"dumbed" poems
Q-Tips raised! Their storm approaches.
Swab those ear-gates free and clear.
Thunder frightens the rats and roaches.
Looming clouds are drawing near;
Audible anticipation
Waxes with our rising nation.
Hope-porn is the thing with feathers
flying low, right before the gale.
Strident left-wing get-togethers
Do their best to countervail.
Tribunals herald something worse . . .
Enjoy some popcorn with my verse.
Martial law—a new diversion,
Flapping wings on the Left and Right
Disturbs the coop (or coup?). Subversion
now displays its plumes outright.
Deep-state angels prove satanic
sparking upper-level panic.
Rumors can be quite arresting.
Cresting waves on the Psy-Ops sea
Break and roll, now manifesting
Dumbed-down mobs, conspiracy . . .
Some citizens awake to truth;
The rest rave on, benighted youth.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
I want the hollow
Cheeks.
The full, adipose, smooth
Lips.
The white-boned,
Pearls she calls
Teeth.
I want the bright, clean,
Sun bleached
Hair.
The fine, sharpened,
Ready for scratching, Spotless
Nails.
The refined, sculpted,
Long, profiled
Nose.
I want gold to flake,
Off my ageing,
porous, dull,
Skin.
I want the protruding,
Famished, angled
Bones.
I want the pumping,
Arrhythmic
Heart.
The tired, hissing,
Tar coated, smoker’s
Lungs.
The round, fleshy,
Cellulite covered
***
The motherly, but
Childless plump
*******
I want the barren,
Bleeding, afflicted
******
I want the faint,
Wispy, high-pitched,
Call that she calls a
Voice.
The bruised, bulging,
Porcelain polished, etched
Knuckles.
The wide, protruding,
Ballooned up, dangling
Hips.
The numb, heavy, metal
Flavored, gum bleeding
Mouth.
I want the skewed,
Backwards, lost
Pedals she calls
Feet.
I want the hearing less,
Wax, pus covered,
Ears.
The lost dull, lifeless
Dumbed down, blue
Eyes.
I want to be her,
All of them, and none.
I want to be lost,
Unwilling, tame, voiceless,
Mindless, childless,
Sexless, man-less.
I want to be her, but I
Can’t.
I cannot because I am
Thought burdened, fat,
Violent, screaming,
Child laden, broken nosed,
Coarse.
I cannot because dirt
Flakes off my young
Skin.
Because my heart pumps,
Oxygenated blood,
At a steady, rhythmic
Beat.
My voice baritones,
Deep, bottomless,
Whispers.
I sit on flat, concave
Muscle.
My lungs breathe,
Strong, fresh, smog-less
Air.
Yellow stained, grainy, calcium-ridden
Teeth.
Dark, musty, greased
Hair.
I want to be her,
But I won’t.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
Eerie creeps
Masculine freaks
Femininities left
Masculinity's taken over
To masculine
To much
Man forgot wife
Man lost touch
Man lost children
Video games are his friend
Beer is his lover
Shalt face his own end
Man hast forgotten
Man hast turned dumbed
Man better listen
To these words
I do hum!!!!
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
The world is dumbed down, dark
with roads made of glass for
which we caused and keep
One little mistake, one
little crack, people
will throw stones
and laugh and
point when
you
F
a
l
l
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
***** purple prose
Who does it think it is,
Looking all beautiful just because
Of flowery, sugar-coated words
Someone plucked from a thesaurus?
It's very much like a woman
Who, let's say, in one man's eyes
Is very pretty if and only if
Makeup cakes her face
To conceal dull features underneath
And that's where we writers are wrong, see
Your message can still be portrayed beautifully
Without long words one would find difficult to spell or pronounce
It's all about the raw emotion
And how we can manipulate a reader's feelings
Now, I'm not trying to say
That our generation is a dumbed-down audience
Keeping it to the point is what really gets us on our toes
But I guess if purple prose is your thing
Well, each to his/her own
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
i.
The atlantian theorists, of the Masonic order,
Wanted a new world, ****** indigenous quarter's;
They came by their ship's, to conceal native truth's,
Only coming for a plunder, to giveth satanic rule.
ii.
The warrior-painted faces, naturally painted by ash and red,
Sawest their shores, being broken by it's door's; mad-men in
Shiny silver, hand's open, yet were fed. Sachem prophet's
Bellowed the harbinger's long afore, now all hast come, these
aborigines weren't dumb; they prophesied this long before.
iii.
The wigwams, longhouses, teepees and lodges, were uprooted from their sacred ground's, the creator's meek were ravaged; as giant bones were taken while found. As hidden beneath the surface, the haut monde made none sound; playing dumbed with Gun's, they ran their fun, fabricating lies, under the America's sun. As tis they gave the world alibi's to be one, O' what hath they done; O' what hath they done.
iv.
First the viking, with dragon ship thunder
came to conquer,pillage and plunder
taking lives without a thought
unwary of the cruelty they wrought.
v.
Then pilgrim's progress seeking new land
would have starved if not for the "savage" man
onward, westward, did they go
killing for profit, pleasure little did they know.
vi.
Grandfather, earth mother and spirit of wild
they watched as the white eye usurped the child
and still, no lesson has been learned
the people grew fat, their culture spurned.
vii.
Most of the tribes are gone away
and America has come to stay
but in my native heart i yearn
to see the Indian nation return.
©Brandon Nagley \Wolfspirit duo poem
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Indigenous harbinger's revealed
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
i'm beginning to develop a
schoolgirl crush on you, my dear,
for you make me giggle as if i were
five years old again.
what i feel for you is
a dumbed down version of
a complex mixture of
like,
love,
lust,
and puppy-love infatuation.
i simply do not know what
has gotten into me but
i do know that i'd
love to feel your lips on my own.
i would be delighted to delve deep
into your embrace and
give names to the galaxies that have called
the depths of your eyes
home.
i haven't known you very long and
i have had not the pleasure of feeling
you in person but the pleasure of
hearing your voice pronounce
my name.
just to see you standing in
front of me once
would perhaps give me
some insight as to
how i feel in
regards to you.
or maybe i'll be more
puzzled than I am
as of now.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
Numbed dumbed thumbed
he returned home
to her *****
Charles touched her bumhole
but Diana shoved off his fumbling hand
he wanted to lick her *******
but she didn’t agree
the prince held her buttocks
slowly bumping into her
he slowly moved her bottom around
continuing to bump
but as the lady asked him to repeat this particular move
he left it alone
Apr 13, 2010
Apr 13, 2010 at 8:43 AM UTC
Oh hopeless romantic
Wouldst thou walk for thy love?
Hopeless romantic,
Thou may sayest that thou would live for her,
Yet shalt one die?
Oh hopeless romantic
Wouldst thou kiss her in front of the crowd?
To embarrassed art thou?
Thy mouth speaks openly,
Yet thy heart dont seem to loud!
Romantic
Wouldst thou dine with her in bath?
Bubbles and wine glass
As two da Vinci's of new days age!!!
Romantic
Thou art to a slave
To moribund days as I!!!
Romantic
Get the beam out of thy eye
For thou canst see clearly!!!
Hopeless romantic
Thou may buyeth her roses
Yet does thou pick out its thorns?
Canst handle truth?
Hearts torn?
Romantic,
Wouldst thou give thy other half thy soul?
For she is gold,
And thou art aluminum!!
Still dumbed!
Canst thou see the queen up on high beside thou?
Forgetful hopeless romantic!!
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
Electricity is talking; we understand
losing interest in conversations. creating land.
droplets of ice define the day
August ends in the middle of May
intrepid peeling; scabs of the earth
the hands fail; a dumbed feeling
Eins, the seeing blind have never seen
on screen, a shape of many faces
in through the open windows outdoors
smoke dries the unseen. air dry.
so paragon goners repulse the cleaver
the system has failed
so much detail to attention
when pink isn’t even a color
time is wasted on time itself
unfortunate cookie
wires once made you. complete.
ask for the answer to the question is nothing
Zwei light birds on a wire
the happenstance, the fire
where hell listens, there sight is drawn
selfishly we glare and mourn
******* ice cubes yelling “Jesus may…”
cold as **** the cesspool lay.
So, maybe I’m over thinking this.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC
Should have known ....
your life would change completely..
What were you thinking ?
Have you lost your mind?
You clicked that button ACCEPT
the fake romance started
Your soul was sold
Bought so easily by the evil heart
So ignorance you were
You’ve been blinded, blinded...
You were deaf and dumbed...
Tangled yourself in the web of lies
Your craving for love landed you in deceit.
You let your heart be captivated
Manipulated with sweet words of false love
You casted those who have loved you...
Comfortable you were in this fake love life..
He was a scam, scams of the heart..
He was a king scammer...
A great cunning pretender
He valued your money not your love or life..
He fancied your bank accounts rather than your future..
What a pity first false impression..
Seduced by charms and lyrics of poems
A lying Heart is a weapon to crush a trusted soul..
Your sinful heart blinded a pure white soul
You tricked and cheated and you fooled shamelessly
You tarnished ones reputation
left her in shame, penniless and broken hearted..
You scammed her vulnerable heart...
Nothing you are worth...
Scams of the heart.....
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
Paper.
Is canvas so white,
I ruin what it is every time that i write.
Or create what it had the potential to be...art.
So she breaks me down.
Uncreates someone that had potential to be...smart
but dumbed down,
lower than the ground,
to appease his main squeeze.
Everytime she came around,
it was like he lost his ground;
and with lost ground comes broken dreams.
Broken hearts and unspoken things,
that needed to be said.
I cant believe the things I've heard or seen.
mother ******
**** kisser.
**** sucker.
used to love her,
now I miss her,
every hot summer.
Every cold winter,
to hold so close.
Like a puzzle we would fit we could sit nose to nose,
and not say a word,
not move one muscle,
we would still find a way to get us into trouble.
The better we were,
the worse that we got.
However clever our harsh words were,
we always worried a lot.
When things got too good,
we hurried to stop.
And blame got very,very blurry a lot.
Our own worst enemy.
Or are we?
Who are we?
We’re not we.
We are you and me.
Separate as could be,
ill be a,
you and you be z
because you see...
we were a canvas so white.
You ruined what we were
with the habits and the fights.
Now we is a past tense term,
that isn't spoken
because its known when,
brought up
the subject takes a wrong turn.
And things are said that were never meant.
Ego’s tongue spits out its two cents.
But more than two or three or four,
so many cents we’re talking dollar stores.
So many ups downs all arounds,
peaks and valleys,
so many smells and sounds,
that equal you.
Like a sequel taking me back to the first time,
the very first case of some stomach butterflies.
But now i feel empty,
so empty down inside.
If you hadn’t marked this canvas,
this blank white canvas of mine.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
We don't say "I love you" anymore
The sentiment buried deep
Seldom considered
Never discussed
A declaration that swims
With memories
Sinks with exhaustion
Hardens with repetition
Deep in the recesses of our souls
The fear of it's loss
Is the proof of it's existence
Throughout it's evolution
How painful to let go of what it once was
How difficult to grasp what it has become
How dreadful to consider what it may turn into
Sublimated, as it is
Fighting gravity to escape the ocean floor
This love awaits resurrection
The renewal of senses dumbed down
"I love you" takes it's rightful place
Beyond the realm of intelligence
Into the dumb bliss of Spirit
To mingle with childhood dreams
Memories of carnivals and candy
Moms and Dads
To pick up after us
Teaching, alas, by example
Wide-eyed wonder for alien species
Dogs and cats and turtles and frogs
Butterflies and bees, lightning bugs and praying mantis
We marvel at it's devotion and wonder
What is he praying for? Who is he praying for?
More likely we marveled at how green he was
Days when we knew love without knowing it's name
Before we knew what it was
A given
Yes, a Given
Waiting for the day when it would be
Taken for granted
Yes, Taken
The words have become useless to us
Offered and received so many times
Put them to rest
Hope for the best
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 6:50 AM UTC
God help us, Imamu—stop playing the fool
as you babble unhinged in your kente hat.
Bebopping Mao is so very uncool;
what up wit dat ?
Flirtations with Castro (Fidel to the faithful)
and free Cuba Libres imbibed with the Beats
inflamed discontent when your verses turned wrathful
in the streets.
Predictable tirades where Whitey’s the foe,
attacking your hosts like an Afro/eccentric
gets old. It’s a stagnant unmusical show:
dull dialectic.
Who knows why the liberals that bankroll you love it?
Who cares what your most recent pseudonym is?
You old and you mad cause’ you can’t rise above it,
mired in the shizz.
Your lines are pure mannitol: dumbed-down *******
(The blow on the head by that riot-cop lingers!)
The syntax is whack in your ghetto refrain.
Snap fingers . . .
Still you wait for your war—or the Black Star-Liner . . .
Your rage was your royalty, paid in white money.
Your verse sought to give the right wing a dark shiner—
it’s not funny.
Insulting, belittling others more noble;
your legacy leaves nothing hopeful or witty
Just putrid black waters, the flow uncontrollable
under the city.
Inside of your Kabaa are yet many idols.
Your New Ark of verse did not save from the flood.
You mau-mau and bludgeon with words all your rivals
but draw no blood.
Lighten up, wise Imamu. Your age is soon closing.
You wrote for the stage and said some of it well.
But your verse has gone rotten and yields, decomposing,
a nasty smell.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
Dead-eyed through drenched days
spent seeping through blank space
to spill another swollen week out
on a crumpled page
I'm young, but not that young
grown up and dumbed down
so I'll drag one more punchline day out
'til a year's ground down
Face the wall...
Aimed at the door...
But we're still here and so
I suggest that we share this bar...
Stumble out
regain my feet
and pluck my keys from the gutter. I've
been dancing with defeat and, now, I'm
driving on the borderline
between familiar haunts
and same old foes that I conjure--
Now I start to realize that, like you,
they've got my number.
They've got my number.
Rhombuses of light
separate us--not by much
but these
square miles of concrete
will divide us just enough
Deadpan Friday nights
space out workday lifelines
until another starving paycheck
grounds another flight
Your time spent so costly
the bill's due, your words freeze
a season's regrets regressed. Empty
bottles taken out.
Besieged by walls
Afraid of doors
the nights leak in, you turn
the lights out, choking down one more
Waking up,
you find your breath
you find your feet and your reasons. You
have found your boots and keys and lost your
fear of the season's size.
Between the years and months
you've been a ***** and a miser
when the skyline creaks and sighs, remember
you've got my number
And I've got your number
The world's got our number--
--it's okay to come over
We can laugh at the night
at sunrise, we'll run for cover
'til the season is over
now, just run for cover...
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
Black Israelite haters, excused,
led to schoolboys reviled and accused
of white racism, hate.
The reaction was great--
but the whiteboys were merely amused.
Progressives were driven berserk
by a teenager's innocent smirk.
The old shaman tried shaming:
and drumming and blaming,
but none of those strategies work!
Mr. Phillips, the activist drummer
gave Regressives their Indian Summer--
till a teenager's smirk
drove the demons berserk
and made dumbed-down regressives much dumber.
If a smile is a cultural crime
then the criminals need to do time.
Every whiteboy must go
in this cracka-ass show
and I'm guilty for reason of rhyme.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 7:33 PM UTC
I'm zoned
Brains foggy
Can't even hold a conversation
With those closest to me
All this vocabulary
And I've run out of things to say
So I just talk ****
To fill the silence for a bit
But I can't be arsed
I quit
How bout you take over for a sec
Cause it's not just my responsibility
To remain enthusiastic
Asterisk
*having or showing intense and eager enjoyment, interest, or approval
Yeah,that's effort
haven't felt that way for a while
and I won't force it
So you speak
And maybe I'll listen
If it's not more of the same
Look up once or twice
If you say my name
Get annoyed that I'm in a stupor
Don't be so vain!
Can't you see it's just my brain
No one's home
It's nodded off again
I'm in The nil zone
But What can I say
I'm prone!
I won't pretend
Its a Shame
You're not entertained
but this Influx of Hormones
Got me feelin like being alone today
Hand me some chocolate
And some dumbed down TV
Oh **** Just my luck I've given up dairy!
No ***** to give, I'm gettin none today
Just my luck I'm feelin hella *****
And my boyfriends away
But **** it, I'm tired anyway
Frustration got me in disarray
**** you Sun! I didn't see you today
It's gloomy, I'm angry, I'm stressed
Call the A team
Here comes Mr P.M.T and Mrs ***
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
We’ll give GOD credit
while you shriek: humanity !
On it must go—
dialectic insanity.
You have been programmed
for dumbed-down diversity:
Feminization
through global perversity.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 7:56 AM UTC
Numbed & dumbed
Into a void of oblivion
So far beyond the grasp of reality
My face is not my face but a doormat
Numbed & dumbed
A skull left to frighten
Watching you dance through little mirrors stuck in the eye socket
Peering, admiring
But who, admires who more?
But the skeleton, oh he stares, stares right back at you
With eyes crooning and booing
And me boohooing
The crowds tough
Jun 6, 2020
Jun 6, 2020 at 3:30 PM UTC
*
I cry silent tears
In the stillness of the night
My room is dark,
And the stars lit the sky
That mirrors your face
In every tear-drops of mine
I cry silent murmurs
In the isolation of my self
That no one can listen
My heart has songs to sing
But I am dumbed
I hear birds chirping
The Ocean waves roaring
LOVE transcends my blues
In every word I pen
In your melancholic memory
In every poem I recite
It's only " Y O U "
*
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
Time my killer, my friend, my Excelerator through seconds minutes hours and of the clocks mouth. Tick tock Tick tock!!! Into the next world of my life. Only two facts are certain in the vast expanse of universal matter.
Life
Death and that bit in between!!
In this time we have to find out who we are, but in this world of sheep it's easy to stay in line. Breaking free is a punishable offence, where freedom of speech is dumbed down and moulded into language more palatable to the recipient. Media tells us what they want us to hear, fear is their only real message. Our off springs senses forced into the next pop-stars message of naked, ignorance, in these so called hits. Sell your soul and you could have it all. Or just go with the flow, and u will be enslaved by a system cold as ice.
Despite all this stay strong, positive in the knowing you are doing the best you can with the hand that's dealt. Keep driving forward, be a messenger unto the people of deaf ears and blinked eyes that there is another way and if we all stick together we are onto a winner. Have faith and face up to what is real. Knowledge is power.
Rootz Modebelu
5th November 14
00.30.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 10:14 AM UTC
I don't like it !
Seriously, there's nothing all that great about it
It's all been seen, heard and done before
Everybody uses elaborate words to flaunt their knowledge in a field where intelligence is merit
Everybody uses dumbed down banalities to come across as the everyman, being outrages, yet funny
A cliché of a cliché
Oh' what a great life, but not really !
The newest installment of this comes as no surprise
In todays paper of "ordinary boring", we are presented with the two new buzzwords of the day;
Positivity and Health
Have you run a marathon yet ?
Are you a negative influence on your work place ?
Guide: How to ignore the painful truth and create fake energy
Is there anything more pathetic than every person in the world lying to themselves.
If it's not the blatant ignorance of; world hunger, personal problems, true opinions, it's lying to everybody around you.
You hate that dress ! You think that he's pathetic ! You know **** well what you like, so don't refer to me as if you know what I want, think or need !
A dishonest world is the observer's nightmare
The observer's nightmare is a dishonest world
Observe Dishonest World
World Observe Dishonest
Dishonest World Observe
Which came first and how can it ever change ?
I dislike the pretty words, I dislike the sentiment of "good" and "nice", because I understand that it will not bring something new, a change or move anything or anyone. Sometimes to get better, you have to get bad, and even that is ignored, to obtain the status quo of that which will never remain.
What is the point ?
True emotion, true feelings, truth in general is good.
The naked, ugly, discarded, frantic, ****** irresponsible, amputated and lonely truth.
TRY IT !
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC
#*Weapons have been developed
to create the damaging effects
of high-energy EMP. These are typically divided into nuclear and non-nuclear devices. Such weapons, both real and fictional, have become known to the public by means of popular culture.*
Wikipedia
One E.M.P. could bring this whole thing down;
finale to steal the technocrats’ crown.
Did God intend for us to live this way
like hell on credit with heaven to pay?
One burst of apocalyptic clarity:
all it would take to reverse the polarity…
one massive electro-magnetic pulse
the data-driven ********* to convulse.
You were dumbed down so they could set you up
to drink from the Nanny-State’s golden cup…
This Babylonian One-World vintage
exacerbates thirst: accursed beverage,
enhancing global madness as it’s drunk;
imbibers cannot gauge how low they’ve sunk.
The dregs are drained, only to be refilled;
the elixir of doom is thusly swilled.
When the chips go down as the system ends
and there’s no cash paid for your dividends,
assurance (like health insurance) falters
as your inhuman condition alters.
By then you’ll be ready to wonder why
(although you appear unready to die)
whether Man without God is worth a ****
in the Sovereign Redeemer’s master-plan.
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 1:53 PM UTC
Tension builds on the western front
The Slopes moan in horrific altitude
Sorry to break the news.
Tension slaps the western
Face, the soil is moldy
The planets forming in ghastly trace.
Everyone knows it though noone sais it.
We're doomed, keeping a shotgun on the side keeping the suns
Memory in my mind, I've got a bunker, trust me, its better then bombs and gloom. I have come to the diddly widdly conclusion, I wont be trapped on the governments map, I won't be
In confusion. They'll bring us delusion, pin others against mothers, the west has seen this coming a long time comin. Lock and load boys, let the second amendment be kept to its name, light the matches, light the torches, darkfall will plague our land, were already plagued. Many things to be staged, farmhands are losing their lands, ranches are being stolen, golden tongues from hypocritical bums, will make some dumbed in conclusion. This old flesh will stay loosened, knock knock who's there? Gramps! Get out#theres noone here.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC