sight from me
and
show me what I know is there but cannot see
barefooted boy dreaming for lace wings
along forest edge
reach back in to me, seize me please
all is restless now
all is restless now
my silent voice
a longing thought
floating naked and panic free
half a sentence away from lace wings
vanishing to the fiery Maple of your sweet
silky dreams...........
In particular evinces of comparable obliviousness

To implications of extraneous misunderstandings

That bring a melancholy of limited constrictions

Makes one articulate anxiety in dazzling reform

Of vibrant linguistic experimentation  of lawless incongruity

Resulting in rhetorical pyrotechnics that defy inflections

And a wild farrago of tongues that boast a fecundity of speech
CharlesC Jun 2015
Path #1

Forgiveness is the sinking
head into heart..
The head dwelling in separation
concedes logic's demands
but confronting questions
time after time:
Why? and What?
Surrendering at last
to the sinking..
dissolving..
becoming..
the Heart...


Path #2

Forgiveness is downloading
of new software..
Our old software
employs the ego rampant
rendering forgiveness
a difficult dream
searching in forlorn places
finding only traces..
New software finds it all
Here and Now...!


Path #3

Real forgiveness is Now
not in time..
Events in the past
seeming in need of
forgiveness
are only known
Now..
and what of the Now..?
it's other name
our true identity:
Forgiveness...



Path #4

Chaos
is an iteration
of Forgiveness..
a shading and
concealment of
formulated light..
Our awaking brings
the repentance
the return
the feedback
to never absent
Forgiveness...


Path #5

A shock it is
to learn that
Forgiveness is not personal..
It is a realization
of a substance common
to all concerned
transparent and eternal
the real Self..
With that realization
duality of conflict
dissolves in the
Light...


Path #6

Quantum forgiveness
is the only
forgiveness..
A leap into
infinite non-locality..
The suddenness arrives
within painful progress
or perhaps
strangely enough
out of the blue...!


Path #7

Forgiveness
an experience of sealing
our separate brokenness..
It is mandatory..
Yet the sealing
can be accomplished
only by those who see
there is no need
for the sealing...


Path # 8

Immersed
in a separated
dualistic reality
seeking forgiveness
in thought and time
is not satisfying..
The lingering pain
from a fruitless search
for forgiveness in
all the wrong places...


Path #9

Forgiveness
is a restoration of
peace and happiness
with new clarity:
The Awareness of
peace and happiness
was never in need of
restoration...


Path #10

We need to see clearly
that all relationships
take place in
infinite Awareness..
But wait..
not in .. but as..
All those hurts
are constrictions
of Awareness
crying out their
illusory separation...
Arfah Afaqi Zia Aug 2015
After spending days away from her,
Thinking I could resist her,
But now it's just her blood,
My throat aches for her blood !
Just a quinch of her blood and I can relax.
Her white skin,
Her hazel eyes,
And that scent !
Oh not the scent you're thinking about.
Her body odor.
It just drives me crazy.
I feel constrictions in my vein,
Making me wanna wail,
C'mon my love just a little of that blood,
I swear it'll finish the thirst !
Love vampires :')
I am a little bit brave
and a little bit afraid
I am my goddess and my moon
I am my silver spoon
elixirs
  life potions
love potions
magic brewing
   in a *** of desire
                  to be free
                  from the constrictions
                  that used to bind me
ladidee!
© jeannine davidoff 2009
k-s-h Jan 2014
there's a tear in the fabric of time
and in your dress
of which i am sneaking glances through.

you'd look up for my response
I'd nod to the ground
(not quite at my shoes)

"The world will fall apart!
The universe is breaking!"
And I sit and lick my lips.

