"diplomatic" poems
If I ruled the world, I would be,
Not a benevolent leader, nor,
Would I be a tyrannical leader.
I would be something much unexpected and, hopefully, humble.
You see, I would be a quilt maker. Not of fabric and thread, though.
I would stitch the different cultures together, leaving each individual one unique, yet united by a common thread.
I would sit with my diplomatic needle and peaceful stitching and lead those whom hold contempt for one another see the other's perspective.
I would show them that,
The world isn't in black and white,
It's in full, high-definition color.
So let's celebrate unity,
Equality,
Individuality,
And uniqueness.
Because in the final chapter,
We all already rule the world.
It's up to us to thread ourselves to each other,
Or pull ourselves apart by the seams.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 7:29 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
There are many definitions of pride,
All in which, are perceived from a side,
Notable opinions indeed when we’re addressing the dogma that arise when mind project words that express one; wise,
However, it’s all contrary to me,
Pride isn’t something relating belief,
It can’t be put aside if it’s beyond side; choice/time,
Egoist defined when declined, rejoice inclined,
I can’t respond to a situation,
There’s no resolution when living unconditional and uncertain,
I am beyond interpretation,
I do not allude in illusions and wonder why they’re certain,
Abracadabra Hocus-Pocus...
Omm, “This State Farm jingle isn’t workin,”
AHP; “Magic”; Ouroboros,
Analytical Hierarchy Perspective on Serpent,
“They have power; They influence the course of events with supernatural forces”
That’s Magic?
The law of attraction; influencing life with thoughts; Quantum Mechanics, Force is,
Say “attract it,”
Demographics defining diplomatic, power be to the tree that’s aristocratic,
Problematic if geographic determines what’s democratic,
Tragic when ethnography constitutes what’s archetypal and habitual;
A classic ritual opposite of obsolete; of course bigotries automatic,
Bring back the art of holographic,
I’m leaning back like Crack if it’s dogmatic,
I do not understand how we understand species before intelligent and acknowledge intelligence like we never had it,
As if dyslexia was a natural condition; as if this ability was somehow previously hidden so with awareness became magic,
Freedom of speech,
“But I don’t like your words, sir”
Freedom to be,
“Those are not the clothes I prefer, sir”
Being discrete,
“He’s not in my position, he must concur”
Oh, What is believed?
They’re obligated to assumptions, so they infer most-
Too much pride will **** a man,
By picking a side he’ll lose a hand,
If using his pride he’s sure to win,
If losing his mind; insane a friend,
Clueless of time; he’ll never die,
Til P take a Ride, and replace his pride with another man’s.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
they say
he must be lucky
the guy who gets to have me
and i just look in your eyes
and see the hell i have put you through
they fell in love w my words
but i wonder do they know
that this is not beautiful
all these words may make depression look pretty
but it is not
it is not easy to be w a girl
who wants to crawl into the tiniest space of you
and make her home there
it is not easy to be with a girl
who makes you her air
it is not easy to see her
cringe at her own reflection
it is not easy to love her
when all she has is hatred for her self
it is not easy to look at her
when you read her poems about how she wants to peel off her skin
till nothing of her remains
it is easy to say
he must be a lucky guy
lemme assure you
he is not
im not blushing cheeks and perfect smiles
Im not about classy looks and vintage dresses
im like the storm and the only way i know how to show my love is to destroy
it is not easy to talk to her
when she replies in proses and riddles
it is not easy to hold her
when one moment she is warm and cuddlable
and the next she is spitting fire
it is not easy to tolerate her
when one small mistake and
it has already been
carved as a poem
it is not easy to survive her intense gaze
it is not easy to look back into her eyes
when she is looking at you w too much emotions contained in her eyes
too strong for you to take
she is everything
or nothing
or both
at the same time
she is every shade of every color
simulataneously
Ill overwhelm you
or i can make you question your own existence
cause i dont know any other way
to love
than to make you my all
and to be your all
ill love you w a passion
you have never seen before
but can your feeble heart
take it?
do you think
your calculated actions and diplomatic decisions
will help you then?
you may be fooled by my smile
and my gentle voice in which i talk to you
but there is a lot to me
than what meets your eyes
there will always be more to me
than you ll know
and you may think it is easy to love me
but it is not
you are a dreamer, you are in love with the idea of me
while you remain oblivious of
all the stories behind the words i have not yet written
and the words you ll never see.
It is effortless to fall in love with a poem
but being with a poet is a totally different thing
don't you now agree?
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
Red Velvet has been lauded for breaking stereotypes
among popular girl groups in South Korea, whose concepts
tend to fall under two categories: "cute, or "pure" and ****
to fulfill a certain fantasy; in a country where girl groups'
fan bases are typically male, according to Taylor Glasby
of Dazed Digital, the majority of Red Velvet's fans are young
women and commented that "They {Red Velvet & ReVeluv}
are neither **** nor innocent, the band's music videos are often
dark, trippy, sinister, or haunting, even when they're flooded in
pastel colors". In 2017, IZE Magazine named the group
as one of the successful female figures who helped transform
the passive image of South Korean women at a time when
feminism had risen as an issue in the country. The group's music
also sets them apart from other K-pop artists. K-pop idols in general
suffer from a prejudice that they aren't considered real musicians
by music critics. But because of the group's diverse musical
inspirations and styles, these critics have since claimed that Red Velvet
has pushed the boundaries of music in the early 21st century.
In February 2018, Time magazine named Red Velvet
as one of the best K-pop groups ever, highlighting
their versatile musical styles;
Red Velvet was recognized
for their brand recognition and marketing power,
having topped _'Girl Group Brand Power Ranking'_
published by the Korean Corporate Reputation
Research Institute for three consecutive months.
Red Velvet performed in Pyongyang on April, 1 2018.
This made them the fifth idol group to ever perform
in North Korea. They performed "Red Flavor" & "Bad Boy"
at the East Pyongyang Grand Theater to an audience
that included Kim Jong-un. The concert was billed
as "Spring is Coming" and is part of a wider diplomatic
initiative between the ROK & the DPRK
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
We're mostly gregarious and polite,
Like most of you.
We too have our diplomatic trips 'n bumps;
We never cozied to Dicky;
But welcomed ex-pat refugees
For safe and sound reasons.
After the jimmy-rigging, how many re-pated?
And we gagged on the impeachables, all fuzzy and bitter.
He called the father *that ******* in Ottawa;*
And Pierre wore that moniker like The Order of Canada.
When you're not liked by one, you're a dove.
You should visit CANDU.wow
It has it all.
How is Supreme Leader managing?
Are his...
Are my people... sitting at attention.
We could real news a bomb a la Kim Jong,
Or flip a stone down at Port Huron.
We won't.
But we could if we weren't
The Great White North, so accommodating, so polite,
So Coo loo coo coo coo coo coo cooo! nice...
(for now)
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
My hippy love, my hippy love
so fluorescent and so cool
you drift around all decked in flowers
so sweet and fanciful
Underlying scent of frankincense
a smell so soft and hazy
your peaceful diplomatic ways
your love of life so crazy
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
hands upon the door
to the cell phone store
I had an awful sore
in my heart and core
something I'm mad at
before the phone shat
something like ****
that some cat spat
so I rant at the gal
even her pal
and the guy Al
who give's a hal?
"The phone's inferior
Where's your superior?
I'll rip him a new interior!
You're all about exterior."
"Look at me when I speak.
or are you too weak?
Talking while you tweet
Look at me when you speak"
what's with this culture?
digital gone vulture
your phone like a suture
trying to mend the future
"Sorry if I got all hot.
Diplomatic I am not.
Had to rant and shout
get the dysfunction out."
"Your phone hurt my ear
The speaker on too near.
On this much I am clear
Your phone hurt my ear."
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 7:48 PM UTC
She saw people praying and using the violence in
the name of religion at the same time, while no
religion is preaching violence. She understood that
this kind of violence was too conflictual for peace, and
yet too diplomatic for war. And that violence no
solution had; nor never none. She thought those
people lived in black light having blind eyes not seeing
the reality of life. She had to accept that this wicked
goodness and this pretty badness belong to our reality
so vixen-like, vexing and hiding so many victimless crimes.
Suddenly, she realized that she could be a new victim.
She started to run while wondering where her safe place was.
She was better than to expect to be caught. She understood
her fear, that fear leading to frightening thoughts, those thoughts
leading to panic, that panic leading to derealization. She looked
around trying to recognize the place. She felt worry because she
couldn't see very well. She searched to make a sword of everything
around, but quickly after that, she thought that the swords are the
weapons of warriors, but she's not a warrior, she's a victim. She
started to give praise with idle tears, to give praise with wisdom,
to give praise with deep despair. She asked herself if God is there to
hear her, over those ravages of war overwhelmed by the natural
catastrophes and over the ludicrous effect of their transformation
into nothing. She, firstly, believed her religious man was a fighter
against enemies of God to conclude that he was an enemy of the real
fighters for God. This man was her husband learning in time to beat her
body and to hurt her soul. She saw herself as a little bleeding part of this
world wondering to know if her man is still the man she fell in love with
once, or he's an illusion. She stopped her run to sit on the ground. She
began to pray hoping that God is there to hear her and to bring a new light
to her crying reality. She stayed there to think how much a rose can
describe a flower, how much a flower can describe a woman, and how
much the feminine can describe many things around .She concluded
that no feminine thing can break this life down. She asked herself,
''What can happen to this world in the absolute absence of feminine?''
She found herself an innocent person dreaming at a new world without violence.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
For the first time ever; I truly do not care
if you, him, or her wished me a happy birthday;
But, I wouldn’t mind if you did. Though it is fair;
I am one of the lesser friends; I am a boring play;
A play so fake; I am of made up characters,
Sometimes I am the flattering villain in smiles,
And at times I am a copy of the Westerners,
At others, I am gullible, yet I never am;
I pretend to be; but I am miles away,
For interesting I am not; so funny at least be,
Says my brain; for maybe they will remember,
That my birthday was today; It is an endless plea:
I always remember and prepare pages of wishes,
For almost everyone, but all I get is 4 days late
One liners sent out of guilt; to stop the guilty itches,
Not out of care, love, or from genuine friendly state;
I deserve it; for again; I am merely a boring play;
A paradoxical headache of weird introverts,
And annoying extroverts; I barely even weigh,
To a normal person; I am made of endless alerts;
Alerted, focused, attentive; all on your acceptance;
I am what I feel you want me to be; a nice man,
A racist gangster, a diplomatic figure; I am resemblance,
I resemble everything I see in you and scan;
I am stardust that was never meant to shine,
I am a thread; intertwined as I feel pleases,
I am a road with temporary signs; I am grapes;
For you I squeeze myself into juice; or ferment
Into wine; I am a fake play where you write scripts,
I submit, because all I cared about is receiving,
A birthday wish. On that one day in the entire year;
I do not want even want gifts; because when you don't,
I feel like I am ceasing to exist; slowly deceasing
from everything that we were: teenagers ambitious,
WhatsApp stickers collectors, School runaways,
Kids deceiving; it feels like I am dead; for the dead
Do not receive birthday wishes; I feel peerless;
A white beans *** lidless, a body complete limbless,
A walking sickness, a moving flesh in stillness,
unpardoned by my faux and obvious silliness.
I do not care about not getting birthday wishes;
But I cannot not overthink what it means.
Nov 22, 2023
Nov 22, 2023 at 4:25 PM UTC
Dark polished stones line the divine walk of power
Demanding fresh blood from diplomatic feet
Where haughty arrogance meets unpretentious humility
Introduced by an arbitrating street
The loftiest of fences steadily lines the walk of power
Dishonorably straddled by a shameful few
Who never make any honest attempt to choose a side
Or contemplate existing truths
Comfort reigns securely in their warlike peace
Balancing upon those fences
Until humility overpowers and demands a stand
Leaving arrogance with no defenses
Balance fails eventually atop the fences of the walk
A diplomat’s feet must make a stand
Straddling the fence will never polish power’s stones
Come down and walk and take command
Aug 26, 2010
Aug 26, 2010 at 7:35 PM UTC
I am a soldier
I defend my Honour
I defend my owner?
I am a soldier
I am a holder
Of what am I the holder?
Of justice, of peace?
Or of a diplomatic greed?
I am a soldier
I will get older
But in my head,
The war is never over.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
I'm a captured tooth nerve
amalgam appeased
restrained in containment
by my keeper
then I can be a prisoner
escaping the jail
my warder has lost
the keys of control
on dark days
my fathoms swirl
in murky mass
infused with blinding kelp
on good days
my porthole shows
clearness of eye
the glass reflects well
just to confuse
my ores composition
is misunderstood
the translation
metamorphic
changing
minute by minute
hour by hour
these ones are buggers
my microscope
isn't good with definition
will I or wont I
who knows
my borders are contested
being diplomatic
I make pacts and treaties
no monicker is required
the tried and tested
gentleman's agreement
that will do
my margins
can be thick or thin
comments fit in
usually they range
between
insult and praise
depending on the mood
I oft go to open cut mines
to find common minerals
which are useful on a daily basis
real effort is called for
when I delve into deep shafts
sometimes gems are quarried
precious ones to behold
well enough said
a letter is to be written
dear meditative home
we're returning soon
if we're delayed
after hours
p.s. leave the porch light on
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 5:52 AM UTC
My home is found not in the affairs of international companies, or the goings-on of diplomatic countries,
But, in the confines of my soul, and the reaches of my actions.
I do not seek solace in material possessions, or satisfaction from my wealth
But, in the depths of my imagination, and the thoughts I allow myself to conceive.
We can not tolerate injustice, or those who terrorize our populace,
Or, we too shall become unjust, and fall prey to their greed.
Until we learn to stand together, and learn to respect one another,
The beautiful ideas we create will only fail, and our children will only know hate.
You must learn to love your brother, and value your sister
Or we will continue to reap the disasters we’ve sown, and we will never know a world less tragic than this.
The world won’t change until you have found the internal motivation to change yourself.
How much is enough?
How far is too far?
What will it take to spark the revolution?
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:15 PM UTC
The following statements of truth were brought to you
Not through, but circumnavigating fated parameters
Of insane, yet normative, largely uninformative
Mechanisms that formally give birth to ********
And instead, strategically splicing said bounds with
Ideal variables derived from the courageously quixotic,
Unrobotic, and outraged agents of, and for, capital Real:
The train of corporate reasoning derails so fast
To follow is to snap the head backward,
Far past angles within measures of pleasurable fit
And open gates to deluging tangled circular
Failures of logic that trick and co-opt the proletariat.
We are Present-Ambassadors with broken flux-capacitors
Demonstrating a consistent tendency toward error
In efforts to obtain diplomatic access to a future where
The same reemerging deficits do not manifest unfixed.
One of said deficits may include all positive freedoms.
For the record, it shall be noted that civil society
Currently arrives implicitly to find it compliantly fine
To promote systems of labor designed to illicit behaviors
That will eventually undermine the actors of exhaustive work
And make benefactors of those complicit in crime.
As case studies of this paradoxical paradigm, we observe
Nations signing trade agreements aligned with
Selling more of the goods whose extractions have
Cataclysmic exactions upon locals contracted not to resist.
Those who take issue with this are directed to appellate institutions.
The projected scarcity of over-consumed poisons causes fear
Which leads to faster hoarding and more ex(t/p)ensive death.
Thus, most human behaviors presently inflate pricing, popularity,
And rapidity associated with committing system-wide suicide.
As shackle-some power consolidation bends toward a transnational peak
I hereby slide-tackle these forwarded trends, seeking goals of the rational.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
The mind has gone AWOL
Armageddon in the blood crimson gargantuan sky
Black stars from the depth of vacant eyes
Oil rains down in sightless desert heat
The last cigarette inhaled before the bomb detonates
Fortunate sons in the era of friendly fire
Rivals hunt metropolis streets to acquire a living
Anonymous crypts get lost in the politics
Seen convicted through bludgeoned eyes
Honored my name with a plaque on a wall
Documentation of civil declaration
Conformity inspired figurehead of a homeland
Bricks leading up to the footsteps of the Whitehouse
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 10:05 AM UTC
Whenever people criticise me
They usually don’t know that
I am my Biggest Critic,
Beating myself up
Like Tyson Fury.
It’s how I spur myself on,
Hopefully to better things.
But what things?
I still don’t know.
Oh to have blind faith
And sense of Vocation
As many others do.
A solid set of Values.
A script to follow
Opinions to declare.
Instead I dither
Undecided
Lost in an ocean of ifs and buts.
Too bright and open-minded
For my own good.
Worse still, I’m oh so eager to please.
I think myself incorruptibly honest,
Yet the truth is,
I only tell people what I think
They want to know.
It’s how I was brought up.
But then again
Am I willing to fight
For what I stand for?
Should I really be Devil’s Advocate
Just to “stick up” for my views?
Better methinks to hold my counsel
Or be diplomatic
Which may be okay
So long as I actually decide
What I think and feel
Within myself.
And there’s the rub.
What do I stand for?
Do I really think for myself?
Like so many others,
Am I dragged along:
Brainwashed by Media hoo ha
And hype?
Superficial sound bytes
And rallying calls.
I need to search my soul
And find my true feelings
And beliefs.
I know that I Love Life
In most of its forms.
I’m all for Wellbeing
And The Common Good.
I need to focus
On these things:
On making the most of
This Paradise World
We seem bent on ruining.
In short
I must stoke those fires of Love
And enlighten others
To do the same.
Paul Butters
© PB 13\12\2021.
Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 6:21 AM UTC
it's not a memorisable lullaby, i don't want to write poetry that requires memorisation by school children; perhaps a riddle, perhaps a jigsaw, perhaps an awakening after the words dig in from their arrangement into your own usage, distinguished.
these days, someone on a social
strata of being absolved
might require a concerned dis-involvement
from nouns, and thus juggle
the pronouns, over-use pronouns
to remain politically accurate and sound,
for to replace nouns with pronouns
would bleach people, entrapped
in the constant affirmative of something
they once owned but were dispossessed of,
they do that, they stress the usage of pronouns
by a relief a diet of noun usage,
so that a Pakistani dare not use
the associations of the noun that might
decipher his skin as cinnamon in writing,
unless it be pronoun inclusive and noun exclusive,
so as modern society teaches:
become pronoun users with a few distinguishing
nouns congregating, don't learn carboxylic,
don't learn onomatopoeia... keep up with
the bleak egoism that states: not so much self-interest,
but over-pronoun-use and a lack of nouns,
or if used, reduced to quizzes of crosswords
with antonyms and synonyms pronounced;
he who confesses to censoring noun usage
will control the pronoun category
by usurping noun usage freely with a censored usage
that will only provoke counter-nouns / slang /
encoding / the need for surveillance.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
Sparks fly from the flint crushing as you raise your brow
marveling away over which rock you’d rather be
I smile, ponder, then laugh at you, in opted denial
it’s what you've always been, what I control being
a diplomatic ball of ice on flames, with an aura a disarray
is it us portraying them in grayscale, chin hanging in the air
knowing what we know and pretending to not, yet care
queerly scared of change but so sure of getting tired
merging and shattering, perpetually deemed on trial
and then there exists, at the dawn of my memories
your shadow across the bed, lighting up a cigarette
its smoke, my first reminder of your existence
trying to clasp on to the awry black creases on the wall
as they wrap me into the oblivion of your arms
now it seldom melts at the genial contact of your voice
reckon it might not become hard on being choused
the beautiful black creases have dissolved through my fingers
it has been conned to stay stoically un-aroused.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
Am I the only one who finds it deeply ironic in an almost sickening way
that, here in the United States, Armistice Day became Veterans Day?
Not saying that homage is bad to pay,
but I simply wish to say
Armistice; that is to say
the diplomatic end of War,
should preclude future Veterans.
Maybe I'm too idealistic.
Maybe I'm not idealistic enough.
In either case;
the Military is a Tool.
I mean no disrespect;
I simply mean to reflect
upon what it is I see and feel.
Still, I wish humbly to convey
happy pseudo-Armistice day!
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 4:21 AM UTC
A poet is a diplomatic kind of person
She lies metaphorically
Revealing the truths figuratively...
Being cynical in between the lines...
Sometimes swear in similes
Provocative in a classy way
vocabularies are sewn with elegance
A diplomatic poet's way!
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 5:28 AM UTC
I see what you're doing; I know what you are.
Seen you travel some distance through
this lyrical bar.
I know your particular flavor,
as you 'give' yet leave nothing
to savor.
Did you say it all...did you feed your
callous need?
As your 'so called' critiques and comments
just left another to bleed?
How 'brave' you are behind your avatar,
but you see,
You've done little, if anything, to honestly
impress me.
You use your lack of diplomatic restraint
to simply crush spirits and leave behind
a dark, bitter taint.
Did you say all you needed, does is make
you feel better?
To ruffle thin feathers; crippling feelings
altogether?
I know what you're doing; I could BE you,
if I very well wanted to!
The bile and power of your word,
leaves poor souls understanding
that their thoughts and opinions, to you,
are absurd.
Time after time I read your insolent speeches
on many a blog,
as you spew forth your 'wisdom', dispensing
a high voltage flog.
I know what you're doing; I could BE you,
if I very well wanted to!
Unlike YOU, 'friend', I prefer to pay visits
and leave a word of kindness;
never leaving them with lyrical blindness.
Sometimes I may read, and have nothing
to say...if their words overwhelm, hit a nerve,
or inspire my mind to stray...to a place of
recognition...far, far away.
I just felt this deep need to express,
how you're grating on my nerves;
with your sour, evil comments
just disguised as 'clever words'.
Go on now, my 'friend', try to pen
words that INSPIRE...
I promise I'll be kind, even as
I unleash my fire...
unto the likes of you...
such a mean spirited shrew!
So next time, give great thought
to your comment before you click away,
'cause I know many a great poet here,
that by YOUR cold, pathetic words...
will NOT be chased away!
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
My lover’s eyes no longer navy pool
bleached paler by years of beating sun
His nose over ****** dominion rules
and skin with liver spots is overrun
A dandelion man, confused and tall,
a long thin stem and a puff of white hair
Unsteady gait, joints need an overhaul
the crack and creak of cartilage wear
His views are fixed and often dogmatic
expressed in cold voice with power and force
He never cares to be diplomatic
preferring a more a belligerent course
Yet, he is my love and ever shall be
as long as the tides rush in from the sea.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC
Were Paging my favorite book
With a cup of hot chocolate
& Reading diplomatic poems
...
Got bored
.
.
Wear my socks again
Bring my coat & camera
Run away...
.
.
Shlup shloop
Wet snow wets my boots
Seeing patterns designed on the wall(seem not professional) but charming
.
.
Low key light screamed on my eyes
_slow down please.
_you're low contrast
_ok
Then fade away
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 11:15 AM UTC
Titans clashing
In writing classes
Sessions
To profess progression
Or
Progress to professions
Blessings
Brought through the lessons
Learned
In College
A student as truant
As undeserved triumph
In the form
Of a form
That says what he’s worth
Diplomas
Handed out
To show
You’re on the road
To success
The rest are asked
The ultimate question
Of “Why not?”
Embarking on the quest
When the ultimatum
Is failure
Fail lures in
Those with no ambition
Men *******
About getting papers
To show worth
Working with no
Apparent purpose
Versus
Being apparently worthless
Pairing the two
Against the view
Of a *****
Who stares at the moon
And gives a ****
About the bull
The one
Whose wit
Could split
The tightest knit
Brain
And undue the sutures
Of skulls
To undue
Their mundane
View of success
The *****
Who calls himself
A *****
With more pride
Than Aryans
Carrying his opinion
Higher
Than the mass vision
Just to show
How low
They truly are
Arrogantly ignorant
Ignore rants
Of others
And smother them
With the truth
Of knowing nothing
And understands
They’ll never understand
Overstepping the boundaries
Without
Diplomatic immunity
Yet immune
To the qualities
Of the Hippocratic views
And sees
To seize the future
You must
Tackle the present problems
You must blitz
To get you’re quarter back
If you want
To make a change
And sport all the qualities
That seem to them
Strange
Deranged
In the range
Of misunderstandings
The illusion of progress
For humans
Are usually
Said in words
And never
Set in stone
So I will throw
Sticks and stone
The stupidity that’s grown
Words hurt
But actions hurt worser
For example:
Worser
Isn’t a word
Until I worsen the
Worst situation
I’m waiting
For my chance
To blow up
So I can dumb down
Your intelligence
And smarting up
Your ignorance
If you can’t understand
You’re either too smart
Or too **** ignorant
If you’re offended
Then you’re opinion is unneeded
Because the truth
Will tear your *** to pieces
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC