"equalizer" poems
How can I reach the unreachable..
teach the unteachable who's comprehension is unbelieveable
But the fact is unbelief is more than lack of knowledge..
Cause the truth is even Satan knows who God is..
Is it blindness...
truth on deaf ears..
the embracing of silence..
should there be surpises ..
when behind your eyelids enter a random act of violence..
A vision of darkness ..there's no light that why the pupils dilate the use of the iris..
But when use to darkness and the lights hits one close their eyelids..
I.e. Christ the truth the way the light..
Being unsaved is like living in the womb..
Darkness equivalent to that of a tomb..
Flashes of light is like labor contractions..
The unknown conviction hinting..
Considered a distraction..
Pushed out now watch the eyes reaction..
To the light cause from darkness there's a detachment..
If given a chance a adjustment happens..
An embracement of the light..
A rebirth Christ in action.
How can i reach the unreachable..teach the unteachable ..
With a script the director unknown Its more than the shout of action..
Living life like a movie unaware that the villains not acting..
Now could u imagine..
A movie set full of madness..
All the cast dead like really dead from a stabbing..
No equalizer the villain the only one left standing..
You may say excuse me..
Life is not a movie.
Truly
But a witness not performing there duty..is bystander..
No innocence exist...
No bliss in ignorance...
.Cause we all birth into sin.
So many questions with wrong answers given like the truth don't exist....
How can I reach the unreachable
teach the unteachable
who I tell to this body of Christ they should enlist
But when a pass is given and the shot is missed..
It negates the assist..
A reason for the lost of the game..
The thought of a lost soul has me ******
I'm the point guard I help the scorer sustain..
Chris Paul with rock which is the gospel..
Passing the truth like Paul the apostle ..
Too many people out for a win like Christ didn't settle the score...
Adam severed the relationship but Christ rebuilt the rapport...
I am trying to reach and teach but there's no trust any more...
Pointing u in the direction of accepting the Lord..,
Embrace the word of God that double edge sword..
Them cuts is conviction..
The sword swinging is What it means to be a witness..
Led by the spirit A Christian
Yes we are made in Gods image..
Trying to reach every soul because the wins and losses count..
Life is not a scrimmage..
How can one soul have a blemish..
Only dirt that can touch the soul is the ***** hands of sinning..
How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable..Who mistakes knowledge for ignorance...
And reject truth because arrogance..
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
We are hydrocarbons
We all burn
We are all laughed at
And we all get our turn
We produce our own enemies
We almost smother ourselves in sadness
We all release CO2
When we die from this poem's badness
We all want to be superior
We all want to be the equalizer
We want to be leerier
Without being the sympathizer
We smite and are smited
We hurt and we heal
We spite and are spited
And have a tenuous relationship with what's real
We are hydrocarbons
We are equal despite what we aspire
And if you don't agree
I'll light you on fire
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
There is a dark place you will go,
a place where we've all been
at one time
or another.
A place where clichés come true,
where nightmares turn to reality,
a place where your worst fears,
your deepest insecurities,
will tower above you.
It is a place you will visit
when you have been drained
emotionally, physically, spiritually, mentally,
but must keep moving forward.
A place that does not discriminate
for anyone,
a place that is the great equalizer.
You will not be able to breathe.
Your lungs will be filled with soot,
your eyes will be branded in fire,
your mind will be captive,
you will want to quit.
You may even want to die.
But this place holds a secret.
You will fall to your knees
on tough soil and gravel,
blind,
and you will cry, you will scream.
The air will be as fire,
and your skin will be as ice.
But you will dig.
You will blindly ****** your fingers into the cold Earth,
you will search for a way out,
you will rip and bleed and tear,
and you will convince yourself
it is futile.
But you will not stop.
You will keep fighting.
This place holds a secret.
This place holds an opportunity -
an opportunity for growth.
And, yes, you will grow.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 10:25 PM UTC
The grief has not set in yet.
Only the foreboding weight of sorrow
hangs in the distance.
I will find it in my mother's eyes,
bright from weeping.
The sweetest lives are always the shortest.
The Good die young,
and we the half-good, remain.
Pausing for prayers and graveside tears.
I would say unfair,
but death is always the great equalizer.
I may join her tomorrow-- who knows.
Cradled in earth still damp from rain,
or burned to ashes.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
But Death, be not proud.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
He nearly ripped my throat out just to prove his point.
The bleeding thumbs of an angry boy can be tasted on my tongue at 11 pm.
His desire lies in between his toes and his malice in between his teeth.
He screams to a God he'll never praise and kisses a father he'll never love.
The sound of the air blowing between my teeth, however, shut him the **** up.
Shhh.
I have a project for you.
It involves you losing your victimizing nature.
Dropping your entitlement.
Opening your baby browns.
And listening.
Your sweat will never taste sweet until you love yourself like you loved her.
Your legs will stumble on their insecurities until you dance in your impurities.
Your vengeance is futile and will only make you avoided.
I can scream too.
You want to scream?
Scream with me.
But don't say I didn't help you.
Don't say I didn't try.
Don't act like the blisters and welts on your tan skin are from my fire.
You want blood?
I got plenty.
I'll jump rope with your esophagus.
Play dress up in your epidermis.
Understand your motives and thoughts better than Lauryn Hill.
But you can't assume anymore.
You can't believe that I fall to my knees because you make me weak.
That's not the case.
I don't need you like you need me.
Oh, please.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
we live lives so close together and yet so far away.
moving metal boxes give us the illusion of separation,
and our houses set the boundary of privacy.
In the end, the great equalizer brings us all back to the soil.
We are united in death to be connected again to the earth,
but some of us want to be separate even in death and
decompose privately in a metal box.
What are the boundaries that separate me from you?
for a brief instant our lives touch as your eyes read my words,
and my heart touches your heart. In that moment of connection,
we become little more free of the apathy and disconnection
that's all around us.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
farmland, not death, is the great equalizer. death separates the famous from the infamous, the young from the old, the lucky from the alone. farmland, stretching to the horizon, makes pennsylvania into connecticut into ireland into kansas. you can't tell monet's haystacks from mine.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
Why do old men cry?
it's such an unmanly act
so we've all been told
"Boys don't cry", they say
"You're acting like a female"
**** up", "Be a man"
boys do become men
they till good and evil soil
coping in the world
through all walks of life
anxiety sprouts like wheat
must prove their manhood
learn to make their way
to take care of their own selves
and share with others
they raise families
quality time, joy, heartache
see their children grow
just like all people
all men experience loss
life's equalizer
they face rejection
lose their jobs and livelihood
they go off to war
they watch loved ones die
parents, wives, children and friends
no one is immune
but real men don't cry
providers and protectors
with stiff upper lip
why do old men cry?
it took a lifetime to learn
they're only human
May 14, 2010
May 14, 2010 at 11:49 AM UTC
My expression in verse and word.
It is my rock.
My salvation though I. Walked away when limbs were healed. Over the
Years. It sat in dusty corner like the forgotten bookcase.
Runway living. Reaching for the next thing distraction.
Social interaction has become a relic. As we wiggle and prance but
Speak less about truth. Face to face. Eye to eye.
Raise your hands out there if you hear me.
Look up from. The screen if you know. Ditto.
Pain is the great equalizer. Fatigue makes cowards of us all.the mighty has a date as well as the meek .
Nod your head if too weak to speak.
I swear. This coil.
This man-ifestation of struggle and toil.
Fear not. The bottom approaches with a rush. A sudden stop.
It is the anticpation that tingles and teases.
Breathlessly we glide.
My words are my blessing and damnation. Barbed and tipped with buffalo ****
Sweet as the sweetest nectar. Volatile and ******
Willful and recklessly they exit to strike and injure.caress. Convince.
My fathers legacy. Process of elimination.
Truth. Has gone wanting today
Never to return I fear. A vagabond.outcast.
A *****
The wellspring rustles and bubbles patiently not stagnant.
Time is of essence an essence. In essence. A dab or two behind each ear.and sodium pentothal. politicians fess up.
Money caves see sunlight in all corners the thief has absconded. The judge
Slinks down from his perch blood red hands clasped behind his back
There stands the summit. Still I must climb. Unknown the other side.
Will truth abide? there .Another expanse of lies and distortion.Trickeration says I.
a misty bog. Listen. Bagpipes ?. The leafless branch vibrates a siren song to the sod.
The shimmering pool in the parched desert of god.
I stagger foward now unaware. No I am past caring. The will still is there
A ghost. Soon soon.
No ?. No. A mirage
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
the jew in you,
something
you long suspected,
or long lamented.
too bad,
the absence of
this moniker if it
ain’t applicable directly
to your sorry ***
after all who doesn’t
want to be among the
ch-ch-chosen peeps?
this blessing
in disguise,
it’s very special
to be hated by
almost,
everyone.
hatred,,
the great equalizer,
highlighting your
choicest features
race, gender, roman nose,
etc., etc., etc.
but like the song said,
though somebody may
hate unlucky you,
everybody, no exceptions,
hates the jews.
everyone knows
the jews own the banks.
everybody hates the banks
who leave you on hold,
leaving you, wondering why,
they won’t give you back
at the ATM, the good money
you lent them,
so you must be
minimum 10%
shrewish (shhhh-jewish) or
whaat! why?
yup, your deposit is
a liability on their books,
(they owe it back to you)
so you too are
a moneylender,
congrats!
welcome to the club,
the club of being
a liability.
we jews travel
around the world,
chased out from
almost everywhere.
so we invented the
around-world-cruise,
and the world gave
us steerage class
to remind us,
even the jew in you,
that’s OUR special place.
postscript:
(All) Jewish Lives Matter!
Oy!
(don’t get me started...)
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 12:32 PM UTC
Careful to make respectful steps, she padded lightly through
The grass a weaving wanderer
Investigating the stone garden with
The ashen faced man calling her name
He was perverted, but insightful
And he shared the roots of the stone trees
A wealthy merchant lay with
A poor laborer
Side by side and synchronized demise-wise
Death, the pale guide said, is the great equalizer
Life is not fair; Death is.
Pictures marked the grander tombs and one caught
Her searching eyes, reptile
Slither serpent slinks and eats circular self loop
Symbolizing eternal, consume-die resume
The local ghost noted vert reaching rest stones
******* competition in the inadequate hereafter
A corvidae watched, perched: “wait your turn”, then fly sky
The cold wind eavesdropped on
Her chestbeat, early cycle thumps (time) to spare
Knowing her fear
The winded skeletons of the stone garden howled like wicked tuning forks
Jun 27, 2012
Jun 27, 2012 at 2:41 AM UTC
The one thing that comes to us all
The one place we all go
The one we always try to cheat
But lose to nonetheless
The ultimate equalizer
Taking emperors and peasants alike
Yet on some, death bears down much too soon
Because only of hardships and torture
That has been inflicted by our own kinsmen
Pushing the breaking point of the spirit
Crushing all hope of a better, if any, future
Shoved to making the choice of harming oneself
Because of the idiocy of others
Ignorant fools who look down on others with contempt and hate
Since they do not match the conventions they made for themselves
And with jealousy at their ease of happiness
Making sure to crush them and their joy so as to assure they become as miserable as the others are
Deep in their hearts
All this leading to the culminating moment of pain
When it is no longer tolerable
And all the eyes see is death
Death, my friend
Death, my savior
Death, my hope
Death, my mercy
Death, my deliverance
Come to me, death
Give me my wings to go to somewhere better
This pain cannot be better than death
Death is quick, and ends all
Life is long, and ever-suffering
This is not how you must leave
This is not a fitting end to such a bright person
With such a loving heart
So give yourself a chance to a fitting end
And find an ear cocked to listen
Explain, relate
Even just in whispers
Let the demons come out as the words you speak and stay with us
In life
To Evan - I didn't know you very well but what I did know was someone worth being here now
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC
Collectively I feel broken, but I know I am just a little bent out of shape. Feeling more, mirroring less, and yet caring so little. You are as nice as you can be, but you feel like you want to break everything around you. You fear only the pain and consequences of these actions, so you loosely think about it knowing you are stoic. I resume writing this only to make sure my feelings are clear. I love few things in this world, and fewer people. I don't hate anyone, but I hate things. I can't really be amused unless I let myself be open, and I can't really be open without being with people I consider above a certain level. I am selective, I am rude, and I am overall a bad person. I want to help people, but I am too lazy to ask if anyone needs aide. I can't even correct the fact that I am lazy. I can't correct my life without love, but I can't even admit it to myself. I can't convince myself that love is logical enough to be important. I hate the concept of my heart being right over my brain and it is crushing my concept of reality knowing what my heart has to say. I feel butterflies in my stomach, but I am not thinking about anyone. My heart is letting me feel the rush that it wants. To bring me back down it is crushing me with depression and guilt. I can't even keep things to myself, subtly I leave clues about what is going on, and I can't ever keep it to myself for long given my company. I am arrogant in the sense that I feel I can't be outwitted. My heart is cruel, my head is egotistical, and my body can't take it anymore. Love is the only equalizer, but love is unattainable when you can only sit at home. I don't know what I am doing here, listening to my heart is giving me a headache. As I feel neglected, my emotions feel like I am neglecting them. Whatever course of action I take is the wrong one, and I am convinced of that. My heart can't fit on this screen, yet my life could fit in a book. I sit around and play league as my social status decays under the fact that no one even tries to talk with me that I care about. The people I don't even have interest in seem to be the most interest in me. The people I just barely don't hate want to make my life hell, and the people who care don't seem to see past the fake smile I put on every day. I can't expect the world out of people around me, but I also can't expect results from no actions. What I want in my life outside of love isn't much. Laying in bed at night, the only solitude I have is hugging a blanket to make up for all of the contact that I don't have. I can't write anymore of this, later maybe. Good luck, me, try and get yourself out of a self-inflicted hell.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
This is my American Spirit
Though I am loathe, but deserved to hear it
This is my generation in a long, sour drag:
Bohemes and hipsters, the self-important type
Self-serving directness with subtle insouciance
Self-righteous without e’er scents of conviction
Qualities, to all, vogue slimming befit
This, this is my American Spirit.
I’ll be the equalizer in a furtive game of chess
And acquaintance, its partner, arbitrating
I’ll wear the habit of means and humility
An ashen cherry, flicked, waiting to be
The pyrrhic finite ember and pastiche memory
Escape is apparent in discontinuity, my
Means to ravel a courser bond in someone,
As only a blush reminder only when they all clear it
Yes, this is my, my American Spirit.
We’ll have a game of butting desires
‘Tween all those appetites and some self-respect
Only, I know, to lose out in the end.
Is there a place for dignity to prevail
Or charm in an attempt likely to fail?
Can there be eyes open, minds or thought
To gentle pride its combatant ‘gainst
Unconscious abuses: yea or not?
But I will know irony as means to an end
Turned cheek from machination
That I can do, I can pretend
When the veil may be lifted—that I fear it
This, this is my American Spirit.
Of course I enable, for the cynosure, the dissonances
Supplant for fraternity fraternal-ligature
Too obvious is resolve ‘neath shaw of fleeting smoke
My own wants impeded, kept at a distance.
For, oh, Fortune! How you have written
Some conscience to mend it to others kept calm
A charity in practice as this cigarette is long
While vice, in all aspects, is the most correct wrong
But hummed out in truth as a fascist, he ought
I’ll turn to a tonic of strength to delude
That pretense and pride the conscience denude.
In some be it strong in others enthralled
Whilst ********* our prayer beads of looking-glass selves
Quietly burning the vestigial gods
That brought us a new light or perspective on things
And though we are loathe, we despise to hear it,
This, this is our American Spirit.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
The blue sky
Red blood
And death
Are all that connect us
Jul 7, 2021
Jul 7, 2021 at 2:36 PM UTC
I am the tiles beneath your feet,
The air you breathe.
A door that opens and closes,
A laundry line left alone
in the winter months.
I am not for you,
Nor are we for anyone else.
For I am a rock on a mountain side,
A fly in your soup.
Nothing more than the dust
Swept under a rug.
Nothing less, than the clouds
In an endless sky.
The life, running through our veins,
Runs through all we can see.
A bird, a stick, a metal disc.
We stand on a level plane.
As a chess piece,
I lose to my fellows.
For we are all pawns.
Or we are all queens.
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 12:38 PM UTC
When I was little
And the hot world outside my house
Was blessed with summer rain
I’d stare outside and be lost
In a world only I could see.
As I met others I found
That this place of collective consciousness spiritus mundi
Was shared by others
Beautiful tapestries of adventure awaiting just around the corner
Shared time and time again.
But time is the passage to the great equalizer to the end
And fireflies that shimmered behind our glowing eyes
Dimmed as the calls of Neverland and lost boys faded
So playtime was replaced with homework
And toys with video games
And imagination became madness.
So when I tried to exit reality in my early teens
(When I was younger
I’d be lifted by an angel into the starry night sky
And see the Earth illuminated
By spiral staircases made of rainbows
Leading the dead to Heaven
Where I’d meet God on their coffee break
For wisdom and advice on staying alive)
The state of Massachusetts sentenced to me to a hospital for my brain
And I decided it was a bad idea to confide in my psychiatrist
That the wind spoke to me
And told me the secrets of the world.
Beyond the brightly colored pills
That are washed down my throat
I look for an answer to madness
Amongst the hundred voices in my head
And auditory fever dream
Hallucination delusions of hearing my name.
The answer is always the same.
Stable sanity is serenity
Imagination is devoid of practicality
The lone child in the back of the classroom
Staring out the window daydreaming,
Will be the first in the unemployment line.
Are we human beings or trees
Being fed on a steady steam
Of halogen and pixels
Recirculated air
And to others who work at computers replace the use
Of that landscape of infinite possibility.
So I’m left to ask…
(When you wake up from a dream
Where someone loved you
You don’t remember their name
Or maybe even their face
But you’ll remember the ghost of their touch
On your skin
The warmth of their body
Pressed against yours
And whispers in your ear
Of things you never hear while you’re awake)
How can you prefer reality
When all that you ever wanted
Is just a moment away
Past the darkness when you close your eyes.
And embrace that you’ll be lead
Behind the white door
Leading to the white room with padded walls
Labeled madness?
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
The great equalizer
stood by the bed
watching his laborious breathing
and the pain quaking the emaciated body.
It's almost time.
No more layoffs to increase profits
lock-outs to break the unions
hidden caches to avoid taxes
mergers and acquisitions
under the table payments
price fixing, loan sharking
no bribing and extortions
no naive women to exploit
The great equalizer
stood there watching
with pity and loathing
patiently waiting
The end of the line.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
slight music
quite instrumentals slither through the space
now an ethereal silence and a curled, gnarled hand rest at the table
weather-worn pockmarked face twitch
a common occurrence
a scene worthy of a masterful painter
the air sighs, not in sound but in feeling
it is demure, languid,
a seamless bond of hunched figure and wispy breaths
a heart feels light and hollow with pulsating winds surrounding it
a man's hide tingles, prickles
pores gently widen in anticipation
a boxed room
a shackle room
dark, yet for the dim lantern
and a speckling of pinpoints in ever shifting pupils
patterns shift with tightening skin, hackles raised
billowing smoke against snarling and jolting
our West is not kind
a child stumbles with its chittering and chattering, back into its hole
an equalizer delicately rocks upon the floor
hot in its despondence and billowing smoke barrel
the metal becomes cold, uncaring; what despair was impacted upon it has left, as is the same with all objects subject to human emotion
Old blood sleeps in the shackled room
with chattering mumbling children in their holes
life is but glorious process, while we all wish for results
how deplorable
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 4:16 PM UTC
Light in the Dark
This world is finite yet unceasing.
it keeps on spinning yet the
people do not. One day,
every person on this earth
breathing now will stop.
From the young to the old,
from the sick to the vibrant,
from the rich to the poor,
the End is the great equalizer.
The fear of death is something real,
the death of the self is a fright.
But the death of us all is a terror.
To think that it awaits every person
is a crisis that strikes the human heart.
To not exist in this plane
to not breathe a single breath,
to know it all will just stop one day,
is the horror of existential horrors.
Much like the pain of grief,
everyone deals differently,
but that's not what this is about.
This is a poem about you,
and one about me.
You are the light in the dark,
the truth in the lies,
and when I want to rip this
world in two and start anew,
I simply take a look at you and see.
Now, I don't know the truth,
and I don't have the answers,
but I can say that being with you
is like living forever.
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 9:44 AM UTC
An Ant Bit me...
I Bit it back...
to death.
Inflation is temporary.
But you're home now...
I find it rather unfair...
A Question before you go.
Do you dream?
when you spend a lifetime awake.
enslaving yourself for a Queen that knows no one.
But you serve her nevertheless.
Death, for you my friend, must be a beautiful rest.
Maybe you envy me.
A bite to make it seem fair.
A Dreamer killing a dreamless.
Vengeance seems unjust.
A weight to equal us all,
A sight between two walls of evergreen that no one dared to go over.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 12:21 PM UTC
faking it isn't
making it,
if you think you can take
a word or line,
And say "Mine"
though it wasn't yours
You were not ITS genesis,
in fact you are a neutered nemesis,
Of a creative being.
Ask if you may borrow,
If the answer is no,
Take your sorrow, and run to your own pool of creativity,
What? It has run dry?
Oh get your *** out into the world,
See the sights, hear the sounds put
your ear to the ground,
In the middle of a coffee shop
or how about a four way stop,
And intersect your introspection,
The self, get to know your limitations,
Flattery is not about thieving imitation.
If by some rule of mercy they say ”sure"
Please ensure you give credit for not only
The Bit you use, share your gratitude for
The One Time Use, stop copyright abuse
The O in Poetry stands fo4 Ownership,
Unless you wrote it first, in this format,
It ain't you.
You don't have to believe,
In Karma, it is the great Equalizer.
So next time you see some one line(s)
Read them out loud a thousand times,
Before you add them to your prose or rhyme,
Leave the verse free in its original entirety.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 1:47 PM UTC