"What do we do?"
I pick you up, and tear you away
from the constrictions of all fabric.
CharlesC Sep 2012
our conversations
contain both
light and filtering..
the words we find
express our meaning
one snapshot..
instantaneous filtering
of a clearer light..
our words are
moulded by gates
constrictions
words sometimes strike
rather than flow..
one snapshot
of who we are...
polarityinplay.blogspot.com for images....
CharlesC Oct 2012
a perfect
superstorm
it is called..
rare hurricane
tides and arctic cold..
converging
constrictions to life..
anger  and blame
coloring
bitter divisions of
political discourse..
meeting 2012 expectations
some say..
environmental neglect
say others..
are these dark layers
superficial
life on edge
masking new birth...?
sleeplessnxghts Nov 2013
The sunlight finds a crevice in the blinds to peak through and nudge me as in lay asleep. I am awakened by the gentle touch of warmth resting upon my left eye and cheek. With my eyes still shut, the chirping of the birds is projected in a much more distinct sound. I can feel everything, it is all heightened. Nature rises from its slumber and begins the day's work. Soon enough the sun hits it's peak and I can no longer hide away in my bed, avoiding life. It is time to face the world head on, and show it some kindness. I hear there is such thing as good karma. It's not that I hate life, I just don't show it enough love. And I may tend to despise every person walking over others to climb the social ladder, but I do not neglect the beauty of Earth and it's reflections on a minority of the population. Sometimes, I feel as if nature is the only sense of sanity left in the world which has mutated into a world of insanity and anarchy. The clouds are hovering over my favorite dogwood tree just down below, at my favorite park. I try my best to not let the tight constrictions of my thoughts encumber me in my goal of appreciating all of life's offerings. Once I pass through another fleeting day, the sun disperses underneath the mountains before I get a chance to wave it goodbye. As the luminous moon introduces itself to the stars floating around in the sky, I fall into bed beside a man who shows me no affection. I drift off into a peaceful slumber as my pessimistic thoughts engulf my mind into a state of manic depression, and I hate everything all over again. I cannot wait until the sunlight warms my face the next morning. If I make it that far.
wordvango Sep 2014
1   vowel
lies
no constrictions indicating syllabic peaks
like a
dot.

1  consonant
is
basically nasally flowing
pronounced at the front of the
tongue.

Both,
equally,

refer to letters of the alphabet.

correspond to sounds made ******
all along our way.

but, all vowels and consonants
without hearing their relevance.

are
deaf
and

dumb.
Kirsten Lovely Jun 2014
When I travel, I find home.
Home is so strictly defined and constricted
****** in, forced to **** in,
Constrictions put forth by suffocating friends
Where small towns tighten the rope
It has placed around my neck.
I am the dog on the leash that is surrounded
By every tree and every ball in the biggest park
Who is tied to the tree and forgotten
Beaten and told to stay.
We grow up being force fed the idea of thinking small,
Staying small, working small, living small
But this world is too big to live small!
I travel and find the people that I call home
I find the shacks and shanties and weathered souls
And every single person you and I will meet,
Mutual or not,
Knows something that you and I don't know
And if that doesn't spark enough curiosity,
Get out of the house.
There is so much to learn and so much to absorb
And maybe your house is your home
Everyone, at some point, has a home,
Some just travel with you,
Others you have to find.
slam poetry
CharlesC Apr 2015
In a day
in which the hour
has passed noon..
Afternoon constrictions
arise as conflicts
with time
as all conflicts
arise with time..
So the evening
awareness arrives
a graceful coming
which bathes the
constrictions with
growing recognition
of the seeming
power of time
illusion now and
dissolved...
Harsh Nov 2014
There's an anchor in my chest,
and although it keeps me from drowning in these nightmare sweats,
my ribs are splintered,
my heart bruised from being weighed down so much.

I get a masochistic contentment from it, though.
There's a soft happiness I get from seeing
the small reminders of you that I see throughout my day,
although they inject adrenaline through my veins
and send constrictions through my lungs.

I've stumbled upon the gap where you normally walk
and I've fallen through the space you usually occupy.
I've tried to lean against the mere thought of you
but every time I've crashed against the cruel reality,
against the stinging realization.

I've become lost in these sheets,
trying to find you in the hole of my blankets
that caresses your curves and hugs your dimension.

I wish this anchor of my love hadn't fallen at your neck,
I wish my sentiment hadn't ****** you against a wall and bound you,
and it's not in the way we'd both prefer.
... So now it's been twelve years...
Do you still live?  We were torn from each other.
Can you still feel the constrictions of your heart
With every memory brought back to life?
And, sometimes, is the past so real, that you
can breathe the very air we breathed
- and feel my skin beneath your fingertips..?

In my world there is none replacing you
Though I have kept my paper dolls for comfort's sake
My cool resolve is straining.
I can still feel the cool coarse texture of your hair
-and long again for innocence.

Will I carry  you in my heart unto my last days
Never knowing what was lost?
This forever unrequited love plays like a tragedy.
Shall we never know our hearts again?
Shall I always dream and awaken empty
-you in your world, -I in mine?

How shall we counsel our children- love our mates?
Are humans never to be allowed perfect love,
But forced to part and seek our surrogates?
I wish for you what I have not:
Conjugal bliss and total amnesia to past perfection,
Renewal of hope - for only that which is attainable
- and gentle sleep without dreams.
Elouise Roux Dec 2011
My counter sits patiently
as always on that square
waiting!

For chance of your die
to land you on a merciful
ladder.

I have risked my way
now just before the finish
No. 99

Slid down those reptiles
Escaped their constrictions
fought.

It wasn't easy, what is?
I understand your reserve
Honestly.

My game was easier
I had a more forgiving
Board.

Whispered once before
I will always be there, still plays
True.

Only together will I brave
No. 100, so my counter stays
Roll.
M Harris Mar 2017
This Is The Story Of Her, New-Fangled Eyes,
Filling Up In Valiant High,
A Sacramental Anticipation,
Victim Of Her Addiction,

Specter Amour Ensemble,
She Kisses So Gentle,

A New Found Glory,
Like What’s The Morning Story?
An Ark Of Optimism,
An Immortal Prism,

A Scope Of Life,
Enslaved To Her Emphatic Hive,
Imbibed Inside Her Metamorphosing Dive,
Eternal Sunshine Of A Spotless High,
Twinkling Fireworks Into The Duskiest Night,
Like The Sprightliest Light,
Painting Me In All Her Colors Of Life,

A Gorgeous Cognizance Blossoming Transcendence Of 90’s Summer,
As She Discos Like A Junior In Spring Summer,
Myriad Instants Of Her Untamable Beliefs
Driving Me In Her Upbeat Beats,
Infinitely Running On Repeat,
Scorching With Her Heartbeat,

An Amour So Sanctified,
Thrills Out All The Unrefined,
Cause To Major Redesign

A Cryptic Princess From Tomorrow Land,
Glued To Her Hand In Hand,

A Wish Of Hazel Eyes,
Relentlessly Every Night,
Cranberry Delights,
Mystical Highlights,

Etched With Infinite Scars Of Her Amours
Into Transcendent Clusters Of Her Own,
Engulfed In Her Moans In Rome,

Surrendered To Her Cryptic Heart,
She’s A Symphony To Mozart,

All She Gives Are Premature Ventricular Constrictions Every Infinite,
Till The Rest Of Her Lives*

- 04:21AM
Katrina Maria Jun 2010
Criticism crawls uncontrollably through crevices left behind in the
Kinetics of my mind, the need, the severance of mind from body
Somewhere, they call, mocking and cutting but I try to ignore
The feeling that I am being watched, coddled, pacified,
Guided through life, one life. Only one try.
Shall I break free of the constrictions?
Movement will be my key
Never stop and they
Can't keep their
Grip on
Me.
Ella Gwen Jun 2015
Fix your smiles like sutures against my skin
pull back black hair, paint prides picture vain
he reignites present, sings such impeccable sin
as fresh pressed flesh weeps for him again.

I dissolve single stitches, you breathe them within
clasp palms and you sit, surrendering thy strain
raise wary hands to mine; all mine now to win?
you release, reach constrictions, rue me insane.

Keep rise rampant memory, fire fevered forged grin
best silent significance, now such rendered resting,
your words tripped dismissed long dead echoing din
riled love risked rages yes for true absence of him.
CharlesC May 2013
I'll let you get past
He said..
a narrowing trail
these constrictions
each and all
are miniature
black holes..
most plentiful now
our traffic snarls
scarcities abound
narrow painful news..
today's trail courtesy
an expanding gesture
in constricting times...
CharlesC Apr 2013
A haiku flash
this new toy at ready
dullness shatters...


Moment of violence
suddenness in tranquil field
deeper field prevails...


Unusual fog today
reminder of sameness in all
differences jump...


Sublime distant Peak
parking lot autos..light poles
constrictions disappoint...


Evening news
connects screaming dots
so few dots...
Ronney Apr 2016
Taught  through criticism

Thoughts were fuelled with cynicism

Feeling love was conditioned

According to our submission

We were imprisoned

In our minds where we envisioned

Better lives it became a mission

Tears, sweat and blood were always a given

But we've risen

Above these constrictions

Freed from our prisons

To make acquisitions

To make decisions

Based on valid reason

We were raised to be different

A generation of deliverance

That would

**be of great significance
~ they way in which you are raised will shape a persons view in life and what we believe needs fixing or doing
Helen Nov 2013
I divested myself
of the constrictions
of modern society
that suggests my curves
are borderline obese

but an artist eye
doesn't see this

It pictures the dips
and hollows of life
bearing another soul
over and over
Connoisseurs of Form
appreciate my nakedness
as I'm transferred to canvas
with pigments of ochre
and red and charcoal blacks
Smudges are incorporated
into telling lines that lie

But there are no easels
nor a paintbrush in sight
I'm standing naked under
a moon full and bright
for the sake of art
the only person painting me

in perfection

*is me
Paige Miller Apr 2013
I grabbed your hand when no one was glancing
but you were waiting, causing constrictions
of my aorta. My legs were dancing.
Epinephrine increased my convictions.
Remember that cold winter night when we
hid from the snow, filled my room with laughter?
Together we laid on my bed, a sea
of blankets between us, but then after
you left me broken and hallowed of blood.
Winter consumed my skeletal structure
my marrow turned liquid, poured out a flood,
causing white snow to loose its luster.
Your apologies can’t refill my veins
Waiting for you replaced organs with pain.
nivek Sep 2015
this habitation of the mind
bone, skin and muscle

has the power to travel
anywhere its imagination goes

leaving behind for awhile
constrictions of place and time
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
what i learned today:

a. when people treat you cruelly,
    turn all your compassion
    that's left in you
    on beings that are more likely
    to understand it,
    those beings we degraded
    our language on by citing
    their tongues of onomatopoeia;
    animals.
    it will make you better off,
    not having a care for giving
    compassion unto fellow man,
    apathy, the sweet porcelain
    dome where children shelter under
    and provide the only basis
    for a like-for-like exercise of compassion.

b. re-felting the roof of the shed with my father,
    today, in the crisp saturday day,
    making cinnamon coffee,
    watching the imaginary leash on my cat
    the ginger punk maine **** quarus
    keeping an eye on us on the shed roof
    will ignite more in me
    than these charcoal mathematically rigid
    imprints on the colour of surrender.
    oh i've surrendered, all the spare time imaginable
    on an activity that wants people
    to bleed, but who can only offer
    ideals and easily falsifiable wants,
   who would march in a battlefield backwards.

c. in the english-speaking world, only two strands
   of books exist to a respectable popularity,
   fiction and autobiography, technically fiction & fiction,
   since all autobiographies do is write a fiction
   for us caught in the present: what life was like,
   what life isn't like back then now, what life
   will never be for us to rekindle it to a suitable
   reminiscence in the future - never a non-fictional
   account of what life is like now, always
   a non-fictional account of what life was like
   back then.

d. back when poetry was sung in the queen's parlour,
     or when she bathed in milk,
     but not when it was missing she took
     to the harrowing beast, the queen bathory
     and bargained against bathing in milk instead in
     ****** blood, when poetry was used as a welcome
     distraction for those with much ado about nothing
     of the leisurely time of crowned spare time,
     when poetry was not supposed to entertain a crowd
     but high eminence it mattered,
     for indeed the philosophical critique is adequate,
     sooner a playwright entertain a crowd
     with weird constrictions on only male-actors
     in tutus and corsets and wigs that a single
     voice, with no actors but shadowy personae in one
     body will entertain a crowd...
     but odd that because poetry lost favour in places
     of high eminence of crowned leisurely time
     deserving poetic narrative spoken than sung
     with the lyre to accompany, when this happened
     the crowd eminence joined the mob, reduced itself
     to full attire and prune gesticulations of tightened
     cheek for show of noble pride, among the rabble,
     it chose the public slaughter of art for the eyes
     to be gauged in the notably sized crowd
     rather than the luxury of a personal space,
     naked, bathed, as the art of poetry is, naked,
     even in terms of paragraphed punctuation,
     nakedness of the technique... to have replaced it
     by fully in corset and jewelled among the rabble,
     watching the weird and wonderful restrictions
     that gave us transvestites... indeed... what eminence,
     amongst the mob
.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
indeed the plurality of the word swans leaves it (the expression) duo-******, for both widow and widower are expressed; a reader of poetry has to become an orchestra, he has to intermission instruments, learn punctuations, learn greater patience, learn the non-existent fluidity akin to what philosophers championed: the river... he needs to learn the bumblebee's flight buzz impromptu... he needs to learn his own language... the river has nothing to do with poetry... it can't be simplified to simply deterministic meanings that probe with vectors via telescopes into vacuum or at the stars.

to leave but a breath,
seems more to us than to have
left a proof of the monogamy of
swans with the widow spider
entangling us into a boa web of
coils and constrictions of geometrics
(poets elaborate and seemingly
profess "nonsense" because of *φιλοσυμφωνια
-
which means a love of arrangement,
esp that of arranging letters in a way to avoid
using stress, or diacritics, although unavoidable,
a love of grammar doesn't exact the expression,
love of arrangement φιλοσυμφωνια does
do away with what philosophers do,
expressing compounds of -logy stating a trumpet
is a trumpet but hardly differentiating
a trumpet from a trombone):
or 10 steps worth of footprint
on a beach, which the tide will
nonetheless take to erase rather than keep
another analogue of us to take to imitate...
that everyone after us could state
a walk as equal, in "original" intent an original
intended, to therefore be erased subsequently and "originally",
and leave this life as worthy a placebo for others
(O kept memory akin to Marcus Aurellius):
to make room for others to make equal share
likewise, in sequence to be kindred likewise
as an "original" intent with the unknown and unfathomable,
for each of us to know, yet nothing more than ourselves,
and to be crowned the highest prize of the world
having known us.
Arfah Afaqi Zia Nov 2015
My situation so disabled,
My heart beats with every tear that rolls down my cheek,
My eyes swollen from the scars which are unhealed,
My life's a mess,

My soul aches only for the constrictions in my heart to cease,
I hope one day they do,
The day I seek freedom from all the mishaps,
The ups and downs that sum up the pain in my life,

The sorrow and woe in my heart,
I hope that the hatred that developed in those hearts,
The hearts of whom I care about, which are fragile,
Exterminates this instant,

I'm tired of the accusations I get to hear,
For the things I didn't do,
And for the things that still remain,
Am I not a human?

Is that so hard for you to digest?
My mistakes are my learning experience,
I maybe wrong but one thing I know is I'm not perfect,
I have my flaws.
I'm not. And all these discriminating accusations are hurtful. My mom thinks whatever happens around is my fault. I'm so tired listening to her accuse me.
mars Jun 2014
Some days are hard.
I wake up with weeds growing in my chest,
rooting me to the bed beneath me. They are
chains, constrictions on my breathing and the
butterflies in my stomach, and those moments
remind me that I have never felt more caged
than I do right now.
There are picket fences in my ribs, sporting
chipped paint and broken wood, and I find it
comforting that something is as damaged and
destroyed as I am. I do not cry. I have not cried
for six years and yet every time you look at me,
I feel the tear drops pool in my lungs, drowning
me with romanticized suicide and bleach. You left
me for alcohol and cigarette butts and I think that
is what hurts the most. Every third degree burn on
your arm takes away a part of me, stripping me
of my own ambitions and identity. I do not find comfort
in the fact that this is what you have always wanted.
I sit on a swing that is older than my veins and I wait
for you to come. You do not, and I do not cry.
Riya Aug 2014
The beautiful, green scaly skin of the devious snake
Was always prepared to rear its ugly head,
A grimacing, smirk plastered on its face
As it glided, lusting after its prey.

Eyes locked,
Scrutinising every movement,
It crawled out of its pit,
Attacking with its sharp, venomous teeth.

It ripped, shredded, and devoured
All with a menacing grin on its face,
The poison was seeping,
Taking over the body, slowly, painfully
As the snake just watched bashful and happily.

And all they could do was watch in agony, wishing that she would escape the constrictions of the cobra buried deep within her.

— The End —