"default" poems
Seating comfortably in this machine
Watching them sell things by the road
That's the hustle
Heading to the capital
That's where life thrives after Uni.
To start my hustle
The constant of all this is fear
I'm scared
Not of demons and witches
But the real hustle
School built a comfort zone
A chance for allowance from old ones
Now it's time to move out
And hustle.
My default life ends
Now I can be who I want to be
No scolds from parents
But from hustle
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
♦ ♦ ♦
She was an earnest devotée.
Her ideals, birthed in Chardonnay
were globally diverse (read: white).
A liberal bark preceded bite.
Her crystal clearer than her vision;
she provoked bemused derision
as she breathed intolerance
toward all who would not dance her dance.
She swooned for distant pagan tribes,
attuned to their exotic vibes –
rapt in multi-culti piety
strangely deaf to her own society,
judged by her as abomination;
unredeemed. The background station
always stuck on N.P.R.
(the soundtrack of her culture war,
Pacifica News and Democracy Nows,
and other progressive holy cows)
Her motherland a shameful mystery:
guilty first, and void of history –
its origins defiled, corrupted…
while she enjoyed uninterrupted
freedom to pursue her whims:
misguided one-world global hymns.
The sisterhood of hu(man) kind
was foremost in her earnest mind –
even should that same sisterhood
be sealed by her well-meaning blood.
Out on a date with global death
she hoped to unify the earth
in solidarity with causes
led by killers, warlord bosses,
thugs she never knew existed
who, if she’d met she’d have resisted.
Her theory landed far from her praxis
spun, by default, on an evil axis.
Hot with zeal she fumed and stormed
quite certain she was well-informed,
at benefits, non-profit functions
rallies, boycotts, left-wing luncheons;
warm with righteous spite for Israel,
aiding and abetting Ishmael
with fellow-travelers, like-minded
similarly hateful, blinded,
rattling sabers, scimitars, axes…
(lunacy never wanes, but waxes
hotter with the passing years
as activists confront their fears).
She finally shilled for the Intifada
(stopping short of reciting Shahada),
reaching out to the terrorist
with righteous raised progressive fist…
offering thus her neck to blade:
collateral to be repaid
by murderers who couldn’t care less
about her open-mindedness.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
caricature fiction like a functioning don't-ask- but- I'll-tell
it was a clover and a daisy's birthday by way of default and
Jesus Christ, this girl likes Terrence McKenna? In all immediate alleyway stores of coke and ketamine is the period at the end of every written sentence,
so the wait is something beyond me. the slate is a cleanliness devoid of practice
but whose really watching, kid.
you? or the television?
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
the thing about feelings
is that they change
yesterday,
you may have been
completely infatuated
with someone
or entirely immersed
in sadness,
but that doesn’t mean
that’s how you feel now
or how you’ll feel forever
and i fear that people forget that,
i fear we fail to remember
that emotions are not permanent
and maybe that’s why
her stomach hurts
when she thinks about
the girls in his life
before her
or why i’m reluctant
to share old poems
because i don’t want anyone
to think that’s how i feel today
so maybe we should start asking
“how are you?” more often
and stop accepting
the default “i’m okay.”
and maybe we should start
caring more about
what people say now,
instead of dwelling on
words of the past
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 2:02 PM UTC
As I lash out like a wave crashing upon the sand,
destroying the castles built by hand,
destroying moral like a warlord on a killing spree,
a nuclear explosion which no one can flee.
For nothing escapes my grasp,
as I am the infection which spreads so far,
choking your voice until it is merely a rasp.
Please remove me from your life,
as I am here only to cause strife,
like a cancer in your heart,
you can't quiet get out,
always wondering "when did it start?",
what caused this drought?
But do not fear,
for it is not your fault,
let me be clear,
I am like this by default.
So love me or leave me,
it is up to you,
but you can not change me,
for I am evil through and through.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
Ambivert
By default
He is
If He enjoys, He'll
If He have to, He'll
If it keeps harmony, He'll
If it needs fake smile, He'll not
If it disturbs his mind, He'll not
Extrovert 100%
To the closed circle
He is
Introvert 100%
To the rest
He is
Ambivert
By default
He is
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
Sometimes I sit and wonder about the past.
I reflect and let it affect my present- my future-
It makes me wonder if I can ever really put it past me.
Sometimes- most times- I sit and think about what you did to me.
I was never this angry until I met you, I had never lost my temper over the slightest of issues.
My anger was locked in a cage, like a lion in a den, away from all walks of life, because it was too ferocious
too loud, too dangerous to let loose.
You made me feel like a lion.
You made me feel like a lion, but told me I was a butterfly.
You were adding extra security to the cage while making me thinking you were trying your hardest to pry it open.
You forced me to believe that you, and only you, could ever love someone like me-
A lion- I mean butterfly.
I refer to you as my ex-girlfriend even though I can still feel your words caress my skin.
Even though every time I see a picture of you or hear your name my heart still skips a beat,
even though it still feels like I'm a lion, trapped in a cage, as if you still have a hold on me.
I still refer to you as an ex-girlfriend even though you never acted like it.
You told our friends that I was frail- too fragile to hold- too hard to love,
But before you, I was gorilla glass- protective and strong,
But you made me feel like a lion and told me I was a butterfly, so my default mode began to play second fiddle.
I don't think I want you back.
I'm starting to find happiness in others,
Solitude only comforts me when I can feel my anger- the lion within me, trying to break free from the cage.
I've met someone who tells me I'm a beautiful,
Someone who is trying to help me break free from the cage without tearing my claws off.
Who lets me know I am a lion, but I could be a butterfly, and that either or is okay.
I hope that whomever you decide is worthy to join the circus you've declared yourself the lion tamer of is strong enough to say no and walk away.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 4:45 PM UTC
Tears running down my cheek
pain that can not be seen
hiding
hiding the truth
hiding my fears
hiding everything that you can not see
you never play over the good memories
your mind tells you none exist
just the bad, the ones that make you sad.
Tears running down my cheek
as I hide the truth
and hide my fears
You see the time, but no motivation
nothing pushing to get you up
nothing pushing you to do anything
it's comfortable, it's warm, it's the last remaining place where good things happen
we see the time and decide to hide
hide away in our beds
hide away in our dreams
Nothings wrong becomes your default response
but deep down you know you need help
but at the surface you convince yourself you are strong
strong enough to win a battle that you are in fact losing
so you hide
you hide the truth
your fears
all while tears run down your cheek
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
Stereotypes manifesting always,
(Always)
Trying to form themselves from something once seen,
But not really believing in oneself,
I see ignorance,
I see arrogance,
I see the lack of hunger,
Observing such savage pride of life,
I run from it all into a previous state,
(Anonymity)
I've reached the heights of total in-completion,
I build walls of isolation upon myself,
I am the collateral default of widespread degradation,
I stand in the gap between teeth and consumption,
I am the breed conceived by prey and predator,
Widespread suspended animation: that is our future,
We've tried to replicate the human makeup with mechanical frames,
And the translation of electronic gates,
Yet this is a folly,
For staring at the mirrors of selected life in an artificial environment,
Numbs our lives with emulation and self delusion,
The days of nobility dismantle into fragments and sink to the bottom of the glass,
Never to be turned over again,
Scattered,
Living among remnants of a life once lived with some sort of intensity,
Now smoldered in a quite ferocity of anger beneath the surface,
(Quiet tremors coming in flames)
Because we don't live our dreams,
We stand in the shadows of ruins,
We are afraid of the future,
We are afraid of the past,
Where does that leave us?
Leave me?
I stand on the edge of The Void
I'm holding myself hostage in the self sabotage entourage of the usual suspects,
Our friends, our families,
Disconnected with all intentions of coming together,
Because they die in front of their screens,
Not really living,
Right?
Light pollution massacre...
We'll fall like stars
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
Dealing so much with figurative language,
I cannot help but notice how many people
restrict themselves to either Mythos or Logos.
Myth or Logic. Symbol or Reason. Yin or Yang.
Firefox, by default, doesn't even recognize that Mythos is a word:
Mythos- The aspect of the mind concerning itself
with the figurative, the abstract;
implications, symbolism and interpretation.
Passive. 'Relative'. Yin.
Logos - The aspect of the mind concerning itself
with reason, proof, tangibility and fact.
Active. 'Absolute'. Yang.
It is of utmost importance to take both with a grain of salt.
It is of equal importance to ponder both for what they are worth.
Mythos seeks not to always be correct;
but to make one think what is right and true within one's self.
Logos seeks to be accurate.
To describe, define, calculate, forecast, and replicate the physical.
Most are biased towards one and away from the other;
it is impossible to have a balanced existence if you embrace one and deny the other:
If one fails to respect duality, duality will tear one in twain.
The path to salvation is comprised of both of these styles of thought:
To seek only one is to condemn oneself to
Autosegragationistic Social Darwinianism.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 4:04 AM UTC
#*Worship is the soul’s feasting upon that which it believes will fill it up
and we perpetually worship whatever we deem most worthy
of our attention and affection and sacrifice.
It is so firmly set in our very nature that at all times
we will be worshiping something
for the soul knows no other recourse.
There is only One worthy of such devotion
but if we aren't continually looking to and bowing down
to this One Who alone has the power to satisfy, heal and free us
we will automatically default to worshiping created things that then
have the power only to disappoint, damage and enslave us.*#
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
"The Three Kisses
The Kiss Of Hello
The Kiss That Is Never Just A Kiss
The Kiss That Spikes Vein With Precision Orchestra
The Kiss That Heals In Entirety
The Kiss That Hides The Relent Of Vex
The Kiss That Suffocates Rusting Man
The Kiss Without Detail/Ed System)
The Kiss That Pounds Each Pore To State Of ******
The Kiss That Hiroshimates Euphoria
The Kiss That Approximates/Parallels Living
The Kiss Only
The Kiss, The Kiss
The Kiss Of Neither Hello Nor Goodbye
The Kiss For The Sake
The Kiss To Save Face
The Distracted Kiss For/Of Domestic Bliss
The Kiss To Bathe Mania In Generic ****** The Kiss Of The Motions
The Kiss Of Searing Content, Hindering Suffocation And Blasé Defection
The Default Kiss, The Efficient Kiss, The Alteria (Motive) Kiss
The Kiss That Makes Sense
The New Language Of Kiss
Le Kiss, Le Kiss
The Kiss Of Goodbye
The Kiss That Is Never Just A Kiss
The Kiss That Spikes Vein With Precision Orchestra
The Kiss That Deals In Hypocrisy
The Kiss That Begins And Ends Each Second
Job, Health, Kiss, Marriage, Car, Security, Kiss,
Yearn, Enjoyment, Loss, Holiday, Kiss, Loss Holiday Kiss
The Kiss That Hiroshimates Plague
The Kiss That Parallels Living/Approximates Rage
The Memory Of Kiss Acidifies Brain
The Kiss, The Kiss, The End.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC
a virtual network is the perfect place
for an alien intelligence to infiltrate;
passing as any number of avatars &
spreading an anti-human philosophy
in the war between robots & aliens
w/ humanity no longer a factor, the
robots freely the pummel the aliens
w/ devastating laser precision; the
aliens retaliating w/ hot magnets to
heat the polymer machines to the
melting point; the aliens unaware of
the earth's default nuclear arsenal;
triggered to explode as a last resort;
mankind & machine joined as one &
as the aliens land their ground forces
a slight tremor becomes a supernova
& the entire alien fleet is blown out
of spacetime w/ such fiery havoc, the
never seen & long extinct mankind
becomes legendary for its viciousness
hav·oc/ˈhavək/noun
noun: havoc
1. widespread destruction. "the hurricane ripped through Florida,
causing havoc"
synonyms: devastation, destruction, damage,
desolation, ruination, ruin; disaster, catastrophe
"the hurricane caused havoc"
great confusion or disorder.
"schoolchildren wreaking havoc in the classroom"
synonyms: disorder, chaos, disruption,
mayhem, bedlam, pandemonium, turmoil,
tumult, uproar; commotion, furor, a three-ring circus; informal:
hullabaloo
"hyperactive children create havoc"
verb: archaic: havoc; 3rd person present: havocs;
past tense: havocked; past participle:
havocked; gerund or present participle:
havocking [ ]. ( )
1. lay waste to; devastate.
late Middle English: from Anglo-Norman
French havok, alteration of Old French
havot, of unknown origin; the word was
originally used in the phrase ‘cry havoc’;
(Old French crier havot ) ‘to give an army the order - havoc,’
the signal for plundering
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
Dust motes and sweat stains
Faded graffiti over rusted steel plates
Advertising everything, from politicians to a massage parlor,
The engine roars disgruntled, in smoky rancor.
I stepped on your feet, said I was sorry
Tell me mister, could you tell I was lying?
Pushing through the rush-hour crowd
I finally found my footing and was proud.
Well, there’s something to be said for low expectations
A word of praise for cranky co-passengers.
Not that the polite ones aren’t fun,
When they smile and roll their eyes like they’re so done.
And it’s not that I’d ever expect sincerity,
At 10 on a rainy Tuesday morning
I’m not a nihilist, or even much of a cynic by default
But at 10am, I take nice with a bucket of salt.
I put on my headphones, crank the volume up to max,
Sway to the shrill screeching of pirated tracks
I’m sorry, did you say something? I can’t really tell.
It’s not you’re uninteresting, it’s just that this song is swell.
And maybe I could’ve made more of an effort
Gotten to know your name, exchanged toffees and emotional support
Maybe you’d have told me your story, if my ears were free
Maybe we could’ve found something worth a keep.
But you see, mister, it’s not you it’s me
At 10 on a Tuesday morning, I’m not the best company.
I hope, tomorrow, you’ll find a co-passenger worth your time,
As for me, facelessness suits me just fine.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:47 AM UTC
Dear Friends, this poem was composed many years ago and posted on ‘Poemhunter.com’. Time here is compared to the money lender and miser Shylock in Shakespeare’s ‘Merchant Of Venice’, where Shylock insisted on cutting out a pound of flesh from the merchant Bassanio, for having failed to pay back the loan taken from Shylock! Hope you like it, - Raj
TIME THE GREAT USURER
TIME the great usurer, is a great miser too,
Always knows the cost of things to be paid
back by you!
It readily loans you the desired amount in
number of years.
Smilingly assures and allays all your doubts
and fears.
It makes the loan to appear like a free gratis,
So you hardly bother to take any notice!
But with the passage of growing years and
life depleting with time,
In paying back your interests, you got to
default sometime.
Precisely at that moment, the usurer knocks
rather loud,
And through death takes back its’ principal
amount !
Alas, Time the great Shylock knows the cost
of everything.
When will it learn to appreciate the value
we attach to things?
-Raj Nandy, New Delhi.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
Please do not Leave Facebook, my friend,
These storms will soon subside.
ReMOANERS will get used to “Britain Out”.
They’ll grow tired of making you feel
A *****
For voting to jump the sinking Euro ship.
Don’t leave Facebook
For Google will crash,
Bebo and Myspace will return
And the BitPound will plummet.
Latin will become the default internet language
As hackers rule the web.
Be afraid, very afraid.
The consequences of Leaving would be dire.
But if you Stay here
In the ***** of the Facebook Family
You will be safe and secure
And eligible to claim
Your complimentary cuddly toy.
Paul Butters
© PB 25\6\2016.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
Three thousand miles
navigating a storm
without drop of bad weather
Abacus odometer clicks
rotating forward ―
spinning with the
world go round
Circling back down
a long and winding road;
where unforgotten memories
were once searchingly explored,
untrodden pathways
coursing way up north of alone
on the low highway
Now an aging shepherd
wonders without a compass ;
a vagabond deprived of light
from an ever blurring north star
Heart empty as a gas tank
with a broke down gauge,
running on fumes of hope
for unpromised tomorrows
Running from loneliness
just to be on the run
The gales of silence bellow
No feelings I can see ― lay me low
Wild-eyed daydreams
of Full sails billow out
through the windshield,
only hearing the unspoken
moments sigh restlessly ―
The dull droning road rumble
re-sighs renunciatively,
a tired monotone voice
mimicking the loathe silent echo
wallowing in an
omnipresent hollow void
deriding unspoken chaos
between the passing centerlines ―
A frost heave pothole erupts,
with a leaf-spring rattling thud,
as a fleeting cloud of dust arises,
set adrift with the draught
headed off the east side
of the Alcan highway:
blown way outside the lines,
towards the Alberta prairie
White knuckled steering wheel
held sway, rolling down
a beckoning wilderness
reincarnation;
default reset button paused ―
stuck in a moment ― until another jaw rattling
frost-heave pothole in the highway,
jars it free
Leaving it all behind
like a sigh breathed
in a silence a heart has outgrown;
just a fleeting cloud of dissipating dust,..
a paling whisper
the past seems to send forth
like a fading last breath
Letting it all unfold to become what it is
harlon rivers ... May 2018
... travelogue 2 of some
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
We lied we need change
When all we feel is rage
For the government we create
Who don’t feel shake if the economical price inflate
*
We lied we are happy
When we hide in the bathroom; crying
We lied we are living
When we are striving for surviving
*
We lied we are grown
When we are yet to be birth
We lied we are strong
And here we are; paralysed
*
We lied we are in traffic
When we’re still on our bed dreaming
We lied we are set
When with default setting; we’re breathing
*
We lied we want about-move
From politics of Jong-Un
From government of John Bull
And parliaments filled with masters of Kungfu
*
We lied we are in love
When the only thing we feel is lust
We lied we are loved
When the only feeling we procure is hurt
*
We lied we are loyal
When we lust only after the royal one
We lied we are loyal
And when the ox is gored; we run
*
We lied we are in paradise
When in filthiness we dine
Stuck in a big mess
Living in hell; but not minding our business
*
We lied we are responsible
When at the sight of challenge; we flee
We lied we are smart
Whereas we are trickening; coz at the sight of themisticoles; we flee
*
We lied we are beautiful
When our heart is filled with greed and hate
We lied we are pretty
When the pancaked look on our face is manmade
*
We lied we are the future
Saying we are the leaders of tomorrow
We lied; saying we are injured
Whereas we’re completely trapped in hollow
*
We lied we’re from the hood
So no one else to talk to
Coz our lifestyle is not good
And that leaves us in bad mood
*
We lied we are good
When at the depth of our heart; we’re bad
We lied we are confuse
When we’re stuck and which way? We cant conclude
*
We lied to survive the tide
And from the real part of life; we hide
Tell the truth’ man; be freed inside
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC
Freedom of choice, can never be
Rather, a designed destiny
With
Accidents, default settings by design
Coincidences, planned occurrences in time
Surroundings, attracted by rhyme
Then what, is the influence of time?
A matrix known, to only a few
The rest a drift, never knew
Only filling gaps, for the few
Like sheep, alive in meadow
On man’s command, they go
Slaughter sheering feeding, they never know
So, do we really want them to row?
Do they want to row?
Do we actually harvest what we sow?
Or is it just, part of the flow?
Dec 24, 2009
Dec 24, 2009 at 11:57 PM UTC
**Yo! Yo! My Drug of Choice **** Poets)**
Yo! Yo!
Member of the troupe?
You up all nite?
You always hungry,
Making trouble, rite?
You one of those?
**** poets!
Exist on strict diet?
Pleasured-pain,
Constant-continual surges
Turn into urges,
Full-time suspense,
Juices always flowing.
**** Poets!
Yo! Yo!
You one of those?
Never knowing,
What? When?
The eyes gonna invert
Retina images into words
Brain signaling, semaphoring the fingers
Yo! Yo!
You don't get nine months,
Maybe nine seconds,
Then mother-birth another verse,
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Remember your first real high,
That moment
No absolution, no return.
That moment
When you admitted, confessed,
to yourself:
*I am
Forever forward,
A home-grown poet.
I am
Soul enslaved to words.
The alphabet - My oxygen molecules,
I am both,
Addict and dealer
A ****** poet*
Yo! Yo!
So you do recall,
The exact moment,
God-spark-within, ascendancy gained
You lost control,
Wept words instead of tears!
A ****** poet ******
Yo! Yo!
Sophie's Choice.
You chose writing over breathing,
Worshiper of the purest pleaure,
******* in deep the smoke-high of
Head-nodding discontented contentment
Stealing anything you saw
For to satisfy the need, the craven
Craving.
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Don't you're ever sleep?
Hear that the city, the state,
Gonna methadone your kind
In a special program
Teach you only language to sign.
**** poets!
**I am a ****** poet.**
*The first step taken.
Admission.
Poetry is my default rest position,*
My drug of choice.
5:07am
June 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
I'm awake
What do you want
You seem confused
Women like what they hear
Men like what they see
I never knew what that meant until I was suffering
I dont believe in smiles
The default non threatening condition
It almost makes me queezy
Us
We
Human beings
Being human
What is true humanity
I don't want to love
I just want your loyalty
Why are you loving me
What do you want
You seem confused
Back on that ********
We seemed to have fused
I sense some resistance
With a little but of cognitive dissonance
What do you want
You seem confused
I see love as an opportunity
And loyalty as a choice from above
I mean your brain baby
Brain banging
Not just a heart throb
Your mind holy like god
Not the evil it incurs or not
Because of your Gratitude Over Decisions
Not your Ever Vengeful Illusion of Lust
Loyalty loyalty loyalty
Love or adore me
I just want your.......
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
Gold shed upon suckling gold,
The time of the bole blackens,
Of the dark mounted through dapple,
While in the sealed apple
The seed cradled toward cold.
A gold on gold spent,
Put by from an elm in its years
Now its gilded of days,
Over turf’s dishevelment;
Where all which is green sickens,
All the fresh shall be sere.
All which is green sickens,
And it is but for a time
Those embered veinings blaze
A year’s delirium;
Or neared of other space,
Unportioned azure shall close
One of more, and which is,
One which goes.
Let the little pupils that will,
Of vision, gaze for salt
To whet their gazing, wit
In one weather is high
From burrow and lair, by
Nether providences’ default
An all’s accrued.
And apposite, beyond
Such primer beholdings, has
Its long accounting known
The beetle’s morsel thus
Was rich, and the slug’s bed on
The oak’s generations, deep
Over the lark’s bones.
In slough of Edens fast
Wit in one weather shall stand,
While millennia nibble at
The sensual apple
Toppled it net,
Plenty in the palm of the hand,
And the fallen not fallen, not lost
From out its certitude—
For our unbeggaring
Has been gross. Few and late
To cherish an immoderate
Wish, hope’s calculus,
Love’s hope; few to miss,
From natural tally ******
In the lime-girdled space
Of choice, where alone
Man can abandon what
Is only his own;
And in cold and tarrying
Their rearisers sleep:
While to the granite cheek
Light’s purples bring
Infinite their ministering,
And past our finial
And ragged crests, to keep
Time’s ambient stood,
Propose horizons from
Their shadowy quarries; while,
In an unwandered wood,
Or under the indifferent foot,
Is let fall, let fall a fruit,
Through eternal leisures down,
For but time’s unravelling.
2.9k
♀↵ϖ†∅↨⊕☺☼↑↓
Apples will be cantaloupes
depending on their nurture;
and so I cherish rainbow hopes
for our collective future.
Oranges elect their hue
improving Nature’s seal,
while pronouns stifle what is true
suppressing the appeal.
Fruits may choose to change to nuts
and fowls select their plumage.
Why settle in Tradition’s ruts?
Such rigid roles do damage.
Nuts in turn, may feel like flowers,
picking how and when to bloom.
So ambisexual thought empowers
androgynes to court their doom.
A leopard, too, may change his spots
(or turn into a vegan bunny)
No law’s tittles, neither jots
make Speciesism funny.
If you decide to see it so
the sky above is yellow.
Perceive as pink the grass beneath
and better times must follow.
Gender? Merely social constructs –
preach it to the masses
until tradition self-destructs
and *** takes off her glasses.
Babies need no Dad (nor Mother):
sexist labels, obsolete.
Love is blind. There is no other.
Bats must bark and chickens bleat.
Integrated water closets
show how far we have evolved:
urinary bank deposits
(with no member account involved).
Foolish thinking from the past
(like water being wet, and such)
calls for re-education, fast.
The State will lend its human touch
compelling all to sing the hymn
with genderfluid motions…
so birds can preen their scales and swim
in dry and waveless oceans.
(Yet “hymn” sounds sexist said out loud –
we ought to sing a “her” instead…
no – make that “us”, since we are proud,
lest misconceptions be misread.)
Shake a healthy dose of salt
upon this strange post-modern food.
May God re-set us to default
with human common sense renewed.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC
Befriended street lamps' static hum
Timed steps slashed through electric buzz
Fled from the dawn's grey stain
chased night with anxious breath
erupting
Outflanked and pinned down
by the days
Strike up the band, roisin the bows.
Compose another tired piece.
I dread the melody
and cringe away
from the next movement
I'm only up for burned out wandering.
Another balance overdue
Took out a loan for time well spent
Roll out the carpets for the doomed
It's unforgiving turf where our steps are bent
I'll draw these lines
of ghostly profile night
and coax the specters out
We'll roll on with the tides
where we can dance macabre
until the core unwinds.
Defend the fort for sleeping ghosts
I'll man these walls until the dawn.
I'll fight these memories
beneath the banner of
some others
Shell-shocked with gun arm
growing sore
Outside, the sidewalks glow red-orange
I throw my shadow on the sparks.
Charred homes on cindered streets
I draw my bow
across shaking half notes
Chart out a map of burnt meanderings.
Default on friendships I misplaced
I'm wrapped tight in familiar fear.
But I'll warm to those familiar strains...
Because it's 5 o'clock somewhere, and Summer's here...
I'll cross the lines
into the ghostly night
and wake the specters up
As fires kiss the night
so I can sleep real sound
and let my core unwind.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC