"distinguishes" poems
Bees build around red liver,
Ants build around black bone.
It has begun: the tearing, the trampling on silks,
It has begun: the breaking of glass, wood, copper, nickel, silver, foam
Of gypsum, iron sheets, violin strings, trumpets, leaves, ***** crystals.
**** Phosphorescent fire from yellow walls
Engulfs animal and human hair.
Bees build around the honeycomb of lungs,
Ants build around white bone.
Torn is paper, rubber, linen, leather, flax,
Fiber, fabrics, cellulose, snakeskin, wire.
The roof and the wall collapse in flame and heat seizes the foundations.
Now there is only the earth, sandy, trodden down,
With one leafless tree.
Slowly, boring a tunnel, a guardian mole makes his way,
With a small red lamp fastened to his forehead.
He touches buried bodies, counts them, pushes on,
He distinguishes human ashes by their luminous vapor,
The ashes of each man by a different part of the spectrum.
Bees build around a red trace.
Ants build around the place left by my body.
I am afraid, so afraid of the guardian mole.
He has swollen eyelids, like a Patriarch
Who has sat much in the light of candles
Reading the great book of the species.
What will I tell him, I, a Jew of the New Testament,
Waiting two thousand years for the second coming of Jesus?
My broken body will deliver me to his sight
And he will count me among the helpers of death:
The uncircumcised.
21.5k
Life is a treasure and yet
I was born with pale white skin,
You were born with dark chocolate skin,
Our color distinguishes our features,
Our color does not represent our character.
~E.J.W~
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
White, Yellow, and Brown
Different shapes, sizes, and textures
Curly, straight, and wavy
You look at your reflection and do not see it
You're brown
You’re slim, light, and skinny
Your body does not resemble what it means to be a woman in your culture
A Latina woman has curves
A Latina woman's skin glistens underneath the sun
She contains an inner glow that resembles the strength she holds.
A Latina women speaks fluent English and Spanish
The purr that rolls off her tongue when she rolls her “R’s”
Her accent is what blows men away
Her accent is seen as exotic and from another world
But yours is different
You look at your reflection and do not see it
There is no purr because you can't roll the “R’s” off your tongue
Your slight accent is what worries you
Afraid your accent is going to get you a stare instead of a wink.
Afraid to speak you stay quiet and become discrete
You look at your reflection and see
brown sugar that’s sweet and fine
Your skin contains different specks of color which makes you different
The sun captures the qualities that you contain within.
You look at your reflection and see
A woman that speaks the language of romance
The language that distinguishes you from the crowd
The language that brings you strength and courage
The accent you once feared would bring you shame is the same one you have come to love.
You look at your reflection and see
A woman that has grown internally to love herself for the way she is
you contain the inner glow that resembles the strength and knowledge you have attained.
The eclipse has finally passed the sun and your time to shine has arrived.
White, Yellow, and Brown
Different shapes, sizes, and textures
Curly, straight, and wavy
You look at your reflection and see
A Latina woman.
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 6:13 AM UTC
Tip Your hat
And curtsy low
The masses so mandate absolute guile
A handshake, a smile, a proper and refined bow!
To adorn thy head and semble wit
And do your best!
Take pride with etiquette
If not informed
Ye won't last a mile
And differentiation between animals distinguishes you,
Resplendent child
Wash your hair and underclothes with soap
Lest ye resemble sow
And goodness dear
Have I forgotten now?
Always remember to smile!
So I'll take your Winter clothes with zest
I'll scramble on point
No unruly mess
Oh, did i forget your coat?
No, I've got it, relax, care for a smoke?
My apologies, please forgive my latency
It must be warm in here for my blood
In fact...
Boiling over kettle within
Prevent me from committing sin
I do wish to vent
Pick up this pen
And release red wells from his dainty, fragile neck
Or...
The underbelly. It's beknownst to me entrails are thick
Now whatever shall I do with this fresh clutter?
I'll act for free, so cordially!
With my chivalrous lines
But can you, my friend, respond in kind?
After all, it's only common courtesy
It's over now, my fantasy
It dissipates with urgency
And this is my confession
Yes
Imbibed in me from every grueling, tedious lesson
An implication of uniformity
The daydreams borne from the perfunctory
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
My:
Belonging to or being associated with the speaker
Love:
An intense feeling of romance or ****** attraction towards an object.
Of:
Expressing the relationship between a part and a whole
Life:
A condition that distinguishes the active and self-sustaining.
Is:
Exist
Defined:
To state or describe the exact nature of an object
By:
Identifying the agent performing the action
Moments:
A very brief measure of time.
Of:
Expressing the relationship between a part and a whole
Happiness:
A state of being characterized by emotions ranging from contentment to intense joy.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 1:15 AM UTC
I wonder if there will ever be a day when people will stop treating each other like possessions.
You'd think that in kindergarten we had been taught how to share.
“Everyone gets a turn,” our teacher would say.
"Five seconds at the water fountain after recess.
Pass along the book to the person next to you.
Share your box of crayons with those at the table."
We were taught how to share the tangible
The objects at our feet.
But what my teacher never taught me was how to share the intangible-
Concepts such as time, trust, and love.
Ultimately at the end of the day she never taught me how to share people.
The problem with people is that you want to keep them-
Keep them close
Keep them tight
Keep them safe.
You don't want to take turns because you fear that they will find someone who is better than you.
That one day they will leave because you were not enough.
So to suppress our paranoia we resort to rules and regulations.
We employ the facade that what we are doing is out of love
When in reality we are living in fear.
People are not possessions.
We are human beings
Capable of emotion and free will.
We are granted the ability to choose
For that freedom is what distinguishes ourselves from the rest.
We are not objects upon a shelf
To be taken down when felt like or guarded like a metal safe.
We are not punching bags
To be used at one’s disposable.
We are not mountains
To be climbed and conquered.
We are human beings
Yet humanity continually treats each other as if nothing.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
I'm the Afrocentric Gift
you been waiting and dying to open ..,
Christmas came Early just for you this year,
I'm the Thoughts in ya head,
Mind blowing the
Essences of Sexuality,
Wisdom,
Knowledge
and a
multitude of Feminine Power,
Prowling and
Roaring for your affection,
I'm every Women,
Just not to night
I don't want to share,
Be my one & only..,
I am the
Architects building
the bridges back to ya heart,
My Prominent Black African King,
Mr.Sexy as ya wanna be..,
I Dreamed of this many times at night & also for some weeks,
Thoughts of you Thought of us become " We"
Teaming up and Doing
What lovers do,
But
I want more,
I want your heart too,
I see it in you,
the artist ;Your words caressing me,
Like painting and drawing,I'm just one of your sculptures..,
But
I'm the centerpiece of this mental non-nocturnal dream,
Your the
Author writing a great masterpiece only I'm the Main character...,
Chapter one we began slowly as our bodies
mesh&entwined...;,
Can you distinguishes between Fantasy,
I'm here and these feelings are real.
Lust so passionate you'd think you
conjured me up from your imagination.,
I'm un reasonable when it comes to you,
I want to give you unquestionable pleasure.
Be the Concubine you desire & you shouldn't have to wait,
Not tonight anyways.,
Come here and let me show you,
Be mines....,
Sacrifice yourself,
Be my love salve and come away with me..,
I want to give you this
Delicious yet delicate sweet
Afrocentric Gift!
Speak into me poetically,
Mentally blowing my mind ,
touching with words as you hurt me gently
Yet pleasing my body..
take me
cuz
right now
I'm for the taking,
I'm ready and waiting,
open me,
for
tonight I'll be your
Latin mist
You Puerto Rican *** ,
Come get drunk off my love,
Let me sooth you
and
caress you into submission.
Take what's been given.
This Mix, and blend it with you ,
dance to my song
as
I open for you.
I'm ready and willing
to be what you want me to be.
Give
me pleasure
release the yearning
deep with in me...
I'm yours ya Afrocentric Gift!
Always me Ayeshah
Copyrights © 1977-2010 Ayeshah(A.K.K.C.L.N)
All rights reserved.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 10:28 PM UTC
How do you know how pain really feels?
How do you know when that pain gets healed?
Is it a feeling that is built inside the brain?
Links of emotions stranded by a chain?
If one could describe the feeling of pain on a page,
Would the words come out, or remain locked in a cage.
What distinguishes the feeling from good to bad?
Who knows the feelings that turn you from happy to sad?
What hurts?
What doesn’t?
How do you know?
People hurt.
People heal.
Where do you go?
Why does losing someone you care for break you heart?
Fill your chest with pain, piercing you from far like a dart.
When one gets hurt,
Why do you cry?
When one gets hurt,
Why do you hide?
Running from your problems may solve them then,
But what will you do when they happen again?
For some pain there’s a cure, for some there are not,
Some treatments are pure, but the memory of pain,
Has just been forgot.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 8:47 AM UTC
One rock that bounces off the river
Another rock that drowns and scars the bed
What distinguishes the two is fate's solitaire
One day I will skip like a stone
But today I lie sunken at the bottom
Amidst the many mermaids in the photic zone
Stifled by the pressure of the water
Fettered by the weight of failure and anxiety
Overhead a storm rages, unsettling the ocean
I will outlive this habitat that will die slowly
I will see the ecosystem turn into a corpse
Anemone, scampi, and sharks; no trace of it all
I hope to skip like a stone, but, at what cost
Jul 25, 2022
Jul 25, 2022 at 3:11 PM UTC
There is a girl, and she doesn't believe in the existence of god.
She once told her best-friend that if there is something like BIRTH and DEATH, then there can't be anything like heaven and hell. However, she uses both HEAVEN and HELL as metaphors in her poems for pointing at the good and the bad while
wondering what distinguishes a devil from an angel.
Once someone asked her- “Do you believe in the power of DESTINY?”.
She didn't answer the question and ended up writing a whole essay on the value of HARD WORK while reflecting upon the lives of many who are working hard since ages without any fruition.
One day her grandfather told her that she should have at least some amount of FAITH in her life, even if she doesn't BELIEVE in worshiping any sculptures or images. She told him that the only thing she believes in is his selfless love for her.
She has a closet,
and it's full of secrets and MYSTERIES,
the secret letters of pain and grief, of existential crisis and restless nights.
They were written to someone named as GOD by her ten-year-old self.
Every night she joins her hands and closes her eyes to make a wish and PRAY for the well-being of
the boy who claims to be in love with her.
And every morning when I wake up to look at her face in the mirror, all I could see in front of my eyes is a portrait of an ATHEIST in love.
-Prachi
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 12:26 PM UTC
Dubious sense of unresolved ambivalence
Given to implausible suppositions of fragmentation
That distinguishes itself in well meaning solemnities
Of delicious incompetence that evaporates distance
In its poignant lament of darkness
That shadows words of cruelty, indifference and rage
Oh how unbearable those misadventures of piteous overthrows
That cram into brief utterances more meaning
Than language can hold and force a confrontation
Of unresolvable contradictions hidden in such speech
That are the stilling of time, those words that find expression
In a mystic power that transforms darkness into intense light
Whilst blocking out the harsh unforgiving light of everyday
And causes mutation and change of place in disorienting fashion
In seeking a loyalty of angers by shifts of dramatic register
Views its own meaning unstable and problematic
In defense of its own legitimacy
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
Why is it that drinkers of wine
All fancy themselves connoisseurs;
As they sniff, swirl, sip and spit-
They’re all Robert Parkers I’m sure.
They talk about bouquet and fragrance,
hints of chocolate they find in the wine.
I sip on the wine and I’m puzzled
as I never find chocolate in mine.
My brother’s a beer connoisseur
Pour ten different beers in good light.
Though he may drink them all to be sure,
He distinguishes each upon sight
“There are different shadings of gold
and some give you more head than others.”
-Who would ever imagine that beer
would have something in common with lovers.
So go have your new Beaujolais
You Francophile drinkers of wine
I’m sure Orson Welles would have told you
They’re selling it way before time.
Back at the bar named McCullagh’s
They’re playing pool in the back room
Uncle Jimmy is schooling some suckers
It happens once in a blue moon.
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 7:29 PM UTC
What is a family room, anyway?
Repetition, resulting from daily life.
Tedium bringing us together
Like household traditions;
Family prayers around a broken table,
Hollow conversations buzzing like Tv static,
White noise in the background.
The family room is purgatory.
Mundane talk of petty lives
During commercial breaks.
When interaction is obligatory,
What distinguishes us from the furniture?
Gathering dust as we sit
Merely existing together,
We are the portrait on the wall;
Artificial.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
Explosions & gunshots
(Simulated)
says an urgent text
from Notify NYC
on my cell,
well recv'd
reported to be
in Central Park,
my heart now skipping beats,
not comprehending the detensing
the declensing cleansing of...
s i m u l a t i o n
thinking only
my park, my park,
my country, my country,
a ****** battlefield!
a second glance, it's just
a heads up to keep my
head down,
from my bud, my boy,
Free *****
having a bit of fun
with us Ameddicans
Shakespeare in the Park presents:
Troilus and Cressida
which contains the use of smoke, haze,
cigarettes,
explosions, loud sounds,
blank gunshots & strobe effects.
***cigarettes? cigarettes? ***
there is no smoking in the park,
not even for poets and
Playrights of renown,
no exceptions made
in this hard-nosed town
and that ladies and gents
is how
one distinguishes a
genuine New Yorkah
neither smoke nor haze,
explosions and gunshots,
an apple-cheeked citizenry faze
these hardy city folk,
from their pursuit of
the golden yolk,
the reward of the
dog-eat-dog yoke,
worn in the pursuit of
Life, Happiness & Liberte
don't even thinking about
smoking in our park,
or near my face,
then the loud noises
may be more than merely
stimulating
than blankly,
s i m u l a t i n g....
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
Waste away with want
caramel-ed skin and chestnut eyes
Tortured through thoughts
rough hand and judging glances
Need and want
no distinguishes
Rigid and brisk
No longer the same.
No longer mine.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
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Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
It's effortless how I speak to you,
it's cause I speak a lot
but patience is a virtue
my patience close to rot
Your ravishing and your sweet unique scent
Fulfils and satisfies me just like your beauty to be consent
I'm not asking for a favour
Nor am I asking in command
But I just want to make you savour
And miss me like in a trance
What distinguishes my fire,
and love thats meant to be true
Why can't you miss me
instead of missing you?
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 5:03 AM UTC
As crafters craft and artists art
all things Beautiful were once apart.
Brought together by Work and Pain,
Perfection is sought again and again.
But it is only through Agony and a convoluted sense of Direction
that Man and the Universe can create Perfection.
Accidental masterpieces brought daily into being,
Beauty is not only Seen through seeing.
Tears that cloud our jaded sight
make that once unclear terribly bright.
One view of the World is never enough,
it is the Visions of others that make our Works tough.
All labours of Love, do not always Love find,
but that is because to Love we are blind.
Love is an ability that colours our emotion,
thus, a single man can move an ocean.
A river, an ocean, a dam of time
each human is given his Voice to rhyme.
A wave, a ripple, a tsunami effect
that changes in magnitude only in what we expect.
These clashes and crashes, shatter and break.
It is not our Strength that determines how much we can take.
It is our Determination and Perserverance alone
that distinguishes a boulder, a pebble, a stone.
The cracks and tears,
the pleasures and cares,
mean that Beauty through Perfection sought
with Tragedy and Imperfection is wrought.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
A light, like a faint glow
Flickers on with ever steady beat.
Unyielding though the wind threatens,
To end all with a single blow.
Scenes change, now on different template,
The same voices but foreign tongues.
Yet it stays alight, a bright spot
Despite frozen fingers, eager to end its fate.
Years pass, hundreds of arms
Surround the glow and it dims but never fades.
And in its neglect, in its shadows,
Locked away it stays,
A low-lit burn that distinguishes,
This place from the nameless cities and towns.
From when you first opened your eyes
Until you stepped on a white-wingéd falcon
And your feet touched alien ground.
You'll nest and make your own home now,
Different but familiar birds will sing.
Yet always a candle in your heart, never forgetting
Where you came from, where you first got your wings.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 9:17 AM UTC
Your eyes run up, chasing after your feelings— the softest echo
of a heart, once feeling passionately in love, but only in secret.
A storm of longing; calm beginnings soon roar thundering
clapping opening and closing gates.
The haste, becomes the menace of biting into a bullet;
never knowing its taste. For any chance given, will later on
pierce through you in secretive conclusions— another round,
another round, for a scar so yawning, and a memory so tired
of ruminating last nights.
Your tears, are picturesque ashes; core flames that shriek
a pain before a moment’s murmurs. While an after long
upshot, distinguishes something oppressive, growing
out of your heart’s flame— your cheeks raised red of blush;
unease in a fiery rose.
Wouldn’t you love to grow openly under the summer kisses
that wash the earth in light; as for me, it seemed
reminiscent of your former bright smile.
You were once the joy forward looking to a better day;
a ray after the rain. To reign supreme on their minds;
on top of every thought of you, worn proudly as a crown.
__The former is gone.__
The world nicked away that stem of your courageous,
precious, and outrageous company; during the wake
of you finding yourself
__— you’re so restless now. __
What would distinguish your fiery beauty,
is extinguished; diminished,
— buried by the earth.
Still your enduring fiery beauty could feed greed
into Hell’s gate. For even buried in tragedy;
you shall ascend gladly to avenge those who hurt you,
in your triumph.
May 21, 2024
May 21, 2024 at 9:22 AM UTC
I am a beautiful bird
my feathers are tinted purple and pink
proud, unsoiled and unique
its what distinguishes me from the others
here I brood on my perch
in this crowded cage
the others compete to be heard
the cage is permeated by noise,
an intolerable noise
and there is no peace
daily, I sit on this perch
longing to hear the calm silence of serenity
no unbounded chatter
no stirring about in the bottom of the cage
just peace and serenity
my voice, my beautiful voice
has been silenced
no melodious notes or harmonious melodies,
just silence
I want to sing, I want to be free
waiting for the day that my radiance will be released
inside I hear the melodies,
echoing repeatedly
awaiting my revelation
when my opportunity approaches
I know why the caged bird sings-
to be heard
to be free
I want to be free
I want to be heard
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
You are better than the moonlight,
That lights my dark empty room;
That kisses the stars, that beholds the skies,
You are my every emotion,
My every piece of refined happiness,
Better than the moonlight, tonight.
Memories evoke every whisper of the wind,
You are everything I desire not to change
For in your eyes, is where my soul restores
And in your heart, is where my love ensures;
Better than the moonlight,
That carries us to a better place in Heaven,
That takes us to wishes, hopes, and dreams;
Better than the moonlight,
That resembles the truth of becoming as one,
That distinguishes the pain which now is gone;
And I wake up every lovely morning
Only to love you even more.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 12:31 AM UTC
He
Who
Talks
The
Walks
And
Walks
The
Talks
Blabbers
Talks
Makes sense
Senses ****
Walks away
When
He
Is bored
Is tired
He
Walks
Too much
Too far
Likes it
He
Perhaps
Experiences
****
****
That
He
May be
Shielding
He cuts loose
The struggle
He lets go
He
Begins to travel
As he desires
To know
More or less
Battles
The usual mess
But
On the inside
Only on the inside
Distinguishes
The real
From the surreal
He sings
About life
About bikes
About the mountains
Aloud
So that
The world could hear
About her
But on the inside
Only on the inside
He dances
To dance
Just for the ****
He’s not good
But he dances
Jives
Not good
Street dances
Pretty good
Dancing legs
A delight
To his mind
Infectious
With his laugh
And
An asymmetric smile
Lives
In dreams
In parts
The world
For him
Has fallen
The world
For him
Fallen
Still
He rises
For him
He inspires
Himself
Admires
Life
He
Is
He
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
Hey dorian grey
God made you to be beautiful sculpture
The magic of music at your fingers
When you are playing the piano
So paino keys are lost in your magic
And paino keys are dances indicator of your fingers
You are not less than beautiful masterpiece of the artist
When the artist sees you
It seems useless to create its own back paintings
The artist made hundreds pictures of yours
You are the heartbeat of beautifuls women and girls
When all women and beautiful girls seeing you that hold their heart
Magnetic attraction in your black eyes
Fireflies of night flicker in your eyes
The criticalness of your beautiful lips that distinguishes you from others
You are separated from others
Today I made you adorn my own poetry
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC