"dictates" poems
You've crossed my mind many nights.
Sometimes I just lay there, holding you tight in mind.
Wandering your body with my hands.
Filling my fingers with the skin I've dreamt so much about.
The things you keep hidden. unraveled in empty sheets, blankets.
Your warmth becoming the only comforter that dictates whether or not I'll have sweet dreams.
What justifies the stain our breath has left on one another's.
The press of your face against my neck.
The marks left on each other in anticipation. Refusing to pull ourselves away.
Clinging tight to the ****** of being beside ourselves.
Deliberately keeping each other awake in the promise of sleeping wild moments later.
To watch your face scrunch up as it breaks your gasp. Bringing a halt to anticipation,
The comfort of bodies becoming pillows harboring us into a deep sleep. Soft, still.
My head laying on your shoulder.
As we ourselves become lost in the sheets
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 11:35 AM UTC
It all begins
With pronouns
I becomes the subject
Of my project
Adding you
And collectively we
I choose you and me
And I exclude the he and the she
Until I am certain of we
You and I pick verbs
actions
Inflect them to match
fit
begin narratives
Transitive verbs take objects
You touch
tickle
tease
taste
take skin
*******
lips
me with words
Words have become a clause
But still a simple construction
So, you tickle me where?
For this you need a preposition
To position your tickling ammunition
Do you touch
tickle
tease me ON my *******
*******
thighs
buttocks
****
Do you feel me INSIDE my mouth
****
soul?
Positioning is envisioning.
Then you use adjectives
To modify descriptions of
Sensory inscriptions
So, gentle complements touch
Soft and passionate kiss
And you become superlative
And adverbs elaborate experience
expression
exploration
You fill me deeply
thoroughly
violently with all that is you
But adverbs can also mean time
Not sweet or cursed time
Or time denoting age
But timing is always important
And grammar dictates
That
Time adverbs are placed
As a beginning or an end
Like a lover's embrace
Thus,
This morning, you woke me with
A demanding "here and now! " and I will reciprocate this, tonight, I vow.
Conjunctions are sentence connectors
And sentences behave like detectors
Bodies balancing with and, but, or
Otherwise subordinate
And the scale tips towards
Conditioning hypotaxis
Making actions a complicated praxis
(before my mind can connect, you will have to pursuade it /pursue it)
But we coordinate conjunctions
Equally
I touch you
You touch me
Exploring
Exploding sensory functions
So, together we cry imperatives
Completing our ****** narratives
Moaning
Whimpering
Begging
Yelling: Please... bind me!
touch me!
bite me!
take me!
come!
Oh! Please, come!
I love the English language... ;)
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
Why would it be bad
To have cake and also eat it?
Why is that a metaphor of greed?
What else should I do with cake?
It could be a piece of art
Something beautiful to behold
But it’s purpose is to be eaten
It’s cake
Yes, I would like my cake
And to eat it as well
I want to enjoy
The things I enjoy
Not simply to hold them in my hands
Stare at them upon a platter
Wonder what they taste like
I want to eat the cake
It was made for someone to eat
Why not me?
Too much cake
Will make me fat
The sugar and flour
Conspire together to build a gut
It is not healthy to eat cake daily
I cannot keep cake in the house
The temptation is too great
But everything in moderation
A piece of cake here and there
To be had and to be eaten
Is a nice treat
The daily grind of salads and chicken
Nuts and fish
Avocado and eggs and water
Will keep me healthy
Grounded
So when I feel like cake
I can have it
Order cake for dessert
Or to celebrate a birthday
An accomplishment
Or anniversary
No one bats an eye
But order cake for breakfast?
Might just incite a riot
There is a time and place for cake
Society has deemed it so
We are not the rulers of our own lives
(Though we could be)
Instead our culture dictates
The rules of life
Steak for breakfast or for dinner
But not lunch
Bread goes with every meal
Eggs and bacon are for the morning
But at night is a nice treat - on occasion
Beer after five
But it’s five o’clock somewhere
And somewhere
Someone is ready for dessert
So **** it
Let’s eat this cake
That I have procured
You and me, together
Let’s have our cake
And eat it too
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 6:19 AM UTC
porch talk, simmering in a Bud light sauce
everyone chair-rocking, even the boxer dog,
in his self-propelled 360 degree swiveling chair
eavesdropping and spy eyeballing the farm for
strangers and any creatures as of yet, unsmelled
get done with weather, the crops,
the neighbors,
the weird, and the truly neighborly,
grandkids escapades, hopes and desires, comparative literature and regional dialects and philosophical dialecticals tickling,
bs’ing and tall tale telling, breathing the windy geography of the air over the land that dictates the how we live,
open another Bud for the buds,
did I forget to mention
farm equipment?
skirt politics cause nobody wants any
nothing-to-be-done-damn-aggravation,
leaves nothing mo’ to ramble on about ‘cept the
absent women
no worries all above board no secrets uncouthed,
but the mood softens as the pale daylight wisps come rarer
as now
nearer to nine pm, obvious saved the best for last,
a very manly-way of ordering things,
big silent pauses in the converso conversation,
guy-sighs many,
as the last essay of the day is being jointly authored,
denotating the generalized listings of
how they drive us crazy,
listing the repetition of ever changing instructions,
which doesn't recognize bi-coastal mannerisms, non-differentiating
just humanism-isms
and the peculiarities of each (a list kept)
in a compare and contrast,
an end of the day summation,
and the boasting-outbesting,
of each of their
specialisms
which is sadly now forgotten and which haven’t been
brain-recorded so cannot be disclosed
other than it’s now ten
and all that’s left is
to sleep, perchance, to dream,
of private things
and bigger and better
John Deere tractors
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
in this age of vanishing dreams
and crying ghosts
I find myself drawn again and again
an undying connection
to this work of art
so out of time upon its creation
as to be an endless fascination for me
so unlike the artist
this suffering soul
who's immense love and anguish
for the less fortunate
coupled with a talent too immense
for one man
created a burden that weighed upon his shoulders
and his heart like a million captured tears
then once upon a beautiful dream
or perhaps just a clever thought or a baby's smile
a brief respite from the pain
he created the contradiction of his lifetime
as if to say to all that may come to know him
through what history dictates
'You see...I was not crazy!'
and The Smoking Skull
was born
Dec 26, 2017
Dec 26, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
i told the girls at work about
time spent with jane.
they seemed awfully excited
for me.
maybe they could smell
that jane is new,
but familiar
like a car bought
used. she is barely driven
though. i still drive over
the skids i left from
trying to stop
too quick. you can see
my tread worn out like
sanded wood.
or maybe they could
smell the hope like dew on
the morning grass.
fresh but dangerous.
waiting
to trip me with my eyes
set ahead but not infront.
theyll leave the wire
right where they
got me the last time.
it would be an honor
to be fooled
by something so sweet
to the touch. it almost feels
alien
to not be so upset
by the way the weather
dictates my evenings.
i do not FEEL like i used to.
my love and guilt
helix and weave like code.
i would only kiss you now,
if it brought back the one i poisoned.
i live in a farm upstate now
like a dead house dog.
if ive really moved on
know that i did the impossible
we'll be better off for it.
and if things never work out with
jane, you best pray
someone loves me when im dead
cause they sure as hell
dont love me
now.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 12:28 AM UTC
Wake up. Breathe. Take your pill please.
Exercise. Work. Don’t ever smirk.
Wrong. Right. No need to fight
Live. Die. Why even try?
The Political cult leads the day,
It dictates what we do, what we say.
Thinking is a luxury we shall soon not afford,
No more choices, at least.. not of your own accord.
You’ll get the news from an IV drip,
Government lies go straight to the chip.
Notifications from corporations and friend requests from secret police
Refuse one or all, it’ll be your fall, and your contract with us will cease.
We’ll delete your name, and wipe all the files,
Deny any knowledge and bury you under the tiles.
You’ll never be heard from, you’ll never be seen,
You’ll never have existed, you’ll never have been.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
Food. What is food?
Is it something everyone needs to survive? Is it the thing that takes forever to make and has even less time time to enjoy?
Is it the beautiful plants that grow in the right season that produces so much pride that they deserve an instagram post?
Or is the thing that many people will never have the money to see?
For me, it is the center of everyday. It is the one thing that I know dictates my entire life. It is the one thing I wish I could forget and the one thing I wish I could live without.
It is the thing that forces me to do math, and it is the thing that keeps me from knowing any sort of satisfaction.
It is the thing that makes me wish I were someone else, anyone else.
It is the thing that I spend hours thinking about, measuring, classifying, and the one thing that I can never seem to get correct. It is also the thing that makes me cry at night. It makes me feel alone.
It is the thing that causes me to spend every day working out even when I don't want to, and it has made me be friends with a scale that isn't very friendly.
It is a bully, a cruel "ex" friend that wishes I were never born and it is a fighter that knows how to pack a heavy punch.
For me, it has not been very kind. It has been the thing that controls who I am.
It is THE thing, and sadly, it is everything.
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021 at 12:16 AM UTC
Tale told to me by dear time,
It is an incredibly short story,
For it dictates my destiny.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 5:01 AM UTC
It lives in Him breathes in his vitals,
Personifies him and nets out of his veins lethargy,
It dampens what his heart has in offer,
It lays in him waste,
a bewitched rower to this boat,
Who has yet to learn to stay afloat,
His obfuscations lead him sober,
His blind eye dictates his horror,
A pearl beyond imagination he has yet to attain,
To proclaim his name with no distain.
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 11:14 PM UTC
I am not the master of my writing
-
my writing masters me,
seizing me when the seizure is a sure thing,
it dictates to its enslaved scribe
what it desires this utensil to reveal and expel -
the contraries
who having battled to a ****** draw leaves the battlefield trembling with indecent indecision; the optimal conditions for its macrobiotic invasion of my brain stem;
the she-muse offers me two choices:
she wants a poem writ forthwith
on the lyrical expression
of depression and refusal is
non optional
so I fantasize escape and that becomes
her property as well;
evidence against me to be used at my trials,
the one where there is no statue of liberty
from the limitations of prior bad acts;
I offer the she-muse two choices:
give me a cabin with WiFi
and self-enforcement of solitary confinement and
tie me up with the rope remainders of broken bonds,
bonds that tied me up worse
when they were broken
and the peaceful withering
that won’t disrupt disturb nobody
from a distance
my other choice is to bury me
forthwith next to my parents
and shutter my constant tearing eyes which are drop-resistant
muse says that’s no choice
I own your voice stilled or not,
will bill your soul’s account for
denial of poetic services
weep; i don’t want the noises that curse this troubled
bodyship don’t want recollections good or bad
the muse-bitch cackles with insanity of delight
for she accepts this writ as partial payment
on her commission, whispers I love your
lyrical expressions of depression
that ****** recognition algorithms
alert me that seizing time is nigh
there is no on/off switch for one like you:
father son and holy ghost
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
Though in dexterity my physically challenged carpenter father,
Than the physically fit proves better,as a source to his anger,
With contemporaries a level ground he enjoyed never!
From late childhood there was one thing that me used to bother, why my so discriminated father
On his turn true to cultural dictates,ill treats my domestic chores saddled mother
And heeds not her say though by the sweat of their brow
As responsible parents they were happily bringing my sister and I together?
I still wonder why ,why ,why my sister who has IQ
On par with me if not better,to help out mother
Suffering a cold shoulder even by her mom was denied the right to pursue education further
While I was given a chance to prove a man of letter(s)?
I remember, crossing many a pool, barefooted, I used to trek
A long distance to a nearby town's a school,
Where for my provincial and shabby clothes I was seen a fool
By the relatively rich in showing courtesy far from cool.
Though stationery they didn't lack , sad,I had a hand tied behind my back.
Alas,up on joining campus where I yearned for the sagacious a chance
There too in my class,I was looked down by students
Hailing from families of the top brass.
When I went abroad for a higher education enjoying fellowship and donation
Worse still, I met many, colour has coloured whose vision.
Ironically my dissertation was drawing attention
To why should the broad mass be standers by
And with ill-fate marked die
While the favoured ,racist and the corrupt few gobble over 3/4 of the pie? /
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 3:11 AM UTC
When money dictates morals
Politicians try to pacify poverty
By keeping the poor passive
When money dictates morals
Politicians try to pacify the rich
By reducing politics to a puppet theatre
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
yellow banana from the east
making discordian inroads
to vehemence this fall
won't let it turn black
or we can't go back
not an innuendo
put it in a spiral
make it viral
bring a melon
and hard drive
sell the lemon
for half price
buy no frills
airlines tickets
ride with the fruit
to unknown places
disseminate those faces
that munch on the yellow
that icky sticky mellow fellow
well the law of fives dictates its size
must have a five plus maybe a two or three
where did we go with thee can we please go free
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
grandma did steer the family ship
she always liked to be in command
those who questioned her stewardship
were quickly given a reprimand
her seven children always paid heed
to the orders she'd issue out
they were under her unbending reed
her edicts to them ever so stout
throughout her life she got her way
her dictates were well known to all
nothing but nothing was like her sway
everyone heard what she'd call
though she was a woman of authority
family members respected her stewardship
she had a steady hand like the admiralty
who so effectively steered the ship
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 7:44 AM UTC
What brief utterance this, the color of time
That gives more meaning than language can hold
To force a confrontation between unresolvable contradictions
Such as make malleable a gracious hospitality to ******
And sound trumpets of unwarranted discord
That lie and lament the reputation and experience of damage
Hold forth the envious clouds of displacement
To provide for the vicious energies of hate
Those oppressive weights of past problems
That enactment of intense and exhausting experience
Which embalms the tears of fresh bleeding
Without impediment dictates the human existence
Where the mistress of aggressive thought finds
Extremity of dire mishap a strenuous protest
Leads to well meaning certainty of illusion
And asks, art thou so in love with masks that you
Would transform thyself and as such
Bind a loyalty of angers to thy touch
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
My hands still ache –
I’m convinced it’s my atoms splitting
No one asked me how I got addicted –
They said the focus was on quitting
But I’m here in the present
So I must have a had a past
It’s too bad “Where’d you come from”
Is a question never asked.
I went through hell to get here
So it should matter where I’m from
I tell them “it should matter what I’ve seen…
It should matter what I’ve done.”
He then responded like a father and began his sentence, “Son…
It’s the shock, not the trauma, that makes the body the numb.”
He said, “The thing you search is silence.”
“And yet you let your monsters drum.”
You start to figure things out. You know --
When you’re locked up all that time.
But you learn not from what you’re taught,
Instead, you learn from what you find.
And I found mine in the written word,
I found it in a rhyme.
Numbers always helped me think, so I looked for something to count
And as I pondered that man’s words, the room’s only light went out.
So I counted the only thing that I could feel aside from air,
And his seven words made sense, as I counted the one thing
That in the dark was always there.
I’m my own favorite number, so I began counting,
“One…”
But this time I didn’t count to two.
And the monsters didn’t drum.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t rely on someone else
For the first time, in the dark, I counted on myself.
I then knew why “Where’d you come from” was never asked --
Both they and I lived in the present; we couldn’t act upon the past.
It doesn’t matter where you came from, or even why you’re here.
For your past dictates your penance, but the present is your frontier.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 1:21 PM UTC
You look for love.
But only find fools.
The kind that only wants to use you.
Funny thing is some women like them over the good hearted men.
This saying all men isn't no good.
Is only true if you like been used.
Cause the good men stands alone.
They have a house to call home.
And a ride to get by.
And always the gentleman you can rely on.
But when they approach you.
You come off mean.
Which essentially dictates your day.
Because around no rude woman will a man stay.
But when the fool comes to you.
You open up.
Tell them everything under the sun.
And after he has made you a conquest.
Then we're right back at point one once more.
Learn from your mistakes.
Adapt too.
Cause good loving will always come to you.
Once you accept the heart of a good man.
Believe me.
All men not bad.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
Not all men insecure because their spouse makes more money.
The man just happy to have a loving partner.
It's those males with sensitive egos.
Who complains about his lady bringing home more bread?
Who let the old role of a man dictates to them?
While many males isn't lumped together with them.
Take those ladies at the top.
They don't brag about it.
Because they earned the position to be there.
And don't need anything or anyone to uplift them.
They solely believes action speaks louder than words.
Yes, many males comfortable with a working spouse.
That's just more percentage of money to assist in helping the finances of the house.
You might read an article of two.
Boasting of a woman in a man's field.
Or, what it use to be?
And look closely at the writer.
It's mostly written probably by a woman.
Who first brought up the subject of making more than most men.
Except , many aren't upset.
If they know she has the experience.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
*Mirror, mirror on the wall,
I have never trusted you
At all!
Beauty lies beyond
Having a flawless body and face,
But your reflection dictates
That the beautiful, imperfect person
That is staring at you,
Is out of place.
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Why do you set people up
To fall?
There is more to life
Than having a perfect complexion,
There is more to life
Than trying to be "perfection!"
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
If you cannot be kind,
Or find anything nice to say...
Then please, do not speak
At all!
Why don't you tell that vulnerable,
Desperate person,
That's gazing into your guise,
That they don't need to try to fit-in -
Or be wearing a made-up disguise.
And why don't you tell
That poor aching soul,
That loving the skin that they were born in,
Should be their number-one goal!
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Beauty is skin deep -
Don't you know anything...
At all!
By Lady R.F ©2016*
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
The paths we cross in life
With others
Sometimes dictates the paths we take
Whether we want to go it alone
Or with someone shared down a mutual path
Not knowing where it will take us
Or how long it will last
By choice or fate
The beaten path is in the past
To never look back
Hoping
Onwards to something better
Possibly something great
These interjections of people into our lives
Sometimes it lasts
And sometimes people are gone
Before their time is due
Most of the time
It's out of our hands
When people are gone too soon
Whether it be a friend, family, or lover
Instead of asking Why?
We must learn to say Goodbye
With no regret
And no looking back
Keeping the past behind us
Onwards to the light
Out of the black
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
Ostrich news.
Subtract twenty hours and where will we be?
a contract for the jobless
is all that I see.
Minimum rates
dictates from the top,
we plant the fields and they get the crop.
No education,no vocation,vacations
just vacant stares, where ability's a disability and an IQ a liability,
better keep your head low
and it'll all go away.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 7:55 AM UTC
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Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
If one pulls
A sheep astray
The flock is sure
To move that way.
To fish in a troubled water
De-constructing history
Thwart we could
The old social fabric of unity
And create we shall
A generation
Suffering a crisis of identity!
*“Ask me not why
They are better than
My peers and I
Also sensitize me not to deny,
What I see with my naked eye!
In attire,grooving,life style ,
Cosmetic application and civilization
They galvanize youth's attention!”*
Come up with a generation
We shall
That does not bat an eye
Our dictates to buy,
A generation that does barter
An age-old culture
With fads,for such a venture
Proves to it an adventure.
To achieve what we terribly sought
If we use somebody of note
Fame that has got
Say an artist or a poet
The mob will not
Fight-shy to drink a lot
From our poison ***
Without a grain of salt
“God doesn't exist "
Could be top on the list!
Alas, we could say “Worship us!"
*"Forget the Key And Lock theory!
Why should you worry?"*
Or social and religious norms
We could rock
With *“A lock could lock a lock
even in a wedlock!”*
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC
Defying the consensus of complacency,
And the enantiomorphic political practicality,
Candidates embrace their vacillating indexicality.
Spouting thrift store self reliance sapientiality,
Telling lores of cultural compatibility.
Hope filled promises of economic suitability,
Aligned with institutional feasibility.
Packaged in over-inclusive catchall empty signifiers
Strewn across all media screens, communal utilitarian plan flyers.
Requesting no need for responsiveness,
For a vote no longer dictates precedence,
In the age of social media endemic presence relevance.
PFL
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 3:40 AM UTC