"debatable" poems
They didn't know what Diversity was...
The kids, that is.
Since the kids didn't know it,
the teacher coined it as "“black” visibility".
She wasn't sure if she could make that call
so she nodded her head, looking for approval.
The interviewer asked in what direction did the teacher see Diversity
As if Diversity was a one-way street.
Let me just refresh your memory...
"“black” visibility"
As if decades of progress in the schools were undone,
The kids voted on Performances and Projects for “black” History Month.
How shocking!... Kids of every shape, size, ability and race studying a time in history...
Sounds racist to me.
They wanted a Gospel Choir that is clearly only for “black” students
Because I'm the student Director for the Fordham University's Rhythm of Praise Gospel Chior for the fourth year running...
Maybe I'm missing something...
MAYBE I'm “black”... Maybe if I close my eyes really tight...
Nope, I'm still “white”.
Olive brown perhaps?
Only in the summer.
Anyway, I digress like Sophia Patrilo from the Goldren Girls
Who was Italian by the way.
Just advertising for Diversity.
Let's debate about "Music Debates" for a moment.
Maybe you call it Debates because Hip Hop is debatable, and by the way only for “black” students.
When I could argue for days upon days
About how Reggaeton didn't come from Salsa
but I know **** well that Salsa came first.
The kids wanted to Stomp the Yard and battle it out.
I do believe rap battles take place around the world
And one of the best rappers I know is an English teacher in Harlem
Whose hair is redder than a leprechaun.
Talent Shows that showcase every student's ability
Whether it be singing, dancing, performing their poetry,
But still apparently that's not Diversity.
Neither is an International Day
Where International ways are celebrated.
And finally, a Diversity Day,
That clearly means diversity is separated.
"They wanted a lot of things"
Yeah. They asked for a whole lot... of everything BUT diversity.
That's right, because they don't know what it means
The Kids, that is...
Then tell me please:
Define Diversity.
Is it seeing a “black” horse with “white” stripes
Or a “white” horse with “black” stripes?
Why is it between “black” and “white”?
Why not between “white”, “black” brown, yellow, orange, brick red...
Let's get it out of our head
That teachers can't learn anything from their students,
Because it sounds to me,
Like they had a pretty good start to the meaning of Diversity.
And if it turns out they didn't,
That's what teachers are there for:
Make a **** lesson about it.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 2:16 PM UTC
Here in America,
we improvise morgues
as needed.
in the cafeterias
or by the lockers,
near the ticket booths,
and at the altars.
We divvy up the dead.
Tally them
and report the number
like an answer.
13, 20, 49, 58, 6
Every death count
a timely national shock.
Almost as if
our well-televised
monthly tragedy
was ever anything less
than a game of roulette.
anything less than a matter of time
and time and time again.
Covering them each
with our bed sheets,
we try and stifle it.
Do our best to
staunch the the sights,
the noises,
(“just like chairs falling”)
the names
that keep bleeding out
onto our thoughts
and tongues,
Far too much and
too often
not to choke on.
Here in America,
we’ve learned that
horror is level-headed.
It is debatable.
It is pangless.
It seeps, deep to the core,
perverting with a silent smile.
the steady, feverish dread
weaving itself into the mundane.
the “god help us”
annulled by the
“respectfully disagreed”
the nightmare that lies
always just underneath,
and just out of mind,
Until it insinuates itself
Again and again...
Here, in America
We line the bodies,
death slumped, and
bled out on the pavement.
We arrange them-
Side by side.
Most are missing things-
a hat, a piece of face.
one shoe, a dulled pencil
(fill in C)
phones
buzzing on the ground
lit up with unread messages
(“Please call me”)
They are missing-
an upcoming
7th birthday party,
(Star Wars themed)
They are missing-
their vacations.
their first dates.
their college applications.
job interviews.
kids.
fiancées.
Lined up lifeless,
they are missing
far too many things
to gather.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 3:14 PM UTC
I swear I'm dateable!
well that's debatable
because I'm a complete nerd with a bad record, yeah that's relatable
Anyway I might as well put my cards on the table
I'm a poet but you know this but I'm currently available
I'm unswayable, once I'm yours I'm yours
I **** at making first moves but I'll gladly open doors
Texts every morning? you got that
Want food? I'll go out of my way to buy that
Bad day? on my chest you can lay or in between your legs My tounge can play while I get rid of that headache
Need to cry? I'll be by your side
Cramping? heating pads n chocolate I'll provide...
Now ladies you may wonder... why have all my choices been so rotten?
Speaking for guys like me.. we don't get out too often.
NERDS!
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
for her
no special expertise claimed,
if anything, les contraries,
my non-expertise,
but nothing forbids
my heart from trying
red crossing,
rebuilding just this young one
build from the corners in,
like one starts a jigsaw puzzle,
the human, moving parts,
thus harder,
but eminently doable
the corners are straight edged, linear,
easier to spot, easier to start,
but for you to find them within,
go outside, and window winnow in
you will know them as your
truest words
pick the picture
of you,
you know
you must pick,
the puzzle picture
of you
that favorite one
when completed,
will, though cracked,
as jigsaw puzzles
by nature wont,
as all humans
are wont,
will be the one
that brings smiles
first, foremost
she asks:
*"Where are these edges that define me,
help me to construct and the where to begin?"*
after sixty years more on this planet,
have been torn apart,
reconstructed, deconstructed,
more then ten finger and ten toe times
this I know,
there is but one beauty
in this crueled worn
every day weary-world,
it is you,
you words that betray
Beautiful You
oh so well
you see I have your picture,
you see I have your words,
deconstructed, reconstructed,
I love your picture,
I love your words,
start with me, start at the corners,
show me the pieces,
tho the world see the ex
terior,
I see the in
terior,
the shiny new
true sides, so beautiful,
wake knowing that
not just me dearest Chalsey,
I have found your chalice,
and your grail,
and I say,
this is just one man,
this can be where you start,
this then be your mirror,
let us from the corners in,
from the eyes that penetrate,
accept that this is not debatable,
this is my poem where I do not lie,
this is my piece of you,
from inside of me
my straight edge piece was
born in your beautiful words,
and I say,
can you, see a voice,
can you, touch a voice,
no one can
but I can
your voice is transcendent,
it is the cover photo of a glossy mag,
this is the photo, the puzzle I see,
and heart each and every word
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
Trump's nemesis beamed from the stage
while she simmered with well-suppressed rage.
Their unkind dialectic
seemed purely synthetic;
results will be harder to gauge.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 3:27 PM UTC
On this sweet bank your head thrice sweet and dear
I lay, and spread your hair on either side,
And see the newborn wood flowers bashful-eyed
Look through the golden tresses here and there.
On these debatable borders of the year
Spring’s foot half falters; scarce she yet may know
The leafless blackthorn-blossom from the snow;
And through her bowers the wind’s way still is clear.
But April’s sun strikes down the glades to-day;
So shut your eyes upturned, and feel my kiss
Creep, as the Spring now thrills through every spray,
Up your warm throat to your warm lips: for this
Is even the hour of Love’s sworn suitservice,
With whom cold hearts are counted castaway.
3.5k
How wise I am to have instructed the butler
to instruct the first footman to instruct the second
footman to instruct the doorman to order my carriage;
I am about to volunteer a definition of marriage.
Just as I know that there are two Hagens, Walter and Copen,
I know that marriage is a legal and religious alliance entered
into by a man who can't sleep with the window shut and a
woman who can't sleep with the window open.
Moreover, just as I am unsure of the difference between
flora and fauna and flotsam and jetsam,
I am quite sure that marriage is the alliance of two people
one of whom never remembers birthdays and the other
never forgetsam,
And he refuses to believe there is a leak in the water pipe or
the gas pipe and she is convinced she is about to asphyxiate
or drown,
And she says Quick get up and get my hairbrushes off the
windowsill, it's raining in, and he replies Oh they're all right,
it's only raining straight down.
That is why marriage is so much more interesting than divorce,
Because it's the only known example of the happy meeting of
the immovable object and the irresistible force.
So I hope husbands and wives will continue to debate and
combat over everything debatable and combatable,
Because I believe a little incompatibility is the spice of life,
particularly if he has income and she is pattable.
2.9k
*Italic drumroll...
imperial cavalcade with Roman horns, eagle standards raised*;
♪ ♫♪♫ ♪♪♫♫♪♪♫♫♪♪♫♫♪
ALL HAIL !
Ye screen-fed sacrificial citizens, seething simpletons and volatile voters:
attend now, with republican fervor, tempered by democratic zeal, to the golden-tongued orator of our epoch, gallant guardian of American greatness, avatar of avarice, the Jeffersonian gentleman, anointed autocrat and Sultan of Swell, windswept Wazir of Wonderful, emissary of towering eminence in empire, The Anti H-Rod: Donald J. TRUMP !
(Plebeians look up from their circus-bread for a second—)
And may Our Sovereign Savior & Almighty God also bless his worthy opponent and adversary *HILLARY ("H-Rod")*
(Patricians murmur, nod; a few salute)
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
Blood splatters
White devil
Black angel
Killed by the devil
Debatable sentence
Death sentence or a couple of years?
Killed a brother
But it's debatable
If our brother got a death sentence and 8 shots in the back
It's only right if you get a death sentence
Can the government protect our brothers and our sisters?
AmeriKKKa government can not protect us because it was not made for us
But we can change that
We have to keep on fighting
We have to keep on protesting
We have to keep on studying
We have to get in the office
We have to get these law degrees
We have to become governors
We have to win
Because we've been losing
We've gotten so far
But not that far
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC
If you could only see
One color
of the rainbow and beyond
What- how could you decide?
Red
anger, love, elmo and stop signs
i'd give you roses - not just a dozen- a flower shop full
Orange
fruit, sherbet, traffic cones and tigers
i could watch a billion sunsets- if you would just hold my hand?
Yellow
lemonade, fear, highlighters and dandelions
you are my sunshine, my only sunshine
Green
luck, mint, leprechauns, and grass
i'm envious of her, though her significance is debatable
Blue
rain, robin eggs, sky, and oceans
could i cry with you? i'm still not sure.
Purple
mountains, shadows, lilacs and royalty
i'll bake you a mulberry pie, dripping with juice and made with love- that eternal 'secret' ingredient
As for me, I'd choose brown.
Brown for honest earth, for rich dark chocolate, for tall reaching trees, and for coffee dark as night, hot as hell, strong as love.
For your smooth skin, warm and vibrant.
An inch away from mine, I wonder what it would feel like to kiss you, soft and sweet.
But I look away, laugh with my friend, watch the black evening outside.
And sigh.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 3:10 PM UTC
I recall hearing that term once in high school,
"Urban forestry", a paradox, seemingly and yet,
That is exactly what it is.
Strips of land sanction to be aesthetically pleasing.
For whom, I have not a clue.
I would have preferred a lane or so,
Over the regular 8' by 1' square of trimmed trees.
I also grimace within the grace
Of those knotted furled fists toward a sky asking WHY!?
After a much calmer gardener had pondered the same word
Underneath his humming chainsaw
(Though probably for a more debatable material world)
Amongst other cuboid amputations.
Not to mention those solid soldiers
Whose attention is really standing dead in plain sight until
Wrinkled pavement is not enough ground to hold.
Then our hero makes local news in an inhumane, absolutely atrocious,
Final act of trespassing, vandalism, homicide, and suicide.
Of course nobody saw it coming.
Undetected and decayed for half a decade.
With so so many Ys it is easier to yelp for for those Xs
Crossing against our assumed perfect grids and parallels
To those stories of stacking passed from older cries
For HELP! Though those did not settle quite so well
So I proceed passing over a particularly loud leaf
Amidst this dry pondering
And snap out of the whats and whys and wheres
To take another look around at my illustrious
Urban Forest.
Unto a more practical pensive test,
Which side of that phrase,
Burdens the winning emphasis?
Well, still warblers and sparrows to inspire a song
For how this within time shall also pass along.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 6:48 AM UTC
How do we really know
That we are good people?
How do we know
If God is smiling?
Is He really there?
Or are we just alone;
Out on our own?
Is it debatable or fact?
Or a debatable fact?
Or is this all just to give Him a good laugh?
How can anyone be so sure?
We are so imperfect
Who are we to be confident?
Are we really that self-important?
What if everything's backwards
And we're all hanging in the balance
Upside down, faces cherried
Cuffed by the toes
Left with no hope.
What if you're wrong?
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
After the hunting trip that year,
Charlie was never the same,
some said he was totally insane,
'cause he now acted a little queer
at certain times of the month
& some other bizarre things
that were happening around him.
On full moon nights,
he'd take his shoes off,
throw on a plaid shirt & jeans
& stay out late,
would come home
early in the morning.
Usually his clothes
would be hanging in tatters,
ripped to shreds.
Other weird things
were definitely noticeable.
He had a sudden
strange aversion
to pure silver,
neighborhood cats & dogs
avoided him
& his incessant
high-pitched howling
in the shower was annoying
to say the least.
Whatever happened to
Charlie is debatable,
but calling him insane
may be a little over the top.
I wished the guys would stop.
I know plenty of them
who act the same way,
freaking hypocrites.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 5:22 AM UTC
The good dragon, thankless in his task continues faultlessly
Fitness training session is in full swing, mentally also
Preparations for an imprinted idea of a future prevail
******* on the porch is perfectly acceptable
Critter/blob; doctor/judge breed relentlessly
World of possibilities, even the Cosmo
Royal treatment- worship their Holy Grail
To any other sane beast, it’s debatable
Poor warning, little time, taken so depressingly
Peace out now, the path I wish to follow
It’s all good though, you won’t bail
Contentment cultivating Deelectable
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 2:48 AM UTC
It's not debatable
We are meant to be
Indestructible
Talking you and me
Two peas in our pod
Grooving home alone
No, no, no don't you touch that telephone
After nuzzling comes the cuddling
I like you next to me
So glad you like the dark chocolate
Here's the milk with honey
Let's binge watch our new fave
You're all the company I could ever want
Thanks for loving me
We've battened up the hatches
The rain ain't coming in
We're in this for the long haul
Three day weekends are just right,
To hang out with my baby doll
Morning, noon and night.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
Quiet whispers,
And thoughtless imaginations
Fulfill the truth
That lies within the heart.
The heart beats,
And uncontrollable defeats
With anger
And other stuff that contrast
The fears,
From damaging and preparing
It self to one’s peers,
That lies still,
And speak quiet whisper
In one’s ears,
With debatable beliefs
From the hard cold tears
That stays in the corner
Of one’s eye that
Makes it hard to fall,
And even easier to not
Cry.
The dents in the pillow to
Where one head rest and lay,
And the mind, body, and
Soul
Is released to God
To help the gray
That takes over your life,
Vanish and disappear
Which you is uncapable
Of controlling,
With quiet whispers.
And little whimpers,
That no one hears but you.
God take me to the point of
This poems,
Help my reader read,
And understand that my
Words are true.
I am itching to be loved.
I wonder if that itch really had
Grew.
-Marci H.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 8:52 PM UTC
These arbitrary measurements are killing me. Swiftly flies by without ever catching a glimpse of the sky. I go on and tiptoe through a temple where no one knows me, and then later regurgitate my soul in the form of poetry. I have a big heart, but my ill mind sometimes controls me. Other times I force myself to climb along the cliffside in an attempt to let the past free, so I won't be squeezed by thoughts unsettling. My synapses are meddling, but I can't blame them, for truly it's my fault. I have to re-train them, but first I must open up the vault.
Long-lasting actions sadden, while the hands move in a circular pattern always towards madness.. I must leave this palace. Mental waves of malice, where'd I put my chalice? So much on my plate, that I pushed it aside and decided I didn't care to eat. I won't accept defeat, yet I don't wanna face it. If only I could just embrace it. More than just to taste it, I swallow pseudo-panacea, a potion that sets more debatable mistakes in motion.
Steer me to the ocean, let's get lost at sea. No sense of time to abide by, thoughts roam silently. Waves may rush violently, but I'll be one with the water. I'll be in the current, flowing with the current so no longer will I falter. Alter my perspectives, and brave foreign lands. The only task that matters is the task at hand. It's all my demand, and so I say time means nothing. What's true is right now, so everyone can stop rushing. Find the temple inside you, and turn work into play. I will forever see you in my temple, friend, namaste.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, on the verges of spring:)
not all about that
yet all about me
the sleights redeemed too flat
taking things slowly
my stance
out of that delusional hand
still the intro of that kingdom dance
shook the sight demolishing one land
that debatable glance
the spark of something so vivid
scratched the hint of a chance
not my story & still not a person of livid
yet the better
some women listening to her weather in impact
yet delivering their letters
& they get a hold of a glorious contrast
------ravenfeels
Mar 15, 2022
Mar 15, 2022 at 4:10 PM UTC
I'm wrapped in
Black lace.
I can see the world around fuzzy lines and
I can breathe almost
Normally and I can hear
Every whisper like a scream.
But when I try to
Talk the words get
Stuck somewhere between
My throat and my lips.
My tongue is scratching
The fabric.
I'm finally used to
It all
So used to it that when I
Wake up in the morning
I don't even fight
The cloth wrapped around me.
I just roll over against
The wall and look far and wide
To all the things I can't see around
The corners of my eyes.
I can't capture
The things I can't see.
I used to want a Polaroid camera
To pocket every little grain of
World around me and now
All I want to see is the
Subtle darkness of my own
Eyelids.
That darkness used to be
Navy blue but now
It's pure black and when I stare at it
Long enough my mind
Superimposes a white filigree
Outline onto it.
Have you ever listened to
Sad music just to give you
The right to feel sad
Even if it was for the wrong reasons?
Four years ago this week
I found myself staring out
Plate glass windows at
Parked cars
The cold air trickling
Up my hoodie sleeves.
Now I'm staring at
Invisible black lace and
A lot of life lived between
The two vistas
Improvement?
Debatable
Maturity?
Non-negotiable.
My great-grandmother's shawl
Is still hanging in the
Back of my closet but I swear
It's wrapped around my face sometimes
And my old hoodie is
Lying on the floor at
The foot of my bed but I swear
I feel it creeping down my arms sometimes.
I never knew my great-grandmother
But I doubt she was a terribly pleasant person
Judging from the rest
Of my family.
Yet I doubt that any of my long-lost
Relatives ever held as tight a
Chokehold on someone as her
Black lace has on me.
I'm slowly dying inside
And when death catches up
With my physiology
I hope they send my body to the
Funeral home and clear out the
Weeds around the pond
Then have a bonfire
Of my notebooks and clothes in the
Back field some unreasonably
Lovely summer evening.
And I hope they burn that
******* black lace with it.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
I'd make art that wasn't the equivalent of processed
microwave food, without the "gourmet" label.
Then again equal validity in creation is only debatable
if you're an ******* who believes any of this has meaning.
If you're taking yourself seriously,
you're going to get ****** up by
the **** end of this joke; Art is more than these
observable qualities of reality. It is beyond us.
However, everything we are is made of the stuff.
We are art. Life is art. Life is meaningless
Art is meaningless.
We are meaningless. You.
You are meaningless as well.
Roll on snare... None of this holds real validity.
Abuse of cymbal.
In this lifetime I want so many things that simply
will not happen. She says my "dreams" are floaty
although I know I won't live to see them.
Life flies by so fast it's a wonder we don't get
tickets. I want light that moves at 40mph
and scorches on impact. Explodes like fireworks.
It should glow; green or blue.
I'd use it to cook these dinners,
burn these notebooks,
**** these mother
******* guitars.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
Home is now debatable.
Is it the nest? Is it what you know
You knew? And is it through
Or do we keep it alive?
Is it the 4 or 5 that stayed
That wait
For those that went away?
Or the phone calls every day
Or every other?
Is it the time since last month’s break,
Or the countdown til next summer?
How many minutes does it take
Before the phone lines start to break
And the miles start to ache
And take
Our minds to where we’ve traveled?
And is the traveling in the staying here,
Even through weeks and months and years?
Are we “away” in day to day living?
Or is the vacation part Thanksgiving?
When going back becomes a trip,
We pack to go, and “home” might slip
And every shock makes it harder to admit
We’re becoming comfortable.
Look, I’m not saying that I’m letting go.
It’s just debatable,
You know?
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 8:58 PM UTC
I'm not afraid of the dark, I'm afraid of what's in it.
Your worst nightmares come true- truly horrific.
You can't escape it, no amount of light will help,
Once it's begun, it's inside of you- becomes a part of your self.
You'd think having someone beside you would suffice,
But what if they bring the dark? What if they are just someone who plays nice?
You can never be too careful,
Better safe than regretful.
Wish the time of pain and reminiscing would end without putting up a fight,
We should all know bad things mostly happen at night.
Maybe the restless days would then stop,
Maybe then there wouldn't be a time to sob.. just a thought.
Is it childish to have at my side, a night light?
Debatable.. but at least it illuminates the dark.
At least it gives the illusion it isn't melancholic hours, yet- it isn't night.
At least it aids my corrupted mind and bruised heart.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 2:28 AM UTC
Least said and nothing to mend
nothing to defend and no one to lend you an ear
and light continues to bend around the posts of the day,so whatever you say is distorted,reported by magnates controlling the press and however much less there'll be more, and the implausible causes of any decisions are picked over by vultures and revised into later editions.
Free press
get your free press depression read about free press aggression and say what you will,we'll all read our fill until we can all read no more and no less than no more.
Barons in Wapping now moved
and Wapping will be another new century, of debatable consumables sold in charcuteries and pharmacies and no more free press to distress the dressing rooms in boom towns and where once printers stood they will now sell returnable (deposit required) wedding gowns
it's no wonder I feel down and need a little lift as I sift through the remnants of yesterdays news,my own views irrelevant as I ride on another elephant all painted in white
another bending of light which we fall for.
There's always more than is less,
more to depress and distress me and drinking Darjeeling leaves me with the feeling that it could always be more
another front page to enrage me
another bent light to distract
and if you don't know it we're all being attacked by the news that we pay for
I think that's a bit more than I can take
I can fake things myself and don't need some gnome or some elfin in Tooting or Fleet Street to sell me a rag that tells me of nothing that I want to know.
So I'm going
We're all being snowed by the establishment gurus whose raison d'etre is only to abuse us
I've had enough of their bullshine
if light's going to bend I'll make sure that it's my light that glows
and not some nosepicking,cityslicking, lickspittling critter who couldn't see beyond his...
..well enough of that
I'm out of the next deal
if you want to get real you will be too.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
The branches shook in the wind,
sending more drops to deform the writing.
Puddles surrounding,
it is soon to be drowned.
Sitting under a park bench.
Left and forgotten.
The Sunday funnies are no longer funny,
the news is no longer important, and
the score on the Giants game debatable.
It starts to pour.
Rain washes away footprints,
chalk and spilled ice cream cones.
It even washes away the news when forgotten,
under a park bench on a Thursday evening.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 5:35 PM UTC