"ethic" poems
The love that a son has for his father..
The love that a father has for his son
A trust in another man to lead you and get it done
Showed me things gave me knowledge That on my own
I wouldn't have known
Something that can't be taught in college
Met you when I was in 7th grade I have grown
Can you see the seed you have sewed
Can you see where my work ethic comes from
Blood, sweat, and tears
Callus thumbs
Your the reason why I know that I can be a homeowner
Cause I seen you do it first
Held me up when times got rough
Fatherhood
When I wasn't ready you assisted like a crunch
When my heart was crushed
You open your doors help with my direction
When we kick it, manly admiration and love is what's reflected
Just want to let you know you are respected
My father died then God blessed me with you to prove I wasn't neglected
Fatherhood
Helped me stand when I couldn't
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
The diverse assortment of enrapturing conviction
Is but cacophony to most other than me,
Discord to the passionate,
Defending concepts they find true
Clamor to the indifferent,
Those value peace and human happiness
Above factual correctness
For years they’ve all, with incessant attempts
Given their utmost to indoctrinate me,
The most easily swayed of all—
But I’ve found in the rupturing of the fervent,
All ideology, ethic, doctrine,
And in the serenity of the agreeably pacific
I’ve found faith, hope—I’m sure that’s my own,
Art is by no means meaningless, I find,
Especially so when inherent by human ability
And ascribed to this lyrical poem I’ve crafted
Consisting of what I, by my means, find true
Diverse conviction is beautiful.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
I give love
love love
with the one look
of my eye
eye eye
I excite your lament ion
charge it
high up high
uuuuu
potentially ready
a ***** cation
I am your aesthetic
flaming electric
activate your kinetic
stop the resistence now
don’t drop voltage
difference I create is continually asymptotic
I am the variation in your magnetic
I am the field of your *** ethic
if you not behave
I become your inelastic scatter
geomagnetic storm
high potential
chemical desire
mechanical fire
radioactive disaster
through your interior
I roar blast break
silence the rocks
shake the lights
reverberate in your head
I give love
love love
with the one look
of my eye eye eye
I excite your lament ion
I am your voltaic lion
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
My 2 Cents
“the advocacy of women’s rights on the grounds of political, social, and economic equality to men.”
Let me start by mentioning that I don’t usually get involved with political matters, but in this case, I’d say it’s more of a basic human rights matter.
I’m a man, and I’m a feminist.
I was lucky enough to grow up in a home with three women; my mother and two older sisters. Growing up with them gave me an enormous amount of respect for women, (even though I may have lost a certain amount of socially expected masculinity along the way), and their current lives continue to increase my respect for the opposite gender.
My oldest sister is leaving to study abroad at Oxford in less than a week to major in philosophy. Philosophy. She also graduated high school with a 4.0 and was involved in power lifting competitions and is enlisted in ROTC. Simply put, she’s an animal. She’s worked hard her entire life and I’d hate to see a world that put that hard work to waste.
My other sister is working three jobs to pay her way through college and is planning to major in psychology. I’m always envious of her work ethic and level of commitment to not only her education, but to her friends and family as well.
My mother has been my backbone since I was a child. She was always the one I turned to in times of trouble, and continues to be. She works hard everyday, while going through mentally straining marriage problems, and comes home and still asks me about my day. She has given me nothing but unconditional love for my entire existence.
For these reasons, it boggles my mind why anyone would ever be anti-feminism. I am genuinely confused as to why, because their bodies are different, women get less privileges, respect, opportunities, and even money. I just don’t get it.
I am also disgusted that women are seen by most men as walking ****** organs. l will admit genuine guilt to using the number scale to “rate” women. It’s something I grew up with, but now it sickens me. Assigning a number to a woman based on your misguided views on how she should look, whether you would **** her, is something I find repulsive. There’s nothing wrong with admiring the opposite *** but no one gives a **** about your stupid opinion, especially the woman.
I hope someday if I ever have a daughter that she will have the privilege of living in a country of gender equality, tolerance, and open-mindedness.
Anyway, I just wanted to put my two cents in.
I am a man.
I am a feminist.
Peace.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond.
I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre
and said to my wife A gun in every home.
Those devils would think twice
before razing the village and seizing the boys.
A well-regulated militia.
The local militia the most interesting moment
in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,
fights) and a **** sexless love story.
Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the
community, the young
from the janjaweed. The crop from the ****
Limited scope and defensive posture
but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)
side by side.
Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain.
Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture.
Great music. Cuba, Africa.
The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat
of violence
No saxophones in the band. The saxophone!
Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the
Congo!
When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry
for non-violent acts.
This quiet neighborhood, July,
undergirded by violence, force. That's a given--
any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that.
Without just violence
Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited,
negligible (but not non-existent)?
Regarding King
the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon
federal force to counter the South's violence.
No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be
overwhelmed by southern violence.
Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic.
Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the
British. Or did he?
1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi
restrained but could release which the British feared, and
2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that
allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint
was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as
emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and
valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture).
What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with
community
as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession.
Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the
common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with
otherwise neutral, private acts.
The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is
forgoing deadly force.
But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence,
in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune
violence.
Hence, a gun in every home.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
He looks like the moon from the sky,
His radiant eyes would steal the sunrise,
His shoulder stood high,
Heartbeats as if he smells his likely world
on his arm, there is everything but a tie!
He just doesn't have a job, been interviewed,
He expressed his qualities, many quantities,
but lost, walked out without a offer!
His sunny face was still shimmering.
The successful one, murmured 'my friend
you wasn't smart enough selling yourself!'
I don't think I wanted to do that, he replied:
Am is willing to serve to earn the means
to be served, don't mean to sale and buy.
If ethic has no value maybe then
a job is nothing but 'sale and buy'!
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 10:19 PM UTC
craigslist posts on women
Things women hate about other women (MICHIGAN)
I'm a man and I got no problems with beautiful women and love looking at and spending time with them. Listed some of the problems women have with other women and why some of them get to be targets of world's biggest haters.
1. Beauty - If the women think you are prettier than them, the more threatened they feel. They feel like ogre and hags around the woman and become haters.
2. Intelligence - It's okay to be smart but not if people are reaching for dictionaries or have to google to translate your last sentence. The bigger the words, the smaller your audience feels.
3. Hard Work Ethic - no woman wants to know another woman is working harder and reaping rewards from it. Women want that hard working woman gone.
4. Confidence - Women can't stand women who are confident.
5. Dress better - women hate other women who dress better than them. Women who dress flashy are called ****** by ****** ones who hate them.
6. Strong Personality - women have serious issues with women who are strong and speak minds.
7. Competitive - women are competitive by nature and when they feel they can't compete they hate.
8. Affluent - women being richer than another woman is not what other women want. You see women have to have more money than other women or the richer one get called all kinds of name.
Women feel threatened and intimidated by other women faster than by men who they flirt with and plot to get as sugar dads. Biggest problem of women are women who hate other women
Response to post
competition in women
Ever have a female friend who flirted with you knowing you had feelings for another woman? Been there with a few ladies who wanted nothing to do with me when I alone. Moment the office sweetheart started saying hi and took interest, I got popular with some of my co-workers who started saying hi and flirting. That's the competitive thing happening in women's brains. Where the hell were all the women when nobody wanted me?
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 5:28 PM UTC
The nineties sold us unity:
bright sitcoms,
Benetton colors,
commercials where everyone smiled
as though inequity had been resolved.
But the decade bled on screen—
a Black man beaten on asphalt,
a truck driver dragged from his cab,
bomb dust in Oklahoma,
children hunted in a school corridor.
Unity was the costume;
violence was the stage.
Then came a Black president.
For a moment,
the story looked complete.
"Post-racial," they said,
as though history had closed.
But the mask split.
Social media tore out the gatekeepers.
The hate that had been muted
found its tongue,
found its profit,
and screamed into the feed.
Division pays.
Unity does not.
Violence is systemic,
holistic,
from home to street to state.
Silence makes it whole.
The ethic remains:
If it is wrong, you stop it.
Otherwise the cycle turns,
profitable, endless,
calling itself America.
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 5:45 AM UTC
"Greedy girl," they whisper
For two was not enough.
I am not whole, with one more soul
I need two to give my trust.
Lovely trio of mine
I couldn't wish for more
Yet they call me a freak, "Love's for two, not three!"
They mutter that I'm a *****
I'm not jealous or undecided
I'm not cheating and it's not abuse
Just because you've never doesn't mean three isn't better
For one who is not confused.
"Perhaps this is a phase,"
"No-one in their right mind would wish
For three or for four, how about two, who needs more?"
They all think just like this.
But I am polyamorous
My partners are in the plural
And we love equally, it doesn't matter that we're three
Our relationship breaks no ethic or moral.
So judge as you will
Judge as you please
I am proud of my *** and sexualities
And it's polyamory for me.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
for a writer to be lovesick
is my only required ethic
in creating a work of heart
so when i skimmed your
saint kissed mouth
and moonlight eyes
indeed my first thoughts were— ah! art!
there it was
cupid’s finely-poised dart!
draw, aim, fire!
o, so sweet, a sinful desire
lovesick! lovesick! lovesick!
i wish to write you a work of art, angelus dulce!
you smiled
you whispered with ferocity
“love is an illusion, chèri.
but illusion is the first of all pleasures”
and at that moment
i dipped my body in your delusional paradise
and praised the saints for giving me the ****** wine to drink
illusion is the first of all pleasures.
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 7:51 PM UTC
Mummy used to buy me hair grease,
for my hair was a seismic wave of crease.
The scalp crying sweat,
the tantrums were the onset.
Wide tooth comb have mercy on the nots,
nests of lies and cheeky clots.
The flurries of dandruff deposit,
the skeletons in the closet.
Mummy brought out the blue magic,
the long strands thirsty to become ethic.
Such a wave of moisture,
like the silkiness of an oyster.
A perfect layer of braided Cornrows,
blended amongst the tropical mangoes.
Mummy says to me you’re a woman now,
be prepared and ready to plough,
the knotty hairs of your little ones.
Go and buy the same hair grease,
to ensure their naughty traits mature into peace.
Justine Louisy
Copyright ©Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 1:38 AM UTC
Behind the building,
a one hundred percent green certified building
an amazing feat of engineering-science-forward thinking
fabulously energy efficient cutting edge building
sit solar panels in the sweltering heat,
extra heat from the toxic clouds in the sky
which now envelop the Earth
There, under the panels sit a small band of sheep, who represent the
last little bit of progressive wonderfulness
visionary design and research based and proven
and the future because they eat the grass
and there is no need to use toxic fume producing
loud unnatural unsustainable lawn mower
But the grass is long dead.
It is just white and yellow and there are lambs
baby sheep who sit and pant underneath the
sustainable solar panels without a decent meal
in sight. Only stalks and yellow deadness
I suggest vitamins or supplements
after all there is no grass, only grass out
that is watered sustainably and is carefully fenced off
from the living sheep underneath the dead panels
behind the dead building.
Outrage from the forward thinking cutting edge
Wi-Fi custodians of the cement and metal building and panels,
panels that emit a high pitched hum
from a hot metal box and regulate the CO2 in each room automatically
The sheep are there to eat the grass
if you feed them, even to make them healthier
so that they may get up out of their hot suffering
and eat some stalks in addition to a little bit of supplemental feed
they will not eat the dead grass, and they are there to eat the grass
they are not there to be comfortable or healthy they are just sheep
But sheep are only living non human feeling beings
and not part of the forward thinking cutting edge metal and cement
technology that is worth a lot of money and was written up
in the paper and got the custodians attention and recognition.
And they are just suffering, hot, miserable animals
and despite all of our technology, Mars landing
solar panels to electricity advance thinking technological wonders
our compassion and empathy remain tight and selfish
and the dead things, not the living ones, are what we value
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
Head held high, flexing the shell
bright lifestyle, I know it too well.
It’s a tall tale to tell but its best that you know
that things get better at the end of the road
Not too long ago, I felt the same way
I dealt with demons that crept in the grey
And maybe it’s hard enough to ask for help
but it’s harder to watch yourself
give up once you’ve left the shelf
Nah, I couldn’t stomach the pain
like a trumpet, I blew the in out of sane.
I popped open a vein to paint my blues, violet
and threw a pair of cans on to block out the silence.
I’m not defiant; I defy any tyrant
that tries to buy my compliance.
I ride with the giants, stride like Midas
minus the greed, all I need is kindness.
Spread your wings; shed the ego
live amid the kings like a needle.
Be your own hero, succeed the sequel
take charge, zero in on the easel.
Reach for the stars, you are an artist
Van Gough goals; erase all the hardships.
I may try my hardest
but I’m not the smartest
but good work ethic leads to a harvest.
Reap my carcass, long after I’m gone,
brains over brawn, shame on you all
for thinking that these walls can hold me in.
You get the memo? I’m better than I’ve ever been.
Binge drinking is a sickness in itself
***try to **** the pain but the pain kills the help***
as well as low thinking it will **** your brain cells
***if you try to **** the pain, you will **** yourself***
© Matthew Harlovic
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
Morning smells of Lilacs rapture me,
Taking me back to Kinderhooks Chatham Street….June 21st 1961……not a cloud in the sky.
Lying in bed I open my eyes to the hum of a window fan.
And in the distance I hear a Hudson River barge blast its horn.
This moment in time, well it brings tears to my eyes.
Eleven years old, brown hair, hazel eyes, a toothy smile,
Grins in the mirror, hoping to find a whisker or two…
My cat Oscar sits there on the sink purring out his contentment.
“Oscar” I say, “today I leave for the Freedom Farm”
The Freedom Farm is the one place where I’m free to be me
Without the fear of a negative comment or a boot in my ***
I climb aboard the Greyhound bus with suitcase in hand, And looking down at Mom and Dad....I wave…. So Long Suckers!!
Walton NY, June 22nd, Dunk Hill Road, the smell of cow ****
The land of Milk and Honey, Fields of four leaf clovers and 10’ corn stalks.
It was here that all my friends lived, Shorty the horse, Mrs Blue the Holstein,
And there was Uncle Ike, Aunt Minnie and 9 Cousins. I loved them all!
On this little dairy farm……my potential was unlimited,
Uncle Ike taught me to drive the Tractor, water the heifers,
Milk the cows, shovel **** spread manure and have some **** fun!
Hell Uncle Ike even let me try a piece of his plug tobacco... (Note to self…Just say No Thanks next time)
A summer filled with character building experiences and an eight year olds understanding of work ethic.
But we still had plenty of time for fun and cousin bonding.
My Cousin Tom taught me to ride the cows and honed my spitting skills.
And in my downtime I'd perfect the finer points of armpit farting,
Four weeks of heaven on earth where nothing was impossible.
*Once you work on a farm you get dirt in your shoes. And when you get dirt in your shoes, you can never get it out!"
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC
You are blue
Your companionship has long since gone away
Your words come slowly if ever
Your interjections have no meaning
Your passion is a doused flame
Your decisions are unfair
You are bronze
Your shine is lackluster
Your potential is untapped
Your enthusiasm is misdirected
You are rust
Your intellect is a-waste
Your trust is broken
Your mind is now clouded
You are brown
Your ear is unsharpened
You coughs are unnatural
Your friendship is valued even yet
You are orange
Your ethic is admirable
Your company is comical
Your life is my soaps
You are yellow
Your face is but fair
Your skin has blemishes
Your actions not so demure – but yet
You are red
Your actions are fuel for my fire
Your intentions are good but the crafted hands left wanting
You are Violet
Your pain was great
Your color is of love
Your solid perseverance is for me
You are White
Your brilliance outshines mine
Your patience burns as fast as light
Your opinion flares as bright as magnesium
Black is not found
Deep down I have looked
But came back wanting
Is that naïve?
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
Social breaks and cultural ridges,
Double takes and building bridges,
Seems like ages, for twenty four hour wages,
Boys to men in uniforms, training in stages,
To be soldiers, first, Engineers, second,
Every province shares, before The Reckoning,
Hands calloused, hearts as well, hands hold a couple o' beers,
Which will rouse, the parts, when the day is done, with cheers!
Thing, an exercise called a bridge gallop, where
For two weeks and twenty two hours a day we share,
A work ethic to assemble and strip bridges built,
Practice for the real deal, with a unified will,
We all know when some one else is not lift-
ing their load, brothers in arms not using theirs,
But we built bridges, long day into night
we played Euchre, in the down time,
Short night into day, smoky rooms and beers,
In play, we called empty brown beer bottles,
Dead soldiers,
We became a unit, unified, by our trade,
Jack of all trades, master of none,
All of us were from Canada's various parts,
Building bridges, in the light, in the dark.
Assembling parts, to make a whole, bridge,
From bank seat, to bank seat,
It took many bridges, for Canada to meet,
The soldiers and Engineers, UBIQUE.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
She knew, right afterward.
Amazing.
She knew.
I took her word for it.
Oo-Oo-Oocyte!
The largest, roundest cell
Females have. It is
Visible to the eye
Clothed or nakey.
With the largest surface
Volume in relation to
Her cell-fluid-gorged surface.
One is produced ea/month.
One?
Yowza.
Me?
Millions of the little buggers.
Millions! Yeah! THAT’s
The ticket!
And tiny those little tickets are.
Hardly more than a nucleus with
That powerhouse of the cell,
The Mitochondrial outboard motor,
Propelling the tail.
The smallest and straightest
Human cell
(Cool tail, though)
The juxtaposition is kind
Of amazing.
Large vs. small.
Roundest vs. straightest.
Tail-propelled nucleus
Vs.
Moon-shaped cytoplasm.
The opposite, embryologically-
Speaking.
And she was positive,
POSITIVE
We’d conceived.
Roughly 9 months later,
I was there. Physically.
The rest of me was
Possibly sunning in Togo.
Kind of freaked me out,
The birthing process,
The first time.
My son. My baby boy.
Our child.
5/28/91.
I’m more proud and more
Astonished at the man
My little baby has grown into
With each passing day.
Golden child, beginning
Life with blonde hair,
Almost white, darkening
As he grew into the French-
Indian DNA of his
Mom’s side of the family.
He is so much like
His Mother, for which
I’m very happy,
Because his Mother
Is simply amazing
And worthy of an entire
Slew of poems just
To describe her.
And I’ve another
Golden child
Gold blessing vein running
True and deep, different
Than his older brother
Of seven years,
Yet similar, opposite in
Some ways, having grown strong
As the little plaything for
His older brother’s friends,
Making him very tough,
Strong as a team of oxen,
A work ethic he inherited
From Dad, Mom, Brother
Yet fitting together as
Loving siblings can
When they have God
At the center of their lives.
Thank You, God, for
My two sons.
I’m protective, but I know
They do not belong to me.
They are Your blessings
To my wife and me.
They are Your blessings
To this world, set in motion,
Wound up to take what they see
And make it better, and
To prevent it from getting worse.
They will do Your work.
We were the biological
Vessels that delivered
Them from Your world
Before
To this world,
Now.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC
Ambitious Girl:
Consider this my reiteration.
I wanna read your books, and not just your looks.
Knowing what you look like ; I wanna be in your space - but not so much that I interfere with your education.
Let me say this,
Congratulations on being the very best you could ever be.
Putting priorities over everything, Miss couldn't get that coach cause tuition was due.
& sallie was nagging for a payback.
Sallie was nagging for a payback.
And you paid that, plus tax.
Miss made so many friends stepping with the sisters.
whatever it is, I hope you pledge an existence that'll make your existence, persistent.
Forever my queen, say you're listening...
Look, I'm still talking .
You love school but you're sick of Sally maybes .
No *** , you're the lucky one because all your friends have babies.
And you ain't slept , up thinking , tomorrow's that big test .
Few of your friends stripping you don't judge em' though.
You're insecure with your body so you like "forget it yo!"
So, I put you on that pedestal,
Girl I'm just saying your work ethic makes you edible.
Me a freak? That's something that they will never know.
Look, you're something they can never see;
You overpower anything them other girls could ever be.
Go ahead and prepare for class, hit me when you finish up.
It's never too late, we'll celebrate soon as the grades come.
Shout to them girls in the club with no relations between their professors .
Yes sir, I propose a toast to them girls - that you offer them ones but they never let you.
I love your ambition.
Okay, shout out to them 4.0s and even 2.5s ; who signed up & failed but say "whatever , I tried."
It's nothing to deny for having a strong mind, I'll make sure to keep you in mind.
You're still someone I can ride with; dress up & get fly with.
It's still something you provide , you never hide , that makes me wanna get inside .
Look, ambition will define you, never worry about them hating chicks that wish to be just like you.
My goal is to serenade you everyday with these verses until you no longer insecure, obscure and hurting .
They gon know you;
Chasing your dreams, instead of chasing what's in a dudes' jeans.
And God blessed me with a lot of patience , but I ain't had none in a while - I need your AS(S)pirations .
I love your aspirations!
Ambitious Girl...
Fourth generation.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
A square, white, four bedroom, one bath country home
With fourteen kids, parents and much family love
We didn’t have abundance: fiscally poor
But we had each other: banked on our family
We shared our victories and or trying pain
We were a modest Scottish Catholic Clan
Isolated, we were not to our immediate clan
Our uncle’s lived within a trot, fifteen in his home
We kids worked and played on the farm without pain
It was an adventurous labor of extended family love
We worked, laughed, cried, and played as a family
In the early years, we young ones were anything but poor
However, in grammar school, we learned the meaning of poor
And materialism and envy, outside our cloistered clan
But together we lived and loved as a close nit family
Sure we had disagreements, not material goods, but a solid home
White paint peeled on the outside, yet inside was painted love
Still, there were poverty jokes, ridicule and masked pain
Every family has strife, baggage, and superfluous pain
Our parents didn’t drink; we had faith, yet fiscally poor
Ole Dad plumbed toilets; Mom slaved in the house, both with love
So we wouldn’t trade riches for our impoverished meager clan
Summer berries to pick, winter sledding, spring kites, and forever home
Kickball games, splashing in ponds, nature hikes and family
We were not taught to show emotions, hug, not an “I love you family,”
Albeit, an honest, polite, and proud Scottish Clan
The old house was eternally warm; it was our forever home
Until 1999. Dad passed from cancer still money poor
Yet rich in the knowledge of family and that his true pain
Was never saying that word; on his deathbed he whispered “Love”
Though our patriarch was laid to rest, we rose with the word “Love”
Eventually, the house was sold, but always one huge family
Mom spends her days in a retirement home remembering her clan
As time passes and memories fades, it lessens the pain
Of the loss of a noble father, economically poor
Yet with a strong work ethic, church, and love, built a home
Fourteen children now forged fourteen homes on love
Many, still, financially poor, but rich in forever family
Correcting mistakes that caused pain, while perpetuating our clan
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
Wine cellars, under a blanket reading the best sellers.
A room big enough for you and your wealth.
A car as expensive as a house.
Classy lifestyle, expensive taste.
Her breath mints, taste like money.
Rich girl.
Million dollar smile with one more million every year.
I mean, Rich Girl, smile and show me your million dollar smile.
Average kid, chasing a dream.
Never known money, so he chases it blindly.
A heart full of dreams, a mind full "get rich" schemes.
Average kid, don't know wealth so he... He looks up to the wealthy hoping he'll get the chance to have a million dollar smile, with a background of only a dollar.
Average kid, born into a struggle.
Passed down from parents to heirs, every meal a blessing as the rich girl throws a stare at her salad.
Rich girl meals are fancy foods, with fancy prices.
Average kid who checks the prices for the next slice of bread.
Average kid ain't known nothing but the struggle.
Relying on the grind with a million dollar work ethic, and a $10 minimum wage.
Reached the age of independence, scraping the bottom of the barrel, for a few extra cents.
Average kid asks the rich girl for a dollar, and she say she don't have.
Meanwhile, she doesn't know what it means, not to have a dollar.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
I woke up thinking about this.
A Thought About Loyalty
I’ve been thinking about loyalty:
A many-sided world of nuances,
The subtle differences.
We all know it means faithfulness,
A sticking-to devotedly.
Unfurled it shows its nasty sides,
The negatives that worry me:
Allegiance and adherence -
-Ism’s steel prepared to go to war
Against all criticizers,
-Isms’ others
Carving up the brotherhood
Of man.
Not for nothing
That a missile system drawn
To sense and intercept an enemy:
Is named the Patriot:
A system to annihilate.
I worry ‘bout obedience,
Compliance and submissiveness.
I like reliability, dependability,
Dedication if it’s not perverted
Duty, if it leads to thought,
A moral sense,
An ethic that agrees with life;
Loyalty without the strife.
Loyalty to think about.
A Thought About Loyalty 9.10.2017
Nature In & Of Reality; Out Times, Out Culture II;
Arlene Corwin
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
Infomercials drowned out by sirens serve to remind me of how low my income really is
I'm here to remind you that
Your life's a disaster
I'm here to remind you that
you can scrub and scrub,
but the mess you've made
will always remain
I'm here to remind you how
far back you've truly fallen
But I won't tell you
That you're dragging me back, too
Ash trays overflowing
Anger and sadness
Seeping through rotten teeth
Nonexistent work ethic,
But your eyes are still
So tired
And I can't understand
I hate that I find myself thinking,
"Maybe life just isn't meant for everyone"
But some people are just so bad at living
I want to say
"The system failed you"
But I am the system
And I am here to fail you too
They told me this work is ice cold
And I thought my warmth could melt it
Now my teeth always sting
And my hands are always shaking
From the bitterness
Watching failure build up
And pour out all around me,
Hands too weak to stop it
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 8:31 AM UTC
Former trier turned friar
Storming rage behind fryers
World of potential in the inner mental
Work ethic impeccable
Work conditions unethical
Nine hours no lunch or break
Better pump the brakes and pull stake
Time to get a slice of thine own pie
Reach nirvana prime and let the soul fly
Soar above money traps and get the bag
Lest your future gets clicky clacked
And your happiness capped
Spinning poverty’s vicious cycle
Grinning sharks made me their disciple
Life is trifling when your blood leaves
Heat stifling as the done deed
Has you on your knees begging
Lord have mercy please
Escape away from hate
And let love into your heart
Then and only then will you start
To understand the holy ghost
That is you
And the apostles that are your friends
Ride or die to the end
This ain’t no game of let’s pretend
It’s real life
Your one shot to drip and ball
So don’t let it slip by
Or you’ll fall before you walk, y'all.
May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 4:17 PM UTC