"environments" poems
Crawl to me on all fours, and fix me with those eyes.
Gleaming ivory in the pale darkness.
Suitored to alien mires, foreign environments of crawling dust and spires of simplistic grace.
That we move into.
That we move into as finger pads touch skin and lips and wet tongue tips that grace the very edge of taste itself.
The sonata of flesh has begun as we begin this symbiotic ballet that signifies the end, the start, but not the middle of our burning tryst.
which burns brightly in summer night heat, washing down the walls separating me from you and you from yourself.
Fix me with those eyes once more,
tilt the timer; make the moments slow
And the gas lit beam dance and grow
to our scaly sonata of flesh.
Played without violin
or cello
or trumpet noise
or flute.
But with arms,
and lips
and hair
and bust
and drums.
There are always drums; beating on through the night,
beating their primal rhythm as you crawl towards me,
on all fours, in that oroborus of lust;
symbiotic with itself,
reflecting off itself;
encased in itself.
Crawl to me on all fours
Crawl to me -
And taste of my being.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 10:46 PM UTC
lettuce forget just for
two hours that we just
met and really you could
be anyone, and lettuce
sustain our teenage
stereotypes, nourish them
with our shared saliva
by the fire -
we are cold and soft
like snow and we are
happy to share our
lizard tongues and lizard brains,
our foolish young
emotions firework in our skulls,
ricocheting against the walls.
sparks.
earlier i watched snow drift down
the chimney,
slowly melt, while ash
was propelled back up
by hot air:
neither sustained for long
in new environments, in foreign
air;
similar up-and-down particles
which i watched while
our hot sweaty hands lay open
like flower petals,
at our sides waiting.
someone had to move
(i did),
petals clasped together and
i noticed the warmth and roughness
of your hands.
i smiled and continued
to watch the flames.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
Among the mountains and oceans we claimed,
Environments we no longer know,
Starvation from the knowledge lacked.
Strange men of unknown origin push us away
With feathered spears and their spirits
Flying above us like the angels we seek.
The spread of our culture like margarine
Angers the earth it's ancestors tread on;
War and thievery. Disease and infection
Was wildfire in a land containing no such
Immunities to the harshness.
First cities died as infants, stillborns
Of history and freedom, yet
They survived in their determination.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
my mind is blank.
void,
like space?
but space has stars..
or galaxies,
or planetary systems,
or planets,
or earth-like environments,
or people living
on these earth-like environments,
or extraterrestrial intelligent beings,
or intelligent minds or perspicacious thoughts
on how things narrow down to a single idea..
that everything is void
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
I have little to say in new environments.
I tend to act shy and forget how to form words.
So when I had to go to marching practice and was
surrounded by people I didn't know
I suffered.
Was it not obvious that I was flustered when I fell
five times in thirty minutes?
Maybe it wasn't obvious how I kept repeating the
same thing over and over again,
hoping people would stop staring.
But instead of caring you walked straight up to me
and made me look like a fool in front of
everyone.
**** in, you're stomach is showing!"* You exclaimed
before poking me with a drumstick and catching me off guard.
It hurt and my torso bent and all the upper classmen
laughed at me.
So thank you for embarrassing me, it will not be forgotten.
It won't be forgotten like the time you insulted me
in the seventh grade and I 'accepted' your apology.
But what do I know?
I'm just a kid and you're a
band director
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
The Picture Window
The vista view never changes but daily.
The naked eye, registers the same distances,
resting objects unmoved, modest alterations
by wind and water are noted, but for intent,
for purpose, the watercolor one would paint
be invariably unvarying as a Swiss Alp.
The subtle nuanced worldview, where the sky
stretches from ceiling to a foot above ground, as
I lay prone neath the coverlet, vista always subtly differing,
from its prior reincarnation, self-reflection demands to know.
Alive & Awake? Yes.
Breathing steady? Yes.
Toes? Still can wiggly to & fro.
My soul?
Presumably ok, as I write, because I write, the
picture window into to my insight, though oft blurry,
yet intact, making discernible the changes in light,
temperature and heart rate, as the body/soul contraption modulates, just as the gradient of daylight shifts lighter and higher, with a rising sun bringing more clarity to our interactive encounters with our environments..
The picture window internalized, much the same,as
the vista, subtle modest changes, colorations variegated,
are registered. Today is mostly cloudy overcast, and shall remain so for the foreseeable future, which be about two days hence. Not unsurprisingly, methinks, the future tends to be cloudy.
Beyond that peripheral, no one can say, our macular envisioning only gets weaker,time is a tough taskmaster
and uncertainty is it’s own principle.
But I can say, forecast from well under the comforter,
that more than less, where less is more, this picture window,
ex and in, shall remain, unchanged for the remainder of my years that fortune shall provide, and will & would grant me awakenings to the ex-sight and in-sight of a sculpted landscape, of negative entropy, where disorder minimal.
My musings end here, unless you still wish, come the morrow,
what the marrow the day reveals, what the window will spill,
new and exciting, subtly unchanged, and always different.
Caution: The injection of caffeine may dramatically alter
the windows perspective, as the exogenous always trumps the
endogenous.
5:50 AM
P.S. Making coffee clarifies: If the vista in +/- unchanging,
then, all my personal, own horizons are immortal as well.
Jun 4, 2023
Jun 4, 2023 at 6:34 AM UTC
It is believed to exist;
It is often what we as people strive for;
Something for which we are prepared to persist.
Perfection is a drug, perfection is a demon;
Perfection is what often makes us forget that we are human;
By virtue of expectation,
We engulf one another in clouds of smoke;
Creating a screen for ourselves,
Causing one another to choke;
We make it a burden for others;
Make their lives unbearable,
Yet we ourselves never want to bear this yoke.
Perfection as an ideal isn’t bad,
It has brought man to, and through,
Millennia where men believe in themselves.
Man, as a creature, will never fly,
But we have inventions that bring us perfectly close.
We’ve created environments that allow us to do things at lightning speed;
We’ve more or less streamlined our every need.
But that’s what we don’t get!
Perfection, however lovely, will forever be an ideal;
We all need to understand that it isn’t real;
Like most things on earth, perfection is relative.
I’m not , for one moment, suggesting that we stop being competitive!
No, not at all!
All I suggest is that we stop burdening one another;
Be it you friend, wife, husband, father, mother, sister or brother.
The societal norm of giving each other 10 crosses at a time,
With no apparent reason, is only going to cause the issue to deepen;
Propagate itself, as we bid humanity adieu.
Do not expect what you cannot give,
That, for me, is the better way to live;
And if you can give something to others,
Try and not expect it back always.
For we are all human,
And can only dream of perfection in any case.......
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 11:39 AM UTC
Preparations
For Love and Destruction
Volatile environments
Whose inhabitants
Distract inhibitions
By enacting emotional exhibitions
Fueled by liquid fire
.Injection.
Fluid spirits
Energize the soul
Chemically reacting to stress
Freeing the hostages
Housed inside the hostile hospice
Of hearts
.Ejection.
Nature’s neutrality
Doesn’t do much
For this current
Wave
Of Lust and Frustration
So,
Lo and Behold
The solo soul below
Who bellows
In the belly of beasts
Like growls
That grows into speech
As I transform from
Animal to Anomaly
Asking for the one thing
That will keep me
From the answer
.Rejection.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
Told my feelings were fake
Laughed at for crying
Brutalized for refusing
Depicted as anomalous
This is my "home"
I exploded, caught a breath as I felt the silencing
Crossed volatile environments
Misunderstood ephemeral friends
Bullied, ostracized
Experienced injustice
This is school
I performed, in the illusion of shutting silencing
Living my curiosity
Knowledge is my strength
Reflexivity makes me grow
Embracing my difference
This is my refuge
I introspected, in the freedom of their paralyzed silencing
Meet mind-like people
Discovered my emotions
Explored my preferences
Dug my family history
This is my travel
I free-fell, as in my trust I hit structural silencing
Communicating humbly
Nourishing healthy relationships
Trusting my positions
Affirming my autonomy
This is my womanhood
Becoming a mother, I urge to gather the pieces for her freedom
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 6:13 PM UTC
We are not born with hatred swirling around in our skull
It is something that is built within the structures of our environments
This civil war whose bombs wake us up in the morning
and whose grenades disturb our sleep.
We are not born with fatass/faggot/nigger/spic/dyke/slut on our tongues
This is the product of this billboard society that teaches us
to spit daggers rather slip our tongues around and caress
We are not born in fear of the other
It is not genetics that implore us to engage
in the ongoing battles between
fat and skinny
black and white
religious and faithless
straight and curved
Our world is a wasteland
filled with our soulless cardboard cutouts
doing nothing more than occupying space.
We examine our fingertips in search of identity
and are shown skin that has been scrubbed smooth
by the buffers created to stop our minds from
expanding too wide and our dreams from growing too big.
We look to the too-distant stars for directions but must turn to a foreign map
to tell us where home is.
What we are born with is excitement.
With adventure running through our veins.
With eyes the color of flawless wonder
and skin scarred with wisdom.
We were born with longing.
Longing for a great escape.
For rebirth.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
What is change?
Well people change,
But dreams can fade away,
Or new wishes can be made.
Where to start,
How about today?
New ideas are explained.
But plans are delayed.
That's change?
Feelings are displayed.
Rejection is portrayed.
That's change?
If you want to change the world
You must start with yourself.
If you're doing nothing then
You're a book on a empty shelf.
You've been thinking, not speaking.
But there's children who aren't eating
You've been bitter and whining,
But the forests they are dying
You've been stubborn and upset
But the trash is making a mess.
Sit down and observe.
The things we've done to a beautiful world.
Is it fair?
You sit mighty in your chair.
All that money and power.
The environments you devour
And that's change!?
Are you satisfied?
Killing innocent lives.
The resources are depleting
But it's you, up on top, we're believing.
Voices are unheard.
But you sit,
You watch,
The crumbling world.
But that one word,
Can move a generation
Can fix the nation
It's change.
Change the way we live
So we can live longer,
So we can be stronger.
A few simple steps,
And it starts with yourself.
Believe that you can help
To change
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 8:39 PM UTC
[NEW]
Scientists know more about the
moon
than the ocean.
[WAXING CRESCENT]
Light can only dive 200 meters
down into the ocean. Below it,
the “Midnight Zone” glows in the dark.
(By standing in your shadow,
I am hoping to become
bioluminescent.)
[FIRST QUARTER]
Life has a tendency to thrive in hostile environments.
For this reason, Jupiter’s moon,
Europa, may be able to support
life within the global ocean of
liquid water that is hidden
beneath the ice at its surface.
(This is why I am able to bloom in the dark.)
[WAXING GIBBOUS]
The ocean bows to no one but the moon. Turn
off the lights. Turn up the stars. Low tide wants to
fold back inside itself and lap against the
shores of the Sea of Tranquility.
High tide just wants to be noticed.
[FULL]
But a heated black body sunspot,
(isolated from the rest
of the photosphere),
still shines brighter than the moon. Wolves should
be howling at the sun instead.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
There have been so many moments
that I have missed.
Completely escaping from my pen.
Writing feels almost foreign to me,
It’s been so long.
I feel ill-equipped, unprepared,
Not qualified in the slightest.
The thoughts that are buzzing around my brain
Refuse to transplant themselves
Onto the paper in front of me
They reject and avoid these
New environments.
I don’t know. I suppose
I sympathize for them, they’re afraid
Scared little thoughts, terrified of judgement
Aren’t I not the same?
Existing is a scary concept for all of us
I’m sure
But I think the best of us learn to hide, to confuse
The clock begins to tick down
My eyes are getting
Worse by the minute
I can feel it, I can live it.
And it’s getting
infinitely harder to breathe
To the point where I visit
The doctor for help.
Once again,
There’s too much time
I conclude
Too many possibilities
It all sounds terrible. What am I supposed to do.
Unruly and untamed I stroll through my exhibition
My disappointments, my unlived-in potential
Of unspoken thoughts, of uncommunicable feelings
They seem to be enjoying themselves
Enjoying the company, enjoying the rest
I suppose I would to.
It’s difficult to choose one to expose,
One to leave out
For the sun to eventually dry out
One to abandon forever.
I don’t know how to say goodbye.
I’ve never been good with farewell.
Not quite sure what I’m doing here
Brain where have you been.
I yell out to nowhere in particular.
What’s going on.
Please answer soon,
Because the clock is ticking down
And I remember a time where
Writing used to be my salvation,
But now writing seems to have
become nothing more than the source of
my everlasting frustration.
I hope things shift soon,
I hate being so far out of the loop,
Being so far from who I used
To be, the person I believed was me.
Maybe things will change, they have to.
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 8:57 PM UTC
Eli tossed the ****** novel aside; a radical tale
of painters in the far future when paint itself
would be illegal; arms dealers, drug traffickers,
*** workers gathering in dark interstellar holes
bored into passing comets & orbiting meteors
docking illegally at satellite ports & unloading
chemicals frozen into place by the artists
who can never let their identities be known;
all colors on earth are registered & trade marked
by the Beast's Corporation & so Space Art is
highly sought & lucrative but lethal as it can
made to explode w/ enough energy & radiation
to leave a small planet barren for millions of years;
the Beast is reasonably worried as Space Art, or
Action Painting [after the ancient school] is wildly
popular & traded openly for billions of dollars;
the Beast may be able to keep everyone stupid
& greedy but Art liberates them into heights of
ecstasy & kindled wisdom; freedom of thought
the last frontier no one suspected & so abrogated
their intelligence & imagination to fembots
who pump their heads full of colorful action sequences;
the illegal paintings too stiff, just stand or lean
& look back at one w/out blinking
& the female-computer-network unable to bear the silence,
initiates automatic shut-down of itself; femportals
abandoned on stations where the painted images
projected on microcells to the clandestine buyers,
spread as an unseen mist through the various
artificial environments;
the distant star paint miners
smoking up a storm & using steam-powered
fembots
to mine for their oil & charcoal;
Eli putting on the kettle for tea,
thinks about the fembots in the novel & calling a **********
demands she not speak; the girl arriving naked in stockings
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
It is incumbent upon us to interpret various environments in this multi-dimensional tapestry of holistic landscapes, where celestial ecosystems abound with pulsating organisms of diversity.
So, let us translate our literary concepts in silence, as we traverse cross-cultural vistas of universality.
As indigenous beings reach beyond the sparse and pompous settlements of our ******* city towers; there is something incomprehensible which transcends our ambling walk through this urban pasture, as the train departs from the classical platform of El Chorro.
I am mesmerised by linguistic creativity, as she echoes throughout distant galaxies of enriched and unspoken mystical vocabularies.
As empirical verification is not possible, I must beseech thee: Where are the connoisseurs of this poetic dimension?
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
Age, race, gender, height
Curly, straight, dark, light,
Tall, short, thin, wide,
Nobody's the same outside.
Chinese, Asian, Indian,
Portuguese or American,
We're born into
Our environments.
But if one plus one is two,
Nobody tries to argue,
Because numbers have
unchanging values,
and humans
should
too.
Skin and bones,
Heart and soul,
And that alone,
Makes us valuable.
We are skin and bones,
We are heart and soul,
We are all the same,
And our values don't change.
Age, race, gender, height,
We are one,
And we're all alright.
Skin and bones,
Heart and soul,
We're all the same,
And our values don't change.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
Gargoyles surround our city of masonry genius and a haunting practicality is displayed in its omen simplicity.
We know that fairgrounds can be fountains of doom – obscure environments where innocence may collide with strategic and predatory wiles.
So we must ring the bells in the high towers and allow the town-crier to proclaim his message without hindrance, from ancient waterspouts.
Close the gates of the country manor and focus upon the sophistication of the dance, where captivating etiquette conceals her heartfelt fornications. Will you approach and indulge yourself of that which is available? Come on. You know that you want to.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
Why does this caged bird sing?
Because I'm Black,
In a country that says that doesn't mean a thing.
Because racism has taken many setbacks
And the **Klu Klux **** has applications
and we know where the police get their reps at.
So why can't we take a step back?
My life means less than yours,
But I find myself pursuing better things
So my daughter never wants for more.
Locked in cages,
I'm a Starling
So I yearn to fly.
See my brothers in them four walls
Like that's where they were born to die.
If our privilege was like yours
We would never hear those expensive collect calls.
So we use our knowledge for wrong,
You'd never appreciate that a felon could write this poem.
Trapped in environments that don't care for us,
We try to branch out
They take a few shots
And you no longer hear from us.
So why does the caged bird really sing?
Probably because I know where my opportunities really lie.
In a ball, a mic or some reality show.
I'm not against those options
But I live in reality though.
There's no hope for the rehabilitated,
You have to carve your own road,
And nowhere is that clearly stated.
And to add insult to injury,
I'm Muslim and if you knew
You wouldn't see a friend in me.
So why does the caged bird sing?
If you clearly can't hear us,
Why put on a badge in a neighborhood,
If you fear us?
You prop yourself on a pedestal
And look down.
You brought us here, left us in the field, in shacks
And now we're in the Slums of every town.
You diminished our importance
And showed us anything that wasn't white was wrong,
For all I know you helped me write this poem.
So why does this caged bird sing?
So my words can vibrate my shackle loose,
So my ideals can blow open the door
And my melody can inspire every bird too.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
Choice
Responsibility
Interlocking concepts
But rarely as simple
as cause and effect
We always have a choice
To act
To react
To endure
To survive
Choice is a source of power
It can’t be taken away by another
Don’t believe them when they say
“You have no choice”
Even if they
are you
But our choices alone
are rarely the only cause
of our circumstances
Other peoples’ choices
The systems we must navigate
Our environments and ecosystems, human-built and beyond
All contribute to determine
the fertility of the soil
from which our range of choices grow
In fertile soil
Choices abound
But even in barren soil
You still must choose
To act
To react
To endure
To survive
While holding onto hope
for future change
Through intention
Through community
Through action
To believe that your choices alone
Are responsible for an outcome
Whether fortunate
Or dire
Is the height of arrogance
Born of a need to feel in control
Of the world around you
We all should be held accountable for our choices
But take care
How you parcel out responsibility
and blame
To yourself
To others
With awareness of the state of the soil
from which those choices grew
Aug 20, 2022
Aug 20, 2022 at 8:34 PM UTC
We live in a current world where mental health is more important than ever.
Anti-depressants, anti-anxiety medication, sleeping pills.
Why must we depend on prescriptions to appease our emotions?
We have to be careful to not let these take over, but they already have.
Instead of treating these methods as a crutch to get through life, we must tread cautiously.
Taking ownership of our problems and worries are incredibly hard.
Believe me, I understand that. I’ve tried various methods to try & fix myself too.
But instead of numbing ourselves to the pain, we must face it.
You are not your anxiety. You are not your depression.
We can accept that these things are present in our lives without it consuming our identity.
I cannot stress how vital it is to release yourself
From negative people, toxic environments and even objects.
I know its easier said than done, but we’ve got to start somewhere.
How about we get hooked on truly discovering ourselves?
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC
Dear NASA,
I read somewhere that voluptuous women
do well in zero-gravity environments.
This makes complete sense to me
(and the “ladies.”)
Trust me, I've seen the pictures—
and we want that.
Hear me out.
Gravity's a drag.
Bras are too ****** expensive.
I feel like I’d manage to look twenty-five
for another twenty-five years
if I could somehow
avoid the sandbaggage
that I'm doomed to inherit.
It's a comfortable thought
to picture the once distressed,
top-heavy lady population
floating in ecstasy,
brassiere-less and beaming—
soaking in a freedom so sweet
that a word just couldn't do it justice.
I think I speak for the whole
of my curvy comrades
when I say that we'd appreciate
your cooperation in getting the lead out
as you breach the final frontier.
Because let me level with you:
*there are plenty of things in this world
that can bring a girl down—
our most enjoyable assets
should not be two of them.*
Please join us in the fight to stay ****
With the warmest gratitude,
B
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
Have you ever heard the term
"The grass is always greener on the other side"
I'm going to assume you have
But I think the better question to ponder is
What happens when there's no more grass?
What are we doing to our earth
There is trash heaps the size of this city
And our society should feel guilty
When the only one that bats an eye
Is an incoherent ****** hippie
You know anybody can make a difference
This disparity must be stopped
So let's take a stand
Because my generation, our generation
Will face the greatest threat that has ever faced this nation
And that is climate change
AND if you ask me it is very strange
That so many people remain caged
In a cell of disregard
Acting like our earth isn't scared
Around the world we're facing
Irreversible drought
A rising sea level
A midst the sixth mass extinction
So why is our society
Not showing the distinction
That this is a pivotal issue
As teenagers we're
Watching environments be
Wrecked by our forefathers
While your sons and daughters
Will face the systemic problems
We forsake.
So the burden is on me,
Its on you, on all of our shoulders
To fight with a rage
To end climate change.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
Sometimes when I'm all alone,
I listen to my favourite song,
I close my eyes,
I get lost inside,
Inside my mind,
Inside my fantasies,
Inside my dreams.
I feel safe there,
It's my safe place.
In my safe place,
I find hope,
I restore my energy,
I patch my all so broken heart,
I find peace,
I smile,
I'm happy,
I'm myself...
Then reality kicks in,
Troubles,
Stress and worries,
Toxic people and environments,
Hopelessness,
Loss of faith,
Discouragment,
Sadness,
Hatred and guilt.
Guilt of everything I want to do,
But never do.
Everything I feel,
But never show.
Everything I dream for,
But never reach for.
Everything that's me,
That I suppress.
Everything I like,
That I replace.
All that I am,
Is living a lie,
Trying to get by,
Like everyone else,
Just to survive,
But never to live,
Because I'm afraid,
Of the thrill.
But more than all,
I am afraid of you,
Your judgement,
And your hatred.
You scare me more than a life not mine.
You scare me so much my life is yours.
That's the saddest part,
All my life I have been wanting to break out of my shell,
And all my life you are the one who keeps me inside it.
I let you control me,
When I should be controlling myself.
I let you decide my destiny,
Because I'm afraid to fight back.
You are my biggest fear of them all.
It's you I hate and you I have to impress.
I want to break free and just be me.
See what I can be,
Control my own destiny.
I'm lost within my own chains,
In my own selfmade prison,
I let you imprison me,
Because I'm too afraid to try.
Someone set me free,
Someone show me how.
What is my life worth if it's not lived?
What is my life worth if my soul's already dead?
What is my life worth if it's not owned by me?
What is my life worth when I don't let myself be free?
I need to set myself free.
Help me set myself free.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 5:08 PM UTC