"dissertation" poems
They tell us we need education
It's a part of creation
It becomes your foundation
And you know what, I want to write a dissertation
But there's a sly deprivation
a twisted and greedy **** that creates this limitation,
our gardens are drowning in them.
Let's stop this perpetuation.
Let's stop the subordination.
We need a reforestation.
They have the education yet they lack communication.
Can't you see the starvation of education? It's causing me frustration.
They hold the apple of knowledge and dangle it above our heads,
I am surrounded by dead ends.
A ********** over education.
Lets demand our own salvation from this privation.
How would they handle a confrontation? Or even better a collaboration?
If we share education as a nation,
Then we can all go to graduation.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 9:18 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
POTATOES are so livid,
and i think
if your belly had eyes like your face
you would be half as insightful
as three words crawl over your skin
while you sleep
while you think
while you push buttons and feed
your ears with POTATOES.
for we are God, and you
you are not.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 7:50 PM UTC
the world is full of emptiness
how so you may inquire?
the following dissertation
shall give you an insight
as to the emptiness
that is around our globe
stay seated in your arms chairs
and at your computer screens
these words shall reveal the story
for all of you to glean
in Third World countries
not a bite of food to eat
yet in Western countries they waste it
and throw it on the streets
it is said there is plenty
of food on the planet for all
but starving millions
wait for a meager crumb to fall
here the evidence
placed in front of you
and it doesn't make
for a kindhearted view
were there to be a little
sharing and fairness
the great emptiness
may well be redressed
on our planet the picture
will remain thus
and this salient tale
is a wake up call to each of us
the rabid feasting
in rich nations is really quite obscene
while those in Third World countries
live with bellies poorly mean
take a moment to ruminate
on what has been said
as you butter
your daily portion of bread
Epilogue
those who have not a mouthful
isn't it profane
the world is full of emptiness
as this dissertation has explained
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
"Dear John
By the time you read these lines,
I will be gone."
The rocking chair,
The only piece of furniture
Remaining
"Dear John
By missing the deadline for your
Dissertation
The school will not have you
returning."
The books are boxed
The rocking chair rocks on
With every breath
Taken.
You don't have to die
To have lives wilt and cry.
Looking around through curious eyes
Nothing which was remains.
"Dear John
Your lease has expired
You will be moving on."
The rocking chair
Rocks on.
The twilight seeps in through
Windows without curtains.
The door opens
A moment of melancholy
The door closes
The rocking chair without him there
Becomes still
In the twilight air.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
When I was 16 I almost drowned
I swallowed enough water to sink
Any ambitions to become a sailor
The water tasted a lot like my pride
It left an after taste bitter enough
To humble a King
What we take from the world
Is simply a reflection of
Who we are inside
If you feel like the sun is avoiding you
Like your ex-girlfriend
Then visit the dentist and make your smile
Bright enough to get by
The crowded streets of downtown
Aren’t filled with inept ********
Just you, who isn’t willing to see
That everyone has pain in their eyes
No matter how well they disguise
Their recent demise with ties and lies
Bought online
We fall into the chasm of doubt
That high-fives gravity because
They got you to fall
Change who you are and you’ll
Literally change your world
Because everything reflects
Our character instead of our appearance
Except for cursed glass that
Became a mirror
When you’re tempted to doubt
The goodness of life
Remember that life is what you make it
When God writes your conclusion
To your life’s dissertation
It will simply be a story
Of the dreams you had the courage
To chase
You have nothing to fear
Not even fear itself
Because you are the owner
Of happiness and peace
Enough for yourself if you’re
Willing to share
When I was 16 I almost drowned
I was resuscitated and spit out
My pride and coughed up my ego
To breath in the world
Through unbiased purity
Now I can finally see
I left that ignorant part of me
To fend for himself
I was never a good swimmer
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
Spells of immaculacy,
enamored by divine blasphemy
Oh, the glamour of defeat;
Illuminating my delusional illusions of grandeur.
The facade erected
in the name of my dissonant lunacy -
Replenished to diminish, ease the tension
while I watch the world around me burn
Ascension/
With purification, the nameless and faceless yearning for the knowledge
God blesses upon his prophets
Rather burning in oblivion,
fate earned by blind devotion and faithlessness.
Only time can tell, when shall we
separate ourselves from this abomination?
For only from the ashes of chaos
brings forth the promise of creation -
Salvation bathed in blinding light
Only with open eyes will one see an end
for which there is no sight.
Eradicate your spite
and take a deep look inside yourself
It is only then you will ultimately find
you are the sole Creator,
of your own Paradise, and of your own Hell.
Call this my dissertation
on a nation rife with desensitization.
Certainly plagued by monitors and screens,
can your hear their screams?
Why, but of course not. We fear no evil.
The evil is unseen. -
Lying in wait
behind the prospect of the American Dream.
The interests of the men lurking behind the curtain permeating our everyday ideology -
Lulling ourselves into a false sense of security
Why question such a monumental absurdity?
Too distracted even to leave our homes.
Our minds have been effectively infected and collectively we've turned ourselves into drones.
Reclaim your mind, Or in time you will surely incur horrors I perceive worse than Death;
The beast has swallowed you whole.
Mind only your indulgence of all that is true and you will find that which is eternal bliss.
I'm impatient and far from complacent with a world so blatantly detrimental to itself.
Allow your wisdom to be your might,
lest we continue to arbitrarily pass judgement amongst ourselves.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
While they spent a couple years in college learning calculus, I was emotionally imbalanced and so behaviorally challenged.
When I was on meds and learning music, they were learning differential equations, linear algebra, and real analysis.
When I changed majors to philosophy of religion, they were reading hundreds of math papers from journals in grad school.
When I was getting a master's in criminal justice, taking my first statistics course, they were working on their dissertation.
When I was getting an electronics degree, they were getting published and doing research at universities.
After that I started studying physics, then math.
I struggle still to finish basic Calc 2&3 problems, and find it hard to get help with linear algebra.
All I know is that my trajectory is anything but common.
And the way I cover material would not be taught in most schools and universities.
It is more like the Montessori schools: I have an innate path to psychological development, and I act freely, supposedly creating my optimal way.
Mar 12, 2021
Mar 12, 2021 at 5:10 PM UTC
From dream awakening
To perfect storm
With silver lightening
The sky adorned
Molecules in excitation
Trees bow in supplication
A perfect dissertation
Exclamation
Illustration
Orchestration
Revelation
Stimulation
Transformation
Veneration
From my 0300 weather station
r ~ 22Feb14
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 8:19 AM UTC
This dissertation, written by a double-jointed stunt-double
A sentient being
It must take one to know one
Because he found me immediately
We counted the tally marks
Crushed cornflakes on a Kashmir carpet
We met a paraplegic paralegal
Whose views we're, for lack of a better word "perpendicular"
We we're entranced by him
He spoke of integrity and the dangers of toxic relationships
And how the service of justice is only so-so
He was enmeshed by contractual obligations and deadlines
He left us with two last pieces of advice
"Talk to yourself often, for you'll surely know best for yourself"
"Forgive yourself, for forgiveness proves strength and admitting your wrongs shows humility"
The stunt-double wrote his paper on this
And I wrote this poem
This occurrence so rarefied yet malleable
-Tommy Johnson
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
I climbed to within a dissertation of a PhD in the United States
of America, but at every stage of my education
I was still just being prepared
to work for someone else.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
-
i took no pleasantries in that adjustment
from the top shelf of Pastry Perfection
to the wicker-wire dust bunnies at the
"sole" level of humanity
after i mistakenly thought —you— took
some element of freeverse i had posted a
couple of years ago at one of the more-read
poetry sites on the internet-
then i realized something, Poet..
that for all those sleepless hours you
spent cramming for the SAT—
i posited on how many welding rods
could be burned down during a two
hour period of trade school
and with respect to those thousands of
words diligently packed into your
undergrad dissertation—
(*including that humorous description of a
knitted strap you used to keep the pencil
from rolling off the table*)
i wrote a brief essay of commonalities
on how much Gerald R. Ford and
Elwyn Brooks White
actually disliked
football,
and to those thoughtfully crafted lectures
in front of scores of distinguished
scholars and senior staff—
i was projecting shadow puppets onto a
screen during a slideshow while the
teacher excused herself to the restroom.
basically this;
as to the volumes of books
you have published
over the decades—
i have a few thousand words of
amateur poetry posted online
inside of a few years.
