"equipping" poems
*
*O
dear hater!
do u matter?
of course not!
but thanks a lot
for letting me know that
people have right to reject
i am still not perfect,
and for equipping
my mind with neutrality!
my heart with equanimity!
my soul with magnanimity!
my life with acceptability!
for the black and the white
the wrong and the right
oh i think you matter
love you my hater!
yes you matter!*
*
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 2:07 AM UTC
#
From an ornate podium
the orator spoke words--
..extraordinarily elaborate ones..
as if,
as if
But those who know..
we who have laid low,
down in to the trenches
as grunts, both outside
and inside
of the wire..
Those who have quietly
done their legwork..
who have accepted their
difficult fate as that borne of
and in to, a training.. an equipping;
lay low,
lay low
. . . .
The throngs
at the foot of the podium--
mesmerized by their own need
to be mesmerized, never even
noticed the children
who in their innocence, peered
out from under the crowd's legs
to better see the 'magnificent' podium..
The oldest of which, ran back to trenches
trying to describe what they saw.
Two of the quiet, unassuming-ones
made their way back to the podium,
and in blocking out the orator's voice,
(which to the knowing,
was as that of a clanging bell..)
Now observed up close, the inner-workings
of the elaborate podium
and sat in wonder of its expenditures--
wrapped around such slipshod, weak
and hastily assembled framework..
And in having become interested in the
structure's groundedness to what one
would hope would be a solid-built
foundation, placed onto solid, earthen ground
They instead gasped as they saw its
legs floating upon nothing..
*"What the **** is holding this thing up..?"*
War-trained and battle-hardened,
they remembered their superiors speaking
in hushed tones that even ****** with all
of his blowhard oratorical ******** at least
had a semblance of the podium's fastenings..
Albeit, partially assembled by our own country's
stupidity within certain provisions brought forth
in the Treaty of Versailles,
but this
but this;
This oratorical misleading of the broken-ones
this empty illusion of a presentation, borne
not from a suffering leading to true regeneration
but instead, a distractive short-cut into the Realms;
This counterfeit substance..
as if borne in power, as if.. as if.
.. But the realms.. they know
It is only those down here on earth, spirit
cloaked within the deceptive misgivings
of the flesh-- so aching to establish itself
apart from the necessary legwork needed
to humbly become a part of Stream's flow:
(borne, solely from the inner Wellspring-- deep
within the bowels of Love's True Ache)..
It is here.. on earth.. that you will find
the reward you seek.. oh wondrous orator,
oh magnificent 'smither' of fine words..
**Your podium, a whitewashed soapbox
floating upon nothing..**
--And therefore meaning nothing
within the Substance-Based parameters
of the Realms.
#
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 3:48 PM UTC
*i find the crow more eloquent,
more treacherously abiding
a fulfilment of aesthetic investigations
when walking, the crow
more beautiful than in flight,
unlike the sparrows' comic grounding,
with its epileptic quick-step twitchy
caoutchouc trot... poetically drawn
as: huh?! huh?! chirp. huh?! huh?! chirp;
really quickly.*
the only way to transition back into
the humanities from learning science,
******** p... chemistry and physics,
from these two into the humanities:
because you wrote a high standard
sociology essay plagiarising trying to
beat the anti-plagiarism logarithm
imposed... and that camus' l'étranger
also written to a 1st in the degree hierarchy...
the only transition from the sciences
to humanities is with philosophy,
which is a qausi-humanism...
mind you... edinburgh is the last gothic city,
and scotland the only place
where university can be like high school,
diverse, equipping you with many choices,
you can major chemistry, but understudy
computing, french, history, sociology, etc.
so in the background you have my favourite
theorisation: friedel-craft's alkylation & acylation /
effects of substitution on the beneze ring properties:
ortho (β) / para (ν) directing goups...
meta (π) directing groups... ipso (α) directed
at dislodging the algebraic x already attached...
i was never going to write cute poetry...
lessons in inductive effects of σ-bonds orientation
controlled by resonate (of) π-bonds...
the faustian myth continues without cute goethe rhyme.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
I am a result
Of not two people
I am a result of advertisements
Of politicians
Of company's
Of ideas drilled into my head, by constant repotion and threats from authority figures
I am a result of headlines that scream the words **** death, racesim and terror.
I am a result of built up hopes.
The countless movies that show us heros that conqure the impossible, while slowly walking away form an explosion.
The comic books that boldly display abilitys we then dream of.
Expectations we are forced to have that someday we will save the world.
I am the result of reality hitting you full on like a world saving superman punch,
I am the result of relizing, that there is a 99.9999999999% chance I am not the "chosen one"
I am the result of an enviroment where I have to hold my breath to not let the toxins in
The overdose headlines
The children I see inhaling away there future and when I walk by blowing it in my face
I am the result of an overdose that ripped away my uncle
A world filled with misery and we find this the best way to "cure" it.
I am a result filled with images of diffrent family's breaking apart, leaving broken children behind.
A result witnessing the hurt, homeless and heartless walk on the same ground but don't awknoladge it
The veterans thrown to the streets
The gay pride rainbows coverd in the dark clouds of pregiduce this world is shadowed by
The sour taste of racesim lingering on individual tongues trying to break through a wall of common sense
The weaponising of wonderful wise wishful young children around the world to creat a fearful, fierce, fiery killing machine
I am a result of this world, the mistakes we all make, the suffering we all take, the lives these mistakes put at stake, these wounds that ache, the cusses that spin in children's head thanks to drake, these politicians people see as lying snakes, this earth that quakes, that brings us awake
I am a result, in a world of results
Of hope that one day we can push these fears away
I am a result of an army of dreamers
A horde of lovers
And a croud of carers
I am a result of two people who tried hard enough to make a difference
They are my sheild and my sword equipping me to fight this poisend world
We are what's left we are the dreamers the workers and the lovers and once were done fighting away the hurt, evil,terror and pain,
We can look out on this world and call it
Our result
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
When you make a joke online have you equipped or are you equipping.© 2013
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 5:58 AM UTC
Queen Victoria of Lorraine.
Queen Victoria of Lorraine.
Ultimately the Queen of my heart
Established on our first meeting
Equipping me to know my life’s quest
Never doubting that she was the one
Victoria of Lorraine allow me to rescue you
Imagine if our minds had not been entwined
Can you not believe that my task on earth
To rescue you from out of the Castle prison
Over years a prisoner of circumstance
Realising things could have and should have
Inasmuch like the stories Daddy read you.
As the handsome prince set out to rescue you
Loading his horse with all the weapons needed
On a crusade to fight the dragons of the bush
Rejecting you then locking you away for spite.
Relax I am coming for you my beautiful Queen
Attending to all the doubts and stupidity of life
I intend to do whatever I have to do on my way
Never doubt me. You will be rescued my dear
Eventually and will live “Happily ever after “
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip
November 24th 2018.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 11:39 PM UTC
I’m fed up with Prague, Paris and progress
It’s because I feel like a lonely boy.
I could sweep aside the art and crafts for the day,
pick up my manlier toys,
in an hour of need.
~
Years later I may grow up,
guns in hand.
Yesterday’s fissures show up honourably
on TV, and I may one day be called to fix small arms symphonies
in lands where tyrants trail newly won streets with
glistening gold-plated depleted uranium hypocrisy
~
If they should come close to hurting you, which I could never bear
With titles and a message, or anonymously
I’d stockpile shares everywhere
and raise forgotten silos, for you
in our hour of need,
What’s more, dear
this sniping threat …
I have learned we live more than exist
~
For brief respite we’ll hire those brave, gifted folks to close down this travisty
suspend the dream-merchants
so we can perfect our progeny
(permanence, is, after all something)
in this, a dark hour of need.
Oh my darling if you would understand just what it takes
to cling on to that last noiseless sigh of power,
to be devoted to all
which will revoke all the old failings
which will enable a better way of equipping
someone to watch for us, with both eyes wide,
as the lesser hand counts round, and again
and inevitably strikes
war
© Copyright David Bosworth March 2014
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
It whispers in my ear.
The shadow with no fear
speaking, without shedding a tear.
About a danger coming near,
coming right towards my rear.
Speaking, equipping my holy gear.
It tells me to stand and sing
while it holds me under its wing
"Do not be afraid of the ghost.
It is only a victim so lost."
Feb 8, 2021
Feb 8, 2021 at 8:25 AM UTC
Emptying old boxes
Packing well wishes
Tying new shoelaces
Charging drained devices
Keeping dozen promises
Settling past businesses
Equipping couple punches
Looking more fearless
Winning upcoming matches.
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
poem
Forgotten heart attacks sleeping by the back door Mercury in retrograde channeling spiritual warfare crooked teeth pealing wax work set in sixes off of tables and chairs
***** hands casting crystal corners in my head yesterdays tea poured over the infinite misunderstanding divinity thickening the air that's already wrapped tightly around the time that steals so much space in my bed heavy eyelids slipping into controlled chaos sighing out larkspur symphonies dead men don't sell secrets they hand them out for free.
comment
i know you're pursuing a dead-end take on punctuation, and that's much worth the acknowledgement, but i can be a puritan sometimes, i too transcend the distributing norms while equipping them... but i only think of catching a breath... i can spot the obvious avoidance usage of punctuation when i can; but to me the fact that it's hidden is like a sobering artefact of modern critique of art, i.e. that your avoidance of punctuation would spell out a need to keep the poem fragrant's worth of a crossword puzzle...and that much is needed when reading poetry...poetry has to be a lessened musicology, and has to become an encrusted form of puzzle... otherwise it will not survive. thank you for considering this revisionist approach.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
you will never meet a child poet prodigy
so young as to play the heart's cello
so early as to be a prodigy
worthy of a father's sur-.
never you mind the clone,
clone on paper,
but still the disparity of
experience: a landfill of care,
might one foot take
footing in the mythical mist
of the once breathed into care
for ink print an atheism revealing
the myth lost, and in the natural
environment a lost caress of wind
that once was the zeus of spoken tongue
leftover alpha and leftover zeeta...
phi and theta, or woodwind spoken of
omega... and so cherished
the undermined clay was baked into chess for a
pawn's move that could undermine the king
in equipping the queen's parameters.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 7:52 PM UTC
In this world of black and white
Younger ones told what is “right”
Equipping us for a future “dazzling bright”
But with the countless voices
Who should affect our choices?
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 11:57 PM UTC