"dominates" poems
Summer heat summer sweet
With a wealthy nature, rich pheromones erupt
Birds n tha bees escape the trees
Please don't plant your seeds
But throw the leaves
Up n up
To get down and drop
Where the dirt pops
Ken keseys ashes
Edible umbrellas turn rainy days on their head spinning pupils wide void of discontentment
Fairies fly off clouds and stars fall at day
Impossible, feelings are blown in and out of proportion to fit a screen thats too small
Tough love
Tough life
Slick surface don't let me fall off the boat as it rocks
Swisher wraps over the curves
Got me feelin lucky like a charm
Cheef all day got me smellin dank as a Rastafarian Only stoppin to sip my Captain Morgans moonshine
Till we hit the caribbean
Then Jack's got me headin for tides end
Early
Flush the bile outta your system
And spiral out of controls iron hand
**** responsibility, Apathy rules all.
Paper crane ******* get all superficial but yellow bones make my brain go fuzzy in smokey ***
In n out, fast n slow
Nicotine dominates
My senses are lost at Molly
That ***** finger ****** my life
Made me *** every time
This unhealthy relation in action doesn't phase me yet, I'm too young to think that far
I mean
What do you expect?
A Teens crowded perceptions can be judged like a bums intentions.
Peace my brotha
Dandy danny says theres a way out
-side with the rap culture
Shots of rebellion pour through the cracks we each fill
The glass
Is too cracked to be see-through
West coast vibes kick back lax attitude I carry on my shoulders
Forever green is my state
Wash that **** off your lawn crack *** haters I'll spray paint your ***
Equality's the goal
**** race
**** sexuality
I see soul
Open up
Show me your beat
I'll count bars as we spit elicited slurs drizzled to drops leaving the cops to stop us
Quit
Obeyin the brand
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
it's been raining all day
and the trucks passing in heavy rain on the road behind
my little house
sounds an awful lot like the thunder
that dominates my little patch of sky
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
The only proper way to be a conversationalist is to convince yourself that you’re boring. If you can strip back the hard shell of the ego, and look down on yourself from the eyes of an apathetic God, you will likely (and hopefully) see just how boring you really are. It isn’t a sin to be boring, in fact there are many advantages to honest self-depreciation.
The main advantage, is the way you approach a conversation. “Interesting” people find it difficult to silence the affected score-keeper that dominates their internal dialogue and ruins any chance of an honest and engaged conversation. It is the voice that reminds you to show interest with your body language, and keep a dumb happy gaze laser pointed into their eyes. This dialogue is obsessed with authenticity and genuine conversation, and therefore a natural sociopath.
Luckily, you are the stunning definition of boredom, an extracted dictionary cut-out of un-interesting, and nobody could possibly give a rats-ass what you have to think—least of all the Voice that controls the inner-dialogue. That Voice has packed it up to find a more interesting vessel…maybe the person standing across from you in conversation.
Because you are so boring, and they are the Oxford personification of intellect and fascination, you should pay careful attention to what they say—no time to worry about how they’re perceiving your reaction to whatever it is they’re saying. You are too busy to notice what sort of body language you may or may not be using to validate their half of the conversation. Instead, your time is spent carefully hanging on their every word, digesting it and projecting the whole bit into a colourful scene in your imagination. Instead, you’re too lost in the excitement of their infinitely more interesting life and impossible wealth of knowledge offered to you with each word that they speak. Instead, you are actually listening to the words that come out of their mouth and not the ones that speak to you from the inside of your own mind.
This is what it means to be in conversation. This was the point of our social nature. And in a world of needy social-media junkies grabbing at the cuffs of potential ‘followers’ and ‘likes’ and trendy passer-by’s, the last thing anyone needs is the high-pitched whine of another “interesting” millennial.
Lucky for you, you boring sack of yawning sloths, that you aren’t interesting too.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
My dear,
We have
Lost your image!
Display your vivacity!
Unable to recall your voice!
Speak loudly,
Through dancing with wind!
Forget your fragrance!
Spread it through wave!
Unable to recall your colour !
Delighted with your blossoming flower!
******
She replies.......
How can I?
Your bulldozer relics us!
How can I?
Your buildings stifle us!
How can I ?
Burning fuel of your vehicle and machine,
Intimidated us!
How I can
You called us ****
How can I ....................?
*****
My dear
Our imp dominates us!
Please salvage us!
****
My dear
Please extend your hand
To clutch and revive us.........
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
Seduced
by the
school
shooter
singing
siren
songs
of
shotgun
blows
to the heart beat
of the wet American dream.
It's the human interest
horror allegory
The hero doesn't even get
15 minutes
But the shadow has
got a gun fetish
Counting bullets as
They're counting blessings,
numbered 1-27
3x his pump action
Light 'em up
***** 'em out
Some head-sick self-entitled
monster in a mask
on a mission of mass destruction
Cashed in on their
little tax deductions
The most sacred snuffed out
before the light could become them
It's the darkness that dominates
As the dragon **********
Witch inside
The mind
displacing emotions
away from the art of
living
loving
and losing
You're the submissive
Ascend the divine madness
or find yourself in shackles
in the machinery.
Humming
hypnotizing
hymns
of conformity
Another one's lost his mind
Descended
And the scapegoat
is mental illness
We all know,
The media is the medium
is the message
The subliminal secret passage
to the shared skewed subconscious
Planting ideas of bloodshed
Like evidence in the
Bodies of specific demographics
Demonize
Pack the prisons
Capitalize
And cut the blood losses
Here we are now
Hopeless
It makes for great entertainment
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
The name sounds alien,
But it seems to be ours,
Belonging to the earth.
There might not be a more enchanting thing,
Than these Northern Lights;
In green and pink,
Like curtains in the sky,
Ready to be raised,
Unveiling a beautiful surprise.
The spectators are less,
(About only a million,)
But the scene keeps on going,
The lights dancing,
Apparently,
To some silent,
Unheard beats.
It looks to have captured my eyes,
For they are glued to it.
And wouldn’t stop gazing,
Till the end of the life.
The green becomes lighter,
With a tinge of pink,
Then the pink dominates.
It looks like a confused kid’s painting,
Unable to decide, which colour to choose,
For the shades keep on changing.
The snow in dark,
Having only these to reflect,
Looks so pure,
So serene,
And frozen,
As it should be.
And still,
As it could be.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
So. You like me as your pastime?
Hmm, please take another look
And see there's a person attached to it
With a full life and dreams, fool!
Being such the ardent lover of liver
She alit the bus and sat square across a damsel
Carrying happy burden; spontaneous loss
And on this day, witness to the leaking full......
Teeming thoughts rage on inside
Sees a man spitting ceaseless into a mug
Spitting, spitting, spitting...!!
Now a china teacup .... is all she'll have.
Frustration climbs the walls like spiders
Leave behind dangling webs of duplicitous ire
Spray its viscous poison everywhere
A smack, an outburst; ugly scene.
Hard to see where it ends, where it starts
Tumultuous energy always kept in check
Surreptitious trafficking in serendipity
Split desires sport with silken threads.
Embracing pain which dominates so
Heartache elemental dogs every move
See you leave, go off alone
Hide high grievance, suffocate.
Seems this loveware needs reconfiguring
Sittin' pretty, like a duck in the water
Ain't the way; keeps the target on yer back
Life's sometimes quite the storm..... in a Chinese teacup!
S T, 03 June 2013
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 5:15 AM UTC
What if the voices I hear are from God?
Then I am Satan, and we’ll stay at war.
I’ll strike him so with my ruby rod.
And impale him down into the earth’s core.
What if the voices I hear are from space?
I’m an alien with horns and a spot.
No one believes these voices are my race.
They do comment and understand my thoughts.
What if the voices I hear are man-made?
I shall sail the seas like Columbus–
through the stormy nights where I greet afraid.
I’ll find the land this man encompasses.
And I’ll ask him why he made me this way.
Does this mean I’m special– brought to a curse?
These voices persecute me every day.
They have become the air that I breathe.
My mind is louder than New York City.
I tell it to shut up, and it’ll yell back.
I tell my story. Some say I’m gritty.
How can I be brave? I let them do this.
My mind dominates until I have none.
Some of them complain more than my grandma.
Voices play games with me till it’s no fun.
They nibble parts of my brain, and they gnaw.
Oh, voices, voices, why do you taunt me?
It is amusing. I don’t let others bully.
I let my mind become the enemy.
**** these voices! You have already won, you, see?
I watched “A Beautiful Mind” by John Nash.
How can this mind be beautiful when it’s all gone?
I do draw what I see throughout the day.
I realized these figures took my mind away.
Aug 24, 2022
Aug 24, 2022 at 1:25 PM UTC
Absence of imagination,
the End of independent thought.
Cities reek of corruption, ******
and the greatest of sins.
They raise and **** in
by the millions
yet onlysome men
seem to win.
Glorious eyes
of curve-free posters
used as wallpaper
for the cleanest streets.
Looking up
to their Father
all good citizens
try to weep
the plain and empty tears
the Party demands
them sheep.
Maybe it will soon end,
but I'm never able to trust us men;
maybe weeks will tell,
but I still can't seem to hear a bell
Inside the people's empty homes,
Fathers, sons left alone.
Big Brother dominates,
he commands,
a billion voices
in one hand.
Behind the money lies the pain,
into fields fall the rain.
With empty pockets
walk the road
a thousand stories
left untold.
Blood can be found on every street,
death and life here meet.
Maybe it'll someday end,
but I'm never able to trust us men,
maybe years will tell;
but I still can't seem to hear a bell.
A hungry stomach calls for meat,
rotting, green, foul or sweet.
Rank food from the kitchens,
will be served,
millions of peoples
have reserved.
Between the alleys at the mass
the cross’s shadow isn't cast.
Those booklets burn easy,
use them well,
let vain ideas
fry in hell.
Maybe it's will oneday end,
but I'm never able trust us men.
maybe our grandhildren
shall one day know,
Their grandeparents wept
but did not
sow.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
eye lids move slowly
over the eyeballs
in an effort to garner
sleep to a worn out
body to restore the
metabolism to normality
yet sleep eludes
the slight movement
of the eyelids never felt before
is sensed as the brine tear
a lubricant between the interface
where surface tension dominates
all other forces of physics
what force dominates my heart?
I know not
and sleep eludes me
Unconstrained emotions flow
around like unsettled dust
particles glowing in the sunlight
that escapes in through a ventilator hole
sedatives themselves are sedated
and sleep eludes me
I still have five more days I foresee
before hallucinations and delusions
take over me
before that oh sleep like gandalf
arriving at helms deep
please come back to me
but not at the breaking of the dawn
not when light is bright
but in silence of the mysterious night
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
I stood and watched from a safe distance,
A fabulous Silverback strides around,
The strong body and rippling muscles,
He dominates and leads his troop,
He makes the decisions,
He's old, mature and protective,
He's the leader of the pack,
He is respected.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 6:11 AM UTC
people tell me that i gain from pain
some kind of desire from torture
whether from bite marks
which make me bleed
or from a lover
that dominates
when in bed
part of me can't function
without some kind of release
that only pain seems to fulfill
i guess i have a masochistic personality
a need to feel what i can't usually
i struggled with self inflicted hurt too
when nothing else was available to me
created marks and scars to fill my heart
with increased satisfaction
i am the canvas
which is my art
my body tells
a thousand
little tales
of a girl
lost in
confusion
makes me feel so alive
the memories carved
and painted on
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 9:13 AM UTC
I am not scared and I will be strong. I’ve been lonely for ten years and now, I can see what has been gone. I am taken to a different place, far from home. The plane took me high and soared until things got low. I walked down the hallway of doom and distress. This wouldn't be a problem if he had never left. Walk into a room thats plain yet, engaged in activity. A conveyor belt and tags that say names, scrambled in my mind going their separate ways. I tell myself to focus and find my bags from here. The voices and the noises distract me, nothing has been clear. I see my name as nauseous as I can be. My stomach has taken a turn on me.
I find my bag and look around my vision is blurred and I can not hear a sound. I see his face threw the sea of people. Wearing the same flannel sweater he had ten years ago. He dominates the atmosphere with his torn up pants and his messed up hair. He looks the same but his hair is receding. His face is drooped down like paint that just won't dry. He grew tall but skinny like a plant that has withered. His face is pale but his eyes are rich brown. He has a genuine smile with teeth that had fallen out.
I walk up to this man I haven't seen in years we looked at each other and, we burst out in tears. Even though I don’t know him, I remember his face. From ten years passing by I’d imagine he's changed. He use to be plump and his face well rounded now it looks like he had been beaten by thoughts and loneliness. I can tell when he seen me his life already got better. He couldn’t stop talking like he was gone for forever. I talked right back to him because, I know how it feels.
I look back on all the years without him and realized we feel the same. The difference is he made the choice of being alone ,I had no need to be left. I felt lost my whole life, until he came back. Lost from what I can’t quite figure out. I just needed to feel the feeling of him being around. We walked out the crowded place and, went on from there. No one really changes, he still smelled like beer. You think someone would give up the little things for something so big. I left a couple days after, and haven’t seen my dad since. He chooses to be lonely and, I still suffer from it.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
By Joseph Childress
“Habeus corpus!!!”
Yelled in court
From some youngin’
In the back row
As he rose
With a roll of parchment
The constitution laid dead in his hold
.
A gleam seen in the judge’s eyes
As he glances, quickly
Behind glasses
While guards escort
The disrupter of courts
To the unknown
.
All hail the corpse of freedom!
Warranted from the lack of warnings
All hell: The corporate companies cooperating
In coup d’etats
Disguised as peace keepings
Offering the
Sacrificial kings of Africa
Offing the
Head of state
In a distasteful display of feardom
Fear dominates
The war on terrorism
Military minions pillage the dominions
Of the defenseless
The final blow
Screams
Like the Final Call
In the falling of an empire
Protesters test the unrest
And spread
Words
That are read
In the weaving of our future
Detention
Sit-ins for those who
Speak during class warfare
Constitutions re-written
To constitute illegal imprisonment
Of free
Speakers,
Thinkers,
And believers
Citizens find it harder
To not pay attention
When the war in the Middle East
Is fought in America
Patriotic Acts to enact
Unpatriotic actions
That exact
Hate on the coward-less fraction
Surveillanced
As if ass-kissing will ever be in option
They’re warning us
To stay sleep with the rest
Those who awake
Will meet a force
Worse
Than the crusades
As they raid the houses
Of our brothers, sisters, and
Controversial, conspiracy contriving cousins
They will come
Like thieves in the night
To undue
The debt due to society
The battle begins,
And the Martyrs are ready.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
Out of the merciless darkness and recesses of February,
comes the hope and promise of rebirth.
Hope only as white covers the landscape and grey dominates all;
life has all but ebbed away in this wasteland of broken hearts
A year of wasted time, a life made barren by you.
Time has slipped away in healing, and transforming into myself.
How could you have left me to face the life facing me alone,
hurting and in silent grief.
You alone can answer the questions,
and you alone can make me whole once again,
to face a new life and calm the ghosts of the past and
give me the hope of renaissance.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
My questions go unanswered.
My words ignored.
My presence overlooked.
Myself invisible to the eyes of others.
In a sty of stench.
In her own ***** she is drenched.
The reason I crossed two states borders.
Pack rat hoarder.
Without organization of order.
Out lived my heart hesitated.
My life dictated.
By a **** "mom" who dominates.
Controlling with my child as leverage.
She holds us hostage.
In her cobwebbed hellhole of dust.
Mold, ***** stench, mildew, & rust.
She is no one to ever trust.
I have alot to complain about & fuss.
Neglected, unprotected,& disrespected.
Taken for granted & unappreciated.
Unknown but senselessly hated.
For love or friendship I waited.
No one ever asked me to be dated.
My life I lived & created.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
Forgotten Popsicle stick
Dominates in ashtray.
He broke it in half once
But it's been there a while.
He remembered.
Spending summer night.
Outside-
While his dad
Smoked in chains;
Wisps dusting
Humid air.
They just talked.
Cigarettes devoured,
Popsicles slurped
And bitten,
Even as sensitive
Teeth screamed,
Each left
Distinct tastes on the lips.
The ashtray began to crowd,
Butts piled high.
But he'd found a perch
For Popsicle stick
Stained blue.
But then his dad moved out.
And Popsicles
Soon turned to cigarettes,
That lone stick
Being one of the last.
Eventually he dumped the tray,
To get rid of his dad and
Make room for his own addiction.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
Men clad cleanly, polished boots and bowler hats,
Women wearing short skirts or long dress,
Boys no longer boys deny their old,
With rock and rap, skate shoes; how bold!
Indifferently they carry on,
I am you, and you are him,
She is fat and she is slim,
Registered in heads dead depth,
As we pretend to see no man who chokes on crystal ****
Like the jaded sidewalkers,
Who cram these city streets;
A glance is but acknowledgment,
As all shuffle in quick feet.
To say the least, we will pay none,
To those who are not us;
To say the least, we think we've won,
Ignore the drunk mans fuss.
Like the jaded sidewalkers,
Who view in black-and-white;
No middle-ground perceives a frown,
As they sleep amid streetlights.
The morning rush and nightly blitz,
As people scurry too,
Destinations, dealing smiles;
Self-help books to start anew.
As talk through text, online, or phone,
Dominates the daze,
Indifferently, ignore eachother,
"Nothing need be said inside this maze."
The CEO, he acts as King,
With peasants treated well;
Their brains blunted to buried states,
"He's bad; but he'll get his due in hell."
Everyday they rise early,
To catch the mornings speed;
"I do this by the clock because,
A life, so rich, I'll lead."
"Conforming kills the mindless soul,
To fight off human urge;"
You're free, yet unaware of this,
So conforming, you won't purge.
Like the jaded sidewalkers,
Who, like zombies, follow sway,
A human hand on island sand,
'I saw him not,' or so I say.
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 9:17 PM UTC
I often contemplate
On the complexity of life
Why darkness still dominates
Even when it's bright
It always seems like
While others are fine
I tend to be the only one
That wants to die
Drunk on thoughts
Disgusted with life
Get me out of here
I'm drowning inside
Intoxicated with madness
I'm in love with my sadness
The pain is overwhelming
Can't you see me crumbling?
If there is a God
I want to ask Him why
Why did He leave me
Holding onto lies
I try to suppress my memories
But instead
I keep them close to me
Only to find out
It is what that kills me
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
It's taking over my life.
It's taking control of me.
I give into its wishes.
I listen to its commands.
It declares my every move.
I'm a puppet and it's my master
holding the strings,
holding the reins to my life
It dominates me.
It restrains me.
It keeps me paralyzed.
But I can't ask for help.
Asking for help admits defeat.
I can never admit defeat.
Defeat means weakness.
Weakness means I'm powerless.
When I'm powerless,
I'm,
hopeless.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
~~ ☠ ~~
A ship sails empty of reason,
captains fear the treasons.
Silent and smooth is how it'll fall
the cabin-boy shall take the bar.
Blood can be found on every street,
both death and life here meet.
Life is a walking misery,
pray god has blessed your destiny.
Outside the people's empty homes,
fathers, sons, left alone.
Big Brother dominates, he commands.
A billion voices in one hand.
The ocean itself is a burden,
your dreams will taunt the sugeons.
Twist well open the sails to Rome
if you flee the country, flee alone.
Between the alleys at this mass
the cross's shadow isn't cast.
Those booklets burn easy, use them well
let vain ideas fry in hell.
Our viscious masters do predict
the fall of Troika and rise of Six.
A crew who drains such futile ink
is sure to drown us down the sink.
Save me from the grim Tomorrows
full of hate deceit and sorrows.
Oh, it's not about tyranny,It's human kind.
Justice is never really blind.
Behind the money lies our pain,
into fields fall the rain.
With empty pockets walk the road,
a thousand stories left untold.
I hope one day it could end ,
just by cutting down his head.
They hunt down anyone not in line,
should we attempt this, is there time ?
Unfathomable ,
his hungry stomach calls for meat;
rotting, green, foul and sweet.
Rank food from the kitchens will be served,
for all the glory
he deserves.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
The stench of burning flesh and *****
Imbuing the air
Carcasses of infant demons
Putrefying in the crater
Dissected impure angels hemorrhaging
Repugnancy dominates
Shrieking
Quivering
Floundering as they flutter their rotten wings
A profusion of worms
Falling from mouths like a cataract
Smoke coming out of their halos
No longer reigning
In this, their hades
Swollen with beasts in utero
Perpetuating abominations
Soon it will be their turn
To liquefy in the lava
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC