"dismissals" poems
Despite suffering from illness,
****** assault from a once trusted individual,
being told I do not belong in my own country,
and shoved away by supposed peers and professor at my institution,
I remain.
As steadfast as ever,
protecting my place, country, and
family.
No matter how exhausted
or how shattered my current frame of reality may be,
I never cheat on my schoolwork or exams
like the same peers who belittle me.
Me, who is there:
patiently waiting,
always the last,
seeking help after another misstep;
Nonetheless,
diligently remaining on track,
amidst the others descended from the Esteemed,
Who continue the cyclic tradition of oppression.
While I acknowledge that
the absence of refuge
for the trodden
has existed for many centuries,
and even myself as of now,
I understand it to be ill-gotten privilege
I may have stolen
from another applicant more promising than me;
I remain in
This Place
amongst books
and the International Royalty.
Beginning from
such atrocities
in both blood, home, and later within the educational institution,
I never had any interest in making a name for myself.
I did not apply to college because I was told to—
it is because I was predominantly told the opposite.
Facing the shouting and dismissals
from those closest in blood and esteemed teachers at school.
In this time of a loosening socioeconomic hierarchy,
finally exposing the Freedoms of this Nation
Our Ancestors could never dream of,
We Must Remain, Learn, and Fight!
Revel in how
Unfulfilled we are,
Remain Loyal to your well-established Ideals,
and Fight!
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 3:58 PM UTC
Remembering My first taste of coffee--
just another commodity
standing outside Lowell Tech, a local factory,
a city corner in Haverhill snows— a worker's town
Passing out leaflets for a vapid Revolution
Another action/demonstration
to “Seize the Day!”
No computers; no social media
to fill the ranks of rallies at that time
So we froze our ***** off
trying to explain with sound bites, frosted breath
and fogs of rhetoric
A truth-- so tyranic, remote, arcane
too preposterous to even process
let alone explain
Standing there behind
its barbed wire reality
smoking from its stacks
the poisons of its process
Standing there
Stamping blood into my feet
Trying to convince my freezing self
my breaking heart
that all this truth?
was truly worth it!?
as I threw my education and my life away--
Trying to convince
...that inside that building
IT-- was being made
****** and
that Agent of Death and Defoliation
of an orange persuasion
so our war could have its way
with rice paddies and jungles
and people of a browner, poorer smaller bent
While on the home-front
we filled the mill with unwilling bodies
that died somewhere else
off site...
“Outta sight”
...or maybe some years later
from toxins dumped in river
left to leach to cancers somewhere else
into the ground they sink
Through tentacled subsidiaries
restructured divestments
Legal dismissals
of responsibility
the players run like roaches
for the exits
One fast move after another
they dissolve disperse
morph into
renamed ****** entities
Clean up their storefronts
clean out our pockets
while “providing jobs”
“investing in community”
along the way
Putting on a Goodwill Tour
Then
taking it away
“What? We never said....”
We'll take you down
leaving only the stench behind
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 3:01 PM UTC
The altar of exactitude is as tedious as cooking a turkey by the flame of a matchstick.
Listen to the whispering spirits of the forest, as they echo in a beautifully haunting perpetuity.
Do you feel the chants of the ceremony as they flicker against your skin and penetrate your apprehensive soul?
Symbolic feasts abound in the turrets of the ancient and crenellated towers of gothic castles where gargoyles reign in masonry brilliance.
That which is assumed to be forgotten by contemporary presumption remains to be fully present, despite contemporary dismissals.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
I am acquainted with the Keeper of the Gate, who stands at the centre of the labyrinth with royal authority.
Have you cast spells upon your destiny?
In wisdom, let us acknowledge that we receive less than the minimum wage for such prophetic dismissals.
Therefore, I radically accept connection to the unseen flow and venture beyond the realms of predictability.
So, I no longer make declarations or indicate anything in advance about the Great Circumference.
As we learn to reach an altered state of consciousness, we will then connect transcendental energy into what is deemed to be reality.
This is the essence of full-system psychological shamanism.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 10:21 PM UTC
i find it scary that i found proving god
was easier than proving
someone to share a life with -
that i found a deity's imperfections
more justifiable than the imperfections
of mortal beings....
i really appear as a cold-heartless
selfish swine / solipsist -
yes,
that's how it is...
i found it easier to prove
god with everyone jumping the bandwagon
of circus acrobats and hospital surgeons,
and disk jockeys never playing in extremo
or die krupps -
because it was easier to argue the non-existence
of such a being, with colonially ardent dismissals,
because like Lethal Weapon II and the apartheid
master race choke-joke... sing me a king crimson song
you **** oh right,
no Pirates of the Caribbean then,
fair enough.
but we're
all up for cheese, when reconnaissance
just means: otherwise Renaissance.
bridal chambers
lefty, and if it was a hoarded arrangement...
then the curry house did
tailor the bridal dress, to avert ivory white
and instead lace the cotton with white boys'
turmeric coloured dentures worthy of
that bridal pattern that would sooner bed
a widow than a ****** if as suggested,
then i'm your man;
or the random **** and jalfrezi of the alcoholic's
twitchy hand...
oh sure,
alcoholism is a bit like exploring the Amazonian
**** / acid-forest, 'cos' we all care about the globalisation
of our private parts having established the whereabouts
of our petted dogs in the publishing industry
as: well, doing quiet well; never thought
that a woof would be so hard to find as an echo...
apparently a woof was hard to find, which is why
dogs recieved publishing contracts. also:
funny how i'm half ashamed and
half of anything that comes when providing a compilation
of shame cut in half with something engaging
some sort of arousal
to make an arsenal out of and later simply shoot
blanks.
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 6:41 PM UTC
I am going to see my sister
who will be horrified at my clothes
who will pretend to be disinterested in my life
but who will really be pleased when I ask her all
about the boy and her classes and her friends
despite her dismissals
Today I changed my sheets,
for my best friend coming over
and the sheets are just washed, but
there's still a stain. So there's a difference
between experience and ***** Which
she and I know a little bit of,
at this point.
My parents are going to be glad to see me
I will wrap myself in their smiles
I will eat their food and be lazy about helping
them clean up and possibly argue with a sibling
but they will love me,
anyways.
Today I will not think about
him as much as I used to,
but I might think about him a little
more than I need to,
and I will weave a tapestry of my life
for my friend and I to giggle over
and I will immerse myself in her past months,
and we will drink wine and
chocolate and I will be thankful,
as terribly tacky as thanksgiving can be,
I will be so thankful to have the sun on my
face and people who are brave enough
to love me.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC
light-hearted denials
that stab every situation
I perceived, tasted, heard,
with my alert senses
that lead to who I am today--
and your dismissals of
such a degree that
invalidate my feelings.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
We could hold hands until hell freezes over,
And we could dance delightfully until the day is done.
We could talk for time eternal,
But still I doubt that I’m your one.
I feel distraught by small dismissals
And abysmal when shot with shouts
Deep down I know our chance’s dismal
Our rugged road a wretched route
A slight smile to stopper doubt’s affliction
The price paid with a painful heart
But what a deal to forgo the friction
To keep from falling all apart.
A sinking stomach and belly of lead,
I think our expiration’s near.
I’m full of ******* frusturation,
But overflowing with fleeting fear.
For every moment we’re together,
Cuddled close for company,
I think about the approaching weather
The storm that shatters you and me.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 2:02 PM UTC
what i learned from you:
how to burn your family
how to pierce hearts with hot needles
how to dull the emerald
glass in the magic
ones
i learned how to toss hope
into the ocean
and watch as tides
billow over fearful eyes.
i learned how to sever,
to cut clean lines from a muddled heart,
how to scrape open old wounds,
bring dirt into
old homes
i learned how to pick
at white blossoms,
**** out their sweetness
how to turn blindly to hate
as if it was easier. and
in the end i learned how to hate.
a strong chest
filled with it
fixated with it
bones that would leak of it.
but i didn't hate those
who built homes strongly.
who looked into eyes like yours
and saw freedom.
in the end
i hated your heart,
your fear
your blindness.
in the end i hated your
dismissals
your cruelty.
in the end what i learned from you was
how to hate
you
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
I will always love you;
Stupidly, foolishly, recklessly.
Spiraling downward, endlessly.
A connection that spans the seas, the oceans;
One that ignores pleas or motions,
One that steamrolls over dismissals,
Ignoring any and all commotion.
Maybe it’s because you’re the closest I’ve been to love.
Maybe it’s because I felt whole with your head gently resting on my chest.
Seeing you again now makes me forget what happened back then.
Your smile is like a sunset, a warm caress that puts me to rest.
It makes me forget that we’d turned our relationship into a battleground,
A battlefield painted red with the innards of innocence for the brushstroke.
A place where hopes were grounded to dust,
And pain’s parasitic relationship with distrust was profoundly compounded.
It’s almost 5 in the morning;
I miss you, even though I saw you yesterday.
This irresolutely irrational passion of mine,
These two paths that just want to intertwine,
These glances and moments that send chills down my spine -
They shouldn’t be here anymore, but they are.
Maybe, it’s because I’m alone,
And you’re the only face that feels like home.
Maybe, yours is the only embrace I can hold;
Maybe, I’m just being foolishly bold.
They say find what you love,
And let it ruin you.
Here I am, like the remains of the Parthenon;
Here I am, standing ready, ready to be led on.
Ready, bracing myself to be destroyed once more;
Ready to burn like a lit match that met fuel that’s seeped into your pores.
That is what you and I are;
I am the lit match, and you are the fuel.
Together, we make ashes of kingdoms,
Petty serfs of kings.
And an absolute mess of ourselves.
I don’t care about being right or wrong, anymore;
I just want us to make sense of things,
And see what destiny’s got in store.
Sep 2, 2019
Sep 2, 2019 at 3:38 AM UTC