"exacerbate" poems
“Being a farmer is like being a priest;
you take a vow of poverty
and make a pact with the Lord
that no typhoon will come
and destroy your crops.”
In the rise of sedentary human civilization,
The nation’s agriculture
Became the key expansion.
Its history dates back thousands of years,
With its development,
Has been driven and defined –
By different climates, cultures, and technologies.
The Filipino farmers:
Are they now a dying breed?
Numbers of small farms has dwindled,
With workers opting for city life.
But this trend could exacerbate food insecurity!
Yes, in an import-dependent country –
Already struggling to meet current food demand.
In the face of growing losses,
And from volatile weather,
To new-fangled farming tech,
Limited education makes them less receptive.
What took such toll on the agricultural sector?
Maybe the farmer themselves,
The investors, the buyers – maybe.
Now, it’s due to the government policies,
Our programs are good, yet so weak.
There’s excessive reliance on agricultural imports,
And corruption on the upper level.
Compounding the problem
Is a younger generation –
Largely, leaving rural areas nationwide,
And depleting the pool of potential agricultural workers.
They say it’s too late to do something;
But the mind-set of the younger generation
Still we can change
And make farming appealing once again.
(9/8/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
Photography,
Photo journalistic,
Everyday, realistic.
Commercial, architecture, landscape, artistic,
Industrial, fashion, ethnographic, pornographic.
Big Brother, fallace, stealer of souls, vouyer.
News seller, instant gratifier, man pleaser, woman abuser.
Barthes, Sontag, Cindy Sherman,
Virginia Woolf, Warhol. Weegie, Francesca Woodman,
Leibovitz, Adams, Arbus, Tina Modotti,
Nan, Evans, Hoffer and even the Paparazzi.
Cheap ***** digital manipulator, image poser,
Center fold, coupons, Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe.
Where did they go:
Lifeless paper product, painter's picture mess,
C-type, digital archival,
Sepia, black and white, hard drive retrival.
Image addict,
Image taker,
Image maker,
image seller,
image buyer.
Newspaper, magazine, graphics and ads,
TV, dreams, even the trash.
Billboards, subways, phones and buses:
Utopia:
Surreal, crop, stretched and air brushes.
Modern ideal.
Surface manipulator.
Brain conditioner.
Consent manufacturer.
Oh Photography,
I got you in my eye.
A few thousand dollars,
A BFA, A critical scholar.
Or maybe a nerd,
Just boys with toys.
Telephoto genitals, with motor drive action.
Studio lights, umbrella traction.
Oh Photography,
You proprietor of obscene.
Detailed, de-sensitized.
Court ordered, jury analyzed.
Click, image, copy, edit, paste, print or post.
Myfacespace, twitter, flicker,
An internet media overdose.
Pry, spy, your friend's friend's acquaintances.
Parties, picnics, reunions and shows.
Visits, vacation, style, shoes and clothes.
Pics, photos, images, jpegs and giffs.
Snap shot, portrait, panoramic, Kodak kiss.
Exacerbate:
Divorce, break-ups, jealousy, envy, love and fears.
Devour and captivate society for years.
Slaves to Western and Capitalist desires,
Destruction of Earth with psychological, monetary empires.
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
. @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @ @ @ @ @
america, americultus, americate, dubiously **********
::: our gold-flecked bodies.
blackbirdian danceparty, i'll go.
washed-up beach bottles and all our feet amongst them curling time.
teens dream in orchid; they wait for stars and dark and los hombres of good dust.
they wait on eyes, and on embers, on belly belly.
jellyfish flashlight shrine.
we eat acid and strawberries and butter in the cemetery,
and feed foxes lizards face first :::
us lost ghouls on school-nights.
flash tag jazz, and yellow bicycles.
::: that hot eternal light.
that candy colored smoke don't smoke; go south on her body.
then thoughts form thoughts form action, form twangs all tuned to air.
& we, as notes, we notes harp like light
to dust.
our glistering hormonal thrusts beneath sheath of liquid love. her eyes,
with those multi-speckled strands
infinitesimally drunk :::
seed from my ****
pearled halo: smoke above my head.
::: waves and machines and weekends. filtered by the long ****
of existence.
boys wait in rooms of hotels for more drugs, and the girls bringing them.
like caterpillars on silky thin treadways,
with nothing but the flavor of our passions to ignite the way. we
exacerbate the boundaries of our intentions. we
curl under sheets, bending sheets of light and sound. we
flakey emaciated flakes. [sequence suffered time in motion] we
dirt. it’s what we are; dirt.
we are druggernauts, tasting ourselves along the iridescent brim.
::: we crawl up cross-glowing hillsides toward portals and faraway
bleep-blorps of hot god-head calibration.
we sticky-crackle go burn. [nature puzzles]
the brain shifts back; twenty-one grams they say the soul weighs.
they say things.
cherry blossom tree tips in the dark.
tele-portal surfing with an intergalactic pizza priest, and his satchel of secret sauce.
he heaves in the corner; rebirth :::
tendrils pulled tight, everybody **** chung…
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
With the onset of the sun in the horizon, the little creatures awake
And dance and sing melodies tantamount to a group of chortling people
Oh, how i wish such convival sights be captured
And played back on repeat everytime you feel low
As vagabonds they fly in search of food and shelter
And when the sun does set, off they disappear in their nests
Robbing the nature of its beauty
For every day they have to give a survival test(from their carnivore counterparts)
The broke pigeon was no different, her eyes gleamed better than Cindrella's did
The vicissitudes of life had rendered it to be a mendicant.
But she was a resilient creature and she continued her fight everyday
Her condition started to exacerbate when she laid 4 snow like eggs
Gathering twig by twig and working for an entire afternoon meticulously
She made a perfect home for her babies which were about to hatch
Be it a human or a bird, mothers always foster the children
Off she slipped into a reverie of a bright future with her kids
But the evil nature had its own sinister plans
Her thoughts were interrupted by a cacophony of sounds of other birds
She knew the sound was ominous
Peeping out of the nest she saw a dozen eagles encircling the tree
Her blood ran cold, she wrapped the eggs around her and a teardrop made its way from her eye
The leader of the eagles stoop towards her and hit her with a beak
The broke pigeon pleaded for its life saying-"I will offer myself to you as soon as my kids learn to fly"
The Machiavillian eagle agreed at first, flew up high,leaving the broke pigeon to heave a sigh of relief
The sigh was a short lived one as it swoop down with two other eagles on the broke pigeon
Performing an act of utter perfidy, there was a sly smile on its face
Turn by turn they devoured the broke pigeon
And kicked the eggs down the nest
It was a brutal ****** much more heinous than the ones we see
But there was none to witness the fate of the broke pigeon
And even if there were, they'd never know the events that transpired
Never know.. never know.. never know..
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
∅⚢☢⚧☯✰⚩✿⚥∅☢⚧☯✰⚢✿⚥☠⚩☯⚧✰
Too little and of course, too late
they spend what’s left imprudently
attempting to alleviate
the love of God’s own liberty:
The world transexual one-party state.
They think it’s normal — right for all
lost in a prideful dying fall
their lions heed the sea-horse call
attempting to transgender fate;
the devil searches for a mate
his nightly Babylonian date:
the world transexual one-party state.
They’ll legislate the Lord away
(his fundie followers as well)
their hateful heaven, holy hell
shall wither up and disappear
before redemption can draw near.
Their myths no more shall obfuscate
nor dangle such celestial bait
that underwriters overrate:
the world transexual one-party state.
Their antichrist is overpriced,
the nations, globally enticed,
now glorify the deviance
in herd-like mass obedience
surrendering to expedience:
where good is bad, and bad is great
and Christ the only one to hate,
allegiances exacerbate
the world *********** one-party state.
Parties will form and parties end
but parties can no more defend
consolidation into one
than flip a switch and dark the sun;
the Caesars left this part undone
the Muslims are just having fun
with our *********** one-party state.
Bring on the night until we see
that dark means dimming by degree
two parties? Overdone by one !
So let it bleed and let it be
till One is All and all agree
that we are doomed to hesitate
when God cannot resuscitate
the late One-World *********** State.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
You're a solar flare
Without a care
The sun is your lair
So we can't be a pair
Which I felt was unfair
So I starred down the barrel of a gun
Into the shining sun
To have my tears evaporate
But all that did was exacerbate
The eventual solar eclipse
From the sound of your lips
Telling me it's over
But it didn't start
I get in my lunar rover
And sadly depart
Your supernova
Put me in a loser's coma
From a subtle sun kiss
With a trillion ton fist
That left me loveless
Seeing the sun less
Stuck inside my tower
My eyes are a shower
I'm holding a sun powered
Drug flower
While I cower
In the midnight hour
During the solar absence
I await a sunrise advent
Like a cosmic abscess
After being denied access
Added to your black list
I become dark matter
When my dreams shatter
I am indeed sadder
Wishing my world was flatter
Yet the sun still shines
Even when I'm blind
Rays of light still come out
Causing a seed to sprout
Like a heroic water spout
After a hundred year drought
But I can only see the sunset
As the future I've met
And I begin to fret
Over my daytime debt
When I spend time but never give it
I make a mistake and then I relive it
The sun is scorching hot I can't grip it
So when I get the upper hand I flip it
And live under the sun
This life is a lonely one
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 10:23 AM UTC
Louder than Monsters
By: Calla Fuqua
I can’t unhear your ignorance, I can’t unsee your belligerence,
The potential difference you swore you’d make, and the carnivorous path
You chose to take.
You are louder than monsters.
Heaven must scare you and your desire to dissipate,
Your chance to incriminate, the problems you exacerbate,
I can’t articulate your need to intoxicate.
Your laughter is louder than monsters.
You fabricat your pity you pretend to give, as you wait for me to forgive,
That night I have to relive when I dream, of our short lived view of how happiness seemed.
Back then how could I have known that you were louder than monsters.
Your grip on me becomes tighter, the more your desire for me expires,
The more you secretly become a liar, and the more I ask myself why her?
Her voicemails are louder than monsters.
I end up on the floor, after you hit me and you swore,
You don’t say I love you anymore, the way you used to before,
And now I’m just your little ***** you pretend to love as if it’s a chore.
Your silence is louder than monsters.
I pray for you and the guilt you must feel, screaming out our window,
frantic to appeal, for the pain you caused solely so you could heal.
Your lies are louder than monsters.
You laugh when I say no, giving me a messed up world you pretend to know,
Now it’s my turn to outgrow you and your plateau, the one you promised
To let go. While I undergo the pain you overflow.
My screams are louder than monsters.
I still tell myself you love me after you throw your fists, holding tight to my wrists,
As I keep allowing the crimes you commit, to become imprints from the pain you inflict.
This pain is louder than monsters.
Now, nobody seems sincere, every scar is like a souvenir, You leave me speechless, when you sip your beer, like you didn’t just make my whole world disappear,
You say you are not louder than monsters.
All I can do now is reminisce, look back on moments like our first kiss,
Before you led me into this abyss, before I was unable to dismiss the thought,
“What kind of monster does this?”
Someone who doesn’t know he is louder than monsters.
I dream about the day I can throw out your ashtray, The day
I can cast away you whole, no more arms to control my body’s soul,
A day where I no longer have to be your wife,
A day where I can play a character in my own life.
A day where love is louder than monsters
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 2:01 PM UTC
Some are shrill and some whiny,
Some are deep and hoarse or smarmy.
Some sing, and others scream,
Some are lazy, some are keen.
Some are there to comfort and to reassure. Or there to ridicule and to exacerbate an emotional sore.
Mine are, mostly, the latter type.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 7:52 PM UTC
we're all armed
with an appliance
of emancipation
we can nurture non-violent
defiance in a
non-compliant ethos of
antiauthoritarian self-reliance
we have the ability to eliminate the
vestiges of imperialism and
dominant dogmas that choke
and impede our creativity and shackle
our imagination to impotent ideologies
fragmented unrealities augmented
by fractures in our psyche
tendrils of theology that prey
upon our fear and exacerbate
conditioned responses that are
at once
unnatural and irrational
and lead
inexorably
to infantile expressions of
regression and fantasies of an
aggression rooted in the
suppression of dissent and
the oppression of dissidents
deities
as impotent
as our terror
of the unknown
by the promise of security and prosperity
a cabal of brutish thugs have erected an
imaginary hierarchy and demanded our
subservient obedience and reverence for
this malfeasant apparatus that leeches
our paychecks and robs all of our dignity
while somehow retaining the illusion of liberty
a delusion that festers like an open wound
a tumorous ulcer oozing foul fluid into our minds
blotting out our capacity for cultivating a
future divorced from misanthropy
so pour kerosene on this fluttering
flame of revolt before it sputters out
if we'd quit looking back and forth at
one another rotting in the gutters
checking to see if we have more to
our name than our sisters and our brothers
we might just muster the courage to overthrow
the vapid and misguided fictions that
divide and segregate us into pawns
trapped in this unending rat race
they've deemed the American Dream
harness the revolutionary tenacity
dormant in humanity's most important *****
infinite potential latent in every molecule
each neuron dancing across synaptic
gaps and fanning the embers of an engine
that gives motion to this evolutionary frame
the human brain is omnipotent
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
Blurry city streets seem to call your name
I forgot how to exist when I no longer love you
strain
As years weigh tightly on my spine
I creep through the monotonous state
no longer hungry
slurring speech
Towards the impending luxury
Where he keeps my arms pinned down
On the dying grass
People watching
The adrenaline never seems to last
Their eyes gaze in our direction
As I bite into his shoulder
As I squirm
Friday night’s celebrations
wrap tightly
I can taste the whiskey
But it doesn’t bubble inside me
It lures him towards the smoky bars
Where I cower above him
I ache
My anger bubbles in moments where
I’m screaming as the
Car window opens
As I drive away from the emergency room
Soap still slipping through my wet hair
Could I find meaning in this existence
Where you don’t reside alongside me
Whispering in my ear
I used to count on my subconscious
your voice of reason
Outgrowing the state of being
My veins exacerbate the tight
Need to fight
To stand up straighter
Hold it all together
I let him wrap his fingers where
He wants
I let them gasp
wake the neighborhood up
To sounds of me howling
Begging for
An escape where
They no longer ask from me
Where the pain no longer pools
Like the storm clouds
Above the dry valley
One strike of lightning
Suddenly it’s a fight for our lives
Hit me so I can take my mental state
Throw it into a definition
Look through the stars
the colors blend together in gaseous realities
I can find the one strand where I used
moments of joy
the orange duvet, window open
Boiling tea kettles,
I used to just stand in the grass and not think about the
Ticks
The crawling underworld
Soil seeping through,
Induce me
I’ll sink past the dirt, the sand
And let go of your hand.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 5:24 PM UTC
I poeticize, proselytize
Punctuate and pontificate.
I write couplets and rhymes
And I really do it all the time.
I exacerbate and exaggerate
With no desire to intimidate.
I make similes and metaphors
Indoors and even out of doors.
There’s cussing and discussion
And sharp literary impressions
Through diversions, conversions
Allusions as well as conclusions.
And with luck, no delusions.
Just syllabically deft fusions
Of some deferential references
With a deft touch of reverence.
I rhyme thyme with fresh lime
And cardamom with cinnamon.
Sweetbreads and shortbreads.
Chicken bones and licking scones.
Rhyming pumpkins with dumplings
And matching up filets with filberts
Just as cocoa goes well with Kona.
Marmalade can be a good marinade.
I rhyme chrome wheels and automobiles,
Freeway off-ramps and Tiffany lamps.
Cellophane and vintage airplanes.
Flapper vamps and streetwalking tramps.
Also Cinderella coaches and cockroaches,
Nothing is unfair game to a busy poet.
As well as RCA Victors and boa constrictors.
Since I’m a poet, everyone should know it.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
This anxiety,
is making me anxious.
Feeding itself,
until it becomes dangerous.
It’s PTSD,
of some varying degree.
Each startup and failure,
taking its toll on me.
The inability to remember,
the pain and the fear.
Forgetting the scars,
that should be so clear.
The voice in your head,
reassuring you.
Saying this time will be different,
when you know it’s not true.
Louder and louder,
till it starts to scream.
Your anxiety grows,
and splits at the seam.
Then you give in,
letting go at last.
The voice takes control,
and repeats the past.
Another, another!!
It screams in a growl.
More, more!!
A predator on the prowl.
Then it is gone,
and you’re just floating there.
Trying to make sense of things,
trying to be aware.
Then it all crashes down,
and you’re drowning in hate.
You’re full of self loathing,
and memories that exacerbate.
Now the long road ahead,
seems to have no end.
Your chest hurts so bad,
and the tremors set in.
You can’t eat or sleep,
so you traumatize your brain.
You’re scared you might die,
but you’re more scared of the pain.
Four days and you’re better,
but the memories end.
Then that tiny voice,
starts to whisper again.
Over and over,
rinse and repeat.
Slowly killing yourself,
for a small fix of heat.
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
This poem is my presence,
In a world devoid of its quintessence
It needs not know my name,
'Cause I ain't looking for fame
I ain't looking for love,
Already got it from above
I ain't looking for gold,
'Cause shit's free when I'm old
Neither am I looking for recognition,
'Cause I have my own mission
One's losing is another's winning,
But this oblivious planet
just keeps spinning
Why pursue something that fades,
But ignore the crisis that pervades?
We're living in a world full of baits,
Constantly making us salivate,
Towards the things that manipulate
The brittle but
truth immaculate,
Where dialectics and debates
Flourish and permeate,
But situations only exacerbate
Love now, 'til it's too late
iamthe_avatar ©2016
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 5:18 AM UTC
We have no time to sit and wait,
Our incumbents already procrastinate.
What will it take for them to understand,
We can not act this way towards the land.
The skies cry polluted rain,
Those neurotoxins dance in my brain.
Our governments think they know whats best,
But how am I differentiated from the rest.
They do not know my personal needs,
My wants, my desires, my worldly dreams.
They are but that to infect decision,
To enter the brain with a quick incision.
Not to control, but to inform,
The world we live in is finding it hard to perform.
The things so many take for granted
have become a product of disenchantment.
Those that have noticed have started to yell,
To Rachel Carson's pen critics fell.
But to what end did it serve?
We want more than we healthily deserve.
With the end goal being money and power,
We have approached upon her final hour.
We have no time to sit and wait,
The problems tend to exacerbate.
What will it take to mitigate the masses?
While our governments feet are stuck in malaises.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
This place is always a little lonely
At the weekends...no noise and life;
I like solitude,
But not in places
Where's there's recently been
A lot of people.
Reclusiveness protects you
From nostalgia,
And you can be as nostalgic
In relation to what happened
Half an hour ago
As half a century ago, in fact more so.
I went to the Xmas party.
I danced,
And generally lived it up.
I went to bed sad though.
Discos exacerbate
My sense of solitude.
My capacity for social warmth,
Excessive social dependence,
And romantic zeal,
Can be practically deranging;
It's no wonder I feel the need
To escape...
Escape from my own
Drastic social emotivity,
And devastating capacity
For loneliness.
I feel trapped here;
There's no
Outlet for my talents.
In such a state as this,
I could fall in love with anyone.
The night before last,
I went to the ball,
Couples filing out,
I wanted to be half of every one,
But I didn't want to lose * * *.
I'll get over how I feel now,
And very soon.
Gradually I'll freeze again,
Even assuming an extra layer of snow.
I have to get out of here.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 5:26 AM UTC
True, best laid plans shall go awry.
Now, sadly, this I've found.
Cheap lies that make the bold heart cry
Make same hearts seek new ground.
Exceptions, though, exist there do
That challenge such a rule.
Cheap metronome my chest holds to
Is proof, the stubborn mule.
The space between my ears cries stop!
We shall not bear such weight.
This ruined mass won't be your prop,
We shan't stay in this state.
To eyes it cries, affix elsewhere.
Out of mind if out of sight.
Then this reply: Yes, we do care,
But can't see through this night.
The fiend that feeds the warmth to all
Has clouded all we know.
Now we have ceased thanks to this gall.
There's nothing left to show.
Alas, it spirals yet more deep
As systems halt and cease.
This wretched force persists to seep,
Its grip I can't release.
My shell and all but blackened core
Evade this awful dread.
The visceral cries I hear no more
As screams are all I'm fed.
The limbs upon the trunk can't live
Unless the ground is lush.
For if the roots can no more give,
The tree falls to the brush.
This heart, my fallen sylvan soul
Is now the fuel for others.
Uncaring lives that dig the hole
Now feed on fallen brothers.
It's company that sadness seeks.
This, others push away.
Unknowingly, their apathy speaks.
Exacerbate: decay.
So though all but what I protect
Still plead for refuge soon,
Its hold upon me won't forget
The love I still exhume.
As time tries to inter this need
That most seem wont to shun,
I still embrace full life's first seed
For that's how I begun.
Forget me not, the love does cry.
My heart replies, I shan't.
Though all within plead still to fly,
Dismiss this hurt, I can't.
So long as though I have control,
We shall still bear this hurt.
For giving up on love so whole
Would cause life to revert.
So though the pain from her deceit
Relents not, to this day,
Forever hold her here complete,
I shall, she's here to stay.
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 7:04 AM UTC
Instead of dousing you with water
My kisses made your ocean drier
And my touches only set you on fire
You said my words felt like sharp ice
Sounded like an orchestra of lies
But I swear they weren't meant
To sound like goodbyes
On the highway of dreams
I drove but didn't mean to crash
Memories of glitter turning to ash
The grasped infinity disappearing in a flash
I am a poison, your favorite brand
Another inch lost on your life's strand
Forgive me my love
But I can never let go of your hand
My touches excite you, I know
Your heart beats harder behind brittle bars
But they exacerbate your old scars
And make your lips crave cigars
I vowed to pamper you like a queen
Let you bask in a life so pristine
I apologize for bearing thorns
You shouldn't be searching for morphine
My lips are void of mendacity
You speak words immersed in asperity
I only wish to bring your heart placidity
But dear, I'm failing immensely
I'm on my knees but I don't pray
Your aligned stars, now in disarray
Rainbows in your eyes are turning gray
Why do you still ask me to stay?
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
What is mighty and great
Is feeble, and the high
Is merely just a low, and I
Was left as an unsightly mess
After a stupendous tsunami
Of amalgamated emotions
Has entirely devoured me in a
Fleeting second; loud sirens
Wish not to exacerbate
But to hinder the havoc
That will surely occur
Once the growing desire
To finally liberate what
Has been kept and hidden;
The mind defiantly refuses to
Heed warnings, for a maelstrom
Of rejection compared to
That of regret that is so sheer
Is a far better choice
And for this reason I
Fervently wish that I will
Be given the opportunity so I
Can go beyond just a spark
And then commence a wildfire
For now I am a mess in misery
As I wait for the stars to
Align, and the shackles to bid adieu
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC
There is a difference between personhood and behavior. Everyone's personhood is divine, inviolate, whereas so many people's behavior is often uncaring or hurtful or even much worse. It is not unusual to react to one's untoward behavior with at least displeasure if not outright hate, even ****** But this latter response is unknowing. When one encounters bad behaviour to any degree and wishes it were not so, do not exacerbate what is already deleterious by making it even worse through punishment. Instead, constrain this negativity, but love this forsaken person. Love is the cure for all who suffer pain. It may take a lot of love to heal a hurting soul, even a lifetime, perhaps even longer. But love is the antidode for all emotional maladies. But for one to be able to love others, one must first be loved, preferably by one's parents, but if not by them, then by someone else who was loved and thus has love to give those who desperately need it. This dilemma is what our world most suffers from. Wealth, fame, power--all are illusory and therefore feckless. They are but unconscious efforts to compensate for lack of love, and that is why our world has been turned inside-out for millennia. Only being loved, and then being able to love, will we be able to turn our world right-side in. Then and only then will we have Peace on Earth forever, and for the first time.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 2:09 PM UTC
Age 4 starting school set the scene for the show
The audience captive
Unusual behaviours unraveling
Raised voices trying to instill discipline and order
Into an already chaotic confused , petrified mind
Rulers on knuckles used
Only to further exacerbate damage done
Reward systems put in place
To no avail
Special needs teachers silenced !stunned !
All avenues exhausted still they are baffled
The show goes on without interval
I watch from the front row
Wondering how they earned there caps n gowns
They are all so blinkered
Never looking beyond the school walls
I am part of the show too just more suppressed "no one notices me"!
I draw a picture in my news book it's of children playing in the sun
Next to their fathers grave the children are smiling holding hands happy
I write my SOS message, it said" last night our dad died in a crash now we are very happy
It gives us an interval
Mum gets called in questioned
Denies all knowledge or understanding
"She fails us"! ?
I collect my brother at the gate
We walk home back to dress rehearsals
Where anger, hatred, fear,discord,pain , condemnation, ridicule, chilling screams,hurt and a large buckled belt awaits
No reason is given
The show goes on
It's the parents to blame
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
Disdain is developing for these boxes
Where interaction is eased but distanced and disconnected
Losing context and adding overthought
The to and fro becomes unhealthy in its uneven pacing, where our own little bubbles manifest in useless and counterproductive day dreams
This text technology isn't without its merits, if we need someone we can get hold of them quickly, if we need information we are well supplied
But for some, or.. to be frank, for me, the information overload is deconstructing my confidence and pressurising my sense of self
A battle I fight against with fresh air, exercise and my continued relationship with pleasure
As well as the projects and positions that I pursue, the passions and paychecks, an effort about to hit full force now I'm graduating into the hostile capitalist way of things
I worry what this overdose of gratification does to me, but those that aren't self conscious of themselves under the techno-pressure worry me more
Because they are caught, fulfilled by a mundane medium that the screens provide, some adding the taste of green to exacerbate their passivity
While their lives aren't my problem, I feel for idiots, and count myself among them to whatever extent
Again I am reminded though, as my words spread naturally and find intellectual soil to dig down towards
As confident as I am of my optimism and the direction it describes
I am so very ******* fallable, and these screens and trying to connect with people through them is a process that doesn't quite seem right
That's not to say I won't be surrounded by the deceptive ******* tomorrow, in that mundane medium of 'social' existence
But it'll be the boxes of text that bug my sense of tangibility
and the efforts to shake off the cabin fever that will be most rewarding
These moans culminate in that simple little appreciation of those old norms
That no matter how incredibly interconnected our technology allows us to be
Those piles of text are a poor ******* substitute for the eye contact and the smile
So make sure you go out and find some
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
**If you pretend, you'll never know the right way this ends.
It's the passion of my pen that prescribes this medical zen.
In my den, I walk on water, I speak in colors, it's the message that I send- I received,
Do you really need to know where it comes from?
There's this spiritual axiom, that I've been askin' him, entranced by this romance,
All these butterflies and pretty clouds I've never had the chance to give.
In my passive peculiar I'm a user of catastrophe, exacerbate the simple happenings
That disaster brings. When I lived in California it was women, it was water, it wasn't the waves,
The way her hair flirted and twirled, and whipped around when the sun every-day would
Come out.
It wasn't that I didn't have the drive, the will to survive, I even had the doll-dollars, my rent was paid, I flew around in private airplanes, and every single day I got laid. Even her father was like, "He's a cool cat, you better make 'em put a ring on that." But she ****** ain't got a clue-
if I was me then now, then I'd now what I was supposed to do.
I was supposed to ride... clear the air and see the skies. Be bliss-bound, virile, like White Snake, Just make her mine. But I was...insincere, adolescent, and hiding behind a barrier. I didn't have the Strength to carry her. It was paramount, but I wasn't 100% percent clear.
Now I'd say, well, since, it's been 1,244 days. While I sit and listen to grave-wave, having a great day.
I'm in love again, and the music says,"There's a lot of cool in them, and he never had a doubt."
Kay even said, I shouldn't trouble on the past, the present is so much better then even the future, she said, "It's in you" and I guess the Truth is, I imagine you, beautiful, intriguing, like a different forever, that even I once was 20, too.
For Kristine
By Martin Narrod**
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
pointless re-pinings exacerbate my sorrow for paradise lost
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 4:37 PM UTC
My heart refused to surrender
the memory of your lips
your breath
your voice
your eyes
your hair
your skin
your legs
your *******
So I did the next best thing
which is
to lock you in a box
and send it tumbling
clattering into the shadows of my soul
where even my darkest impulses
hesitate to roam.
For I have already scattered to the wind
thoughts of you
of where I used to nuzzle your neck
of your sighs as you straddled me
and rained kisses on my shoulders
as I explored the white plains and valleys of your neck with my lips
your opaque tresses enclosing us like a velvet curtain
of that spot behind your ear
that turned you into a convulsing puddle
of the secretive smirk
as your lips ambushed mine
while the bacon burned itself to a charred crisp
ignored for a few stolen afternoon moments.
The waters have swallowed up
the foregone moments
of silence as you devoured yogurt
cup after cup with manic zeal
of afternoon naps interspersed
with locked lips and remorseful embraces
of nights shattered by raised voices and silent tears
of quiet revelations as heaven descended
while you wrapped yourself around my arm.
The few treacherous strands of recollection
I leave to the roaring sands
sleek as silk and strong as steel
obstinate cobwebs sticking to my hair and skin
indifferently recurring flashes of reminiscence
such as
the painful cognizance only theology can exacerbate
how you restrained my hands
when their gesticulations crossed over into exaggeration
those truly rare moments of generosity
when you showed some semblance of affection
or even
your dogged efforts at breaking into my reverie
to teach me to look past my little bio-dome
and live in the world beyond.
What stubbornly remained I managed to fit into that box
which refused to budge
without much pleading
cajoling
threatening
and screaming
oh and
physical violence helped too.
And finally over the edge it went
banished
down to join the growing pile of crates
of memories
also written off with a flippant wave of the hand
and washed away with a burning wave of whiskey.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC