"elitists" poems
Do you ever sit and dwell on thoughts
of your old, unrewarding crushes?
They're always the world at first, but over time
their personalities begin to decay.
And sadly, I still believe
I caught a glimpse of something real
through the seams
of a stitched-up heart,
even though many truths were spoken in jest.
I will continue nail-chewing,
nervously,
'cause I can still taste their salt on me;
Never regretting-- yet, denying-- the deafening growl
of my chainsaw libido overpowering theirs,
as it cut right through,
leaving our bodies in a lifeless spoon.
This somehow helped me to overcome that kind of rejection
when I was still tangible to the elitists I wished would keep
out of my reach.
But now, I've paid my dime
to come to terms with the cool of the discomfort
crashing down around me, like
a black raspberry avalanche.
Aug 25, 2011
Aug 25, 2011 at 11:45 PM UTC
You ever think about how shallow some people are?
So shallow that if you stepped in a puddle of them your feet would still be dry
The people who aim to do things, maybe even great things just to impress or gratify someone
To put someone down
To make up for some kind of weakness
To prove others wrong
Those who create this image of themselves that appeases others perception of them
Money
Material things
Cars
Planes
Designer clothes
Gizmos and gadgets
Things that don't mean anything more than a look see to anyone of real depth
You know depth?
To appreciate everything you're lucky enough to have or gain
To understand the little things and the bigger picture
To have been through hardships and learned from them
Empathy
Patience
Passion
Creativity
Selflessness
Respect
Depth
But then, there is something worse than being shallow
Hollow
To be empty of anything
No desires
No pleasure
Just numb hopelessness
The ones who have been hurt and just couldn't get back up
And fill the void with either drugs, things of only monetary value or self-inflected lashings of pity, loathing and mistrust
They look at the ones with depth and see them as idiotic idealists with no direction or any idea what it means to be part of a normal society
They look at the shallow ones and see great figures of wealthy stature
Exciting lives being lead by beautiful elitists
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
Deep ridge,
deplete elitists.
Gold flows, layers,
Dbridge,
enriched tone, gates golden,
heavenly.
San Francisco, incomplete,
switch robes.
Can't be beat, Klitchschos,
barking up the wrong tree,
rich tones.
Switch flows, risk it,
rich tea, gifted.
Unwritten, no gimmicks,
smooth months,
pale ale Guiness.
Wrap presents,
gift wrapped,
signed sealed delivered.
Dispatched,
Spit fires, spit facts,
die for the art.
Mismatched.
Calamity believe, nose dive.
Kamikaze.
No harder, fuel,
nose powder.
White knight in shing armour.
1688,
Spanish Armada.
Cut sharp like barber,
bananas,
permanent like markers,
malleable like lava,
pop like cava.
Polova.
Inscribe minds,
magna carter.
Magnificent bars,
gold tales told.
Slaves sold, reigns over.
Cold shoulder,
rainbow coloured mistakes,
shoulders shudder,
steer clear brother,
execute rudder.
Destitute,
Scuppered.
Destination under breath muttered.
Spread like wildfire,
butters, blindman, blackout,
blinds again, shutters.
Dunces, run ****
Jump **** loose lips,
loosing grip.
Tip of the iceberg.
Tip of the tongue,
no nice words.
Stigmata.
Godfather,
go harder for our forefathers.
The time is ours.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 4:35 AM UTC
All estuaries flow eastbound, and the subterranean rail tracks keep forcing against the estuaries’ grain and dust foundations perpendicularly to them.
How can a sane proposition -- a quantification of syntax execution (those squirming cuticles through bonds of regression)— an excessive reflection, reflexive inspection,
Prove its sanity through continued suggestion?
Deductive insurrections stirred in memory,
A rumble, causing sediments to crumble,
Wineglasses balanced atop countertops tumble.
Spilling contents upon the grained wooden, elitists' floors.
"Anesthetic, onsetting tuberculosis in breath patterns,
Gavels ringing on rigged tolling tongs in caverns,
Dark tolerances to Copernican astronomy in shadows,
And the handle grinds as boxcar wheels' flints and steels catch and spark in addled locks," I mumbled from a half-nap.
It was surgery, the smooth procedures on the moving trains,
The gains and plectrums scraped against the brains' spider veins,
To reorganize the sane, to bridge the broken definitions changed,
To prevent arguments' bone structure from fractures and sprains.
"Use gavels against the scalpels, sculpt with their judgment," a corona dream's habitant corrugated.
He pounded the gavel's end against the knife to chisel at the pituitary gland pulsing in his subject,
And her arms flailed like a horse's legs in heat-induced convulsion.
I thought it was done.
The Canson Merue train screamed in the night under earth to Yellowknife to meet Canadian soil as the Heavy Breather pounded his gavel.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
and i know i'm comin off
just a little bit defeatist
bout how they toys and elitists
and enjoy all the *****
but i'm tryn tell
you i really dig u
and ur fine as hell
ill even wash ur dishes
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 4:26 AM UTC
i look at myself in the mirror
and i see a red-haired leopard
with man-eating eyes
that are smudged with left-over eyeliner
from a night-out with the elitists
i see silky, curly red hair
that people so often
get entwined in
thinking that this is the reason
for the things i do
in the mirror my lips are a beautiful snarl
and my freckles,
camouflage for the jungle i creep in
my nose,
a defining arc
reflected back at me,
a red-haired leopard
in a concrete jungle
doesn't belong here
got put in a zoo
on accident
a red-haired leopard
looking for escape
from inside of me
they'll try to tell you
that mirrors lie
but they
don't
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 3:30 AM UTC
paid mercenaries
these are not riots
this violence is all paid for
you have sold your souls
you have sold your souls
you have sold your souls
you have sold your souls
you have sold your souls
you are stirred up pawns
you have been pawns
for a long, long time
voter puppets of the democratic party
not ever expected to think for yourself
so easily used
and manipulated
kept in a different type
of slavery
shaped and honed and fed
like cattle
in a stall
to be used only as
inseminators
(let's create more voters)
not allowed to be fathers
(let's **** the family)
(family?)
( what's that?)
fatherhood
a forgotten trait
only progenitors
raised by generations of women
on the dole
fathers not allowed
in the home
used, used, used
can't
won't
see it!
stirred up in the cauldron of anger
who are the real haters????
???
??? whose lives matter???
???
only those killed and used for media attention
and believe me, they are used by everyone
from the president on down
never waste a good crisis
and
when necessary
create
one
do the large numbers
of
brother killing brother
matter?
and why not?
we don't hear about those numbers
on the nightly news
guess those lives must not matter
do the lives lost
the babies killed
the genocide of planned parenthood
one in every neighborhood
do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?
do they matter?
no one speaks of them
why not?
why not?
why not?
why not?
why not?
why not?
because brother against brother
and baby genocide
don't matter
to the media
HELLO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
they all fall in line with Bill Gates
population control
anyway
only the deaths
used for
exploitive
incendiary
political purposes
matter
to the elitists
the George Soros types
and the media
pawns=slaves
pawns=slaves
pawns=slaves
pawns=slaves
pawns=slaves
pawns=slaves
generations of pawns
whose usefulness
will soon be over
being used one more time
to start all these fires
where will these pawns be
when the fires go out?
who will bother
to pay them
to feed them
then?
their usefulness
to massa'
will be over
then.
I cry for the pawns
for my brothers and sisters
for all the fatherless
children.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much more.
a life is worth so much
a life is worth so
a life is worth
a life is
a life
a
.
.
.
.
.
Cj 2016
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC
Talk to me about flowers and fires.
The orchids
of our collected youths
are bleeding into rose water
and being smashed into books.
For a little look
like a picture stretched under a slide
hiding, elfin to run back away from us.
In the hearth of us we wonder
what the charcoal will draw next.
Sticks on the banks of the styx
In it’s flicking midst
I can almost see
the little beat-less heart
in the center of the cherry.
It’s like it’s still held still in pursed lips.
In a falling little flame
accidently spilling it.
Out in Saturday mornings.
Out of school
so sliding in our nose rings.
Skiving by lying
with fist rubbed eyeballs.
The swell,
Then the classic sweetness
of the re-sleep.
Marker pen graffiti.
Feeling like elitists
because we don’t like elitists.
Defeatist is in right now, love's yet a fable.
(Planets are ***** on physics tables,
and writings on my hands,
but **** it man,
I won’t remember them, anyway.
Blurry nameless kisses
tasting like French lager,
or is that me?
Bellybutton shots.
Love at a coin toss
or against a brick wall was at it's best.
But there’s room for two
in this tent full of burn-holes.
Iron maiden.
never paid but
in microphone coldness
on the lips.
Lifted on the fix.
Giving the week in a night
and taking the night for a week,
with velocity.
Headbanger’s neck on
the pen-bottle **** being used,
being used up.
Swimming against the river.
Golden Virginia,
Sobranies in the bus shelter.
And as the day's screen goes over
we still kept the bonfire
running in the rain.
That's what talks to me.
I'm laying back,
but moving forwards,
involuntarily.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
I can't stand the way we grind, people try to rhyme about how everything is fine, but really they're the ones who blind us while the elitists of this time commit their crimes, there's no time to become famous cause the ones that provide for us also deprive us, til I came in attempts to revive us, too bad we're self-righteous it's only a matter of time before a mass crisis arises, unless we reverse our ways and go back to naturalistic days, too bad that's just a faded dream like the haze smuggled onto our streets by the same people who object to legalizing it, most are oblivious to the ways of a priest, he's there so you don't **** your ***** niece, stuck in the underground, fell through a crease, but that don't matter cause it's all just for lease, you're kidding yourself if you think this is fiction, open your eyes and stop letting corporate news tell lies to your children via the false ways of a Christian, trying to ruin our ambition and replace it with a tuition, following an unsustainable audition, go ahead start on your trike cause the words I spit are way beyond the concept of a bike
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
the elitists have decided lilred is worthy of their presence
that she is funny enough to banter her way through their parties
that she, but none of her other friends
has graduated to the upper-classmen
"make sure you tell her to keep it quiet
not to tell those other people where she's going tonight"
it is a privilege
to hang with the dog-eaters
to sip from solo cups
standing with legs crossed
eyes rolling
at the antics of the elitist boys
but lilred doesn't want to be
another toy
in their collection
to be brought out
when the parties drag
wound up
and
let loose.
lilred knows
just what goes on
lilred likes her other friends
who don't
but poor lilred
she still
goes...
welcome to
the elitists
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 7:08 PM UTC
Automobiles and road rage
Alcohol and steering wheels
Texting and driving
The Military and U.S. Steel
Banks and mercy
Fashion and comfort
Priests and Godliness
Trade alliances and imports.
Republicans and The Constitution
Bigots and non-Caucasians
Christians and homosexuals
Unbalanced equations.
Elitists and human flaws
The rich and the poor.
Anger and loaded guns
You and the Jews next door.
They are naturally equal
But they’re exactly opposite
Sometimes they balance
But often there’s no sense to it.
Attorneys and justice
Lobbyists and compassion.
Science and the church
Trust and politicians.
Monsanto and private farms
Pipelines and ecology
Fracking and water rights
Minorities and majorities.
Hope and desperation
Citizen’s rights and Tea Party
Media and integrity
Politics and morality
Free enterprise and monopolies
Censorship and free press
Freedom of expression
And illegal social duress.
They are naturally equal
But they’re exactly opposite
Sometimes they balance
But often there’s no sense to it.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC
trolling the doldrums for crumbs of gold
selling old caldrons to witless witches
wearing goblin teeth and dragons blood
earrings from Hot Topic
I languish in the Emo village that is the United States –
Self-serving ******** preserving their precious habitats
while habitually encumbering the global ecology
drinking biodegradable Starbucks in Buick Escalades
escapade-ing ***** raiders afraid of Mercury in retrograde
staying clear of the mayhem
and playing fear propagating madman
I stoke wildfires with gasoline
prodding the populace into premature *********** –
poorly formed ideas the norm
the scorn for the figureheads shows on the shoreline
boorish oarsmen, moored, pour their kerosene blood
onto the floor…. Sure,
pure Fuerer fodder, but newer shoes
were never shod
and the godhead faces west into the sunset –
druidic fluids escape wiccan slits
as the children of the Azure seas never get to be born
Pleaedian starships collide inside Antarctic subterranean dwellings
indiscriminate shelling of uninhabited caverns
as ravenous reptilians eat the jaw muscles
and left eye sockets
of organically fed Dairy cows…
espoused louse houses in Fall fashion blouses
trounce the infirm in clown shaped bounce houses
again, the sin goes unnoticed
as the blood of the innocents grants the elitists
another thousand years of power –
The tower on the hill still shines in the moonlight
on the 5th night of delighting the religious right…
mighty flightless birds self-assured and fed
on bramble burrs
purr at the sight.
bodies strewn all askew;
the moaning few with skin turning blue
true to the stories of old
as lack of oxygen blends with the biblical beast mark
and staving for air the impaired dare not to ask for Jesus aid…
instead they lay, waiting to be saved –
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
Exiles from a dysfunctional global pipe-dream
of borderless corporate matriarchies,
multi-kulti nonsense and data-driven diversity
where virtue-signaling despots ruled
and those so confused
they didn't know their own gender
competed for victim-status
as they shrieked,
where rainbow torches on the filthy walls
smoldered with toxic smoke
barely illuminating the fragments
of computer carcasses we had to step over,
we fled the oppression
of passive-aggressive elitists
suffering from Trump Derangement Syndrome
to found a pure republic, based on poetry, goodwill and faith in God.
We emerged from the labyrinthine caverns and malodorous tunnels
into the light right outside the cave:
Clear, strong patriarchal light
purifying the fresh air.
We breathe deeply.
*Once I saw some Vikings
sail the sea looking for Diet Coke
only to find angry gulls and mothers
squawking in parking lots
as the dust of the gentle hills disappeared
down the unpaved road
of rolling Scandinavian seas.*
I was emotionally engaged once . . .
but she was a neurotic feminist poet, so I broke it off
and moved to Kekistan where
(thanks be to Kek)
I married my TWO Kekistani brides.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 7:18 PM UTC
when trillions catch up with them
and play-money isn't going to cut it
We don't want anything to change, but we want it fixed!
scream pleading millions who have never seen a silver platter,
let alone had one handed to them
elitists feast upon the stationary
what do you when
the Social Security checks stop rolling
and you can afford your life-saving medicine about as much as you afford your own private island
your eyes carry barrels of worry while the food bank keeps your head above the tsunami
but just barely
you stop sleeping, because what if a wave
comes
in
the
night and snatches it all away?
crying shame doesn't even begin to cover it
this is what you do: not out of want
out of necessity
arch your shoulders, feel the gritty blood pumping still
something they can never cut
is your faith that things will get better before they
end.
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 1:28 PM UTC
They say we're in a money mess
their figures certainly impress
but who will pay their monstrous bill
now the bankers have had their fill.
It's not my battle but I must pay
I'm volunteered to save the day
they're cutting back on those we care for
the weak the sick - not those who have more.
There's nothing left for those in need
while fat cats scrounge with consummate greed
it's survival for the elitists
supported by the market's fleetest fleece-ests.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
One of my favorite things about art is that no one can prove you’re wrong or you aren’t doing it right. It’s entirely subjective. Of course there are snobs who consider art to be based off a standard that some elitists decided to define it as. Art can be vague, obscure, messy, precise, detailed, sharp, among many other adjectives which capture a piece and its inspiration. You can’t define art. Art is not defined of determined by conventions. Art, raw art, is creation. It’s expression. It is a language, and it connects and communicates with the viewers to whom it speaks. It is completely open to interpretation. There is no set standard to measure it by, and it is open for discussion without being an argument. I don’t know if those who try to see art in concrete terms appreciate it much, like art always needs to have a purpose and be analyzed. Art doesn’t have to have an assigned meaning, and the belief that it does only reflects the arrogance of a critic who aims to immediately understand what may be confusing.
Colors happen accidently
In trying to find the perfect shade
Mixing and blending colors that are there
Creating ones that weren’t
The ones before now aren’t
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
The bass player for Korn
Reginald “Fieldy” Arvizu
Plays in a distinctive style
Using the slap bass technique
By down tuning the bass guitar
To the point where there is enough slack in the strings
That they hit the fretboard while playing
Slapping the bass
He also increases the treble significantly
Accentuating a recurring clicking sound throughout their recordings
Some people view this positively
I feel it gives the music more texture
Like putting a little pepper on the song
But some hate it
They say it makes Korn’s music unenjoyable
And annoying
A little clicking noise
Makes their music instantly horrible
For some people it’s never good enough
They will always be listening for your small clicking noises
And demand you change at their whim
Ordering you to tighten your strings until they snap
They say Fieldy *****
They say Fieldy is a ****** bassist
While never putting out any content themselves
So they can throw rocks from the dark
Forcing one to ask themself
Who am I making this art for?
The fickle and ignorant masses
Or the jaded and pretentious elitists?
The answer must be neither
Art must be made for the self
With the hope that others will be able to relate
And whatever your craft is
Some people will appreciate the hard work and dedication
And some people will hear a small clicking sound
You just have to slap their face
With the way you slap your bass
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 12:04 PM UTC
We've got fascists on the left
Nazis on the right
Supremacists in the middle
All dressed up in white
As commies come in colors
That are hard at times to see
They're still a colorful array
Of daily catastrophe
Socialists here to tell us
As a matter of fact you can
Take candy from a baby
And put it in someone else's hand
With elitists at the top
To tell us how to breathe
And the poor without a paddle
At the bottom of the stream
And while I'm at it, what life doesn't matter
In the grand scheme of things
Be it red, black, yellow, white
Or fluorescent Martian green
All I really want
Is to be left alone
In my lower middle class
Without your fine tooth comb
Hate who and what you like
Just please leave me be
And I'll leave you alone
To your insanity
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC