"consulted" poems
In an instance,
I felt a calmness sweep across my body.
My body free of any restriction.
Her being my release.
Sweet liberties
Utilized by the touch of lips.
A period punctuated by perched lips.
Released in ounces of color.
The way she loved.
My tongue swirled around hers.
Fingers wrapped around her waist.
Brown peach flavored skin.
My addiction a place for her to stay,
Her bag broken down; piece by piece.
A home away from home.
Until the day she left.
I consulted family, I reached out to friends.
They say that she's no good
They say leave her be.
Truth be told
My vacancy left colorless.
Bland.
My tree grown fruitless
Revealed to me in bitter hunger.
The realization of perception.
Nothing left to fill my hands.
This vacancy punishable by death.
A ****** filled by her alone.
My fingers around her waist.
Her love sticky, sweet.
Swirling around my tongue.
My eyes left low
Anticipating her return.
They say that she's no good
They say leave her be.
Truth be told
I haven't spoken to them since
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 6:40 PM UTC
I can't stop writing this poetry,
Because all I think of is poetry.
Phrases repeat temselves spontaniously.
Like trains coming continuously
Rhyme and metre extravagantly
Burst into flames explosively.
Twas I who consulted psychiatry.
OCD he said repeatedly.
OCD I thought repeatedly.
Then I broke free
From
Rhyme and. Metre
And any rules really!!!
**** it?
Flower
Sunshine in the rain
Relax bro
Be open and throw **** all over the place
But do it with grace.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 10:43 AM UTC
the bright sky was out raged
because it wasn't consulted
when the rain drops all agreed
to make it dark and gloom today
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
good girls
are not supposed to
get angry
or raise their voices
when they argue
or argue at all
in the first place.
good girls
are not supposed to
wear ripped jeans
or tight shirts
or say the word ****
good girls
are not supposed to
even think about *******
and here I am,
having already used
the word ****
three times in this poem.
good girls
are not supposed to
get plastered
on school nights
or tipsy before classes
or listen to music
with the volume
cranked all the way up.
good girls
are not supposed to
know which windows
make the least noise
when they’re sneaking out
or know where they can
buy cheap alcohol underage
or know who they can kiss
and where to kiss them
to get what they want.
good girls
are supposed to
smile silently and be pure
and go to church
or wherever they pray
to cleanse their filthy souls.
good girls
are supposed
to believe in
and put their trust in
and have faith in a god.
good girls
are supposed to
expect this god to
keep them away from harm,
and to never learn how to
keep themselves safe
if this god fails to.
good girls
are not supposed to
act anything like me.
the only thing
I have ever truly
believed in is poetry.
I outgrew religion by
the time I turned seventeen,
long before then
if I’m being honest.
I never turned to prayer for
advice on how to live my life.
I never turned to anyone
but myself.
I only consulted the bible
when I needed inspiration
for some tragic poem.
good girls
are not supposed to
write poetry
the way that I
write poetry.
good girls
never speak of or write about
*** and drugs and violent minds
and suicide and more ***
and broken hearts.
good girls
don’t sing along to
the lyrics of sad songs
in front of open windows
just for the ******* sake of it.
but good girls
don’t realize that life is short
until it’s too late.
good girls don’t ever
get to feel alive.
a girl like me
who gets into trouble
and refuses to stay quiet
and causes a scene
everywhere she goes
is not a good girl.
a girl like me
might be too reckless
and die too young.
but a girl like me
will die with no regrets
and plenty of memories
and so many *******
stories to tell.
a girl like me
will live the life that
good girls dream of,
but never get to talk about.
Oct 17, 2020
Oct 17, 2020 at 12:31 PM 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
Wrapped round in swaddling clothes,
I saw her bright beaming face.
Lying helpless, still in a trance,
I sensed her soft soothing touch.
Warm it was when huddled tight,
Glad it was to be held close,
Pleasure it was to be lifted up,
And Heaven it was to be in her lap.
She took me in her gentle hands,
She fed me with her nourishing milk,
She made me sleep with lullabies sweet,
And kept alert on day and night.
As time slowly glided past,
I grew myself into a tiny tot.
Crawled around in sweeping haste,
Reaching out to all I could touch.
It left my mother so hardly pressed.
She never had even time to sit,
Cut down she, her afternoon nap,
Cast aside she her rest and respite.
My teething time – a real hard time!
For reasons none, I grew so irritable.
Itchy – fidgety, I cried on end,
Futile it went all her tricks to tame.
This made my mother grow jittery.
Consulted she every quack and doc,
Administered she every harmless dope,
And interceded to all divine help.
It was only a passing phase,
With consistent care, I grew to a buxom babe.
My childish pranks delighted all.
Too glad grew my mother to see me fare.
Soon I learnt to steady myself up,
The Toddler placed the first faltering step.
It was always with bated breath,
My mother watched my growing up.
She ever remained a pillar of strength,
In whom I saw a never failing friend.
She led me through the devious turns of life,
Always there to lend her helping hand.
In complex issues too hard to solve
Wise it was to seek her counsel
Sane and sound, she ever remained.
To trials of life, she never surrendered.
She taught me the quintessence of life,
She showed me the route to tread,
Her zest for life, never once cease,
Her trust in God ever on the rise
Now my mother ceases to exist,
But sure she will continue to live,
In my hearts domain, she reigns supreme.
No force on Earth can cast her out.
As I look back to days of yore,
All I wish is to conjure up the past,
To be reborn a second time,
To be my mother’s darling child!
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 5:46 AM UTC
In preserving Hugo Chavez,
every method will be tried.
If stuffing Hugo doesn’t work,
They’ll try Formaldehyde.
Madam Tussaud’s was consulted
But their wax was doomed to melt.
It is steamy in Caracas
And Hugo’s not exactly svelte.
A corpse in a glass coffin
Like Snow White on display
The late lamented Hugo
Was a saint some peasants say.
What is it with these communists
Who all faiths do decry?
They long to be like Lenin;
To be worshiped, deified.
In the end they'll use McDonald's
secret sauce to tan his hide.
Their burgers last forever
don't get me started on their fries.
If you go to Venezuela
Be sure and say hello for me
To the carcass of Caracas
preserved for posterity.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
*The cordons of existence are constricting
For the keepers of the dream have let us down,
Who will buy tomorrow if performances are hollow
Causing all the global spectators to frown?
American has been the silk pyjamas
Since ’45 they’ve lead the world’s display
In health and wealth and brandishing the muscle
But in recent times it seems they’ve seen their day.
For since Clinton’s time the National debt has spiralled
They’ve departed brushfire wars in disarray,
Default now looms obscene with disharmony supreme
With Congressional leaders ranting in the fray.
The fiasco of a Government held to ransom
By a faction of extremist’s from the right,
Whilst the greenback in decline won’t change water into wine
The dire threat of fiscal chaos causes fright.
So global confidence is fading in the dollar
And the watchers shake their heads in blank despair,
For the willingness to follow is now a bitter pill to swallow
When the USA’s rock steadiness aint’ there.
So, what’s around the corner for tomorrow?
What aspirants are waiting in the wings?
With a fading USA perhaps it’s China’s turn to play
Though that’s going to mean adjustments made to things.
Of course we’re venturing into territory’s unchartered
And the crystal ball consulted, isn’t clear
But one thing I can assure, if this is what we must endure,
Is that our tomorrows will be something, now, to fear.*
Marshalg
Auckland N.Z.
19 October 2013
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
Esu Lanlu
Esu Elegbara
Esu Odara
Esu, the scared child of heaven
Esu, a reviled, respected,
Yet misunderstood being.
Esu, all creations dance to your best of life
Esu Dagunro
Esu Lukuluku
Esu Apagbe
Esu, the quickest and fastest one
Esu, confuser of many
Esu, the disruptor of order
Esu, the iconic one
Esu, the master of linguistics
Esu, the conciliatory peacemaker
Esu, the divine alchemist
Esu, the trickster
Esu, the pusher of those,
Who doesn't carry Olodumare's wishes.
Esu, the inseparable friend of Orunmila
Esu,
Papa Legba
Legba Atibon
Kalfou
Papa La Bas
Esu, divine messenger of transformation
Esu, ebora to luti la nbo
Esu, Okunrin ori ita
Esu, a quick responder when consulted
Esu, divine messenger of the gods
Esu Odara, the divine one of Ose Otura
Esu, carrier of the ase of sensuality and fertility
Esu Lanlu, king of dance
Esu, keeper and imparter of ase
Esu, the fundamental Orisa
Esu, the manifest of greatness
Esu, the one who is as hard as Rock
Esu Akeregbaye
Esu, the shedder of blood who knows no one's tears
Esu, the controller of earth
Esu, the special middle man between heaven and Earth
Esu, the anointed rope to success and wealth
Esu Lanlu
Esu Elegbara
Esu Odara
Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson
Jul 6, 2020
Jul 6, 2020 at 8:18 AM UTC
He's interested in dreams,
the ones where everything is
so vivid and easily explained.
I'm obsessed with dream catchers
because they're beautiful and have
some sort of meaning whether or not
you believe in "evil spirits" or "nightmares"
or "heartbreak" or "reality."
You know, made up things like that.
He writes them down in a little book
and they have funny names and interesting
plot lines and there are some of them I am not
allowed to read and I don't know if that's because
he's hiding them from me or if they are just too personal.
I really should not be wondering if I was ever
in one of his more recent lucid dreams,
if he'd kissed my lips behind his eyes,
if he'd held me tight while he consulted with the Sandman,
if I was his when all the lights were out.
I really should not be wondering if I was ever
in one of his favorite lucid dreams.
But it would be nice to know.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
I was on a ship, a ship on the high seas;
With nobody on the deck,
Sailing through heavy, stormy waters.
Who's at the helm?
I don't know - swaying from side to side
the vessel tottered on, metal
oar-rests clanging to wheezing winds
and boisterous, surging waves.
I suddenly get a call on my mobile - how
on earth did I have network?
'I can see her', says the voice, 'an austere
lady leading the ship'. Is she
the same helmswoman who charters
universes before they come alive?
I walked downstairs, finding the parlour.
And decided I should paint,
to **** time: time, the enduring mystery.
Is this a dream? I consulted
Varo and dipped my brush in black
and splattered oil over canvas.
Dots, like sparkling stars, I see threes and
twos, and fives. Looking eerily
like loaded dice. Am I cruising through
skies? Is this my destiny loaded?
This is an allegory, says Martel. Agrees
Jung; Breton seems pleased.
Freud, though, says I'm just paranoid,
and this, my willful imagination.
I wake up, and find myself on a ship.
There's no one on the deck.
I have a mobile phone in my hand.
Miracle: there's network,
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
I used to eat oatmeal.
I heard it was nutritious,
Good for the heart.
It tasted too bland.
I tried spicing it up,
Adding some sugar.
But oatmeal was boring.
I was too conservative,
Stuck in a routine.
I went out for breakfast.
I wanted something new,
To treat myself.
Today I ate cinnamon roll French toast.
It was hot, indulgent, rich,
More like a dessert.
But pastries for breakfast?
I can’t have that every day,
Just in moderation.
Well, why can’t I?
Couldn’t I find something to look forward to every morning?
Couldn’t I actually enjoy eating breakfast?
Is it responsible to indulge?
Is it exciting to be healthy?
Does it have to be one or the other?
I consulted my heart.
I couldn’t hear her advice,
My stomach was grumbling.
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 12:00 AM UTC
It happened on one fine morning, as sun peeped into my hostel room
I pulled my sheet over my head and prayed to lengthen night hours
But alarm rang mercilessly ting -tong,ting-tong
Scratching my eyes, stretching my arms as wide as could,
I yawned and woke up to start an eventful day.
I felt enervated and body ache added to my stagnation.
I did my daily morning routines half heartedly,
as cosiness of bed was seducing me back to it.
I donned in my uniform, ran to the mirror.
I sensed an itching on my back, I touched it with my fingers.
Under- estimating it as a mosquito bite, I turned attention to my hair.
Suddenly I noticed a dew drop on my chest
Curiously I looked up to find any leaking in concrete ceiling
It protruded up here and there, without any order.
I felt like playing "connect -the -dots" during my school days.
I consulted doctor, he diagnosed it as chickenpox
and gave me sick leave along with prescription.
Those who were already immune to this, gave me tips to care.
Rest moved away from me with "respect" and wished "get well soon"
My father came to pick me from hospital.
I packed my things and got into the car.
On the way he brought me a basket of fruits
and fed my stomach full with advice.
My homecoming was welcomed by my pet dog's bark.
It got annoyed as I didn't pamper her as usual.
I opened windows of my sojourn kingdom.
It endowed me with a feeling of extending my horizon .
I saw dew drops on leaves, hanging down to fall,
dancing in breeze and sparkling in morning sun light.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
I consumed your agitation, drew it from your lips.
As i felt the round edges of your aching desire.
You held nothing back as you took my love
And led me to an ocean of burning fire.
Our love consulted with our hearts
And they all agreed,
This love we have can't by others be acquired.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
All day, I turned you over
in my mind.
Consulted my essence
and found nothing wanting.
Eight hours,
full to bursting -
but telling myself
"don't get hooked".
You, being the truest of men,
have cut me to the marrow.
Where, transparent in your presence,
all pretension expires.
All day,
I felt your sapphires upon me.
Eyes sent to watch over,
and guard every move.
I said this wasn't gonna be
a Greek tragedy.
No sit-com of labours
or dramatic show.
Your voice
turned every little red fibre
of my central nervous system
to trembling coral.
Underwater, captured in the swell
I'm breathing you again.
As though I were born to it,
and have lived every moment
with you... with you...
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC
Even they did sow
A seed of love
They waited and deliberated
But the seed would not germinate
They wept
They prayed
They consulted and tested
But the shoot from the seed
In refusal, stayed within
It seared through her heart
To see other farms lush
Pain and pang both
While her being barren
Scared her
She withered!
A woman without a child
Can she not crumble?
sometimes self pity
Sometimes anger
An unspoken question
Forever would poke at her
Her feminity bore all
Concerns, questions, pain and ridicule
Still without loosing her will
She decided she would fight brave
Wage a war against luck!
Today she holds a babe
In her arms
Her smiles are young
Laden with warm promises
His eyes twinkle and dream at distance
Their wait is blessed
And so is the soul
Now with parents, protection
Love and care
A family framed
A new legacy waiting to be made!
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 6:41 AM UTC
The girl who thinks Tuesday is "almost Friday"
bakes in her room like a milk-crate left for Phoenix dead.
Nobody's knocking
but nobody's thinking.
How do we know that the fly loves its life on the web
if we've only consulted the spider?
How do we document
a Grecian revival of a Spanish writer.
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
*Before the breathing of this blissful altar,
There once was,actually,on this place,
A frightened shrine of Uzu deity.
Where we sacrified our last **** to Uzu,
Ate stragnled meat,food,wine,colanut,
Consulted our ancestral spirit,
Bowed down to the eastern sun.
But after our immersion into water,
We folded aside our old garments.
And believe in God Almighty.
Who on cross,with cross and cross
Saved all mankind of all races.
We are now carriers of cross,
Hoping for a blissful eternity.
Our fowl and palmy became bread and wine.*
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
"Helen, the radiance of women..." - Homer
Had Helen of Troy been a modern American woman,
she would have checked her email, called her boss,
updated her Facebook page, looked at her calendar,
gone to the gym and talked with her therapist
before running away with Paris.
She would also have consulted her girlfriends
to determine if he was really that into her
and examined a bevy of relationship
self-help books just to make sure.
Certainly, she would have googled him,
had a friend perform a credit check,
and demanded an STD clearance from his doctor.
When the ships and soldiers arrived
to redeem her honor and rescue her,
she would have told them in a huff
that she was an independent woman
quite capable of taking care of herself
and didn't need the help of any men,
before stepping over the dead male bodies
and accepting a free ride home.
Later she would write a wildly popular
estrogen drenched memoir about her trials
filled with spiritual advice, travel notes and recipes.
Paris, of course, would be conveniently dead.
Some stories do not improve when updated.
- mce
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
I am just twenty
And am a nice girl
I was sweating in the moon light
And shivering in the sunlight
Sweet tastes sour
And sour tastes sweet
The day looks night
And the night looks the day
I consulted a physician
Who prescribed all tests
And diagnosed nothing
Then I consulted a psychiatrist
Who asked me “do you have a boy friend”
Yes .I do .I replied
He diagnosed my problem as romantic fever.
I asked for the remedy.
He said, "The prescription is simple
:Marry the boy you loved
And spend the day and night with him.
You will surely be cured”
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 5:16 AM UTC
I went to the clinic to consult my chest which is undergoing some contractions.
I was 15 back then, and the doctor evaluating me smirked at my young face.
'Let's do this,' I read her mind. She opened the drawer and lifted her stethoscope.
Directing it into my heart, the doctor recognized its high speed.. lab dub lab dub
But she was not convinced and doesn't want to believe in a young girl.
She just smiled and told me three hurting words, 'it was nothing.'
Explaining that maybe I was just nervous, perhaps dealing with heart breaks.
Heart breaks? Well, I've got none not even with my parents nor with my grades.
At that very moment sitting silently in front of her with table between us,
I badly wanted to retort, to express my defense. 'How could you?'
But I stood still, closed my fist calming myself she doesn't know, right?
I know I felt that pang in my heart, I stood up and closed the door behind her.
Six years had passed. Recalling the incident, how I went straight to the clinic;
how I consulted my aching heart, how the doctor slapped to me that it was nothing
made me realize that what she had altered is easier than dealing with heart breaks.
For I felt the same pang but this time it maybe scientific but not physically.
For I cannot go straight to the clinic - to wail that my heart has been beating hard;
and I will just get disappointed by their answers that no medicine can ease the pain,
That stethoscope will just hear its fast lab dub but not see how slowly it is bleeding,
That the apparatus is unseen, is out of their vicinity, and can only be created by me.
And all I can do is to close my eyes and listen to it, maybe its not, not a mere lab dub,
That maybe. Tears flowing from within will try to wash it; to cleanse the blood away,
And I'll hear the clock's tick tock and ask myself how many times had already elapsed?
Breathing that soon enough, soon I will bring my feet, carry my body, and lift the door behind.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 4:19 AM UTC
"There is a movement towards Fabian 8
High-brightness, Jeep breath
The father; And then - to the eye; on Women,
Eun Hyon was sufficiently timed; Krull
Jah's right art GE - cf. not only
to the Lord; And Joseph found grace;
equal; yo - T Kingdom snail tea;
A highly JOP before traveling Hiro in N;
John is the physics of a tantrum; from
Effin Fiji Islands with O heaven!
A GDR is a serious penalty for which
stripper; 1 will drive out they that are
of marriageable age; without a name
The hot buttons to 1 degree per year ****
dood T; The bushes and groom now CT;
have consulted together to dig a JP;
1 that may walk in my 10; Yens to men;
J-Greek continued fever FJS this very night,
the mother; that the hot weather is bad rock
J Haj buried; The mother Haj MA;
The mother mad ...
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
I saw a fella on the TV today
I didn't bother to unmute him
(Why should I? No one bothered to unmute me)
He spoke of the seven ways to
follow The Path of God and I am
sorry but I lost the thread and
with it the general idea I'm sure
of this because I consulted my cat
on the bigger issues you see and
By the time we looked up
he or someone who looked
just like him- The Path of God guy-
was trying to sell us life insurance
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 6:27 PM UTC