"enabling" poems
Oh beautiful for specious lies
where Christless values reign;
for superficial battle cries
above the muted strain:
Diversity, diversity
God hides His face from thee—
and frown he should, while planethood
distracts humanity.
How sad it is when victim groups
monopolize the floor;
enabling the marginals
to agitate for more.
Diversity, diversity,
Your queer agenda rules—
with Balkanizing tendencies
imposed on witless tools.
Degenerate in decadence
the ailing eagle flies;
in spirals of irrelevance
through clouded toxic skies…
Diversity, diversity
the Left defines your terms;
the weakened body politic
grows sicker as it squirms.
Oh Lord we need a miracle
before the patient fails;
celestial intervention please
to purge us of what ails.
Diversity, diversity
We shall not overcome—
Unless the Lord reveal His word
twixt here and Kingdom Come…
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
The rains beat wildly
against the hard earth;
seeking entrance to the womb
that gave them birth.
Causing flash flooding,
in gullies all around;
minor flooding in
several parts of town
The gusty winds blow
havoc, with all things light;
enabling some of them,
to rise in unexpected flight.
Tumbling in the rain swept street,
they spin and race in fury;
like startled things they fly,
in one big, storm-filled hurry.
Monsoons hit the Arizona plains,
dust storms, hail and lightning,
thunder booms her mighty voice,
when close, it's rather frightening.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
up in the high country the wild horses run free
they've done so for nigh on a century
not a saddle upon their backs
enabling them to gallop unchecked around its tract
in the Guy Fawkes National park there is a harass of them
trotting through its blue hued wends
their days are numbered in the park
park authorities want end to their spirited lark
up in the high country the wild horses run free
they've done so for nigh on a century
not a saddle upon their backs
enabling them to gallop unchecked around its tract
to sight the wild horses in full cantering step
is exhilarating and fills one's heart with miles of pep
their hooves thundering and pelting along
to the wind's strong liberating throng
up in the high country the wild horses run free
they've done so for nigh on a century
not a saddle upon their backs
enabling them to gallop unchecked around its tract
down the steep ravines and o'er the hills they stride
without the reins of a man holding their ranging pride
the wild horses have need of open lands to caper and pace
they are a breed which must be allowed to freely race
up in the high country the wild horses run free
they've done so for nigh on a century
not a saddle upon their backs
enabling them to gallop unchecked around its tract
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
— - —
Call it magic if you may
the sun, the moon’s pray
Constantly chasing each other
day after night, night after day
Such a perfect contradiction they make
Putting together the right ingredients
to complement each coloured ray
When one were to fall the other
would silently rise, filling its place
With every small step they take,
synchronicity follows without ever
missing a beat
So on they move
Completely balanced,
without anybody taking the lead
In the beauty they unfold upon us
this has to be
one of the most wondrous spectacles
if you ask me
Words are unable to measure
by any means their lightning show
how they glow with a radiance
that highlights their power and control
Or how they never let
each other down
Or stand in each other’s sway
No envy I feel
nor does appreciate is able to say
The truths about their nature,
always ready to unveil
hidden in every passage lay
the constant sacrifices they have made
The forces that pulls
each other so close
the same it pushes away, too
If one steps out of place,
all falls out of space and will be let loose
With lightyears of travelling
they unified their bond but are still
bound to live in separation
I admire you,
from a far
An admiration so magnificent
it cannot be free
One of the most magical things
enabling us to see
Right on time
as ever so soon
The dance
between the sun and the moon.
— - —
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 5:06 AM UTC
i am
aware of the air
enabling each step
and counting each breath
with the effort it takes to exhale
i could almost just sit down at the side of the road instead
but i won't
because i am
seeking out new people
new faces, new mouths
to give me new words
aware of the air
that falls from their lips
and catching the shapes, each lovely
small part of them
for my pocket
and i'll take these out later
edit the context
to create a compliment
to make me smile
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
I am
so
grateful
for
those
who
listen.
Thank you all.
Sometimes
listening
might
just
save
a
life.
Might
be
the
invisible
offering
extended
enabling
one
to
hold on
for
one
more
day.
Cj 2016
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
Small, blonde, blue eyed girl kindergarten age, but not yet six
Brown haired eleven year old boy going through puberty
She trusted and was innocent
He betrayed and committed a grave sin
The upstairs bedroom with the twin beds
A bed with smooth sheets and curtains closed
A single light bulb burning bright in the ceiling
Outside behind the garage with car parts and a burn barrel
Memories a five year old shouldn’t have
Actions an eleven year old shouldn’t take
She didn’t know it was wrong
He coaxed her to keep it a secret
Innocence forgotten, walls erected
Shame she felt as time went on
Terrified to place blame
Years passing, it all stopping
Sadness knowing what transpired, never telling
Afraid of accusations of lying
An uncle a young girl should love and trust
Instead she learns to loathe
Discovering she was not at fault
No longer will she be ashamed
Confrontation is a step towards a demon destroyed
Soul soothing, enabling the skeletons to be released
His denial is his shackles of shame
Innocence lost never to be recovered
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
An abstract of an academic paper written by a doctoral student: "In this semimanifesto, I approach how understandings of quantum physics and cyborgian bodies can (or always already do) ally with feminist anti-oppression practices long in use. The idea of the body (whether biological, social, or of work) is not stagnant, and new materialist feminisms help to recognize how multiple phenomena work together to behave in what can become legible at any given moment as a body. By utilizing the materiality of conceptions about connectivity often thought to be merely theoretical, by taking a critical look at the noncentralized and multiple movements of quantum physics, and by dehierarchizing the necessity of linear bodies through time, it becomes possible to reconfigure structures of value, longevity, and subjectivity in ways explicitly aligned with anti-oppression practices and identity politics. Combining intersectionality and quantum physics can provide for differing perspectives on organizing practices long used by marginalized people, for enabling apparatuses that allow for new possibilities of safer spaces, and for practices of accountability."--an abstract of a paper by doctoral student Whitney Stark
Atomic particles, how can it be so
that your purpose is not just to flow
in and out of existence, building reality--
the stars, cosmic gas and galaxies--
but to “ally” with groups of humans fighting “hierarchies”
and demanding “safe spaces”
(even though their entire race is
at the top of their planet’s food chain).
In this mysterious universe there is no safety,
accountability or identity,
only elements, and energy.
Brief combinations make life
legible for a nanosecond in cosmic time, and doomed to strife.
Biology does not know oppression,
only generation, reproduction,
until our growth chokes us and we fall
like so many of our ancestors, who lived and died
on this blue-green ball.
And one day the sun will explode and blow
even our atoms, which have endured (despite oppression),
and the particles will go far until maybe they sow
new life, in bodies unfamiliar, on planets unknown.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC
Gathered pieces of a great puzzle ;
refreshed perspective like ocean riptides
foment at the confluence collecting dark rivers’ flow
Repurposing back-eddies ,
rejuvenation of stagnant brackish waters ,
inherent buried soul-shine purging
from the ancient core of earth mother
Light arising from the hidden depths
of inner stillness as if a refilling wellspring
burst forth , reawakening muted sighs unspoken
Forming poetic constellations of black and bright
to lighten afar the nebulous darkness ,
a sea of swirling ink transformed into poetry
A sage opus renewed
by the muse of a migrating flock ,
striving to discover new sacred grounds ;
yet there is an undeniable song sung
in the howling winds of change
An incitement from a higher dialect
that empowers a restoration of spirit
Oeuvre uplifted by rogue waves
of summoning winds ,
arousing that which time erases
A manifest renaissance
among the rousing nuances
of poetic continuum ,
judicious to rediscover
the enthralling vastitude
of every breaking wave
in a boundless sea of poesy
Where prevailing currents
stir oceans of verse eternal ;
provoking a verve revival ,
the magnitude of an unbroken circle ,
ocean swells merging singularity
with the omnipresent colour
of uncharted depths
As if thoughts are assuaged
by a union of intimately touching souls
with words of intangible spheres ,
sparking subtle shades of meaning
spanning poetic immortality
Transcending barriers of unexplored lexicon
to manifest the immensity,
enkindling rhapsody of hearts and minds
Deeply rooted soul replenishment
harvested from the tree of humankind ,
willingly sharing without regret nor intention ,
with deference to the soul of one-blood,
one-love enabling an enlightening
metamorphosis of the human journey ...
© harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC
Cradling and pacifying,
A gift for enabling narcissism,
Wiping tears and standing strong
Even as the bellows break my spirit.
Never rising
Without repercussions,
Manipulations and invalidations,
Demands for constant zombification.
Fingers inching for cherished blades
Obedience taste bitter.
I should have learned to be docile,
To know when to wither.
Instead I was born with poison
Pumping through my veins,
Chaos in my brain,
And wear wrath as a crown.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 12:46 AM UTC
i live in a nothing realm. where i am temporarily frozen in a state of acceptance. yet not always approving or denying its
assistance
taking only what i see gets absorbed into the list of unimportant information that rarely gets put to use. never pondering if it will decay or stunt the growth of my
existence
i stood blank and emotionless. numb to the world around me. i was nonexistent in that parcel of a moment. for i am incapable of anything and everything that is unavailable to me in the now. only struggling
resistance
it was once brought to my vacant attention to follow through with all of the insignificant. but evaluating the differences in what is and is not can be exhausting. not enabling me to demonstrate
persistence
i can rarely display the emotions of what is appropriate for that particular time. even if the mandatory rotation of the earth was to choose to delay its turns for just a glimpse moment so that i can at a
distance
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 1:27 AM UTC
Homecoming body:
A grey cardigan strips down,
bonding skin to
night’s air,
penetrating
Chevrolet safe havens
drowned in lover’s spit.
My Mind
thanks Google,
enabling electronic bibles
to leave disciples stifled
with religious quotas,
an excuse to quote us —
“Trouble at the Border,
read the former
court room reporter
working for the,
sensationalized,
through remnants of
blood stains in our eyes.”
Midway through Chapter 1 —
reeks not only of
of *** in the backseat —
but of Venezuela’s shorelines.
Of her high school hallways.
Of the intrigue of the unexplored Mexican neighbor,
her freedom amidst constraint,
where Visas
lease us
advertising campaigns
for maquiladora made lampshades.
Despite their protest,
common sense
lent comparisons,
a consequence
of stories told in reverse.
They hover over Venezuela’s familiar curves,
her long black hair straddling my shoulders.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC
Love is the Beauty that overtakes
Our every sense of being alive,
The dew of Heaven that nourishes
Each new dream, enabling it to thrive
Love is the Beauty our eyes emit
As it rekindles the lambent flame
Cruelly extinguished when loneliness
Comes to inhabit our weakened frame
Love is the Beauty of eventide
When every star in the universe
Floods the sky with gold and silver orbs,
And the moon prompts poets in their verse
Love is the Beauty that ambles through
The desolate chambers of the mind,
Removing all the hopeless despair
That loneliness often leaves behind
Loneliness is the uncaring Beast
That laughs while our broken spirit mourns,
It suffocates our passions and dreams,
Laying on the heart a crown of thorns
The Beast of Loneliness is famine,
Whereas Love is an infinite feast;
To appreciate the joy Love brings,
They both must exist ..... Beauty and Beast
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 11:10 AM UTC
he truth about divorce:
it's not glamorous
it's not uplifting or enabling
it's not fair
it's not pretty
it's not enlightening
it's not comforting
it's not romantic
it's ugly
it's painfull
it's destructive
it's morally debilitating
it's lonely
it's dream destroying
it's mascochistic
the hands that carried you to the altar,
turns into pointing fingers of accusations.
the promises you made,
turns into regrets.
the rings that bound your love,
becomes shackles of hate.
there is nothing about divorce that makes me feel any better.
Jan 26, 2010
Jan 26, 2010 at 10:59 PM UTC
I'm going to cut your supply
I'm going to starve that destructive fire from oxygen
The one which burns within you
That desire to hurt
I'm going to sweep your breadcrumbs from my doorstep
Take back your sullen energy
You who delight in sowing destruction
Look into the mirror of your empty eyes and see what's inside your toxic well
Your jealous empty heart contains nothing but deceit and destruction
Your blatant lack of empathy has unveiled your deepest secret
You have showed the world exactly who you are ... and finally we believe you
No more alibis for you
And once a serpent's head has been cut off
It will rage out of control ... but only for so long
Before it is no more
Like one who has been struck with madness
Like an addict without a drug
I am no longer your supply
I will save my empathy for those who deserve it
And I forgive myself for unknowingly enabling you by buying into your games
But most of all ... I'll be good to myself
Aug 10, 2021
Aug 10, 2021 at 4:04 PM UTC
Do not trust me, for I'm a poet
I will analyze and read you
Stanza by stanza
hook by hook
My aim is to open you up
Enabling your thoughts to intertwine with mine & to fall obsession towards me just by my words
Like your favorite childhood book.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
906
The Admirations—and Contempts—of time—
Show justest—through an Open Tomb—
The Dying—as it were a Height
Reorganizes Estimate
And what We saw not
We distinguish clear—
And mostly—see not
What We saw before—
’Tis Compound Vision—
Light—enabling Light—
The Finite—furnished
With the Infinite—
Convex—and Concave Witness—
Back—toward Time—
And forward—
Toward the God of Him—
2.3k
Listen closely and hear our collective vernacular in a state of constant mitosis.
Live and see our language begin to rival our own complexity.
A myriad of inter-connecting word highways with more twists,
turns and travelers than that of any physical road.
A body of thought massing in our collective conscious,
an infinite man-made addition to our finite physical reality.
Every addition is another color, another taste,
relative to the user in enunciation,
becoming ever less limited by geography.
Emotion attaches and tints the tone of individual words as we grow with age.
Without it enabling us to define ourselves, we are left ignorant and insular.
Memory accumulates casting a shadow and adds depth,
communication cultivating perception to leverage change in corporeality.
Pulsating slang spreading locally with fresh life to be globally colloquial.
A wordsmith may use this power to celebrate
or condemn their perception of reality,
more still- will wield words like plowshares
and escapism flourishes with such an expansive field
where all of humanity is brought out to play.
And sometimes-
for me,
it is just barely enough to grip a word with impunity.
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 9:11 AM UTC
Beyond the lost days of manna,
all nutrition I'll ever need
was given to me at birth
with the implantation of spiritual seed.
An enabling inner spark,
combined with soul's hungering emptiness,
allowed me to find divine connection
and a path towards Your Holiness.
Thank You Lord for Your Daily Bread
that feeds my spirit and sustains my soul;
for feasting on Your Word everyday
is the best way to be kept whole.
Author Note:
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 11:31 AM UTC
I recognize
this ground
laced with stones
and poisoned barbs
hike barefoot here
unafraid
a barren desert
feels like home
when there is nothing
to be lost or gained
I have been here
many times before
stripped down naked
in the noonday sun
watching vultures
wheel and dive
as I dangle
twist and spin
ever the enabler
enabling
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
I am victim only to constant distractions,
restrictions, prescriptions, vicarious factors,
as various factions of elitism prescribe defeat
to the common man; the hard working talented
beaten upon by the self driven commerce land.
Businessmen, crooks, warlords and bankers;
victory purports itself the higher moral ground.
******* the world, lie on the crimson sand.
The brevity of riches in led laden ditches,
trenches v armistice; one man’s control over
cadets and lieutenants. Equality it seems
is general ignorance, propose roll reversal
and receive corporal punishment. Capital
interests will be met with bursaries, bail
out the banks and return to your knees,
put out your hands and beg for your feed.
If the top three percent own more wealth
than the lower half put together while
politicians claim to be fair-weather,
conclude that sincerities amiss, that
your representatives are on the pay roll
of profit driven lobbyists. Career crazed fat-cats
couldn’t care less if you're in tattered garments
or there’s a hole in your dress, their polished
boots carry them from vault to vault
while we fill another with oil-baron asphalt.
As social repression pushes populations
science progresses, enabling armed forces
to kettle us, cut us off and circle on horses.
Power-shifts across the globe become jaded
by investment with private militias and fascist
supremacists seizing resources from war
torn villages to fund their crude sourced
morality, migrants and refugee families
are vilified by ignorance forged in cynicism
caused by the inequality of education.
Here lie the symptoms of infinite regression,
hold mirror to gene-pool as it replicates
the same flawed equation, as populations
expire and conspire so does the problem.
Bombing a country without repercussions,
is as likely as a breaking the waters surface
without sending ripples to the adjacent atoms.
These are the dark ages of social stagnation.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
***I'm so glad you finally got it
you bring your own best friend
if not you'd be your own worst enemy***
*Hahaha true
I know you too
You meant to say*
'I have a friend in you'
*How many friends
Have you in there
who are they true
Oh yes, hahaha
some dyslexic me's
haha ***
funny right
cute tho too
You just imagine
being wrapped up
So often not knowing
who's who or where
One begins or
if another ends
so part the issue*
***I'm not sure Sa Sun
its hard to tell who's***
*Friend who's enemy
they all wear a smile*
Okay so well...
***Architect be
midwife see
Wooing enabling
one best outcome of
both mother and child...
Simply that to the finest
health and loving environment
of...
hearts, hands and arms
of the three***
*So who and or what is this child
therefore too the mother or bride
back to jesus and vedic speak
are we not with child already...*
***Is that kingdom
at our hands...
Is expected or not***
*Bridegroom considered
male spiritual energy of God in all creation
kind of dualistic temporarily and artificial
our own making for this while only
so the Bride is Manifest Creation
or here we consider first of as
primary too our existence
this earth first or mostly
thus mother is female*
***Afu and Ra with Ka
Ra as Bridegroom
male spiritual too
Ka powering Is..
Is forgiving all
that brings
us back
into
S C
I L R T
N U A I Y
G***
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
I'm hurt
I'm hurt
I'm hurt
I'm hurt
Because I just realized
You were hurt
By someone that didn't deserve you
By someone that didn't respect you
By someone that didn't see your beauty
By someone that didn't appreciate you
All your grandeur, he didn't see
And that was your cue
I'm hurt because
When you were hurt
The only way you saw healing
Was by masking your hurt
Not caring who you gave yourself to...
What you gave of yourself
To all that fitted the shoe
So you stacked them up
In the hideous name of "not catching feelings"
You let them do as they wish
Touch you as they saw fit
I'm not saying there is one without blemish
But how can this pass without anguish
When one is truly supposed to love you
To see a queen live like a peasant.
And not cry to sleep in anguish,
When they're in awe of the queen within.
So many have grappled
On this emerald
That you became numb.
Can you even feel that?
My warm hand on your heart.
You say it was about keeping Her happy
How true is that?
How happy was Kylie?
How long did you keep her happy for?
How long did your satisfaction last for?
He dug a hole
You tried to fill it with sinking sand
Now whoever dares to tread
Is actually walking on a thin thread
Slowly slipping
Into the hole you didn't make whole
You sing "men are trash"
As if they are the ones you didn't give Kylie to.
I'm sorry if this is coming off too harsh
Because I want to love Kylie too.
But you gave her away
Turned a blind eye
Put conviction in your reason,
Camouflaged the tears,
Like putting sunglasses on blind eyes.
You sing "men are trash"
"Men ain't ****
Yes, we make the lyrics
But sometimes women play the instruments
And this, some horrific genre
That we play on social media...
And parties
That we enjoy
With a little bit of intoxication
We enjoy the band play
With a few likes and DMs
We enjoy the band play
You sing "men are trash",
You tell me I'm trash.
When all I'm here for is to love you,
To truly love you of a few.
Not for a motel night's crash
But for a home.
Not for a bottle and some musical trash
But for some Shiraz, soulful indie music and romantic dancing in the dark.
Not to take advantage of Kylie
But to love her too.
You tried to heal
But you didn't.
And I see your beauty
I appreciate you
I respect you...
I see how special you are
How magnificent your mind and soul are.
Your glimmering smile
Your astronomical eyes
All that grandeur,
I see it.
I relish it.
I'm hurt
Because you're still hurt.
I feel like I'm sinking
And you're watching me
Like it's fine because this is the farthest anyone has come in this sinking sand
I want to love you.
I'm trying to love you.
But the hurt you let define you.
Is now veiling what I harbour for you
I'm hurt
Because I want you to stop hurting.
And to help you
I must help myself...
So that I can lift this veil.
For together we can take control of the helm;
Enabling what is meant to be,
Be.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC