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Birthdays from childhood
Are full of celebrations, is understood.

It was not any different for me
Till the unusual plea!

For my 13th birhday
The first time I gave away!

Instead of getting gifts
I contributed to the orphans by giving gifts...

Now I look back to those days
On how happy were they in all ways

I have given tones of gifts
To my fellow companions

But nothing can equalize the happy faces
Of the orphans in their mazes.

Even today I relish
The small gifts I bestowed
To those unknown orphans,,,
Is what which makes my life today
With a brimming hurray!

The way they valued my gifts
No matter how small
They looked at me tall,
And gave the happiest call
Which I would never forget at all!

Those were the real happy days of mine
Which are valued as divine
And will never decline
But I do hope will combine
To give more hapiness: for I define:-
We make a living by what we get
And make a life by what we give!.
Jennifer Weiss Sep 2014
I am never not surprised,
when someone else has the courage to look me in my eyes,
to tell me bald-faced lies,
that say I am too dramatized
as a white girl trying to equalize
and see the world before me rise
to say we're not satisfied
to say with honesty we despise
a government who seems to tyrannize
its citizens into fearing they be deprived
of food, water, and electricity. So they have to believe in the guise.
That we are a nation paralyzed.
By lies.  
I am just a twenty two year old, Caucasian female
addicted to the idea I can help you see we will prevail.
Our nation teeters on the brink.
Help me save our souls,
Before they take us out like MLK, Lennon, JFK
All with a blink.
;)
Simon Oct 2019
One story may change the world someday. One that will revolutionize the steady constants of how everyday aspects judges itself too harshly. Never finding the solve of anti pressure release syndromes. Plot is plot. Ideas are always outspoken. Even if one or the other hasn’t agreed. Won’t change the facts given to the recipient who may have already judged the opposing two. Without running through what they have already been about. Futuristic plot devices aren’t important. As it may not even exist. Storytelling being a futuristic realization to knowing something before it happens. Feelings clawing thought processes. Thought processes trying to equalize the incoming rush of emotions that rise and fall. Feelings being a different breed centered in the middle of the steady constant. Revolutionizing what you already know. Blind to see it through. Thought processes aren’t too judging. Except when you start to trust feelings too much. A jealous implication arises. Knowing what you already know before it happens. Is no different then how one already figured it out. Feelings handle it with care. Thought processes stuck in the mud. A puppy without any directional skills. A master never telling its true flaws if it couldn’t understand itself to begin with. Jealousy is rising even more. A fixed implication is becoming more dominant. Revolutionizing the main flaw more and more. Nothing is without equal if you never give it a chance. Feeling the way through all the clutter. Clutter not being your fault. You were molded by the pressure of what storytelling has made you into. Plot devices center these focuses without thinking outside itself. Your only to blame, when subjects apart of your judging becomes too sterile for you to notice anymore. Drying out the process of trusting something with care. Becoming one who is blind to never looking outside itself again! Becoming the stick in the mud. How does one avoid? Easy! Storytelling being a futuristic realization! PS… Don’t claim what you already know!
Storytelling isn't hard to figure out. Only when not knowing what comes after what has already presented itself genuinely. A fixed position on the properties of something yet to occur.
patricia Mar 2018
For a long period of time, we have been told to conform to the different standards set for us by the society. We grew up in a system where having milk colored skin and lean, slender bodies is the only acceptable image of beauty. Several advertisements and individuals will try to tell you what you need to buy or do to improve yourself, and I’m writing this letter to say that you are superb; a creation of purpose.

In a world where violence, fear and hate continue to exist, it is essential for us to unify and persist in eradicating the barriers that have been placed before us. Regardless of our differences - our backgrounds, religions, ethnicity, political views, jobs, academic standing, and flaws or perfections – we all want the same thing in life: respect, love and success. We all want to be seen and esteemed for who we are but we must also know that a women’s success doesn’t equalize with another’s failure. It is important that we work forward in life hand in hand, rather than to step on others just to rise above everyone else. Know that there is a time, place and an opportunity for all of us to accomplish our dreams. Know that you are able to think for yourself – despite of what the world keeps telling you. I believe that women like you and me are capable of creating history every day. I believe in the power of inseparability, that we could push the boundaries and open other people’s minds to a better discourse if we collectively act to make it happen.

As we celebrate International Women’s Month, I encourage you to find the good in the women around you. Let yourself be inspired by their experiences setbacks and victories. By doing this, we not only strengthen our respect for one another, but we open doors for others and ourselves.

This is letter is for all the women who’s looking for their place in this world. Whoever you may be – a student, a businesswoman, a coach, a lawyer, a janitor, a musician, a scientist, a military, a teacher, a traveler, a doctor, an athlete, a poet, or a transwoman – know that you are smart, beautiful, inspirational and strong.

Thank you for being yourself.

Sincerely,
Pat
Living in a world with no honest leader.
Every single day comes a new victor,
using the people's heart to paint the picture of fear.

When will we escape the rampant greed running amuck?
Become our own leaders and stop giving a ****.

When asked questions like these, the defenders only have a mouthful.
The reins of power should be in the hands of the masses,
known as the powerful.

They shake at night with terrors of their past.
They finally understand they have worn a fake mask.

When will we stop eating from a government feeder?
Finally equalize and balance the power teeter.
We must, living in a world with no honest leader.
Grace Jordan Mar 2015
My mother questions, “Why aren’t we equal?”
As she paints my walls with white
She wonders why my colorful friends don’t get as lucky as me
But she also wonders about the financial aid the government says we don’t need
I bang on her white walls and insist we’re well off
But she still asks why
And I can’t say “you! It’s because of people like you that my friends need a dollar or two”
Because of the way she plays hypocrite
Condemning welfare and the impoverished while asking why she doesn’t get any
Confirming the stereotype that most people aren’t innately racist
It’s just their own thoughtlessness that causes the disconnect
And it’s not just my mother, it’s all my people, me too
My friend once asked, “Why is Kierra so into social justice?”
Maybe because the history of our ancestors was carried on the backs of her people
Maybe because even today my people say we’re so good, so equal, so righteous
When we still look at a black man and assume the white is better
We don’t mean it but my assumptive mind insists that Kierra always needs a hand
When what is really needed is a strict hand to the side of my head
Jostle that rude assumption out of my head
She is her own person, not a broken house left on stilts
And assuming she is broken is worse than anything I can think of
So it’s a double edged sword because races need to work together to fix this atrocity
But we must also give each their freedom to grow and equalize equally
I will never understand the plight of one a different race
But I understand plight, from my gender and my mental state
My mother always told me treat everyone fairly
She always said to treat everyone right
But here she keeps on going
Painting my walls with white
solid chic Dec 2010
e
earn me
entice me
ensure me
enlighten me
enlist me
entertain me
effectuate me
envelope me
entrap me
enthrall me
enrapture me
enslave me
edify me
elate me
evolve me
elicit me
expand me
entrust me
employ me
equalize me
envy me
excise me
exhaust me
extinguish me
erode me
erase me
evict me
estrange me

exhume me
The clock becomes a detachable head.
Acquiesced to the ground
The fragments become priceless.
Wrinkled people grovel over the eager glass
Pick them up and risk the cuts.

Vibrations equalize
and everyone is holding hands
stuffing their distractions and sadness
into a sack
looking into each others’ eyes
blurring the faces into one
letting go is hard at first
but then after it is hard
to keep from spinning out of control.

At first sharing for simplicity
and then in a disease involuntarily
for daytime T.V shows
and self-help-how-to-do-your-life books
by self-proclaimed seers and prophets
reading the palm of your hand
which is also mine
and his.

No time
to stop
not for a second.

you are
the god
and all the questions are answered

you are the ice that covers sidewalks
warmth will defrost thought out actions,
instilling the masterpiece.

Response:
Why not look inside of you?
Are there questions that cannot be answered?
Yes but only because of detail
and the sharp and spiky squares of  
Science.


the dance we learn to stop dancing,
goes on after us and goes on into forever.
like forever may not be there.
it doesn’t seem to note or care
that the space between your two ears.
comforts my neck best
or constellations crossing your chest
constantly suggests no matter the rearrangement
no coincidences are circumstance
I’m trying not to look for it
some reality where I belong

if forever sees it has missed a beat
laughing and playing.
I so obediently repeat
what you’ve so gracefully said to me.
Life is not a sign for anything else.
It is more of  an enigmatic saying from a hermit
below a full moon
purely nonsense insane.
…but realizing the smile with which it was contained.
Sethnicity Jan 2016
To mutilate a body
of work and play on
To justify the night
from day,
Tray bomb
When ink on court paper
dismay
When blocks are heavy
more than cities and hoods
Having pens and fingers
crossed unlucky would
be Having plenty of sense
yields no change  know nothing
These are the feels
of blacks on reels
best trip found on wheels of steel
boys in hoods
dream of get a ways
but stuck in rent trap
just around the way
old whips spinning in place
feudal fictions with chrome face
but they spin in place
mine expired on the shelf
others capped in plastic
gone without a trace
and souls never get laced
wanna speak up
but the protest gets maced
wanna be out and about
but the fear has clout
taken root like gout
and tyranny's history can't be erased


We palpate emotions and scatter when lit
scared of the shadows ***(s) it reminds of the gallows
we don't **** each other for hate but the fear of fake fellows
when wedged against one another friendly fire is common
want the hole truth ask a woman
about **** and her worth to her mate
easily forgotten
or a conditioner well set in
the follicles of cells
that have scheduled themselves
does she have to remember or is she trying to forget
it's not irrational when the actual is soul grim
not one goddess in my life has been free from man's sin

So why would you ask me to fore grin the future for-a-shadowed past?
Those fair weathered sentiments won't equalize the rash,
the cash, the inevitable failing that you will consider surprise
but everytime I tune I-n-turn-all-bleedin; so eyes
Caulderize
in glass
and I rehash
pipedreams
about what it means to be flesh and
bleed to death until
dues US part          
of a hole
Whispe ring smoke shaped
squares that paint bland pastel No thin g(s)
over the future
over the graffiti gravel walls
artistic truth strewn loudly in rainbow-essencent  font
wormholes to the past
the truths written outside of the lines
like my thoughts
residing before and after their time

But I will not be blotted out
I will not be a second page story
I will not be his story
I will be beautiful
I will be bold
I will bow as I
will my will
into arches
like

A rainbow
you've seen one before but Why not once more
A candle cut and relit
You've Seen one before but Why not once more
A levy split wide then mended
You've seen one before but Why not once more
An invisible line to demarc yet removed
You've seen one before but Why not once more
A Justice Deferred to a Justice Realized
You've Seen one before but
Why not see One More
The 4 car pile up
You've seen one before but Why not once More

My Dreams have Dreams
and my deeds have means
I'd mute or late the alpha; Bet!
com mem or ate via
Con temp late buy weigh a
lack-lust-or-love core tessy of
for est ries dove s
held high above
a symbol to shove mine waves
in current streams
d v us meme S
eth ni city
Make Like Kings
and drop beats
down sewer swings
where rats tap time
on the crumbs of earthlings
Shiva grant me Wings
So I maybe shot out the sky
by pole lease hap slings
but Fire Works
with ease
Pop Flare
Beware
FREEZE
don't stare
You There
Whoop and Hollar
with yo hands in the air!

My dance is broken english
To Mute or late my body
of work is fore play
better read weep to soak up my
oil of a lay
scramble Hamlets in four ways
door ways work both ways and
mine is a carol cell of more rays
sung from sunrise to where devils dwell  
Jorge
No bullet will silence my pathway
Just incite celebration
reincarnation
for a birthday;
I learned that one from MLK
Happy Birthday to Ya!
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2020
~for Lori Jones McCaffery~

Lori Jones McCaffery commenting on
“a new time (poetry in the time of pandemic)”^
“Tender and brutal at the same time. Like the times.”*

                                                     ­          <>
your observation, a commission, opens an incision,
bleeding out a Noah flood vision:

                                                        ­        <>

when we begin, to compare and contrast the movable tender and the unstoppable brutal, the poetry must rise to equalize the pressure of unbalanced times, the tender, and the brutal in an uneasy peaceful coexistence, at the same time, same place
                                                           ­     
                              
                              
                            
The Brutal                                              The Tender
—————                                             —————
life in the epicenter, the greatest,       in the darkened bedroom,
noisiest city, now landscape               she awakens, her hand quick
painting quiet,                                      comes to rest on my chest,
one lives/writes/eyesights thru       the quality of motion+volume
pink mask + a minimum six              of heartbeats, is it loud enough,
feet of separation,                                steady on, no need to dial 911!
a citified tableau of macro wave       she unaware that I can hear
forces in crashing collision, upon     her loud, tender exhalation
your skin’s cells                                   celebrating surviving day#?

newspaper images of Death’s            many volunteer, food delivery,
ministers applauding the newly        though I am asymptomatic
arrived mobile morgues, for 100        my request tenderly, firmly
died yesterday,                                      denied, for I meet too many
their brutal death rattles                      of the vulnerable criteria,
overwhelmed  the super-surround.   instead, offering food to me,
sound silences of                                   to deliver to me, to deliver me,
brutal emptiness of millions of           tenderly I say, no thanks,
sacrificial                                             ­    my tour of duty, almost done
                              
                                all of us isolate lambs, in day jailed,
                                for we still breathing the maybe tainted,                
                                oxygen molecules of no safe surety      

a consummate perfection,                    the same, taming words I tell  
the holy quietus of                                 my son, young father,
those no longer breathing,                   tender me necessary tasks that
they now rest up above,                        require outside journeys, say I
hid in a white cumulus                         send me into the red hot areas
cloud cover, a noise suppressing         insert me into the front line,
sky coverlet, moving across a               militarized zones, he replies,
bright blue pure background,              ”you’re too old, part and
a train of funeral caissons,                     parcel of the most vulnerable,
brutal noisy hooves clacking             better-write-you tender-poems”

daily, hourly, the statistical alerts,         why so hard, to write tender
brief résumés delivered,                         so easy of the brutal, their
drumbeating, look now!                         curses so readily supplied,
are you up to date?                                  is tenderness short supplied?

catalog the debris, organized with brutal necessary efficacy, quantify, qualify the costs, include even the tender ineffable, countdown and graph the brutal calculus of the curve infection, and you, numbed, past the point of eyes capable of what once was tender droplet tearing

highlight the unknown faraway, the tender hope of a distant apex inflection, while plotting the second derivative, the rate of change of the rate of a brutal yet trending upward *****, the ascending all-inclusive stat, infected, the rate of change of decedents, downed, descending, giving in...gowned in hospital blue, for the funeral pyre

a city of lines, crosswalks, velvet ropes, unused, unemployed, social separators, no one about to need to separate, anymore, only the living and the dead, both staying indoors, so neither in attendance, at the empty funeral services, everybody is on the out list...

the now newly indistinguishable, the irresistible collision of two one-sides polarizing poles of no longer opposites, the tender and the brutal in a single embrace, but no, not kissing, embargoed, as we are stationed from above, far, high up on the watchtower observatory, observing the contrast dye that flies so fast on people denuded grand boulevards, down narrow hospital hallways, body-lined decorated, tales of millions of lives isolatized, and don’t forget the brutalizing discovery of scores of elderly, dying alone, withering in the dark, counted, lumped in to the category of statistically irrelevant, if dead, who cares, matters not now, in the afterworld no one asks how,
                        in a fashion both tenderly and brutal,
                        what was the actual cause?
John F McCullagh Jan 2015
An old and tattered Bible Is the crux of a dispute.
Bernice King has possession of what her brothers see as loot.
The book was dear to Doctor King thru trials and tribulations
And with him on the Selma march in the days that changed the nation.
To her; a priceless heirloom of King’s Dream to equalize.
To her brothers it’s an asset that they hope to monetize.
This book, signed by the President, is not a ****** prize
to be bought by some collector and hid from others eyes.
So now there is a lawsuit and I hope the judge is wise
Wise as a modern Solomon in how he will decide.
This Bible  is a legacy, inspired word  and proof
Of what one man can accomplish when addicted to the Truth.
The Heirs of Martin Luther King Jr. are enmeshed in a lawsuit regarding Dr. King's bible and Nobel prize metal
Inane heart,
How I wish with you to part,
You are the equivalent of my death,
Even as you beat with my every breath,

Inane heart,
If only your wants I could restart,
You’re a hopeless thing,
Of which only with pain can bring,

Inane heart,
You and I lack the ability to impart,
You walk in one direction,
And I hold back in objection,

Inane heart,
We have grown apart,
You’ve only led me in the past to pain and sorrow,
Left me dark and left me hollow,

Inane heart,
I plead we compromise,
And our wants equalize,
I’ll let you love inane heart to your content,
But you will never fall too hard in order my brokenness prevent.
ogdiddynash Jun 2020
I am nearing seventy,
my woman, has me, surpassed.
that hallmark of difference,
is a race I can’t catch her up,
so always on the lookout for ways,
ways to equalize the difference.

laying in bed on a beautiful
Tuesday, (renamed Twosday)
romantic muse-marveling how
an ordinary weekday came to be
so spectacular, the senses are
keening, preening, as the warm
loving feelings upping with sun,
rising, and my eyes welling tears,
of youthful gratefulness and love

so
I propose we get matching tattoos
to lock in this storied moment historical.

She smiles.
Stealthy moves as if to bed exit,
when with a sudden twist of fate,
reverses with one of the three pillows,
her in-bed-reading-backup-accompanists,
no pretense, she tries to beat me to near-death.

Later.
She inquires.
“What tattoo exactly did I have in mind?”

Till Death Do Us Part
(inside a heart, optional).

She snorts.
“That can be arranged, if you get more deranged!”

from now on my passing thoughts of loving celebration,
gonna just keep on passing by, except for maybe, just,
tattoos of chocolates, a money saving device, so many
occasions useful, now you understand this poem’s entitlement.


Ogdiddynash
always a kernel of imaginative chocolate storytelling
with a center within of a truthful happening
The prophet of Islam when came
He was sent to establish equalize between human kinds
No, no between all creatures

It is a camel came and complained its owner
," he carried it heavy burden
And did not feed it with enough food
It wanted some justice"
The prophet ordered him to feed
It with enough and good food.

He saw a bird
Flew down to his fellows and friends
He asked in his speech,''
Who made a tragedy with brutal?
Who took its children?"
When the men heard that
One of them returned to it.

He had his speech every Friday pray
He stood over the average trunk of old date
It was cut
So it was not grown
And considered it was considered dead
The prophet used to tell its speech
Until he made a new platform to speech on it
When Friday came
The prophet spoke on the new platform
All at mosque heard child crying
All moved their eyes toward the crying
They recognized it was the trunk
The prophet left the speech
And hugged the truck

The truck became quit
The prophet told it
"is not sufficient
To be my companion in the high heaven
The trunk got silent

The prophet looked when he passed with his friends
Between the prisoners
They saw a woman
Getting her breast and feeding every child
Was from the prisoners
Of war
He told them at his talks, "
Would you expect that woman will throw his child
At hell?"
They answered, " No!"
He talked, "thus! God will not throw his creatures
At hell!"

When there was a second war
Between two camps
Muslims and disbelieves
After the war ended
There was argument
One of them was white
The other was not
The white ticked the other one
, " you are the son of the black"
The black one who was closer as well as his white friend
To the prophet
Ran to the prophet
He complained to the prophet
The prophet got angry
The prophet was cute
He was white
His face was handsome
He looked to the white
At his speech and act
He said to the white."
You are a person blockhead"

The white one put his head
Down to the land
He swore he would not lift it up
Until his ***** friend will put his leg on his head
The other refused at first
When the white insisted
The other put its leg
For seconds or less
Then the white got up
He apologized
They got huge
They were crying.

When the prophet and Muslims opened Mecca
He destroyed all statues over Kaaba
He ordered his closely friend to get over Kaaba
He invited the Muslims to pray
He announced with call of pray
Two great masters of un believers passed
One of them said
They were white,'"
We have lived
To see that black
Became important than us
We are the masters of that land
The revelation was downed to the prophet
It said in the verse pf holy Quran in the meaning,"
O people, I created you
People and tribes to know
That I will honor you with God"

The honest of Islam nation
Was not white.
Two fiancée came to marry the daughter of the prophet
She was his heart move over the land
One was not poor and not white
He was also his cousin
He was so believer and honest
He had great science
Other was from rich tribe
His nation was respectable
He married her to the greater believer

He said in his speech and meanings,"
God does not look at your images and colors,
But God looks at what is in your hearts"

He said also in his speech and meanings,"
There is no credit for an Arab over foreigner
Except for piety"

When he moved up to sky
He heard sound of the moving shoes of his ***** friend
At the heavens so clearly
He asked, "
What do you do?
As I heard the sound of your moving shoes
At the heavens
His friend said, "
After I Perform ablution
I pray to my God
Only two prayers"

The prophet said,"
There is no credit for an Arab over foreigner
Except for piety"
Equality, between all men and women
Equality
Is the justice at every way
the prophet came with peace and equality. he did not come the sword and justice. he ordered his fellows to love and make great strong believe with their god as well as loving must grow between them. when the prisoners of unbelievers were as prison they was ordered as the prophet ordered his friends and fellows to feed them with bread.
Muslims with their poor and the breads was the great food to eat, they obeyed their prophet and feed them the bread and the ate the cheap  food.
Onoma Mar 2017
Straggler whose self-edifying whip

signs the energy of strandedness...

padlocked to the cold ******* of earth,

whose blood flecks gold in a rain of

rays...ready to consume wholes in

that broadening light of upturned eyes.

Its scales, scaling scales that seem to

equalize as open arms...legless, armless--

that belly's bloated deformity.

Fluxing fat off the land, swiveling exclamation

point tapping its head to outer reaches.

Honorary guest ex nihilo,

whose hiss is silence in reverse.
*First of a series of poems under the same title.
Suzanne Penn Feb 2021
My older eyes
have been searching lately
through the crowds of people tearing up
My city

I understand
protesting
Hell...
I have protested a bit myself

I understand...
pushing hard
personally
I hate to be ignored

I myself have experienced
quite a bit of
prejudice myself
most of my life

And before anyone pops off
and tries to tell. me thats its different
and trivializes
my experiences

Consider this...
I identify as a an old (60)
Fat (long before it was trendy)
Gay (came out same year as AIDS)

My whole life has centered around
alternative lifestyles
that have not r will or ethical

I have never been able to blend
keep any kind of filter on my opinions
nor conform to authorities
just because...

All that being said...
you should also know
That I am loyal to a fault
and a fixer, maker, creator...

My belief system
is simple
I believe in Good and Bad
and Right and Wrong

occasionally, it becomes necessary
to cross over to the Bad and Wrong side
but as soon as possible return
to where you belong

I believe we are all born
knowing the difference
and how a person handles that
defines them

I have spent most of my life
helping those
who were considered "less than"
by the powers that be

my first real epiphany in life
taught me that fear
was the greatest motivating factor
in most peoples bad behaviour

my second one taught me
that manners , wit, persistence and patience
could head off 95% of those behaviours

my third was a difficult one
it made me quit using the wrongs done to me
as excuses for milking a situation
instead of processing thro them

When I gave birth
I knew innately
that my child was my one chance
to build a person as I believed they should be

That last thing I was going to do
was install "untruths"
pertaining to our behaviors
or perceived inherent rights

You see, moving so much taught me
that facts can change
but truth  is always the same
Yet, perspective is everything  

Now as I was saying
my old eyes
have been searchin the crowds...
And listening to the storylines

Unfortunately...
the majority are near misses
right ideas
wrong techniques

For instance...
how does one bring about
equality and inclusion
by separating and  blaming

I understand the anger
remember Gay bashing
was (is) a daily danger
yes Black lives matter
but so do all the others

I love my hometown Portland
a beautiful diverse conglomeration
of geeks, tweeks and freaks
with a sprinkling of weirdos ,wackos
and tightly wound wikinuts
add to that a high tolerance
for  the" to each his own"
school of thought

Micro beers and green ****
have fueled grand discussions
and deep conspiracy theories
but we haven"t decided yet

So  if you have the wear with all
to riot violently and demand attention
why is it that when you finally do
have the  worlds attention
why do you not make your point?

And clean up after your selves!
you trashed my home town
and scared the locals into submission
just to say nothing ,
walk away undramatically
and leave my home trashed in your wake

I've thought long and hard
and watched in the wings
for the golden hour to emerge
and have concluded this:

The time is right
The issues are right
The places are right
the leaders have yet to fully develop

it not enough
to see the problems
we must be able to visualize the solutions
and put down  the need to be right
while picking up the need to do right

Take the descriptive language
out of the for front
quit insisting we revisit old wounds
let them heal
All lives matter...period

Also make the rules
we are expected to abide be universal
in no ones world should it be ok
to **** some one because they don"t stop
when you tell them to and if you do **** someone
expect to pay dearly for it,

Just like when we were kids...
just because you can beat someone
doesn"t make you right
it makes you a bully

And finally one last item..
equalize leadership ideals!
Money does not make a hero
courage to stand up for rights does

Re-think our priorities... please!
Quit instilling  $$$$ as a value or ethic
it is merely a vehicle in which we travel
the actual destination is the goal
(ps)-( hint) it's much less fun alone

Keep in mind ... your manners
will get you further
than your mouth ever will
but what we need to be thinking about is  when the dust settles and we arrived at our destination
will we like  the place and people that are here too?

One last epiphany to mention
remember the pendulum
once things are stirred up and more easily rearranged
clean up the mess and set things down in a place that allows them to become common place.
because really our ultimate goal is to become a non-issue
Only when the issues are not even brought up
will it be successful
he"s not a gay man across the street
he just a man
only when we become willing
to be bland and "just another"
will we approach  balance
and  ultimate nirvana
Just an old gals personal opinion after a lifetime of fighting the good fight
Skipping Stones Jun 2016
12-meter deep
to hurt your ears
equalize
reclaim, your hold

18-meter deep
to calm your eyes
accommodate
life, behold

a thousand and one
to meet and greet
be it under the blue
or under the green

the gobies hide
the corals wave
an infinitesimal
wondrous grace
Ryder Rose Apr 2015
The burn from the needle
the sting from the ice
the fire sensation
it's less than suffice

How could you ever
think you could equalize the pain
I felt in my heart
from your lovesick games

Dear past love
you took the breath out of me
choking me with your words
for now I am buried below the sea
Zeus Isabel Apr 2016
The Masquerade Man

He lives, Laughs, & Loves like the thunderous seas, but sometimes it's not quite enough. Yearning for more,  Guidelessly He roams to no avail. In search for the things that make him feel alive. Yet He fails to see He is ensnared in His own lies. Bounded by the reckless & ruthless flames of influence, He is constantly molded into shells of His older self. Day by Day He awakes with a Mind manifested by false pretense. He realizes new ways to Equalize with His surroundings are becoming as Unbearable as Raging Hurricanes Decimating his Soul. So He shoots for the Stars, Aiming to recapture His grace. And to no Avail, He continues to Roam guideless like the weaping winds hoping to one day Find His place.
I W Jun 2013
On the ground, burning brightly, sits a heart shaped box,
the flames licking out over the sides torment the concrete beneath,
its resistance to the chemical reaction an absurd defiance,
the eternal heat trying to equalize itself, but the gray stands firm.

Insects crawl in and out of the fire, lightning themselves up
with the purity of a break down, a catastrophic reluctance
finally left to its own devices, they wander away from the heart,
the beat of their wings throwing ash and embers into the air.

When the torrent finally subsides, there now resides a charred and black spot,
burned into the resistant concrete, a heart shaped center the most prominent,
amongst the amorphous shape of the rest, an incredible indecision,
when it comes to what corner to take, what rounded edge to make.

There is no art here, there is no soul here, there is no heart here,
there is only a darkened, erratic, and tread upon indistinct outline
left to remind the passers by how lucky they are,
to know what love is.
Taboosun Jul 2016
The grand nature of existence,
So delicate and supple.

Allow truth to enter your eyes,
Removing doubt from the confines of retribution.

The laws of nature
Shall imbue your spirit
With strength so far reaching
You would think you were dreaming.

Admit that the factual container
Of lies has served its duty.

The normal tendency of escape
Into a pattern of mistakes
Has been blown out of proportion.

Equalize and acquiesce
The moments desire and nothing less.

Allow an enigmatic psychology
To permeate the very fabric of your being,
Blanketing the treacherous reminder
Of a life without direction.

Declare solitude
in eternal conviction
Of passion fueled living.

Craft your reality.
Infuse meaning with direction.
Carve out a picture so grand
That only you could appreciate it.

Inside the tiny dark space,
Tucked behind archaic connections long forgotten,
Witness the muses of an insane creation,
Slowly working, slowly showing,
Revealing bits of curious movement.

In the end I am just a messenger
Talent is nothing more
Than skill dressed in will.

Life is a vivid scheme scheme of joy
painted on photons
flying through cosmos and
Manifesting in the perception of beauty.

My only request
Is that you enter the lair of truth
and seek no counsel.
Take it upon your own hands to end destitute solutions
That have robbed your will of hunger
And have starved your passionate wonder.

POWER,
Be it.
DIRECTION,
Feel it.
DESIRE,
Chase it.

Embark on a self-prophetic journey,
Centering the life you're meant to live
In a consecrated permeation
Of the live you deserve.
Sumit Ganguly Oct 2016
Human nature is to be a creeper.
We use the weak, meek and backward sections
as branches of trees.
To keep the growth uniform.
nature intends to equalize
by earthquake, flood or forest fire,
but the devastation is area specific.
Societies come up and resort to democracy.

15th Oct. 2016
Andrew Rueter Jul 2023
Dear Mr. One-In-A-Billion
I'm one of the billion
trying to get some of your billions
but I'm just part of the sum of your billions.

I'm the one in your pocket
with only ones in my pocket
avoiding guns and rockets
that came from your pocket.

You keep a gun to my head
by putting guns in my head
with the guns you have led
bringing guns to a head.

I became your captive
you're a velocicaptor commercial raptor
with a manner didactic
to mandate moralistic methods of capture.

When I ask you to stop
I'm thwarted by cops
when I ask you to go
I'm thwarted by no's.

You tell us to fly when you know that we're hurt
you say it's the sky when we know that it's dirt
you give us a tie when all we have is a shirt
until the day we die and no longer have worth.

You providers provide
petite provisions
then dastardly deride
demographic divisions

parading pride
parroting patriotism
but the parrots died
during the schism.

You don't trust me because of my bank account
I don't trust you because of your body count
you don't care because your banks can't be counted
I care too much because every body counts.

Monopoly is a boar's game
the banker controls the board
the banker determines the gored
and property determines the score.

For equality we must equalize our equity
and make austerity analogous to antiquity
allowing annihilation of our antipathies
so we can delete deficit driving deficiencies.

We need charity baked into the system
so parity will be caked onto our vision
so we can stop worrying about cheddar
and give our cheese to the beggars

but you're the only baker around
with a shop full of dough
that you throw into the oven
to feed us sugarcoated lies.

Please stop feeding us tryptophan
through avenues like Instagram
or other similar brands
infecting culture with a businessman

until we're business ******
except for a select few
one of whom is you
and your billionaire brood.
"Vernarthiano and well-wisher name leads me to you in temporary fissure and tolondro, abjuring virginity in my maiden legion delivered in barbarism, and in blood betrothed for those who more in the finesse prolactin emulsion is renewed as a teenager, opening spaces to bring depressions of inheritance, for whom or those who found hieratic parents and children here in the disputed ****** that nests their nature.

Escaping from the beast and the libido of the criminal patron of the dynasty, which continues to flow senile gold through the scattered veins of beasts that hunt spoil, falling in love with the young and their commiseration. I swiftly attracted the henchmen who bleed before the door of the corporal and fateful destiny, opening in Hellenicidal impostor blood of the Holy Land, and in contradiction by Maccabees with immobilized blindfolded eyes, intimating the extreme virginity of a quasi Sibyl maiden, grasped in the tweezers. Of Seleuco, expired in the dark chamber of Wonthelimar, and in ardent desires that sever brains in the darkness of the cavern of Chauvet bilocated in the roadstead of Skalá. Vernarth I have come to you as a double birth, moaning descendants of the helots, phrases that found no excuses that salutely leave compassionate, like Antiochus who exhorted me to go to your solemn Investiture of the Himation. Ad mostem festinamum Eurydice said that she sang to me romantic atolls from the balcony of nowhere, unrequited I was consumed with the love that flowed through the vena cava of the sufferer in Apollo. Ezpatkul looked at the koelum or demiurge sky in his epiphany, summoning your Gerakis to station themselves near Petrobus, entrenching me tightly in the clutches of the Ibic Rings to be referred to your luminary by the seat of Leros.

My parents by the name of Demetrio and Fila brought me to Roshus on the Perian coast of Macedonia, where I was given as a gift at the regent's wedding. I am Stratony of Macedonia, the daughter of Strategy of Syria, my mother. It is I when writing this epistle, which in turn had a prosperous one, but in posterity when my consent was distanced from the same tenor, my mother was solicitously delegated to Seleucus and then to my father Antiochus. Then I shunned Demetrius II, due to his extra union with Phtia, Daughter of Olympia II of Epirus. It was enough that a link in this Seleucid genealogy was lost in the open from a sick dynasty and successions, so that they appear on the henbane embankment, and go back from Lambdas and Epsilons of consanguineous matings, betting principalities and fratricidal blood, cursing themselves in campaigns since the same that is sheltered in mutes and feelings in Judah by Olympian torments, and immortal Gods shrouding fleeting perishable itineraries of life to the tempting mayor of the puppets, and of the mortal reigns without disposition rattling in Samothrace libido, of hundreds superior, and all the enlightened contents of a captive genealogical of semi-gods trying to equalize.


Beloved Vernarthiano on Venus, anxieties made me fly to the sound of the souls of Trouvere, committing crimes in my larnax, for tears that have spread one spring afternoon, which I only saw in contained affections, being able to walk through Roshus with my mother, in the discharge of essences saturated that truncate release in the Epsilon hopper. Subtending lines and diameters towards the ends of the curved arch or broken lines, being able to refer to the circumferential buttress between the sides of the angle of my asthmatic regret…! When I removed my hand from this obituary, I saw that The Hague reigned at its lowest point, which made the ink pinch that made me a princess out of her lines, and characters that were molded in such proactive and literal numbers. Beautiful and charitable is the beautiful donna that is born flowered for nuptials of the angelic white indigo "Deus Meus Captivus", in your purpose I could be Stratonice regent of wandering honoring through the palatial corridors of my mother evading intentional and reasons of victory to our good honor, and of the audited and emphasized names of "Victorious Armies" in their real meaning in our patronymic, after the victory of Ipsos. As Argeadas, the king yielded to the prince, what his subjects receive from replicated dynasties, in retreats and shallow swells of temperament, linking liras between liras of Corinth and patronizing condescension in the dominions of Persia.

Much more than an umpteenth outrage in the bands of tolerance and knowledge, I was able to discount the years to come. Passed through our unconfessed lineage, reaching our sarcophagi in the good news by raising the frame, and lifting my mother in your tragedy by three that are tripled, knowing that they allude to Saint John the Apostle, over the loafers who drool in scabs stepdaughters of party mouths, and monarchical slaps that have united us behind the scenes, and in the interlocking followed by re continued guarantees of worship, pro-Seleuchism or Antiochism vanished in buried Diadoco briefs, adjacent to the ibid in mega nuptials or Olympic descendants, and in the relatives of the Orphism-transgenerational surrogate! Vernarth give me a taste of the well, I require a new territorial ally in your quilts to new heads branded in his autumnal Hegemon.

In the attempt to take out a dagger and put it in the night watchman, I was already amazed at the reading of the fluttering of the Gerakis, who threw the tantrum of other Gerakis with the souls of Trouvere, kidnapping half of my letter that had cut for you Vernarth with chlorinated tears of solid, towards the swallowing of the airones that intimated in bastardized allegories, containing intoxication and unsheathed unison echoes of the bronze settled in the thundering law, making the Gerakis and the Trouveres fall together in some Mycenaean jars of wine. Anger provided beds of each one for manly acts in the Patmian Olympic allegory, denying the reactions of those who become the purveyor of the riches of tragedy, in immaterial environments that discuss not having it if they only run aground in logical narratives of Demosthenes' contented spoiled bozo. Smooth sites wound me with poisonous openings on the campaign pistils and on the Áspis Koilé shields, being worth confusing against the hives of the queen mother and her drone, tolerating and yielding to her heir, with foolish demeanor in caring for him and inheriting him a procreated barbarian reign.

Now we are barbarian slaves and heirs, in unresolved conflicts of parents deprived of a loving life, by progeny that ennoble crusades that stone patrimonial alliances for consanguineous alliances that should never have prospered in the bitter toast of Stratonice worried in her borne sarcophagus, avunculated in true pro lactic godmother of the son of a nascent Zeus. We are all divided as a lineage; there is nowhere to gather more dismembered successors of Macedonian polytheists, after central efforts to reign without a crown. The same of the love that reigns without meaning, imparted from the decadent effort that worsens to resurrect the aristocracy that lies of grubs,  and the sacrosanct helminth in our Alexander the Great, preceding intercessions of the Royal Marriageable Dynasties before your most illustrious, in the new kingdom of the Lord that does not he sees himself enthroned in the black trepidations of our ill-managed partitions, by humors that flow from the couplings and bandages of who is said to be the abbot of a Vernarthian preliminary.

Vernarth, culminated in the auspices of the complete conjecture and its subsequent grievances to request your office, in subsequent claims that induce to draw the irascible thunderbolts of those who only want to make us wake up from their apostasy, alone and insubstantial, covering muddy stores of grace, which establish walled up reigns in all honor and charm of hearing the true voice of the Mashiach, with all its solemn title being able to help all those freed from the Caucasus scene, and in the edicts that nullify memories as human beings of their castrated history.

Before your letter is read, I add Stratonice as my name is, and I am aware of his reading by uttering: “The signal field has been prophesied, it has condensed the Hegemonic energy of Alexander the Great, pointing out that the diseased body of Antiochus; my father…, is supplanted by that of the to happen all the trances and difficulties that are assumed after the hazardous departure in Babylon. Therefore it must carry every corollary prophesied in the death of my grandfather Seleucus in the hands of Ptolemy Ceraunos. Wanting to dress up the irrevocable interference that occurred in Judah by his Diadocos gangs, opting for the effect of his offspring, therefore on his spiritual stretch of residual and static energetic mass, ad libitum that will end when unleashed in his son. By now all will be consumed in the pathogenic body of Antiochus, and of the love for my mother where she was abducted, and possessed by retaliation from Alexander the Great for proven insubordinate ethical demands. "
Epistle of Stratonice
Edward Fairley May 2017
What is desperation
A hunger, a longing
A need for a new beginning
A call for reconciliation

Is it the worst thing in life
Well that depends on your said desperation
Is it a desperation to hold a loving hand
Or is it a desperation to use a deadly knife

Is it to love or to hate
To equalize or discriminate
To live life or to test fate
To throw away, or appreciate

Some desperations lead to good things
Others reap the seeds of death
Be careful of your desperations
For they determine life's blessings
Jay earnest Aug 2019
I ******* everyday
Everyday
Not at work though.usually at night
I watch movies too.
I should start reading again.
I have a really ****** life which persists despite my best efforts to improve.
Systemic poverty and growing up in a household full of ******. I won't make excuses. I just despise you ******* ***** who had everything given to you on a pladder and are still insufferable with your excuses. Fuccbois and Sarahs and Emma's, decay on the excrement pile.
I will succeed , if success is contentedness. Pain can only last so lo g before it becomes your normal.
If your whole life is having your intestines slowly wrung from your body and your testicles desheathed eventually things will equalize.
Hell isn't a state of mind, it's just a nightmare that thinks it's a dream , and I woke up too soon, you'll be there too and with a certain someone
Sean Hunt Apr 2017
My Heart

My heart’s like steel
My heart’s like ice
It’s hard for me to feel
and to equalize  

There’s a view, I’ve been told
from your mountain too
Wish I knew what I’ll see
when I see like you  
  
I wonder what will happen to my world
when that other flag unfurls

I’m mining for metal,
there’s no doubt
I wonder what kind
I guess I’ll soon find out  

Will it be iron,
or will it be gold
when I dig deep down
where I’ve been told  

I wonder what will happen to my world
when that other flag unfurls
    
Can I cross the valley
if I’m blind
If I make that climb
what will I find  

I wonder what will happen to my world
when that other flag unfurls

Sean Hunt  April  2017
Once knew this beautiful soul,
Sounds of musical control,
The weight to the heavy vessel, but he
Wanted to be the biggest muscle,
Right handed, next to god, standing on the throne,
With three million bones,
Under along with multiple clones,
Took a third to another zone,
Wings is clipped, he wanted to be self worshipped,
But couldn't get the membership,
So it fell into the church,
Raise ya hands high, see how many souls,
Lined up to fry, and die,
Wishful thinking, prosperity got the
Folks thinking,
They can buy they way, into the heaven,
Sisters to brethren,
Still juggling sins, I saw judgement from within,
My own dreams, became a reality theme,
Ain't no I in team,
Used my will to fight the against wicked ill,
Still sharpen my skills,
I see flaming eyes, wooly hair with the thousand yard stare,
I once saw, scriptures turned into a reality picture,
Famine got us **** and, while y'all steadily jamming, they been planning,
Scanning,
Chips for our branding,
Guerilla tactics handling, no time for emotional gamblin',
Jack the twelve gauge standin,
Amongst the darkness, pictures of a million carcasses,
Don't need a license to ****, too much blood
Is waiting to spill,
They even got Jesus cap peeled,
For tryna heal,
The masses, broke through the horrors glasses, a testament new session of classes,
Slow burn my cigar, drink wine ice and mild sugar,
Studied demonology, to better understand demons around me,
Or better yet divinity, see the sanctity, of people's
Freedom praying to false, dietys,
Which really be, ya enemy,
Ain't got no friends around me, I myself
Is the biggest loyalty,
Caught Seraphim stones, burned my left cheek suddenly,
The burden of the curse, lifted upon me,
The purer the soul the more wickedness
Hunts for thee,
Walk on low cut grass, so I can see snakes slithering as a mass,
Can't avoid the crash or the clash, American dollar bash,
Keep chasing ya goals, only to lose ya self in the lustful of the bold,
Trapped inside of this cold, world but never fall in love with the world,
Don't lose or sell ya self short, cuz folks play with spirits as a sport,
See peer pressure extort, it's more love for drugs and thugs,
Than sweet people giving hugs,
Death is an everyday mission, wrote as
The biggest commission,
Just listen,
They plotting your funeral, from scripted TV's flexing without rehearsal,
Murders exposed, love is closed, they rather run more blood through ya doors,
The more the killing, the more the ratings touching the ceilings,
Of the Georgia stones seven billion mudded atoms, gotta be gone,
To equalize, with the demon treaty, poison of medicine got us needy,
Slow breathin, focus positivity,
Recollect the same energy,
Directed towards me, bounced off Saturns rings, visions of me falling,
Into infinite space, northern lights flashing like camera snipes, iight,
Angel paparazzi, taking shots at me like I wanna be free,
From this society, hide where the troubles find me, blind me,
Oh Lord, to the gores of the world, well evil must be good,
Cuz it plays along with the hood,
Lions even **** their own cubs, so I guess it's
Really no love, but love,
Spelled backwards, is evol, and naw this ain't a hat trick, to a sequel,
See axes could get you split, playing in the game of the dangerous corporate,
I reshaped my mind, I'm like Al Simmons at
His graveyard design,
With many metals, made to be a rebel, up the bass **** the treble,
This is for devils, tryna down me a level,
I don't need a Bible,
To be sanctified, Ive been left for dead before
I was crucified,
Saw the saviors eyes before he demised,
Lightning veins across the skies,
Got a spiritual high,
Blessed by the essence, **** presence  from the fry,
Burn slow with the maple,
This is for ya intellect to staple,
Real ****, for ya mind, far from a fable,
Rose though the ranks like Gabriel,
Watch Demonesses walking with the **** of Sable,
Stalkin' with a bulletproof label,
Flames over my body, a true, Goku trooper, one forty fours getting gathered,
Waitin' for the heavens, to scoop ya,
Norbert Tasev Dec 2020
I don’t even know an impenetrable Silence will break my spiritual peace, or will it just equalize it like the language of a moving balance? Words from deep are knocking off the reefs of landlessness and they are still struggling for new goals! My closed eyes are asleep: plenty of stone blocks, even the lunar night of huge dreams falls on me! I may soon be lifeless, even on the cliffs of my mortality, the restless Nothing!
 
In the great current of Being, I cannot want to drift any further! As a well, I will immerse myself in selfish-stubborn growls! I really want to trust in the devotion of Redeeming Loves so that I will forget forever fear and fear; the crested waves of heart-sounds under silence stir and destroy at the same time! Through the alley of shady crypt-faces, I stumble as a shadow that is already shattering myself and I can't even find the sure way out!
 
Greedy and Fragile The puffing of people immediately subsides and strikes back into Nihiles Nothing! How can I stand up to the challenges of Being when Survival also comes into paid laws ?! - The star fire of bombing eyes holds me many times, it also killed my eccentric will and I died on the ladder of opportunities: into ancient mists!
 
In the gaping traps of annihilation, I had time to delve even further into myself! In my self-pity, in order not to lose myself once and for all, I always needed someone who was an understanding, protective Angel, who bowed his angel wings over my head. I don't know yet that I was constantly let go, but the feeling became, "I may not be absolutely alone!"
MKemal Dec 2021
Time comes, that you who never took a sip of red wine
Becomes drunk at an unknown street to our common map
Time comes, it snows in our favorite city after 50 years
Your eyes come to my mind, where once you slipped

Time comes, I forget the way you smoked
Is this the old city where we used to walk?
Time comes, I do not wake up at 4 am anymore
You do not smell as you used to in my head no more

Time comes, you're not the 23 you used to be
I do the things you and me chatted about
Time comes, your particles do not appear at the station
Time comes, I forget the last letter of your perfume and its smell

Time comes, I imagine no more your last flight
Airports become a tool of mass transport again
Time comes, hell and heaven merge unconditionally
I do not wish anymore not to even hear your name

Time comes, Sunday and Wednesday equalize
Mornings and nights allow the same sins
Time comes, that old excitement dies
Everyone who dies is misunderstood

Time comes, I remember things
You cannot walk around in my rain
Time comes, you are a bit dark and far
I sense your disappearance will be sudden

Time comes, the little you becomes destined to you
14/01/2021

— The End —