"dictated" poems
Whether or not you
Do what's right should never be
Dictated by man.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
Those that are complacently designed
By the simpering vanities
of a domesticated world
rarely find the peace of mind
of which we all strive
because their materialistic
beliefs constrain them
in pools of normality
Drowning them in the pressures of society
and hanging them out to dry
in downloaded photos
that never fade
our lives are all dictated
by the subconscious influence
of one another
thus our souls
are irrefutably intertwined
locked together in endless struggle
mind against mind.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
Watching a seagull floating lazily
Through an invisible blue ocean
Effortlessly soaring on invisible waves
Course dictated by winds currents
Piercing eyes watching, senses alert
Casting a moving shadow, cross the deep
Tracking a path none knows
Swooping, surfing ocean’s rollers
Wingtips gently kissing wave peaks.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
Electromagnetic Motion Ocean Of Pure Focal Emo-tion.
The Very Sound Of The Creators Verse And Rhythm In Loving Notion Pouring Through The Crystalline Endocrine Indoctrinated Shock Ra Of Shocking Unblocking Colorful Tones In Unmolested Focus And Definition.
To Flow Your Emo-tions Through Your Core And Manifest In Your Intended Notion All Without The Misidentified Horror Of The Wrongfully And Negatively Defined Emotions, One Finds That The Mere Act Of William Tell And That Apple Upon The Head Must Have Been One Hell Of An Interesting Interaction, Yet Instead Of The Reassuring Smiles And Calm Demeanor Of The Archer As They Lock Eyes, What Pray Tell You Think The Eyes Of The Archer Looked Like On That Very Frozen In Time Moment As He Released The Arrow To Guided Love Of Perfected Intent And Delivery Of Safe And Demanding Fortitude Of Action To Defeat All Possible Variable , As If To Need To Bend The Very Laws Of Nature If They Were To Cause An Number Of Odd And Unpredictable Events To Derail The Intent Of The Man Shooting The Apple Off The Head Of His Dear Child's Head, For Not A Bird May Pass Between, Not A Gust Of Wind Be Seen, Not An Earthquake Be Fabled To Accrue, Not A Single Action But The Undeterred Focus Of Absolute Might In Will, His Fee Will In Flight. What Might His Eyes Be Relaying In That Frozen Moment? Reassurance, Pity, Fear, Confidence, Or The Electric Fire Of Electromagnetic Motion Ocean Of Pure Focal Emo-tion To Get The **** Thing Done And Without Foolish ******** Reactions To The Real And True Focus Of Emotion, And Pray Tell, What If The Child Mistook This Look In A Moments Notice And Flinched Out Of Concern That The Father Was Angry With Him? Or Is It Best To Realize The Real Importance Of This Story As It Is The Trust In The Definitions Of Intended Focus And Not Of Simple Trust.? ,... Yes, Intended Focus Of Emotions Being Trusted As True And Not Negative In Nature, Dear Friend, Yes. So Let Your Soul Be Your Pilot, Let The Flow Of Emotion Be Free And Not Dictated By The Restraints Of Control And Be Seen And Used In Negative Ways, For These Are The Crimes Against All Mankind And The Bigger Part Of Why Spoken Word Is The Very Spell That Binds The Psyche, For The Focus Of Or The Lack Of Focus Of Emotions True Meaning And Purpose Is The Crime Against All Life Indeed. Live Free And Pilot This Love Ship Successfully By No Longer Defining Self By The Ways And Means That Have Caused Us To Fear Our Own Power To Move Mountains, And Kept Us All Mustard Seeds When We Are Truly Far More Than You Can Believe. Feel Free, Yes, By All Means Feel Free.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
"hell yeah?" the burglar asked the pusher.
(the burglar: wirily, ambitious. plain appearance, dressed in black.
the pusher: wealthy, strong and well-conditioned. sumptuous leather jacket.)
"hell yeah", the pusher answered. "now i got what i like and you got what you need."
both grinned. after a day of extensive work, they relaxed in a hellish pub. it was visited by diplomatic creatures whose faces were recognizable like shadows.
this pub was called babylon 8.
the burglar and the pusher touched glasses to celebrate their deal. they drank.
"nothing to be written down",
the pusher added. burglar nodded. voices of the diplomatic creatures surrounding them; satanic sighs; bold laughter; their sentences sounded like orders that are dictated by judges.
snakes and rats. gravelpitbulls and red cats. creatures with excellent memory. guys who swallow their plans after they had learned them by heart.
a while later, a lady entered the pub: adorable like a man's fantasy; imitable like a woman's strategy. her hair color was your desire; her skin color the color of your dreams.
her name was fantasy girl.
suddenly, the lights went out; suddenly, a lightblue sun illuminated the room. no one noticed. everyone so busy hiding something that nothing was hid.
the creatures of babylon 8 therefore didn't perceive the light.
fantasy girl ordered a drink. she told the bartender: "i need freedom. that's what i want from you, the people of babylon 8."
the bartender a giant with a face full of shining scars; his right ear missing; flashy shirt; an ancient first name; speaker of all world languages combined: the omerta.
fantasy girl took a sip from a silver brew which had been served to her by the bartender. she took out a single match and there was no box; a long cigarette between her unknown lips.
bartender looked at fantasy girl. without saying a word, he turned his stubble cheek into her direction. fantasy girl lighted the match.
lightblue fire. inhaling. smoke. iceblue cloud.
the burglar and the pusher had been looking at fantasy girl all the time.
fantasy girl held a white fountain pen and took a black sheet out of a green handbag. she began to write.
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 10:12 AM UTC
ponces! nancies! veritable egrets of men!
people pleasing anti-charismatic animals
philistines, every one of them,
everyone else
a curse upon their forebears and a curse upon their goings-on
terrible business, that
the world should be filled with boundary pushing eccentrics, that is progress!
a plague upon normalcy, a plague upon stagnancy
uninteresting, dying off, done
ugh!
greatness can not be expected of all but at least an attempt should be made
how else will we overcome, will we build our utopia?
what use is MY struggle when others are defeated in making a move past the remote
television is for swine
rots your brain and morals
I've swell morals, just look at them
my morals reach to the moon
my morals are so swell I should run the country
my morals aren't two millenia old scriptures written by the seers of goat-tenders
my morals are modern, they are sleek and well dictated, they represent the future
my morals defy the past, my morals create new paradigms
why, you could say my morals defy all of traditionalism
and a curse upon tradition!
who ever learned from the past
history is rife with naught but sufferance
forwards is the only direction
forwards is revealed only to me
my ideals aglow with the lumine of the future
they are entrenched in idealism
me and mine, we are ideal
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC
We were born into a world of shallow minds and deep disturbances of young millennials mimicking mindless mimes because we were told to stay in line but be yourself but follow me but think "originality."
A generation full of copycatting individuals with monotone mindsets mulling over social ladders and trends dictated by invisible monarchs of industry inviting and spoon feeding insecurities masked as improvements.
A generation spending more time pretending not to care than on passions stifled by our peer pressuring playmates who are all prescribed Vyvanse, Adderall, Ritalin for their incurable imaginations deemed "learning disabilities."
A generation of temporary friendships because no one can connect with each other but we can connect to the internet and chat with strangers and share thoughts, photos, and secrets to a virtual audience that loses interest in an entanglement of wires forming a noose around our sincerity.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
For so many reasons;
When the wow creativity
Of the young, new baby poets,
Bursts all over me,
Making me question
My egotistical perception,
Not a slap, but a belly laugh!
At the old fool, who once thought
Ever so secondary briefly, momentarily,
Unofficially, of his own esteemed self-worth,
Only to be reminded, deaf~dumb & blind~sided
By the fresh air, the aggravating sight of new insight
The delicious!delight of reading the whole of all night
The explorations, the baby hallucinations, the trembling,
Insights of the explorers of the old, not re!newed, but, but.
Made anew, re~viewed with perspectives boldly unknown,
With crazy wisdom to expound, here, you! right here, right now,
I leave you and return to delight, taste, new extra languages, that
I must
learn not to speak
but to peak, even to
Cry, Laugh even Smile
In all my new native tongues
Friday, July 18
5:39 AM,
2025
In the sunroom
Dictated in one fell swoop, not a moment to lose, dispatched while
Still laughing at myself...
Jul 18, 2025
Jul 18, 2025 at 6:03 AM UTC
Frustration
Do this, do that
No choice
Do it now
No control
A child
Directed
Dictated
Asked but no choice
Who am I?
Child or slave?
Dependent
Longing
To do what I want
To decide when
For freedom
To say yes
To gladly choose
To serve by choice
Willingly
Because I want to
Not required to
Decide when
Decide what
Ability to say no
Ability to say yes
Frustration
May 17, 2011
May 17, 2011 at 10:41 PM UTC
Two snowflakes descend toward the ground.
One lands on the head of a man,
The other on the outstretched tongue of a woman.
The man thinks little of his snowflake,
while the woman is slightly amused by hers.
The man sees his as one of many landing at once,
while the woman's snowflake stands out.
During the descent of these snowflakes,
two things happen in particular.
The man is staring at the woman,
while he bumps into a passerby.
A student is taking a test,
while his friend is sleeping through it.
The snowflakes collide with the man and woman
in a seemingly accidental way.
The man and woman are unaware
of any particular snowflake coming at them.
But the snowflakes seem to follow a path
dictated by the wind,
as if aiming for their target.
The man is unaware of the passing woman
because of his fixation on another.
The man, along with the passing woman,
is also unaware
that they will be married in the future.
The student taking the test
will receive an A in the class.
The student sleeping will receive a C.
They each will go on to graduate
and have similar jobs.
The life of a snowflake is short,
but it has infinite forms.
It will melt, reform, and descend many more times.
The snowflake won't be significant
to its target in each life,
but the snowflake is not phased by this,
for it will have many more attempts.
Human life is like the descent of a snowflake.
It is made up of small moments
that we may or may not be aware of,
and that may or may not be significant.
Its time span is short,
and even when it is significant,
the significance is slight.
Unlike the snowflake,
humans aren't certain of having infinite forms.
The life that exists now
may be the only one given.
Human life should be spent
like the snowflake aiming for the tongue.
There's no guarantee that you'll make it,
or be remembered for it,
but if you have no direction,
there's no guarantee you'll have another chance.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC
*The words they speak
are sharper than blades
And their looks,
daggers that could tear a skin
Their eyes are blind,
can't see what's inside*
Like shadows they creeped
Stabbing backs and innocence deemed
Always lurking in the darkness
Justice they served
but lives diminished
*Your flaws are
something they gaze
The truth made me daze
The word equality is no
longer in their vocabulary
How can they fire bullets
without thinking the lives
they perceived
Trash in their brains
are twirling like a tornado
slowly messing their thoughts
slowly killing feelings, everywhere they go*
Dictated by their own free will
Cowered in fear as they
thought it was real
What they've seen,
deception in mutilation
Power overrule by those who torture
Torturing minds, creating lies
The innocent happily flying kites
But they cut it with pure contempt
Convincing they will get
that chance again
"Listen to the words you seek
Don't listen to a word they say
Do NOT listen to a word you've heard
Do not listen to a word you've heard
People are people we live for our own
Live how you think not by what you've been told"
*In God's eyes we're all the same
where do you think we all came?*
Don't let them fool you
By their tools of deception
We are all the same
We will die someday
So maybe, it's time for a change.
-Adele Karla & Erenn
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
Etymologically,
paradise
is inherited from the Latin
paradisus
and the Greek
paradeisos
and ultimately an ancient Iranian root --
pairi daêza.
In theory, paradise is a religious term. By that definition, paradise is a place in which existence is positive, harmonious and timeless. It is conceptually a counter-image of the miseries of human civilization; in paradise, there is only peace, prosperity, and happiness.
It’s absurd, though, how we provide ourselves with such a convenient idea, a carrot for all mankind to share in our relentless drive towards death. It’s absurd that we must rely on such nonsensical ideals to inspire us to adhere to literal, arbitrarily-dictated morals. “Thou shalt not do things we say you probably shouldn’t.
Except sometimes.”
“Actually, whenever, as long as you feel bad about it and spend a moment kneeling quietly and thinking something along the lines of ‘So, like, sorry -- my bad. It won’t happen again, unless it does.’”
The fundamental mistake here is attempting to delineate the existence of Man with an old book and relentless propaganda and childhood indoctrination and threats of post-mortem punishment, but more on topic -- why can’t one just live the right way without this kind of artificial motivation? It’s a juvenile concept that we’ve taken much too far. It marginalizes the human race -- “listen, Man, if you eat all your broccoli, then you can have dessert.” But what happens in this situation, when the dessert isn’t real?
What I mean to say is that maybe you should eat your broccoli because it’s healthy, and because, besides what society has attempted to instill in you, it might actually be tasty if you give it a chance.
Live for now. Care about people now. Because you don’t get anything afterwards; however cynical it may be, dessert is just a cold grave or a flame designed for whole incineration of your being. Paradise is now.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
recurrent moonlit distractions
captured by words
tied down into morsels;
separated and concealed,
contiguous yet sheer greetings
of each other’s skin
had left wanton burns
and gushing streams
of a brooding lover’s propensity
for unsusceptible matters of the heart.
there, he stood,
on the precipice of tomorrows;
ruminating and scrupulous,
forlorn yet never dithering
over mundane and quintessential quandaries
of the tepid gloss of incertitude
dangling off syllables
dictated by sordid agony.
there, he stood,
in the midst of everything;
from the otiose adoration
poured out of empty caskets
to the lenitive shades of his eyes.
with the ripples of moonlight,
the gestalt of doleful flower-like hearts,
there, she stood,
and waited.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
The King of the World is on his way now,
he always shows up when the chips are down.
Everyone just loves The King of the World,
he always arrives with his banners unfurled.
The King can be a loud chap,
or The King can be quite a quiet mime,
he even puts his pants on
one royal leg at a time!
The King might eat breakfast,
or The King just might not,
he is everything you are,
yet is is all that you forgot.
He's a musician of sorts,
with a very big band,
his arrival is in herald,
throughout every land
-with brass trumpets a-blare,
and snare-drums rat-a-tat,
he makes everyone aware,
that he's now where you're at!
The King marches his forces
through the cities and fields,
assure of his courses,
lying flat beneath his heel.
He revels at the sight of deterioration,
fills his belly with the joy of nations in extinction.
The King grounds everything down to things he scrapes off his boots,
he topples the governs and poisons the cultural roots.
The King's fixations are splashed with spatters of blood,
turning kingdoms into crumbles of ashes and mud.
He bulldozes the bodies into toxic pits of ****
contaminates by obscenity, wringing his hands at the wit.
Lionized by his minions in the empty empires he wrought,
The King's elite ruling class is dictated with rot.
In the aftermath of the bile
of his genocidal, sweet plight,
The King celebrates with great style,
turning the daylight into night.
With bonfires a-blaze on the wicked, windy wasteland,
The King of the World strikes up his big band,
and once marching again will torch and ravish the land,
dropping massive, beautiful bombs for the sake of the thrill,
melting the people and villages and eroding the hills.
The time for The King
always is nigh,
for he is surrounded by
the conjurations of lies.
Some say he is evil,
(but, he's not the Devil, you see)
-He's The King of the World,
he is you, he is me.
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 9:14 AM UTC
Calling out for help with zero intention of being heard.
Inevitable change is a diabolical fear.
A life without such nonsense is what I’ve always preferred.
Deep pondering views inside peel back the layers of irrational fear.
A life without adversity is a life without growth.
Embracing change creates a blank canvas.
A dark void inside craving the vibrant colors of new experience.
A life without risk is a life dictated by fear.
Regret seeps in when change is avoided at all cost.
A life without change is a life not worth living.
Aug 21, 2022
Aug 21, 2022 at 2:47 PM UTC
I was scared to give myself to you
But now that I have, I'm terrified
Explained to you what I'd never explained before
And from atop of your wall you said you understood
You say time will bring down your wall
But I can't help but notice these bricks your stacking
The harder I try, the higher your wall seems to be
The only time you let me in
Is in the solitude of home
In public you put your mask on
As tho the opinions of others dictated your heart
I step back with attempts of strategy
Only for you to change your game
I've put my love for you on display
Only for you to pocket it
How can you say you feel the same
When you don't show the same
Displaying shame
Embarrassment
Cut your strings
Release yourself from this puppeteer
And I will catch you
Hold you forever
Be the man you should have had
I'm ready to give you my all
Just show me you're willing to receive it
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
No more lords.
No more rules.
Dictated by cloud headed fools.
Dogmatic commands issued
from chairs in the sky.
Telling those without wings:
How we cannot live,
And terms when we die
Speaking endless promises
yet speaking in riddles,
circles, and lies.
Life is a game
Of slicked palmed
councils on clouds
Telling us,
Work hard enough!
Aspire high enough!
And you can earn your wings*
(*of feathers and wax)
All your hard work
Will be rewarded at last!
So, work hard today
and pay us our taxes.
Perhaps tomorrow,
you get your wings.
All lies.
We toil today.
We toil tomorrow.
We toil until our loved ones
Gather in shared sorrow.
Buried with unfulfilled dreams
Of flying
Tomorrow.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:04 AM UTC
Creativity
&
Madness
I've walked the razor's edge.
Playing it straight
In public places
No one knew
The thoughts and voices
Running around my head.
Fortune dictated
I never made it
To the walking dead.
Secret sharers
Come to me
At the beginning
And at the end
Of their plunge
Into that madness
Falling off the ledge.
No sleep came to them
Electronic insomnia
Ran them.
Cars became creatures
Screaming at them
As real as the table
Between us.
Imagination run wild
A chariot
The horses sweating
And running full speed
The reins either
Flapping untamed
Or
Imagination chained
Directed into these lines.
Creativity
&
Madness
At the razor's edge.
Disorganization
Voices screaming
When the wind is silent.
Miming up against the walls
No one can see them at all.
And in space as they said
"No one can hear you scream"
And space surrounds me.
Creativity
&
Madness
Pros & cons
Cost benefit ratios
*** makes it worse
The roots ungrounded
Crystal gears it up
Alcohol numbs the
Mind with depression's
Blanket of dread.
While ****** leaves
You strung out and lead.
The drugs they give you
Leaves you walking dead
But calm and able
To
Play it straight in public places
Far from the
Razor's edge
Of creativity & madness.
What's a poor boy to do?
Wind up sleeping in the park?
Cold wet encampment bound
Lost in the landscape
Of madness
Sights
Shadows,
A mind full
Of old echoes
Blinding.
How do we walk
This line?
A few fall over
A few are left behind.
Some never know what they could find
And some find that it all resides
At the intersection
At the razor's edge...
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
as on a musical score,
our parts are dictated,
spelt out in dynamics,
in rhythm, in pitch, in
timing, in tone.
our fingers are being manipulated
across the instruments of our lives,
abandoning the very soul of our existence.
but observe how a little improvisation
in this large chorus of soulless players
does no harm.
it's liberating -
like a line that cares not for rhythm nor syntax nor sound nor length.
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 2:02 PM UTC
My questions go unanswered.
My words ignored.
My presence overlooked.
Myself invisible to the eyes of others.
In a sty of stench.
In her own ***** she is drenched.
The reason I crossed two states borders.
Pack rat hoarder.
Without organization of order.
Out lived my heart hesitated.
My life dictated.
By a **** "mom" who dominates.
Controlling with my child as leverage.
She holds us hostage.
In her cobwebbed hellhole of dust.
Mold, ***** stench, mildew, & rust.
She is no one to ever trust.
I have alot to complain about & fuss.
Neglected, unprotected,& disrespected.
Taken for granted & unappreciated.
Unknown but senselessly hated.
For love or friendship I waited.
No one ever asked me to be dated.
My life I lived & created.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
We are a messed up, un proportional team barely clinging to sanity.
We see each other at our worst and at our best, depending on how we played
The endless dictated hours in the gym we spend together,c only made respect.
And the passion we all share for the game only makes our bond stronger
We are a messed up un proportional family barely clinging to sanity.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
A Lamar Original
Honey, I know that times are hard
And the moments like these are tough,
So let me reassure why we shouldn’t be apart,
And allow our future be dictated by love.
Baby, every night before I sleep
On bent knees to God I pray
For the hearts we have to not leak,
Because he has brought all this way.
We can succeed if we give this a chance;
I can see us growing old and grey,
Looking back on this very day;
We made it beyond our own recession romance!
Honey, I know that at times you feel alone,
And the world can be such a crazy place,
But that doesn’t mean you have be on your own,
I just hate to see the stress on your face.
Baby, everyday after I wake
With closed eyes to God I pray
For the hearts we have to not break,
Because if it’s his will, together we’ll stay.
We can ascend if we give this a chance;
I can see us with laughs and smiles,
After all the tribulations and trials;
We overcame our own recession romance!
Even if we have little money, little work,
All I need is you, honey, for what it’s worth...
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 11:05 AM UTC
And so this story goes forever
Being held to the ground for being clever
I don't know what these ******* even teach you
But you can't stand for yourself (it's true)
The world emanates the fear of our souls
Expressing what we feel disrupts their goal
Stricken to the bone, we tear our flesh
To show our opinion in a scarring mesh
They make us cover it all or be removed
For professionalism is dictated by what they approve
Hold your head high while you ******* can
Bills are passed to begin the eternal ban
Stripped of our freedoms
Naked and exposed
To invasion of comfort and artistry
I say **** you
And **** them too
For they have nothing to say against our cries of injustice
They know what they do is an expression of narcous
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
Some of the best smiles happen at the most random moment.
Coming quick, fast.
Out of the blue.
Our lips burst and expose this wonderful happening.
Motivation to take the next step of all we carry.
The things we keep hidden.
It often comes effortless, a sort of spoken word expressed only by face.
A sensual proverb foretold by kings and queens.
Humble by nature.
The clouds pass without strife.
Forever inspired by what sets their soul a blaze in the remedy of patience.
Inherited by the same spontaneous moment we smile.
The sun isn't always dictated with an upward look.
Sometimes it just happens to be where you are.
At the part of your lips.
Unconditionally given
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC