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"doctorates" poems
The ranch-bound bovines, in dehydration, yet wary of Kool-aid, declined to drink. They grazed in wonder, cowed rumination: where does “beef” come from?  A herd tends to think of pasturage, water, and basic needs. Ranch-hands assured them all was in order; privileged guests enjoy the finest  feeds. Cows, content on this side of the border try Buddhism, yoga – or simply gaze… though things in the distance loomed ominous (those lots at the edge of the well-hoofed ways) – and a stench wafted into their consciousness. Yet calves frolicked on while the bulls mounted heifers – dreamed vegan dreams as they nibbled grasses some earned doctorates, others went clubbing; all loosed sustainable methane gases. Soothing their calves with fables and stories where cows are the measure of pastured life they deflected the gist of the young ones’ queries, affirming that Truth means avoidance of strife. “It’s best to just graze. Don’t ask questions dear. We’re on this planet without any clue. We evolved. From just what is a little unclear – but Cow Science has proved that it’s true.”
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Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
When Cows Come Home
Diastolic memory fills mind with blood Heart purges other unforgettable serum Gushing in and out; valediction, invasion Scent left on bed sheets binomial theorem Calculus, physics computing mnemonics us Trust not sum of it, exponents baying flux Participles and components abject humbling Stumbling bio discourse create sedentary crux Stupefying brain surgeons, those of heart too Call in mathematicians, astronomers as well No making sense of it, linguistic doctorates few To tell of this push-pull sensory denoting hell Not much time to live after lungs dispensed Entrenched questions remain to be adoring Extravagantly historians exploring Unanswerable examining of this imploring Must breathe the linens till all dissipation Your essence in the ether of our resting Place turned into mad languid laboratory Conjuring back moments I am requesting
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Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 9:30 AM UTC
Memory Does Not Fail
At 15 she had her goals in her mind To get her high school degree, then her bachelor's and then her master's and maybe even her doctorates She wanted to own house with a nice back yard Despite the house crisis She wanted to adopt she knew she was planning far ahead but didn't mind At 18 she got her first degree Then her second, third and fourth She worked her *** off having ups and downs Her world ending then starting again She finally got a house at 27 And at 30 she adopted a 13 year old boy She fell in love with him immediately of course And did her best to give him the world And in his senior year of highschool she gets him a car She wished she hadn't He got into a crash a few months later He never recovered Her world ended at 35 And it didn't pick back up again
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Feb 1, 2024
Feb 1, 2024 at 11:11 AM UTC
Her world ended at 35
I keep waking up to sunsets Affinity for the moon I suppose. the fireflies, cold air. I've felt happier at night my whole life Sitting in elementery school popcorn reading Headphones plugged into a PSP Blaring mindless self iindulgence Putting me to sleep through the day So I could level up my nightelf hunter in World of Warcraft until 5am And sleep through social anxiety. For awhile I woke up at 4am to serve you coffee. Seven years addicted I loved that too. Traded coca-cola for drinking it black My coffees color is the smog in Chicago This nightlife is my real addiction. That's why I love the graveyard shift. Devouring untold stories assisted living facilities. This Goldmine of consentrated Wisdom Parkinsons Orchestra Doctorates. Politicians prepared for Death Rabbis still flirting with nurses remembering the whole torah service by heart forgetting their wives name. For my sunset I like to imagine a big desk A wall of glass The top of a grey tower. I want to Birth a skyscraper. I want to stand staring out my wall of window back turned to my coffee cup watch how beautiful stasis can be when you shatter through it. I like to pretend each sunset Is a death that wasn't mine. I like to count the deaths in assisted living As sunsets. I like to read obituaries like sunsets. I keep waking up To sunsets
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Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 9:54 AM UTC
Sunsets
Past A girl with many secrets heads to school with her nose in a book. The girl develops a reputation as dangerous and solitude. The girl falls in love, only to be left with a gold ring of heartbreak. The girl packs up her life and her son to leave for a new life. The girl enrolls in college. Present The writer and future psychologist sits at her desk fumbling over the words in her novel. The writer takes her son to school with a kiss as he goes. The psychologist lights up a delightfully dangerous Camel Light after a family gathering. The direct support professional leaves the house smelling of various creams, wet from the shower and a smile of satisfaction. The woman looks upon the emerald on her finger and wishes for simple happiness Future Hopes A full list of clients with a Doctorates Degree on the office wall. A small article in the paper proclaiming a best seller. A family picture on the wall with a smile on our faces. Future Fears The woman in deep depression with her families words pinning her down. Staring through a glass wall at a boy with visitation hours. Slowly forgetting the life she’s lead and where she lives. Sitting in a wheelchair staring at an ankle mutilated with disease.
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May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 4:34 PM UTC
Timeline
At times when I grow lonely I read the messages you've sent It's been a month Since I've spilled my heart to you You found some piece of me A bit of reality I had lost Sang melodies through the phone And now silence rings Trial and failure to clear my mind Every thought leads to another Then the others lead to you Eventually I'll find peace Peace a thousand miles from you Only able to touch you through maps Unable to touch you through words Alcohol and doctorates now consume your time
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Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 4:45 AM UTC
One Thousand and Four
I can't be what I want to be Cause to fail is easier Then to fail to succeed My generation is a new breed Ready for a revaluation But tripping over our own two feet PTSD, ADD, ADHD VHS , DVD,  MP3 I'm sick of these mental anomalies Drug dealers with doctorates Pushing band aids For a brain aneurism That may not even occurred yet But your diagnosis Is their proctosis To line their pockets With decaying presidents So they don't feel a need To take that SSRI that to you they so desperately feed Welcome to America Home of the crave And land of the greed Hope you have enough stolen Souls in your pocket So that you may succeed
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Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
Soo many DDDS
Affinity for the moon I suppose. the fireflies cold air. I've felt happier at night my whole life Sitting in elementery popcorn reading Headphones plugged into a PSP Blaring mindless self iindulgence Putting me to sleep So I could level up my nightelf hunter in World of Warcraft watch Naruto until 5am And sleep through social anxiety. For awhile I woke up at 4am to serve you coffee. Seven years addicted I loved that too. Traded coca cola for bkack coffee And an eating disorder Now Im a graveyard shift worker. Manjc smirking at untold stories in assisted living Goldmine of consentrated Wisdom Parkinsons orchestra Doctorates Politicians preparing for death Rabbis still flirting with nurses and remembering the whoke torah service by heart When they cant remember their wives name. Wives of Men that played god until they met him. Breifly Before the trap door unlatched For my death. I like to imagine a big desk A wall of glass The top of a grey tower. I want to Birth a skyscraper. I want to stand staring out my wall of window back turned to my desk. And watch how beautiful stasis can be As the trap door caves beneath me for my sins. I want to leave someone behind to tell my story. My journal is someone. I'm a night owl I am alive most when the world is either sinning or silent And I refuse to die quietly. Or before I get my Desk. Or my window. To watch the sun rise and fall But never stay. I am not meant to watch things last forever. I am a night owl. I enjoy this world for all the endings. This is my favorite part.
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Sep 13, 2017
Sep 13, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC
Night owl
Affinity for the moon I suppose. the fireflies cold air. I've felt happier at night my whole life Sitting in elementery popcorn reading Headphones plugged into a PSP Blaring mindless self iindulgence Putting me to sleep So I could level up my nightelf hunter in World of Warcraft watch Naruto until 5am And sleep through social anxiety. For awhile I woke up at 4am to serve you coffee. Seven years addicted I loved that too. Traded coca cola for bkack coffee And an eating disorder Now Im a graveyard shift worker. Manjc smirking at untold stories in assisted living Goldmine of consentrated Wisdom Parkinsons orchestra Doctorates Politicians preparing for death Rabbis still flirting with nurses and remembering the whoke torah service by heart When they cant remember their wives name. Wives of Men that played god until they met him. Breifly Before the trap door unlatched For my death. I like to imagine a big desk A wall of glass The top of a grey tower. I want to Birth a skyscraper. I want to stand staring out my wall of window back turned to my desk. And watch how beautiful stasis can be As the trap door caves beneath me for my sins. I want to leave someone behind to tell my story. My journal is someone. I'm a night owl I am alive most when the world is either sinning or silent And I refuse to die quietly. Or before I get my Desk. Or my window. To watch the sun rise and fall But never stay. I am not meant to watch things last forever. I am a night owl. I enjoy this world for all the endings. This is my favorite part.
Continue reading...
48
*Time is relative. It can yell. It can scream. But it can't run backwards.* It takes 8 minutes for the light from the sun to reach the earth, And hundreds of thousands of this exact timeframe for the sun's inexistent sound to permeate in permanence. A solar explosion would annihilate the human force. Everything we know would sublimate into a vacuumed space. All knowledge of everything, Vanished in a fiery apocalypse. Death would arrive before it even happens. So what is the purpose of life if death could already be here, Eight minutes from this moment? The time it takes to boil noodles, Take a shower, Eat a bowl of cereal, Could be the last spoken, Thought, Performed part of everything. How should I believe time is real, Death is cheated, God is listening, When this minute could be my eighth? I swing my chainless pocket watch and count each of my five hundred seconds. And wonder if it would be simpler to exist where time doesn't. But each child climbs higher on the playground's jungle gym, Reaching for doctorates and dissertations, Their watches not as precisely examined as my own. No worry of things that are all too possible In just a matter of time- School shootings, Asteroid strikes, Uncontrollable plagues- While my watch counts nanoseconds as it falls onto Earth's surface, Their watches spin rampantly, Drilling into their sandboxes. I see this, The same age I was years before, And these children melt into wheel chairs and death beds alike, Their children mourning their passing, While their children's children, Crippled with tears, Hold the hands of their parents in desperation for an agony so ripping. And all the while I see the sun exhale its time. The trees ignite, the sidewalks smelt with the burning grass and buildings. And just as I peer into the beyond, My rusting pocket watch clinks with the sanded surface of this childhood play box.
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Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
Runaway Eternity
*Time is relative. It can yell. It can scream. But it can't run backwards.* It takes 8 minutes for the light from the sun to reach the earth, And hundreds of thousands of this exact timeframe for the sun's inexistent sound to permeate in permanence. A solar explosion would annihilate the human force. Everything we know would sublimate into a vacuumed space. All knowledge of everything, Vanished in a fiery apocalypse. Death would arrive before it even happens. So what is the purpose of life if death could already be here, Eight minutes from this moment? The time it takes to boil noodles, Take a shower, Eat a bowl of cereal, Could be the last spoken, Thought, Performed part of everything. How should I believe time is real, Death is cheated, God is listening, When this minute could be my eighth? I swing my chainless pocket watch and count each of my five hundred seconds. And wonder if it would be simpler to exist where time doesn't. But each child climbs higher on the playground's jungle gym, Reaching for doctorates and dissertations, Their watches not as precisely examined as my own. No worry of things that are all too possible In just a matter of time- School shootings, Asteroid strikes, Uncontrollable plagues- While my watch counts nanoseconds as it falls onto Earth's surface, Their watches spin rampantly, Drilling into their sandboxes. I see this, The same age I was years before, And these children melt into wheel chairs and death beds alike, Their children mourning their passing, While their children's children, Crippled with tears, Hold the hands of their parents in desperation for an agony so ripping. And all the while I see the sun exhale its time. The trees ignite, the sidewalks smelt with the burning grass and buildings. And just as I peer into the beyond, My rusting pocket watch clinks with the sanded surface of this childhood play box.
Continue reading...
49
Do you know the importance of teachers That question is a lesson in itself How do you learn to achieve wealth Receive a doctorates or even a black belt There’s a great teacher around Great with a ball or maybe a wrench There’s a great teacher around Preparing great meals or building a fence Like super heroes from distant planets That come and save the day Our heroes from the world of academia Come and lead the way Just for what you stand for alone You should be forever bestowed in favor Facing the most daunting task of taming & guiding the beast called human nature Ode to those undervalued teachers Who make education allure & dapple You are revered by me and many others With much love and many apples
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Apr 20, 2020
Apr 20, 2020 at 3:56 AM UTC
The Teachers Dedication
I am inspired to do the best I can, and change the morality of who I am. Keep pushing on, I must meet all of my goals. Find a better job, and not make any foes. I want to get a doctorates, I suppose. Love everyone, in everything that I do. For I must do everything, out of love for you. Such is a motto I hold dear to my heart. Love is essential, in every part. I want to succeed not just in life, but in love. Do more than I have achieved before, from the outside to my core. Be the better me, and fight against tyranny. Of our government and of ourselves. Stand up for whats right, stand up for myself. Its time to put a new book on this shelf. Fixing what I dont like, starting over new, now see why I do what I do? You are my muse, and its all because of you.
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Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
Change
It's always been there, that empty space at the back of the mind and always the last place you look in, but you know that's where you'll find what you're looking for, what we're all looking for. Reaching critical mass before the bomb blows and as you exit or pass or shuffle off or pop your clogs, wake those sleeping dogs because you know they never lied to you, you know they did what they were told to do and you in the empty place now, space looking in and your face looking out still looking and knowing it's there. But what do we care? we've got Doctorates online for an acceptable fee corporations without corporate responsibility suicide, that's always free, genetically modified opium-free tea I want some for you, but I want more for me. I know we care out there somewhere I feel it in my bones I see it in the funeral homes. Too little? To hate is but an alternative state and to love is a state that's within. Without any doubt when you're dead it's a state to be in, a state without borders a state without hate, in the empty space I think there's a place like that too.
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Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC
The run program
Maybe when I'm dead is when I'll be discovered "Miss Walts of the technical age" Someone will find my art and say "wow she really got it she really had it you know she was brilliant, a genius, truly great" The best version of myself will then be shown The romantized self analyzed by doctorates and lab coats They'll all wonder what I really mean And I'll be gone Gone so they can't ask me They'll mold me into a piece they really want After death I'll return as a pawn Crooning the voice of the people of our age We all scream "I'm not good enough And because of this I cannot do a thing! I can only make art from depressive relief. Society is telling me everything to believe. I can't think for myself for the life of me do not ask me a question because I never think!" A self medicated self asbsorbed zombie "No one has it worse than me."
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Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 11:38 AM UTC
Miss walts of the Technical Age
The slaves The powers that be They were angered Angered by this man of Tao Angered he wasn't sacrificing himself Like they did For their "almighty dollar" Angered at his sense of humor His calmness And his emptiness Oh how it bothered them So they set out To whisper in front of him To mock his name And what he stood for It pleased them Because they could never be Like him Every time He watched Below them Humble Yet seated high above Their program Not participating Not trying or And what have the doctorates learned Their huge papers Their pride And arrogance I've learned from them How foolish And prideful Human beings can be Degrade me Debase me Call me stupid Or ignorant All your intelligence And all your pride And all your wisdom Won't save you From a certain death And when the system collapses It won't matter How much money you have A doctorate starves to death Just like a homeless *** And any food I have I won't give to you I'll watch as you starve All your wisdom And arrogance You thought you were so Much better Because you had more book knowledge There are people smarter than you People smarter than me So what So what I have no sympathy For you When you starve to death When terrible times come
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Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
When Terrible Times Come
I think the reason I'm so depressed is because i'm always unfulfilled I live my life day to day I crave knowledge and passion but finding it is hard when I know the only things that would ever hold my interest long enough for a satisfying career need doctorates and I'm too lazy and unmotivated to go to classes every day to be told things I already know to go into debt for knowledge I obtained years ago There's no easy way to get into infectious or rare genetic diseases no easy way to become an exotics vet I wish I could skip the basics The day to day is taxing
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Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC
Intelligence is my curse