That Said,
for those carefully-placed words
(of mine)
you incorporated into your
latest masterpiece,
realizing poets will not always
happen upon the same instant
at any given intersection,
i recognized that most familiar sensation
we Both get when having correctly
delivered the punchline to the funniest
joke of the evening.
we —in fact— have only the readings
of fellow writers to blame for each
other's blending of creative impulses,
that during these miraculous,
yet humble birthings of verse—
i have it now on good authority,
that we all could possibly exist
within this capacity
as mere equals...
"The Lanyard of Amateur Poetry"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved
.
Oct 7, 2020
Oct 7, 2020 at 6:53 AM UTC
Yet another frigid November has found this place
Inconsiderately crawls from the shadows
In a perfect world autumn leaves would fall daily
Instead...this shallow frost attacks that gentle sun
And everywhere darkness chases out those remnants of life
Every year those lonely, barren trees mock me...
I'm a wasteland...
Nothing can be frightening outside of the tundra
The worst passes quickly enough but the good never comes back around
Each frosty breath lingers; grows stale to remind us
Growth is mere mythology in truth
Seasons of change just bring back that despair
I wish people could break free of their circles..
Their cyclical "growth"...that quest for relief
It doesn't exist...
Am I different than yesterday?
The wounds within incessantly ache
That derelict heart skipped those same beats
Burdens of the past bind this soul to the grave
Only the foolish allow the ********
Until a point...
I'll call this a dissertation although it's a poem.
Days punctuate this essay of the world without meaning
Trivial thoughts on humanity or lack thereof.
The world's deceit is clear without an ignorant lens.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 9:48 PM UTC
Four years and plus I have studied,
Wanting to hear "Well done, Lad!"
Papers and books and Internet leads,
(Some I have even read).
My goal is to finish the final degree,
To stand with the women and men
Who doctor their classes for fee,
Philosophical women and medicine men...
Yesterday's morning came early and light
As I sped to the citadel towers,
Stood in a hallway at the end of the night
For minutes that ticked off like hours...
Then to the panel of erudite four,
Explained and defended my cause...
Stood in the hallway once more
Reading posters and climbing the walls.
The door latch announced the time was at end,
I turned my mentor to see.
"You did very well!" and out went her hands
To throw a big hug around me.
So in we two went and I faced the Chair,
"We're pleased to announce you have passed!"
I grinned in relief to find there was air,
And lungs to breathe it at last.
Numb and relieved, I shook hands all round,
Readjusting my sights and my plan,
Dissertation and frameworks, new targets found,
I left them with papers in hand.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
I dig Joe Rogan
Suheir Hammad
And Alix Olson
Truth seeking
Artists
I dig Howard Zinn
And Noam Chomsky
Dead intellectuals
Truth seekers
I dig Marty
McConnell
And Jason Carny
Poet lovers
Of Humanity
I dig Shakespeare
Mark Twain
Edgar Allen Poe
Emily Dickenson
John Keats
Percy Shelley
Ginsburg and the other Beats
Writers and poets
I will never meet
I dig The Daily Show
The Colbert Report
The John Oliver Show
The Young Turks
News and fake news
Comedy Shows
That expose
Deep truth
I don’t dig me
Always
But I like you
And all the potential
You hold
You are not a black hole
But a blazing star
Waiting to blow
Waiting to be born
The only good form
Of a hydrogen bomb
That reminds me
I dig Einstein
Tesla, Da Vinci
Gandhi Thoreau
Bruce Lee
Great Minds
That are dead
My list goes on
Forever in my head
So instead of
A dissertation of love
I would like to know
Who do you dig bro?
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
Her smile lasts a lifetime
To one's heart
She styles with a cultivating conformity
Her silk short hair holds a traditional divergence
Fewr words can describe her soulful beauty
How can a man maintain her innocence?
As waterfalls sends droplets
Her visional lustrous appeal
Entraps
A dissertation of enjoyment
Sep 7, 2009
Sep 7, 2009 at 11:29 PM UTC
The underbelly of our collective psyche,
has been cut open from the gut and gun pokin’,
now the sadness runs rampant,
in the flooded streets of these American dreams,
see in this scene things aren’t always what they seem,
especially when viewed on a screen that’s green,
she says her father doesn’t bother to call her,
says he lives in Vegas where he lost his job,
just another unemployed American off the assembly line,
now he takes care of his mom who’s lost her mind,
gone senile from years of denial that her son is an alcoholic *********
meanwhile resistance is still futile,
and this son of this mom is the father of the girl I’m with now,
as we lay in bed talking about trivial things instead,
of what really matters which is what we’re doing with this life,
just passing time until we’re all dead I guess,
feeling like an abstract painting of American Commentary,
a dissenting dissertation of this perverse dystopia,
don’t mention most things that are worth mentioning,
which is part of the problem that keeps repeating in amounts that’re copious,
and I’d continue with these verses and get more in depth,
but I’m being rude to the nervous girl in my bed,
so I better get off this laptop and back to that jackpot,
or rather Jill *** whatever that means I’d rather be misunderstood instead,
and that’s why I don’t mind if they don’t understand what I said,
or rather don’t understand the words that I wrote when they’re read,
because,
the underbelly of our collective psyche,
has been cut open from the gut pokin’,
now the sadness runs rampant,
in the flooded streets of this American dream,
see in this scene things aren’t always what they seem,
especially when viewed on a screen that’s green…
∆ LaLux ∆
Free link for new book: www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 7:36 PM UTC
The day they told me you had resigned,
I went searching for you.
My eyes sharpened to find you
like two new Ticonderoga pencils
on this timed, standardized test of life.
I, your pupil,
felt desperate to fill in the bubbles
on this journey
to fill up my heart again
with answers to questions
I knew only you could
score & tell me were right.
But you never had exams in your courses
I should've known when you left,
that was your way,
your blessing
to write my dissertation
and live my philosophy out, for you,
You had given me love,
you had always seen what I couldn't;
my potential. Who I am, truly.
And that's why, from you,
I learned everything & could feel internal peace
for I learned my purpose
& in my search for you again,
great teacher,
I realized you had never left
and the test had never existed.
I will still always wonder though
where you went.
(c) 2014
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
I watch, at the
prairie of time
the unfurling of nature
the dissertation
of saints
and in the hinterlands
a bare cry of
entrance
barred into the heavens
whispers of the world
residues
of fate and light
and devils
grieving for their
sacrifices
and slipping
into the worlds of men
the partakes in
grey barriers
and lossy colours
periphery
the ancient coliseum
the warface of dread
and acquittals of
memories
moments in time
spinning on the axle
grappling onto thoughts
and endless flows.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 10:38 AM UTC
The technocracy gathers the museum pieces categorizing ideally to undermine and de-emphasizing objective understanding for the sub-categorized priest-craft, drafting a temporal framework for God. In bargaining as it accentuates its void for evangelism.
This classification, this legal ordinance, this academic dissertation and that context of its time.
Then Mary...
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
Disregard
the notes;
enter into
the silences.
- mce
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC
Too much of a good thing
can always end up
throwing you off.
For example: I've been reading
entirely too much Bukowski
lately.
I wanted to write a poem
about a family sitting down
to Thanskgiving dinner,
and the crazy uncle
whips it out.
Instead of writing a dissertation,
I'll just remind you,
dear reader,
to be thankful for
every single daisy
and every single
beer.
That's the Bukowski talking.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC