"discusses" poems
Sunflowers are filled with stories
and power that no individual discusses.
Therefore no one understand why
I love them so much.
Reminding me of early morning sunrises.
The moment when the sun is just
above the trees. With a hue so bright,
they instill happiness into my soul.
Growing so tall they could reach God,
they cannot get enough of His love.
They will never stop trying to reunite
with their Creator because no one
loves them like He.
Representing the incarnation of Clytie
over the loss of Apollo. They say
the grieving of his absence brought her
into her next life and now she only
faces the sun, waiting for his return.
I saw them as my sunshine.
Their rays giving my spirit a new life.
My source of nourishment, they were.
Restoring my soul of the negativity
I came across. The Apollo to my Clytie.
I stood by for their return with hopes of
their absence being make believe,
knowing that they would never come again.
According to most men,
I already ask for too much.
With efforts unnoticed and
potential overlooked, I knew
I was never appreciated enough
to receive flowers.
53114
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
We're not allowed to mention Christianity
A Muslim man discusses Allah, we can't judge.Black people have pride in themselves, so do white people .We're automatically racist and unaccepting. A man gets hired for a high paying job instead of the women.This is a case for feminism because it's injustice. A man cheats on his partner, he has hormones.A woman cheats on her man, she's a ***** A woman is ***** she's making it up.A man is ***** no one believes him. A gay person is disliked by a certain individual .It's homophobia, a black man kills someone and the whole race is blamed, a white man kills someone he's just a ****** You say crusty old white men are making decisions about your body.Should he change his race then decide if you can reproduce? I'm eating Sushi and I'm not Asian, it's cultural appropriation and it's offensive so only Asian people can eat at Asian restaurants? That reminds me of when segregation was going on. We have a right to our opinion but I say something I'm instantly prejudice and you don't want hear it. I made the wrong assumption now I'm a horrible person because you feel that you can monitor my thoughts. You all think that you're all for social justice but it's really going to come back and bite you in the ***
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
India is the biggest democratic state
The voters always decide her fate
The fate of a political party depends on its popularity
The powerful and tactful party gets the majority
One party discusses the construction of Rama’s temple
Its political, hidden agenda is very simple
The other parties talk about secularity
It always tries to woo the considerable minority
The other leftist parties often talk about the poor
But they never get their votes for sure
Before the election liquor flows like a river
Voters get money notes in a beautiful cover
The luckiest party grabs the power
The elected members try to climb the tower
Corruption seems to be the order of the day
No part is likely to show the right way
In democracy, parties are meant
To be different. But that is not quite apparant
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 5:00 AM UTC
patterns reflect patterns reflect history repeating itself
I see problems in humanity because humanity corrupts
seriously, we can't have a movement for "better" without making it worse
listen, slavery, right?
whites hated blacks
deemed them lesser
deemed them nobodies, nonexistent
that's putting it generic
so what do we have now?
an era of white-haters!
so many "minorities" standing up and saying
"I hate the whites"
we have done a 360 and it kills me
it was supposed to be about blacks being seen as equals
being seen as people instead of blacks
and now, yeah, I'm going there
gays
I love gays, man
but y'all are killing me too
this is what I see
gays oppressed, dismissed, told they're sinners
unholy, bad, gross, wrong, backwards, ugh
they were beaten, bloodied, bruised, murdered, silenced
so the gays stand up
what do I hear?
"I hate Christians"
"I hate straights"
"I hate everyone who is not gay"
people hating on macklemore because
he tried to stand up
for THE PEOPLE!
they say
"a straight white man cannot represent the gay community"
I'm sorry
WHAT????
we act like no one has gone through HARDSHIP
we act like if you're white, straight, and a male, you're golden
free
happy
perfect
wake up.
what no one discusses
is that the issue is right vs wrong
right vs wrong
right vs wrong
I'm not a straight white male but I know right vs wrong
I'm not an Irish Jew but I know right vs wrong
I'm not a Haitian Creole Indian goddess but I know right vs wrong
you don't have to BE the oppression to SPEAK on the oppression
you have to know right vs wrong
I say macklemore knows
I know
you know
let's speak up
what is wrong is discrimination
what is right is taking a stand to end it
so please
blacks,
gays,
minorities,
whites,
humans,
majorities,
stop obliterating good
or else you'll be confined to the chains of oppression and silence until the day you die and so on amen
I'm a human being
tell me what I cannot speak on
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
Yellow congregation
Discusses their front lines
Lawn mower arrives
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC
The sun doesn't revolve around us,
And it was known to the ancient Hindus.
How they estimated precise distances,
It's still an exclusive paradigm of sorts.
This poem is not a nursery rhyme,
For it discusses what went wrong.
Wrong with the history of Hindus,
And with the tapestry of the world.
Hanging down the global gazebos,
Is a wonderful story of lost wisdom.
Sep 24, 2024
Sep 24, 2024 at 2:31 AM UTC
Arrested and convicted of sabotage,
Madiba resists the Apartheid.
We live and rest in good company,
while counterparts seek new shelter to hide.
Time has elapsed, and man discusses these changes,
of the past that has rotted away, which builds upon our ignorance.
Do you not see the same in existence,
the backwards, in truth, which our skin folk arranges?
Rewind or fast forward, backwards will remain the truth,
I will remain Madiba, President of Belief.
Trusting enough minds with similar desires,
may place an unwarranted end to all others’ grief.
Swimming through a crowd of faces,
painted shades I witness unfolding.
We are but fingers on a hand, separate yet together,
Booker claimed this truth as a new era began molding.
Yet is this era really new; Are we to believe the past is past,
as I witness starvation, corrupt education, and abandoned dreams?
My kin folk inform and educate my evolving mind,
of hidden conceptions that my skin folk blatantly screams!
I am able to speak with my mother, knowing she is safe,
grateful that our family must not live in fear.
But why must some of us remain unused,
when our help is called for year after year?
Indira has communicated,
that you cannot shake hands with a clenched fist.
The fingers, which are part of the whole, clasp tightly,
for my skin folk, not my kin folk, are amidst.
There are racial issues, undoubtedly,
in the land of the free, home of the brave.
And all over the world it reigns,
you cannot be blind to it, that we have a modern slave.
This is not a physical destruction,
you will not witness it branding the skin.
But a mental and spiritual deterioration,
directed, and has infected,
most of my kin.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
*A JOURNEY
The night-stone, carefully placed
in the small bear skin pouch,
discusses drum beats with
amulets, charms, powders and
even a small wren’s yellow puff feather.
All creating within the power
of his ancestral soul.
This small obsidian,
chipped and flaked smooth stone
held along its edges the
blood of the animals
sacrificed to keep him alive;
giving him their spirits,
their views on how the Mother evolved
as well as their precious
shapes as he passed
from one world to the next.
His bag was rich medicine
and served him well.
~~~
He stood looking over
a vast valley plain
and could hear the stream
wrinkle smooth the rocks
as its mountain waters
continuously flowed.
He could see the honey bee
making love to the poppies
and clovers as well as
the sweet daffodils.
He could taste the pine needles
dance on the musky,
early morning soil after they
were awakened by squirrels
looking for a game of tag.
And he could feel lightly
the sway of Oak trees
moving slightly by the notes two hawks sung
circling, whispering, hypnotizing
their wary prey.
~~~
Looking out over this
green smelling plain
he could feel the vision swell,
as guided by this trance
he searched his pouch for
the blood star he had captured
one spring day while
riding the back of old Turtle.
Looking out over this
amber hazed horizon
he felt himself walking
talking with Grandfather
asking the meaning of rain,
wind and snow that carried him
gently to Big Mountain.
“Grand Father,
where is the beauty?
Where is the peace
above and below us?
Grand Father,
why are we still blind
to the wolf’s howl
and the cawing of the crow”
~~~
Standing atop Big Mountain,
holding in his left hand
the red star cloth
he begins his journey.
“Grand Father, let the wind beat
this drum of resistance
that is our human essence;
let the rain soak our hearts
cleansing us worthy to find
the path of snow and its soothing
warmth to make the Earth whole.
Grand Father, I only know
Babylon must fall.And this crimson star,
dripping with the people’s tears
can lead us back to the heights
of Big Mountain;
to the beauty and peace
above and below;
to our long lost whale songs
sung by the night sky
and seen in our children’s eyes.”
Carefully placing the medicine bag
around his neck,
holding it and smiling,
he takes the first steps..
Aztec Warrior*
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 8:39 PM UTC
and we lay pressed together,
he tries to teach me the dialect
of butterfly kisses,
and being so close,
we are no longer a landscape of two mountains and valleys moving,
but we are one,
and its so warm and comforting to feel his weight as he weighs on me,
and he still needs to be closer,
wrapping compact muscles,
around my stumps for legs,
and he is sticky fingers, that bestow solemn pinky promises,
half attempted secret whispers yelled across the room,
he is a sweet sunrise,
when all you have ever known is the blistering loneliness of night.
He is not afraid to talk and to share his thoughts,
and there are moments, snapshots of my failing infrastructure,
that lashes out at his incessant nature, me willing him to stop.
He discusses my beauty with strangers and mid thought tells me that I am so very beautiful,
and when he says it I believe it.
he falls asleep like one who is proud to tell anyone listening he is 3 and a half he had to add.
i wish he were mine,
mine to keep,
mine to trully love,
but I'm just make believing playing wifey to families,
with no need,
but right now its just
you and me
and the me I am with you,
and in this moment i hold your small 3 year old hands in my hand,
and its enough to be.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 1:27 PM UTC
I Believe
While poor in spirit
Argues fiercely
About the novel,
The ballad,
Or elections
While mismatched souls
Discusses
About the fight of the night,
The soccer match, or
The race on Sunday
While ******* with
"Class"
drank cross-legged
And open necklines
While intellectuals
Holding coffee with the pinky,
Influenced voters,
Or explained ideas
As the world be sad
Diving standards,
My friends lost their pose.
After all,
They just wanted
Have fun.
And
They danced,
They shouted,
Discussed,
And they laughed.
They laughed that bunch of problems,
Because they knew that
Smiles, was the best medicine
In the absence of solutions.
To fix this,
Felt disgust of those vile beings,
The go through life
Unassuming.
Or maybe,
feel only
Annihilating a pity.
It was weird, but
At the same time,
It made sense.
The world still can be saved
For a few.
You can not believe,
Nietzsche can not believe,
God can not believe,
But I believe.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
A heated room,
sixteen seats beneath the phosphorous shell,
sixteen minds, exactly the same and yet unique.
Between bites of lobster
and the first entree,
one ***** discusses politics,
while the business has chains and crops
on his mind.
The religious fanatics
can't get his hand out of his pants,
and the proud pagan
pays him to keep them there.
We all have an inkling towards one--
our secret,
divulging desire--
what ailment do you prefer?
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
I've never killed in my long life
neither enemy soldier, politician, nor wife
This feat that causes me no surprise
Is what we call living in its normal guise.
I would never be so naïve as to say
The pen is always the only way
But it seems to me that war only proved
Who will remain, and who is removed.
And all this killing that leaves nations bereft
With the vile bitter cordite smell that is left
Widows lose husbands, fathers lose sons
Babies are dying from the barrels of guns.
To save nations weapons of course must be used
But there are so many people who are being abused
And when one discusses what is now simply absurd
There is nothing that is mightier than the word.
©Joe Wilson - The word is STOP...2014
"War does not determine who is right - only who is left".
Bertrand Russell
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
No, Not me
I would never succumb to Manipulation
I would see right through the disguise--
The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing...
Now wouldn't I?
When You feel like a Stranger
Making your way down a Street
Unfamiliar
And you're feeling so peculiar
And people around you are hollow
They echo with prattling
Words rattling through their mouths
But they cannot comprehend
The sentence they are regurgitating from their head
So,
I'm left to go along with everyone else and Pretend
Or,
Try to Defend my ideals--
My opinions on a reality that is oh so Cruel.
And that is when it's too easy to become Friends
With the disguised Wolf
Because the Wolf understands intimately the most gruesome of realities
For he participates in such atrocities
And so with great ease
He discusses these subjects with you,
Allowing you to ponder together all through the night
About everything that is not right
And before morning comes
And the sun's rays can shed light on your perturbed mind
The Wolf convinces you that instead of living your life to the fullest,
It is best that He devour you,
Because life would be much safer not being lived.
And for some reason,
After mulling over all that is wrong,
This seems like a plausible solution
Sure,
Why not hand over all my rights,
All my dreams and aspirations for the safety you promise.
No, Not Me
Because a safe life is bound to be a short one
But
A brave life--
Full of trying and failing and sometimes succeeding--
is a life worth living.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
Those halcyon days of yore
Lost forever like Lenore
And Leda and her godly swan
Forever come, forever gone.
Rough beasts in their hour slouch
But to flop upon the couch,
While memory mixes with desire
In the soul's broke-down empire.
Behold the smile of Ozymandias
(Do you wonder who he is?)
The preserver and destroyer?
Or maybe an ambitious lawyer?
Or the fearful handful of dust
That we wish we didn't trust?
Meanwhile the ominous moving finger,
Of truths unalterable the bringer,
Writes and then moves on,
Bitter tears to spawn.
Then there was the heel weak
That didn't get dipped in the creek
And anger over loss that prods
Both loving men and watchful gods.
The skull you hold--alas poor who?
Keep it cool, I knew him too,
Him and his considerable jest--
Some among us are so blessed.
Now in his grave he rests indeed
Where all our paths, alas, must lead;
Except, perhaps, for Humbert Humbert
(Remember that salacious old pervert?)
Scheming to get with his nymphette
In ways impossible to forget?
Outside at night J.J. compares streams
One more sibilant, or so it seems
And discusses Plumtree's potted meat
Ending up with "Yes, oh Yes my sweet".
Aroma from the petite madeleine
Reaches to where recollections begin
Of magnificent asparagus spears
And lesser events of long past years.
But for all that, for every bit of that, Stan
A man is still every bit a man
So get it together and get off the can
And make yourself a brand new plan:
The glowing time of midwinter spring
Has always been its own kind of thing
Don't be a gentleman in that good night
Get down with the program and put up a fight.
Come out strong like a red, red rose
And keep on punching until it snows.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 4:44 PM UTC
tonight i count the ties
that keep me coming back
to this point, this place
i realize rope is just that, rope,
and it's my choice whether
i cut it or hold on
the slack loosens it's grip
and freedom unfurls that's
been between my fingertips all along
destiny discusses destination
with me as i sleep and keep
a mind that's as open as blue skies
i wake and sit heavy
in happiness, in understanding,
in self-propelled evolution
i hold myself and finally feel
pride for the strength i've used
to lift myself up time and time again
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 10:13 PM UTC
Maybe he’s just nice
Maybe he talks to everyone in that way
Maybe he always shares eye contact for far too long with everyone he speaks to
Maybe he discusses these little details with anyone who will listen
Or maybe it’s just me
Maybe I have made myself too approachable and too friendly
Maybe I have been creating these scenarios in my head all along
Maybe I talk far too much and he is staring at me telling me to shut the **** up
Or maybe he’s just nice
Nov 23, 2019
Nov 23, 2019 at 10:47 AM UTC
At the library I sit
Listening to a podcast
About the Byzantine Emperor Justinian
I think in a bit I will take notes
On a couple of articles
In the Journal of philosophical research
In the first article the author argues
That the existence of evil
Experienced through both human suffering
And human moral struggle
Ultimately benefits each person
By enabling human character to develop into
The likeness of God
The second article
Discusses the problem of weakness of will
In Augustine's struggle for moral growth
It is almost seven years now
Since I received my B.A.
Still at home
Still no career......
I'm 30 now
I suppose America is pretty much done for
Financially ruined
I enjoyed the samples at Costco today
Laughed to myself
As I saw the divine in others
And it is a shame
That I don't have that loving female friend
That I had hoped to meet
It is a shame
I am alone again
I think I will read these articles aloud
And record them on my iphone
4/6/2015
What a thing this life is
Maybe I'll never find a job?
But that's okay
At least I tried
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
difficult is written
the poetry of the ruins
suffering is seen only
also dust smoke
half remains
war poems
with a bullet is dropp pens
how peace is written to
short to be
the poetry of though
discusses a lot of few words
real describes
dense must be
love poems
gets into the vortex of every heart
their difficult get rid of effects
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC