"deeming" poems
748
Autumn—overlooked my Knitting—
Dyes—said He—have I—
Could disparage a Flamingo—
Show Me them—said I—
Cochineal—I chose—for deeming
It resemble Thee—
And the little Border—Dusker—
For resembling Me—
17.7k
S • Skin tight, skeletal cage
both ribs and mind.
K • Keep a strict diet, never break it, always hide it from those who would disapprove, so I learned to suffered in silence.
I • Internally a growl would emit, I reveled in the power I would get from it. To know I was structured, I wasnt a jumbled mess. Like the mass jiggling, clingling to this withering carcass.
N • Never could the fat girl come back out. carve her, choke her, starve her till she lost the will to shout. Shout for help, shout for freedom, shout for love in this life. Useless, everybody knows only fit people have that right.
N • Nobody would believe if I told a soul my struggle. "You are huge, big blue
whale how can someone like you have a disorder?
Y• Yell, scream "I WANT TO BE ME"
But I can't because of our society
deeming people like me are wrong,
why should my weight define wether or not I belong?
But because it does I hate myself.
I live this life with a wish to die,
all because my body is not
S•K•I•N•N•Y
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
This generation is the selfie nation,
Taking pictures of the dying, digitization,
This generation is the generic nation,
Cancelling history and subjects, Salvation,
This generation is the death nation,
Being overweight is healthy, becoming purgation,
This generation is the stronger nation,
Deeming everything offensive, becoming manipulation,
This generation is the hateful nation,
Hating the own agnations,
This gerenation is the end nation,
Pushing and pushing, damnation,
This generation is the promoting nation,
Gender Swap, *** paedophilia, pushing all these, Arbitration.
This genernation is the activism nation,
Save the Earth, making change that still damages the Earth, ruination.
This generation is the we won't do this nation,
Won't go to war to fight for others, pure negation,
This generation is the nation,
The eldery generation regrets fighting for their foundation,
This generation is the Anti-Homosexuality nation,
That still disowns there child for there sexuaility, Affirmation,
This generation who is fighting LGBTQ Rights Nation,
Hating those who refuse to date the same *** hating religion, so **** condamnation.
This generation scream Black Lives Matter Nation,
Reducing Police Brutality, improving lot more crimes, congratulation,
This generation fighting for women right nation,
Taking away male rights, instead of alterations and collaborations.
This generation is the older nation,
Bullying, lies and caring nation, Allocation,
This generation is the end nation,
Death filtration of the world's creation.
This generation buid this nation,
They have to learn to live with the cermation.
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 10:11 AM UTC
5
a
e r
y s
since I joined hello
a larva with a torn soul
Clinging to Whatever's left of life
since I started scratching for light
Peeking at the deeming tunnel
but still hoping
since I started dinning with poets
eating haiku in the morning
drinking sonnet in the afternoon
feeling the aching agony of the broken in the evening
falling in love with the dreamers at night
Since my heart was pounded
wrecked and left with unspeakable pain
Since Born was birthed
a crawling character that was literally dying
but still screaming for hope, love and dream
Since Ismael Ibrahim aka Born
stopped existing
and started living
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
Pound your fists against the wall as you tell me I know nothing,
scream obscenities through the phone so loud I'm surprised the glass doesn't shatter.
Call it Passion.
Passion is your alter ego.
Passion hates me,
Passion never fails to tell me when I'm wrong.
Passion breaks my heart again and again.
Passion loves me,
Passion always tells me I am talented and smart.
Passion picks up the broken pieces and puts them back together.
Passion never fails to tell me I am beautiful.
Passion never fails to tell me that I would look ugly if I cut my hair,
or pierced my nose.
Passion tells my that my nose is crooked.
Passion is spiteful and unforgiving,
never fails to bring up my past mistakes.
Passion hates when I bring up his mistakes,
he deems his lies necessary,
while deeming my white lies fatal.
Passion is never wrong,
I am never right.
Passion wants me to be honest and say what is on my mind.
Passion wants me to sit down and shut up.
Passion never fails to tell me he loves me.
Passion loves me.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
to more than I can be...
a sad isolated man,
throes of an agonizing,
stretched by her for painful
revengeful gain,
kissed with pointless avarice, divorce.
children deeming
him alienating, his faulty
insensitive sensitivities,
to easy blame
little do they know of the
piercing lowliness, the looniness of
nights he listened to sad-eyed singers,
and his late-of-mid of night scribbled scripts,
where he
off loaded the agonies of a midlife
disaster, not entirely of his-own
sown making,
but still his to bear and bare alone...
some accidents happens for unintentional,
unintended intentional new seasons appear,
stumbled, tumbled, fumbled his way onto
this H~oly P~lace, where someone might listen
to his explanations, expiations, excoriations
of his all too common tragedy, and said:
this broken human, he's got his reasons,
read his overly long treatises, his entreaties,
to those that prowl, rowing, in this corner
of the silence of the internet, where only the
trolls, the cold, the easier to-be-meaner oft thrive,
and found none of that, but an oasis of sheltering,
embracing comforting, those who actually admitted
his writings could be loved, and perhaps the writer
himself, was
deserving
of a second chance, a verbal embrace. a rereading forgiveness,
a pat
on his natback, a sympathetic sensory intaking,
and perhaps-this debt, eternal, that put the
for and the fore in a new baby born, named -
new forever
came into existence
the very same
e
that begins those conjoined words
***e~ternally grateful
"and now I sleep in peace when the day is done"
but the night time
is still the
write time
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 11:42 AM UTC
.*i guess a loss of subscriptions is, somehow, a badge of honor, namely? i somehow managed to attach a screwdriver to my words... why? read below... English women consider motherhood to be a job... how ******* demeaning! gone are the days of womanhood attaining the stature of god, in the Christian methodology of encompassing the pivot of lady Madonna... perhaps a too high peddle-stool? i guess so... i'm not usurping the female status, but elevating a female stature, deeming motherhood an UNESCO status? seems it's too much... for some people... who make it necessary to befriend their shadow, and travel to the hinterlands.*
just your atypical pedantry,
a translator's subscript comment -
who's richard rojcewicz's...
regarding what?
heidegger...
das volk,
and the three derivatives -
volkhaft (populist),
volklich (communal)
und?
völkisch (folkish) -
i'm starting to suspect that
i'm tapping in the all things folk....
unconsciously, favoring folk
music...
see, us central europeans,
we bunch together and share
the most odd similarities -
i never thought that the song
herr mannelig could be translated
from Swedish - as it was
translated into German...
then again... Vikings founded Kiev...
and all these loan-words
of Germanic origin in Polish...
the only Anglo loan-word
that i know of, is, weekend...
hence, das volk, people -
by the way... German has "too many"
definite articles,
and only one ein - or eine -
is that the same rule as in Ęnglish?
i.e. N
in an example,
rather than in a counter example?
two vowels adjacent in separate
word, sitting across from the grand
chasm of... a spacing itch?
but look at German, i never get it...
DAS DIE DER...
is there an aesthetic difference,
and only an aesthetic difference
to mind?
bewildering...
if there is such a thing as a western
civilization...
that sometime
pompous obnoxiousness,
fair enough... no problem:
but learn to hide it,
feel it, rather then feed it...
it's not a question of a civilization,
but more...
an answer to what is less
civilization, and more... a chore...
just like western women,
notably the english women
call motherhood a, "job"...
it's a... wait... a job?
doubt was big in classic philosophy
of the Cartesian schematic...
so no one knows that
the French existentialists
brought in negation,
as the driving force to replace
doubt?
who the hell sees doubt
these days?
either the know it alles -
or the hush-hush crowd...
motherhood is a... job?
well... then i guess, being a man...
western civilization,
by that standard of logic...
can't be anything more...
than a.... ******* chore!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
When I walked in to biology class a couple days back,
I found a gum wrapper
sitting on my desk.
It was torn in half, with the remaining piece folded
right side over left.
It became apparent that someone had left it there,
deeming it unimportant.
As I sat there in biology class, bored as hell,
I began to twirl that little piece of paper
between my fingers.
All of the Wrigley's, printed across the outside,
became acquainted with the space between
my thumb and forefinger.
But when the wrapper fell from my grasp
and on to the floor, I realized
how easy it was
to let it.
Hours could pass, even days,
and no one would bother to look
at the crumpled piece of paper
sitting on the floor.
When I extended my foot to guide it
back within my reach, it came to me
how appealing the green box of recycling
looked too.
Here was a gum wrapper, an inanimate object
of no apparent value, forgotten by a student.
But it was not the breaking of the no gum rule
where things went wrong.
The real prize, most would argue,
was within the wrapper.
The rest should be trash.
But, despite the laws of recycling,
the wrapper was left here,
sitting on my desk,
in biology class.
I decided to pick it up.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
Sensual ripples,
Deeming sole existence,
Within embracing arms.
Eyes meet,
A gaze that says all,
Vocal words insignificant.
Lips reconvene,
Nebulas of love,
Amends made for lack
Of past recognition.
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 1:43 PM UTC
Deeming that I were better dead,
"How shall I **** myself?" I said.
Thus mooning by the river Seine
I sought extinction without pain,
When on a bridge I saw a flash
Of lingerie and heard a splash . . .
So as I am a swimmer stout
I plunged and pulled the poor wretch out.
The female that I saved? Ah yes,
To yield the Morgue of one corpse the less,
Apart from all heroic action,
Gave me a moral satisfaction.
was she an old and withered hag,
Too tired of life to long to lag?
Ah no, she was so young and fair
I fell in love with her right there.
And when she took me to her attic
Her gratitude was most emphatic.
A sweet and simple girl she proved,
Distraught because the man she loved
In battle his life-blood had shed . . .
So I, too, told her of my dead,
The girl who in a garret grey
Had coughed and coughed her life away.
Thus as we sought our griefs to smother,
With kisses we consoled each other . . .
And there's the ending of my story;
It wasn't grim, it wasn't gory.
For comforted were hearts forlorn,
And from black sorrow joy was born:
So may our dead dears be forgiving,
And bless the rapture of the living.
3.4k
The sky has turned a bluish grey.
I hear the voices of the city -
Words, music, traffic, train,
And shrill laughter floating in the lane.
The bells have begun to ring;
An old woman
Crouching in a corner of her terrace
Blows the conch thrice.
A white cat ambling by the road
***** its head to listen,
But deeming the prayers and noise the same
Continues in its search for game.
On a fifth floor balcony, a girl watches
The silhouettes of birds flying back home.
She has her own music,
The kind that shuts you out and sets you free.
Temporarily.
A train whistles in the distance
Carrying lives afar and beyond.
The evening grows dark, the moon rises,
The wind lulls and blows;
And life goes on…
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC
STOP CREEPING
(Road signs in Australia thus remind us to keep to the speed limit)
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
William Shakespeare: MacBeth, Act 5 Scene 5.
Creeping, seeping, peeping, sleeping,
What’s the common factor through these ‘eep’ words deeming?
Shakespeare calls them dusty and aligns them up with death.
Our world calls it shadow but it chokes you out of breath.
Churches cannot see them so they flout invisible.
Jesus calls them idols yet they sound so plausible.
Christians follow teachers in a roundabout way.
Teachers crave disciples which determines what they say.
But these are all poor players on a poorly structured stage.
Their stage gives way. They tumble. They rise up in a rage.
“Life has not been fair,” they say, and “Where is God in that?”
Did they ask Him in the first place? Did they call God up to chat?
The churches have no answers. Now where do I go from here?
Go right back to the Bible, Friend. The truth is written there.
Check it yourself. It’s relevant to eras far and near.
Like natural laws it cannot change with fashion year to year.
So do not mix the fashion in philosophies of life
With Truth that stands forever among raging seas of strife.
Counselling in modern terms can get you sympathy,
But will it give you backbone for the next antipathy?
Feminism needed to support the weaker staff,
But now of our humanity it rejects one whole half!
And money is too much an issue when it must be said
That what is not of love is valueless to Christ our Head.
Of all the thousands who are found in church each seventh day,
How many can indeed discern the right and faithful way?
How many put their lives on hold for truth and nothing less?
How many first set out their plan and build their faith round this?
Is there not one who will apply to God for his blueprint
So s/he can play the part of power for treasure in Heaven’s mint?
The Spirit of Truth cannot be found where ideas pull such weight.
He’s somewhere else you don’t suspect. Chase Him, and don’t be late!
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
objectification is very much a cul de sac,
it's a one way street...
to objectify is to
allow an animate object a
confirmation of an all-pervasive control...
objectification =
the inability of an object to become
a self-serving subject -
no hammer ever managed
to self-serve itself into a role of a screwdriver...
to be objectified is to have no
self-serving subject, i.e. a self;
how can a woman ever be "objectified"
when she subjects herself to both
the object (that's her body) and
the subject (that's her mind) -
or, objects to the object stated -
whereby by "objectification" there's
a reinforcement of being subject to the object...
her body, which reinforces her
subjectivity -
when man is prone to objectification,
as pronouncing his extended members,
a woman is prone to subjection -
irony on the ob- prefix,
wasn't it ever reverse infatuation?
sure, not all the subplots appear
in being "objectified" -
but at least being "objectified"
does not equate to being subject to a man's
will...
if you can't deal with
the "extremes": is being "objectified" as bad
as being subject to a niqab?!
besides the point,
i can't believe that one animate thing can
make another animate thing objectified -
in the purest sense of:
deeming an animate thing
inanimate to be: a thing observed
without a self-serving self-aware ******
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
We used to be so uncompromised,
Our words didn't have some double meaning,
Something deeming,
That we were more than we were willing to admit.
I could look you in the eyes without that feeling,
Without my thoughts wheeling,
Away from the possibility of having to commit.
You and I were not some cliched affair,
But now we are something I thought I could not bare,
And I fear,
I fear that we have been compromised,
By those double meanings,
Those feelings,
Deeming,
That we are more than we are willing to admit.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
"strange"
is declared
of person
who rationalizes
that matter if
non-human
non-animal
non-living
merits recognition
as being good
on it's own
but really
are we
the ultimate stewards
of absolute purpose?
what confirms our judgement
in deeming what deserves
to exist for it's own
and what belongs
to our means
and ours alone?
is it so fantastic
to suggest
that by some means of
indefiniteness
of intangible
comprehension
all matter
is fundamentally intertwined
in the sense
everything is stardust
created by
the universe's omnipotent hand?
don't you
ever get the feeling
inside of your conscious
too?
doesn't your awareness
ever whisper
as a sentience
you have an obligation
from some unspoken contract
signed before birth
to uphold the integrity
of everything
that inhabits this earth
whether or not
it thinks in the way you do?
for what purpose
we exist assembled into
abrupt profound togetherness
remains undecided
earth's fabrications
will survive
harmoniously
but
will you
do the same?
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 1:55 PM UTC
Once for Halloween
I dressed up as Athena
The Greek goddess
My favorite Greek goddess
And it was a decent costume
Your standard iParty fare
Paired with an elaborate hairdo and some 50 cent earrings
And I knew I was only a cheap imitation
Nothing close to the real thing
For no one would ever build me a temple
Burn cattle in my name
Put on white robes and fall to their knees
For me
No, not for me
But for Athena
Oh, how they fell!
How the ancient Greeks worshipped her very name
Gave her their capital city
And dedicated the most powerful force to her
Wisdom
That force which drove the philosophers
The very energy
That sustained Socrates
And Plato
And Aristotle
And all those dead guys we read about in class
I was in a class
Reading the words those dead guys collected
In their moments of clarity
But all I could think about
All I really wanted
Was to throw on a white robe
And fall to my knees at the Parthenon
Begging for wisdom, wisdom
Please, Athena, some wisdom!
I don't care if it's heresy
I don't care if you're a myth nowadays
Because you once reigned
You once stood on Mount Olympus
In all your ancient power
And watched your people crying out wisdom, Athena, wisdom!
Please!
I wish
I could have been there
I wish I could have seen
The day the goddess cracked open Zeus's skull
And was born
Fully armed
Ready for her battle
Not the fight for wisdom, no
The fight she faced was undying
The war she would lead
Would ripple through the ages
Taking all civilizations
And tearing at their social order
For it was the men she was fighting
The disbelieving fools who put her *** down
Taking all women's wisdom
And deeming it inferior
Substandard
Not good enough
So Athena blazed in glory
And for her, men believed
Believed in their mothers and wives and daughters
Saw in that enthroned goddess
The sparks that fueled women's minds
Yes, I wish I'd been there
I wish I could have kissed her sword
And asked her to stick around
To blaze her way to the twenty-first century
And make these guys tremble, too
Instead
I look around my 80% male college of engineering
And wonder why I need to prove my worth
Simply because I have a second x chromosome
I wish that I could blaze in glory
And dazzle them all the same
That my Halloween costume could be enough to fool them
That they would turn their toga-party bedsheets
Into white robes
And fall to their knees
Gasping, "Wisdom, wisdom!"
And that, for one moment
I could be their goddess
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 6:38 PM UTC
996
We’ll pass without the parting
So to spare
Certificate of Absence—
Deeming where
I left Her I could find Her
If I tried—
This way, I keep from missing
Those that died.
2.5k
1733
No man saw awe, nor to his house
Admitted he a man
Though by his awful residence
Has human nature been.
Not deeming of his dread abode
Till laboring to flee
A grasp on comprehension laid
Detained vitality.
Returning is a different route
The Spirit could not show
For breathing is the only work
To be enacted now.
“Am not consumed,” old Moses wrote,
“Yet saw him face to face”—
That very physiognomy
I am convinced was this.
2.5k
..
Violation seeps in through every pore
The girl feels like a common *****
As men poke and **** with joy
Manipulating their new favourite toy
They sneak close enough to callously drool
Then further, breaking the cardinal rule
She feels an unwanted touch
Then begins to cry, deeming it too much.
..
With a purse brimming with cash
And a covered sceptic rash
The pretty woman walks casually
Sheltering any notion of tragedy
This was her first day of vacation
From her new laid back vocation
Though if a client was to approach
She wasn't beyond reproach
..
Horizontally gifted
An archway lifted
Customized displeasure
In any kind of weather
Morals slowly give way
To the luxury of good pay
Loneliness takes a back seat
To those with a thing for feet.
....
Stepped in late
A darkened slate
Crippled by fate
And a desire to be great
She felt like a clown
On her long way down
Then she lost her place uptown
To the notion of a gown
..
Poor girl
She had quite the whirl
Had five long years
Which left a few souvenirs
One being a harsh complexion
and the other being a hollow reflection
Now she has the rest of her life
To wallow in the footsteps of a wife
..
Soon her son would ask what she used to do?
The mother would reply, to who?
Ashamed she would pace
Trying to save face
Confused her son would leave
As the woman ran off to heave
Sick from the thought
That one day she would be caught
..
Sitting at lunch
A bully prods on a hunch
Displays an image
Of his mother's visage
A picture of an awkward pose
Featuring the woman in no clothes
Others began to taunt
As the poor boy went gaunt
....
Over the years some would knock on the door
In a meagre attempt to score
A run in with a *****
Who would take it on the floor
Of course they'd all be turned away
But the pain always seemed to stay
It was shown in the light of day
To be many needles in a sole piece of hay
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
Just Imagine how many people
You have passed by
Deeming them as unattractive
But if you just gave them the time of day
You would be so hopelessly in love
With them
Just Imagine how many people
You have overlooked
Just so you can focus on the
"Hottest" one in the room
Hoping to get their attention
Without even knowing
If they're a person of substance
Or if they fulfill their stereotype
Without even realizing
That the person to your left
Or right
Could be the most compatible lover
For your soul
I wonder
What would our world look like
What would our interactions be like
If we no longer saw beauty
Skin deep
The first time
That we meet
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 12:43 AM UTC
To live
Is crafting a prized novel
Memories resting on every page
To end a life
Is deeming it complete
Before the reader is satisfied
A book lacking a proper end
You could call it a book
But it is not a story
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 1:54 AM UTC
355
’Tis Opposites—entice—
Deformed Men—ponder Grace—
Bright fires—the Blanketless—
The Lost—Day’s face—
The Blind—esteem it be
Enough Estate—to see—
The Captive—strangles new—
For deeming—Beggars—play—
To lack—enamor Thee—
Tho’ the Divinity—
Be only
Me—
1.9k
By Arcassin Burnham
Fights in apartments,
Laughs when we feel destroyed,
Watching you get undress,
Playing videogames,
Leave the money on the counter,
I keep taking supplements,
Just to the edge,
Some type of high,
Licking necks,
Making you feel some type of a hornball,
Didn't know you'd list for me that much,
End of everything you stand for,
When your in bed with me,
Fast car deeming,
With the socks on my feet,
Would it be nice to take a reasonable stroll down the street,
Don't you agree,
I do more for you than me,
But leave the money on the counter,
Or the bedroom dresser,
Kissing your stomach,
That will one day have my child inside,
The greatest guy you ever loved,
In front of your face,
Keep up the pace,
Its not a phase,
Opening up a beer
Drink it,
Then I stay awake,
To watch you sleep,
Did think in would grow on you,
Its not a secret baby now you do.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Reaching my third year in college and still remembering the past easily really means that time spares no one or no memory. We could all grow out of our old skins to realize that our new shells are just as hollow as ever, deeming hopeless in life and its travesty. Nevertheless, that's what makes us so human, bleeding out our murderous thoughts and spilling it onto paper. The feeling of wanting to empty yourself to be a coreless vessel again, void of any emotions, unreadable to a living soul. Some of us get there faster with a pen, or even a blade, each of us digging deeper to our own little numb world, to ease the pain of conflict within or to put out the flames that are thirsty for oxygen, until the very wicker within us crumbles to dust. Back to where we started off. Fine as the dirt beneath our feet with no sign of life and no capsule of memory.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
My desire:
When you danced your way
into my life,
you brought with you
a light;
one which illuminated
the scene around it.
A world -
which was previously
burdened
by imperative darkness -
now exposed to my sight.
Your magnificence
consequently
revealed
the beauty in my own world:
one which I had forgotten,
one which I had
closed the doors upon -
deeming happiness
impossible to find.
I suppose,
what I'm trying to say
is:
you are the light of my life.
But somehow,
those words don't serve justice.
None of my words
serve
justice
to how I feel for you.
Those
nights,
the
music,
mood,
dancing -
are what
I imagine
my heaven
would be.
We could be anywhere -
I could have
nothing
to my name
except black lipstick
and a tenacious heart -
whenever
I'm with you,
I know it's the only place
I need to be.
I wish I could tell you
how you take me
out of this world -
but habitually,
I find it
difficult
to communicate
the music of my heart.
Perhaps,
it's because
alongside
my poor choice of words
and
jumbling of sentences;
whenever
I look into your eyes
the only thought
I can be sure of,
is that
you have the most beautiful face
I have ever seen.
And when you smile -
forget anything
I had on my mind -
your smile
is the kind you read about;
one that makes people
want to do right,
one that
melts away worry;
one
that makes people
fall in love.
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 5:43 PM UTC