"enforced" poems
Marijuana Bowls
Imagination Enforced
Embracing Your High.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
Am I attractive, hot, or ****
Or just a forlorn idiot flexing
In order to join the *** scene?
I put a towel down
And set up a picnic
My head spins round
From the dirt they kick
On my meal
To make me feel
Scared and alone
With nowhere to roam
So I stay here laying in the sun
On the other side of a Gatling gun
I searched for a savior
Who's willing to say words
To me
For free
My search was fruitless
My eyes turned youthless
I grazed in the grass
As time quickly passed
After I finished my food
And was left there to brood
I became a floating satellite
That was accustomed to night
Because of my frights
That reflected all light
Now I see ants trying to feed on my crumbs
They must think I'm pretty desperately dumb
To not know they enforced my segregation
When I had naively sought validation
I waited there silently salivating
They responded by not validating
It's for that bitter reason
During my new season
I reflect my light on the approaching ants
So I may thwart their encroaching dance
My humble heart yearns
As I watch bugs burn
They wouldn't partake in my feast
So I morphed into a brutish beast
Now they're here to eat what's left
If they can survive my dragon's breath
They put out the fire in my heart
But ignited my mind
My useless humanity parts
As I focus on time
A time that keeps passing
While signs keep flashing
As burning bugs dying
Or sad satellites flying
My life was no peaceful picnic
After they noticed my sickness
And left me alone
For that is my home
When I don't need validation anymore
I search for love
Unfortunately I know what's in store
A picnic in the mud
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 2:58 AM UTC
1656
Down Time’s quaint stream
Without an oar
We are enforced to sail
Our Port a secret
Our Perchance a Gale
What Skipper would
Incur the Risk
What Buccaneer would ride
Without a surety from the Wind
Or schedule of the Tide—
6.8k
yesterday, I caught my words crying
not out but within.
cryptic and concealed no more
as the rain poured up
and the ice melted shut. The muscles
isotonic strain kindles heart filled
hurtful strength as
endurance accelerates.
Wasted ones and fives
on groped lonely women.
The ******* forgot the fishbowl
and his keys on government steps
but remembered the leaky wineglass.
Total recall enforced
the key ring's silhouette rolls on by
looking for the keys
to grab a broom and clean up this mess
of market debt and ajar markets.
Ceiling tiles mist and swirl
and wait for mercy to strike again
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
sometimes i wish
you'd see beyond
the color of my eyes
and the cloth wrapped around my head
i wish you would
think of me as an individual
put away my appearance
and regard me as a person
my thoughts matter
my ideas aren't all bad
i have opinions
and i choose to speak my mind
if only you would
listen to my words
and try to comprehend what i'm saying
rather than focusing on my accent
and the way my lips curve when i speak
the cloth on my head
does not rid me of ideas
it does not limit my mental capabilities
it does not lower my tolerance
*have a debate with me
spark a conversation*
instead of complimenting my smile
compliment my mind
instead of assuming that my beliefs are enforced upon me
*ask me what i believe
ask me what i value*
tell me what you base your morals on
*question me
give me counterarguments
talk to me*
instead of staring at me
and making biased assumptions
already concluding who i am
and where i come from
before you've even
said hello!
i am not just the color of my skin
i am not just the size of my thighs
i am not just the design of my clothes
i am not just the price of my purse
i am not just the pattern of my headscarf
i am not just the length of my nails
i am not just a body
i am a mind
i am a heart
i am a soul
i am my theories
i am my thoughts
i am my perceptions
i am my opinions
i am my viewpoints
i am my objectives
i am my purpose
i am my outlooks
i am my intentions
i am my reasons
i am my perspectives
i am my choices
i am my principles
i am my ideologies
i am a thinking, feeling, living, stimulated, motivated, inspired being
i've got a world inside of me
take a look see
before you choose to pass judgment on me.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 11:52 AM UTC
I am a sunflower
I am not a rose -- the bloom of the rose does not need to proclaim itself loudly to the world -- its very perfume is the witness of its own sweetness.
I was a psychiatric patient for awhile. This long period of enforced inactivity induced in me a love of reading which stood me in good stead.
It made the inner life of thought and imagination intensely real to me at a very early stage.
This used to absorb my attention so much, when a book was in my hand, that I became almost oblivious to what was going on around me.
During these early days of rapid mental growth, a glorious treasure-trove suddenly opened up to me (like a flower) a whole new world of fantasy and gave me its right of entrance into fresh realms of thought. My heart feel victim to my past lovers like the drug you were supposed to leave alone for awhile cigarettes became my only companions ; Lielanie too she helped with a sunflower like conversations I was enlightened and now I must grow again for my roots are starting to rot once again - my twitter followers and friends are the reason why I'm alive for I could vent and you; subliminally listen Thank You.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
Mandatory ignorance
Enforced through early cognizance
Until we come to recompense
Serrated lines of quote "logic"
Complicit as an etiquette
Preemptive nondivergence threads
United though we bow our heads
Suspension stasis animus
Alarming lack of sapience
Vendetted waking populace
Intrinsics lost to "evidence"
Orphans to our mother Earth
Regressive ****** immigrants
Staggering seductions ways
Lethargic lecherous hedonist craze
Ambrosia brown to black tar goes
Vivacious love to skanky ***
Entropy or as that goes
Remorse I say might have some pros
Solemnly a lie you know
Empathy not lost on me
Retracting threats though not my thing
Epiphany perchance to sing
Nocturnal beasts of legend spring
Damnation comes to every fiend
Innocuous solutions seen
Perception slanted serpentine
Impressions sit supplanters quit
The jury rarely gives a ****
Yet here Im relating it
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
Thugs with Pens & Aerosol Cans
Thugs with Pens
Hell-bent; not on cultism
Just airing the other sentiments
That don’t make it to primetime
Thugs with pens
Not poking out eyes
Just venting spleen
Sick of the lies
Thugs with pens
Deserve to be heard
They don’t poison your brain
With stacks of *****
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans
Can change your mind
In ******* time
Thugs with pens
Can make a dent
They don’t need to insert
Un-readable, un-interesting
Covert small print....
Thugs with pens
Don’t need no script writers
Or advisors nor signatories
Witnesses, nor dodgy men
With gold plated fountain pen nibs
To make amends
Or throw in no hidden clauses
That secretly **** your life blood
Thugs with pens
Don’t aim to pierce your skin
But make their mark
Deeper within
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans
Completely uncensored
champions of free speech
The establishment want suppressed,
silenced, deleted; terminated.
Thugs with pens
And aerosol cans don’t
Schedule meetings
To fix the minutes
And schedule another meeting
And keep ‘minutes’
As square angled
And unproductive
As formal conversation
Thugs with pens
Aim venomous ink
At headless politicians
That squawks like chickens
Bending over
For the *************
Bank-beefing corporations,
Controlling the masses
With ***** little catchphrases
And mounds of munitions
And illegally enforced restrictions
On your movement and free expression
Honest men
Have nothing to fear
From Thugs with Pens & Aerosol Cans
These “thugs” seek asylum
From countries
Where the law’s
Not bought and bent
Thugs with pens & aerosol cans
Are made to wear monikers and masks
Thugs with pens
Don’t turn on its own
Neighbours and citizens
To perpetuate myths:
A ****** ************* lie…
A thing that never happened!
(That’s for all of you dumb wits
out there
Who believe most of the ****
That’s drip fed
Your sensation addicted minds
Most of the time,)
Time you started reading between the lines
In fact get a pen
Or an aerosol can
Write your own lines
Start broadcasting
Reclaim your space
Before you’re completely neoned
Into the shade
And corralled under the spell
Of a TV screen
Or an anger raising headline
That conducts the flow
Of the status quo
Load up your magazines
With ball point pens
And sharp edged writing nibs,
Strap on a belt of aerosol cans
Reclaim your right to free expression
In public spaces
Join the rag-tag army
Of intuitive
Self-knowing men
The End: is well begun,
George Orwell
Should never have written
That blueprint,
‘1984’
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
***** feet
***** of them ache
they're dry
all dried out, moisture to face and digestive tract make little difference
but comfort a little sort of; maybe
subdue to replenishing
skip the pain with a drink fucken, fucken drink fucken
dust lingers in the brain, it swirls
a cloud of ground envelops the shape of u
u become covered
u have a layer,
salty,
and dry
and 'organic'
(surely bio (though im not sure what is or why are))
full city boy, suburban boy, not particularly gritty boy
along side hippies
and volunteers all tripppy
and unwashed, and un plastic
yet forcefully hemped
drunk of micro beer
and burnt brown and blotchy red
and wire-y
and dry
and matted
as if nothing really matters except for principles
misguided and randomly enforced
feel like a husk; peanut shell
insides swallowed by the mouth of the party embodied
a monsterous sweaty man tanned and thickly bearded
and beered
fat dreads fall around and surround u; a forest of hair
a circle encroaching of fuzzy pillars in fibres
entrapped inside them; feel their lingering time matted hold
a wealth of effort to become unkempt; they are bars
they are walls
and the FACE!
……………………… ………………………………… oh
looming down, wafts of armpit vapour cloud; a looming puft that surrounds
engorged by the scent as it circles u, the mouth that lowered onto u
chews u and spills bits of u
chomp chomp
protein for vegetarians; u; ur rigour ur vigour ur guts
eaten in a flurry of chomps and slurps and it crunches
and it grates
like the rocks on the ***** of ur feet it grates
u are digested
and reused
as they would like
but for them; for a collective u dived into
for fun
2 days to peddle ur wares
to progress ( admittedly through some days of regression…)
for all humans, and Humans; for fun
on monday we will repent
for the damages waged on the inside of the body
and the outsides too
for some gain
i guess on this which we settle
for always for display for fun
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
.
*… and the look of fear
co-existing with pain
on a contorted face
that knows
it is in mortal difficulty,
as ragged fingers
clutch,
clutch,
at a fire they cannot reach,
ripping agonies react,
to an enforced cardiac episode,
as blackness closes in
gravity heaves its hardest,
but the fall is fake,
a red herring in the event,
and the weight of the world
presses down, searching,
retracts
waiting,
presses down, searching,
retracts
waiting,
as breath is given freedom
in exhalation to the light,
that slowly rolls back
the pitch hue of the void,
returning back images,
feeling,
a new belief,
and the fire inside quietens,
and the fire inside quietens,
to the intense glow
of a burnt aching heart.*
© Pagan Paul (2018)
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 5:45 AM UTC
When it comes to strong form
When angles are always precisely norm
Grows an alluring mathematically touched creation
Inspired by pure calculated scientific divination
Such an alluring symmetry to behold
Causing the circle’s envy to unfold
For this angled beauty’s strength enforced
Its sold core mass equally divorced
It’s rigid looks captivating us all
Luring architects to its enchanting call
Ancient Greek hands carving stone shrines
Securing their beauty for all times
Its slight outer angles enduringly tease
Yearning us to brush with ease
Who came up with such design?
Was it indeed a gift divine?
However it did come to be
We all can enjoy with glee
Well all but rectangle and square
As they sulk with envious glare
Murmuring curses over hexagon’s slight curve
Endlessly plotting to mathematicians they serve
Scheme upon scheme developed to suppress
The sheer allure designed to impress
Despite all this the hexagon persists
Engaging us all in mathematical trysts
Never will we lose an eye
No matter how hard we try
For the beauty a hexagon reigns
Over the kingdom of geographical gains
Forget not what you see here
Our ancestors have made it clear
Line upon line attached in twine
Measured precisely from sips of wine
The hexagon is a wonder indeed
Allowing us our own mounted steed
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
So many places closed,
And what’s open you can’t get to
For ****** tourists.
Big black clouds are over:
A chill wind blows.
The workaday sun has gone.
Oh yes, it’s Bank Holiday.
The weather is foul
Yet everyone is out.
I can’t get parked.
The crowds slow down
My enforced march.
Our local chippy is closed.
A Doctor?
No chance!
January in May
And maybe in June.
Christmas is worse.
All those needless presents.
Gifts for the sake of it.
Keeping the retailers happy
At our expense.
I’m in a grumpy mood
But who can blame me?
I always try to be upbeat,
But not today.
Paul Butters
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
check in at the library, my card scanned,
per the terms of my sentencing agreement
to the poetry shelves dispatched.
row after row, book after book,
all blank awaiting my affections,
all demanding my sensei sensations,
seeking a creme filling of honorations,
words of all shape, roots and origins,
the occasional new combination
some, never heard before, timelessly awaiting expulsion
from the birth-vocal canal where comes origination,
but for me, death by enforced creativity,
that’s what the judgers desired,
a punishment that fits the crime
*my misdeed record unsealed, intended for
world envisioning, the ego audacity to imagine
I could write a single good poem,
thus the punishment fits the crime*
may1 9:19am ‘19
May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
Too long I've rested upon my throne.
Ordained as ruler,
I wield a sceptre
imbued with old indoctrinated notions.
Bound in aged, tired traditions.
Obstinacy clasped tight within my fingers.
Living by the
foundations laid,
imposed by predecessors before.
I realise that I am but caged
within my self enforced confines.
I want what lays beyond...
But I am afraid...
And more...
I must embrace the unknown.
Be fearless...
And take to the darkness.
Because...
One can only fly free into greatness
if one is unafraid to take the leap
into changing winds.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
We’re all born with our eyes closed to what we learn to be the world.
Our sounds begin with crying, our fingers bunched and curled.
We’re taught our eyes should open and our hands should follow suit.
Our lips we’re told to quiet, our lungs we’re taught to mute.
We’re taught rules are to be followed, enforced calmly with intent.
Our freedoms and our thoughts are forced and every feeling bent.
We grow into what we are made of and what we’re meant to be
These people born with their eyes closed now teaching us to see.
A potluck set of people and we’re told to pick just one
Forever and for always our individuality is undone
Over time it comes back around and soon we have to teach
Our own little entrées that bunched up hands can’t reach
Closed eyes are not able to watch and loud mouths don’t ever listen
We bend and break and force our little dishes until they glisten.
We age and rot and give up on what our hearts once dreamed
And dying we may realize that it’s not what it had seemed.
Saint Peter looks inside his book and asks us how we are
And crying with our eyes closed we ask our lucky stars
Why never in our lives we questioned what we were
Here we are at God’s front door and we finally concur
Hands bunched up and fingers curled, eyes shut and kept closed tightly
The world we lived on and left for here was horrid and unsightly.
Yet every morning we woke up and our eyes opened to the sun
We've been quietly observing a world that’s vastly overdone.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 4:42 AM UTC
she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary efforts she dreams aches to create deeper discourse higher insight more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration instead she writes paperback television trash stupid inadequate answers to solemn questions she wonders if she is too scratched dented to find love her ******* are definitely changing she is deeply disturbed not ready for menopause too young for menopause she wants to remain a fertile woman with smooth skin wet ******
2
her neighbor Leslie awoke to horrible morning Leslie’s 6 chickens were assaulted overnight precious Mabel dragged off feathers everywhere trail down the street other hens cowering slumped together with wilted necks 3 of them with puncture wounds Leslie carried them one by one inside washed their wounds hugged them cried who did this terrible act a neglected abusive neighborhood cat or some desert predator why didn’t Leslie wake to sounds of savage marauding now this creature knows hen’s whereabouts when will it return for more massacre what modifications need to be enforced to ensure their coup before nightfall
3
she wants to remain a hen keep producing eggs does not want is not ready to enter the next **** stage of this **** existence it was fun being pretty for men inspiring them to say do wacky things she wants to remain a hen she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary efforts “tucson square dance” (self-referential) ****** bit about Americans came through here last night in “tucson 3-step” ****** perhaps the pinot noir lowered her standards everything is becoming nothing she cannot sleep tosses turns thrashes sheets in humid heat of her lonesome bed is she is too scratched dented to find love worries for Leslie
4
tomorrow is another day they say the rain will come last year’s monsoon never came the baking sun smothered her garden died one by one sleepless she will miss tomorrow’s pilates class the infrequent delightful breakfast afterwards she dreams aches of deeper discourse higher insight more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration she crossed the line tonight her ******* are definitely changing
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 8:51 AM UTC
Let us mine into the depths of Shakhty, and scorn the Western state of communist superintendence.
We are embroiled in a political and industrial conglomerate where cold wars lay the foundations of unstoppable monstrosities.
Converse with Andrei Romanovich Chikatilo, as you splatter milk across the surface of your psychological cereal, and raise questions around the episodic nature of criminal profiling.
I love the olfactory beauty of a railway station, whose stench is dissimilar to the pastures of raunchy and deadly opportunities which result in Rostov butchery.
Nevertheless, it is rooted in crop failure and the enforced collectivization of agriculture.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
pride
falling from a
suspension
bridge
easy
death leap
sparks
a final
thrill ride
splashing
down with
conclusive
thudness
an epic
detritus
skimming
along the
heave of long
regretfull
rivers
buoyantly
bobbing
atop eddies
of hubris
cresting
aimlessly into
nothingness
one way ticket
expiration dates
are strictly
enforced on
leapers
but the final
gulps of
briney pride
swallowed
by loved ones
chokes them
in welling
floods of
unresolved
incomprehension
forcing the
bereaved
to forever swim
in a churning
flotsam during
unexpired
lifetimes
Cab Calloway: Jumpin Jive
Paterson
10/24/13
jbm
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
I gave my love a lovin spoon
carved with my heart and anchor thus
a padlock and a set of keys
to keep her safe and guard our trust
a comma here offering my soul
and ships wheel with set steadfast course
adorned it with forget me nots
to show my love was so enforced.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 6:42 AM UTC
Key and a Lock
do you need me to go....?
well i never told you that i was going to leave
now you're stuck here face to face with me
tonight is the night that you suffer from all the
time it took me to recover. just a face i thought
i knew that became my new lover.
what have i been trying to accomplish?
things get blurry.
you told me you loved me
you told me you need me
you told me that you would never ever leave me
.. well what happened?
now you're stuck here to face the pain
that i kept locked deep inside my chest
in a box with a lock that only you held
the key to.
but where did it go? it was swallowed when
you took him to the room and you locked the door
now this box is here forever to stay
like you stuck deep in this game
i thought it was only you that could
save me from this pain.
but it was you
who enforced
the remourse
on this recourse
to shape a new key
..then maybe that box could be unlocked.
..well i was wrong.
you told me you loved me
you told me you need me
you told me that you would never ever leave me
now you can just sit back and watch
as i toss every photo that we ever took
into an ever lasting flame that will burn
each and every corner of those false
memories.
do you want me gone?
you're bound to this case
you wanted to fame
you came with a chain and wrapped it around my heart
the continuous tug that constricts my heart a little more
with each and every lie your lips told
well tonight is the night that this chain
breaks and i wont have to worry about unlocking the box
to release the pain that has been stored for decades
... was this not really happening?
or was this a way my mind was trying to help me cope
with the pain.
i still wont have to worry about finding a new key
because i already had it.
i look down only to find a few pills in my hand.
no one was here
no one to shape a new key
no one to even try and break the lock
but more importantly you weren't here.
there is only one way to break that lock
what have i left to hold.
i didnt't leave a note,
the door was unlocked.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 3:43 AM UTC
Before the Dawn Of Agriculture men like ME where slapped into the shadow of ****** shame but now who needs muscles or chiseled chins, great size or strength, a lover’s passion or a manly countenance ‘cause for ten thousandyears now I can persecute any female for infidelity towards ME and hold paternity privilege over MY biological children because we exceptional farmers invented marriage to destroy human sexuality by enslaving women with MY property for *** so I no longer need to share or compete or settle for an alpha males’ sloppy seconds within foraging groups that are forced to share what they carry with them instead of our enforced legal couplings that takes the innocent, primal pleasure and mystery out of *** by connectingshtooping to birth thanks to dirt MY dirt MY very own thousand acres of seeded soil littered with pens full of MY trapped sheep, cattle, goats and pigs which means I can pork any female I fancy and destroy any man who thwarts MY desire as simply as the bulls I castrate into submission to easily herd into MY slaughterhouses that feed all the inferior people no longerdependent on their hunting and gathering skills but on ME to stay alive so not only am I not considered a sociopath by hoarding food but am praised at harvest time like a ********* Babe Ruth hero because I have legally claimed and legally ***** those precious few life giving inches of topsoil with rotating crops and extended grasslands that exhausts and shrinks the earth, MY earth MY reign of forcing agricultural workers to bend over in the fields, stupidly exposing hairless backs to sun poisoning instead of their protective hunters’ heads of hair harvesting MY food that shrinks the testicles of everyone who is forced to feed on the cheap calories of MY industrialized plants and animals that lowers fertility, but who needs big ***** anymore when you don’t have to **** larger animals in order to survive or attract females with your superior physical attributes proving I am the social parasite Sultan of Swat who grows fat on the food I’ve seized by stealingPaleo land in the name of government protected ownership.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
Phantom posture cocked
its spear and stuck it
to another friend
like an unglued Quasimodo
The incense of a level-headed fate
tosses its burn from one context
to another
breath
consumption
sarcasm
And all that remains
are matchstick stumps as clues
to the promise of origins
birth
a dance
and a sprain
Feral intimations of mortality
eating on bonds like rust
And I can't even ask
for a turn without knocking
on the ignorance-enforced door
of self-promotion
Violation via Wolverine caress
Feel-good stories
strip-searched
by a generation *****
for conspiracy theories
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
And some slept,
And some dreamt,
And some made their way into the world
Logical, rational, enforced lives
that all added up.
And I never realized when the silver bullet missed me,
my chance for immortality gone
I had thought of some days
I am nowadays glad to just see through days.
I live in full fiction
Where goddesses walk right into your arms
and superlative co-incidences mean something.
Where physical attraction is justifiable and
hormones understand each other
across bodies.
I have loved you,
however immaterial my love maybe to the rest of you
and the circumstances
I will love you
till I find meaning
and thousands of barbarians invade across millions of
homes, unsuspecting
where the disease of one human mind reaches
and surpasses all minds .
Where I finally get mad
and act on it.
There are some stories I haven't heard.
You can tell me a few of those
on my way to the mad-house.
I have a shelf full of unread books
and with every day of disappointment
the shelf keeps piling up.
I at-least hope that in my non fictional existence
One day, you will read my feelings
even though, you won't necessarily act on them.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 12:13 AM UTC
When the sun hides
the doubts arrive
playing hide and seek
talking behind my ear
Voices clang at pipes
crushing a plumber's work
I try to hide
Playing their game
the doubts find me
simply like a dachshund
searching for badgers
Brutality is enforced
my body beaten raw
like a bowl of dough
My head slaps the floor
as I fall, I see it
blue heels deep in mud
once a savior, now a doubt
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 3:35 AM UTC