"expresses" poems
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea.
At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate.
This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land.
“Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment.
Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement.
Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused.
Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control.
The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed.
In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
Strings, strings, wrapping around porcelain skin,
For why does the bruises not show?
With a waist, hip, and two legs that are so thin,
For why does the skin always glow?
Hair that never sheds, nor grows, nor messes,
For why does the girl not wash it?
With a merry face that still never truly expresses,
For why does the face not show even a slight fit?
Stoic, conjoined, the feet never stomping,
For why does the limbs never feel frostbit?
Perhaps it is a lie that the being is a girl,
As it is only with strings that she can ever twirl.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 6:43 AM UTC
*Music is my only refuge
Expresses the soul of Nature
The mellifluous journey between notes
Lingers in my heart, the silken veil
Drives away the melancholy, music cradles
Soul to Soul, I sing away Nature’s notes*
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
Is there an order?
In there an approximation of pi
circling our first awkward flirtations?
Does a dragon curve lurk hidden as I
caress the curvature of your spine?
Where does Euclidean geometry fit in to the
first time our lips met?
Does the Pythagorean theorem detail our most intimate
love making?
A quadratic formula for the shameful
discarding of punched in picture frames?
Is there a golden ratio that best expresses
hurried apologies and frantic entanglements
between our sheets?
I know for certain there was
a simple subtraction
on the day your tears added up everything
and finally said goodbye.
Some would say there is order in this
chaos disguised as order disguised as
chaos
Continually debating pattern recognition
or butterfly effects
But I’d like to think
We were more subtle than that
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
Happiness
A word that expresses how I feel now
How I feel now expressed by the word
Happiness
A form of self-love is self-care
Self-care quite a form of self-love
Happiness
Recovering from an eating disorder.
A form of self love.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
He’s like a character in a book which is every girl’s dream, just like me. But no, he’s not just a cast in a story. Maybe the way he puts his thoughts into words, the way he speaks, the way he acts or expresses his feelings through his posts, his attitudes or the sweet efforts he made. I always dream and hope that I would find a man like him. Because all of his attitudes, no, not all, but some of his attitudes I want my future boyfriend to have--my ideal boyfriend; intelligent, gentleman, knows how to respect a girl, really knows God and many more. And I always fall in love with him once I read his posts. Sometimes, I get teary-eyed when I read some of his posts or feel like crying when I finish reading it and I don’t even know why and I am like asdfghjkl. He’s a real man. He had it all. He has this thing that when you’ll go back read to his blog you didn’t even notice that you’re falling in love with him. It’s like falling in love with a fictional character. Even though you don’t even know him.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
but have you noticed, have you noticed how all mental health problems
stem form a seemingly aether virus that attacks the pronoun category;
i mean with proper justifiable schizoids you will not hear of the nouns
being ransacked for an equation that equates itself to misnomers;
it's all categorised negation of ease within the framework of pronouns.
it's strange that philosophers stress the pronouns so much these days
and those countless prior, but why do mental health diseases
attack the pronouns and not the nouns? they attack the verbs
thoroughly, but prior to the verbs exposing an illness
the pronouns are attacked, so that many considering the singularity
of expressing thought are ill because of being forced into a plural expression
of thought: "voices." i find it hard to understand, but it's the reality,
the aether virus attacks the pronoun
on the backdrop of a king's casual expression / use
of pronouns, when a king casually says
of himself as omni or multi with one and we respectively;
so why are pronouns so weak and nouns so strong
that a tree cannot be a misnomer attaché of timber
and rock not a pillar, or mountain as the verb: mountaineering?
the pronoun category is weak from day one,
because it suggests photographic duck animation on the lip pursed
into a quack quack, but if we constructed thought
without knowledge prior, eating the fruit of knowledge
rather than the fruit of thought, using the starting point
of the genesis metaphor, it's sometimes a no brainer
to have weak thinking and strength in knowing,
for if there was strength in thinking and weakness in knowing,
i'd be the one chiseling these words in the ice age on a cavern wall.
so, given, that diseases such as the famed premature dementia
attack the pronouns but not the nouns the schizoid one
will convene life with: pizza is pizza and sunshine ray down the drain
clock the millionth dead parting of grasshoppers in decimals -
while man unto man lusts one man's parting in decimals,
but should dire said, part man with integers, and insects with decimals!
but still, in the terminology of a cartesian understanding of illness,
in that segregational aspect of things "sorted,"
why are mental illnesses tattooed in a weak pronoun usage
compared to a strength in other grammatical categories?
why are not mental illnesses ******* the life out of the nouns?
the nouns are intact, the pronouns attacked,
and the verbs chess piece the pawn from the casually speaking clown king
into a beast imprisoned, for while the pronouns are attacked
and the nouns left intact, the attack on pronouns expresses itself
fully in verbs of the never existent tact: with such magic
as to claim knock knock on plank is the same as knock knock on veneer.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
Milk with such a loving taste
makes it hard to drink without such haste!
Warm, sweet oh I can't get enough,
don't worry my dear I will not be rough,
I cherish each drop of this flavor
let me consume it with my best behaviour.
Oh Rin, thank you for calming me down...
And always remember this when you frown:
I will be here for you, until you smile
Until your day becomes happy and worthwhile
So please my dear, wear a smile on your face
it expresses your cuteness it expresses your grace
thank you for being so kind....
I am glad theres a person like you I could find <3
~ Umi
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 4:00 PM UTC
The strings
the way I pluck it
gives extra strength
to my soul.
The notes
I try to read
drives my thirst
spirit.
The lyrics
I write in a paper
expresses every single
emotion.
The music
I hear and I make
mends shattered
feeling.
But
The passion
I have
and truly love
seems fading.
The comparison
I get from others
is breaking every
notes.
The people
who are showing that
I am no good
made my paper empty.
Discouragement
scrapes the willing
and hoping
heart.
-Steph Dionisio, July 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
Dealing with anger innocently
means we become angry and immature
where you shout and you scream and
you make love to irrationality
and you make truths
tweaked
and mice
monsters
then,
how do you deal with mature anger?
the type that's repressed and kept
the type that expresses through
clipped words and picked sounds and licked letters
where you hold your tongue
and beat your drum and
sigh loudly.
What now do with this anger.
When neither can answer and each has understood
each has come to know the anger and
which it there stem
so why be it..
the lost remain lost
this "mature" language of anger is obsolete
we must like children
disrupt this planet
erupt amidst the winds
and cry
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
Bucket full of coins and lint
From pockets of the passing
He sits there staring silently
His sign board does the asking
Truth be told he only wants
Money for his drink
His sign expresses honestly
What the passers by all think
Why Lie, Need *****
is written on his card
But, to look this man right in the eye
Is really something hard
He doesn't smile, is dressed for warmth
Even though it is quite warm
I don't think it's for the weather
It's for his own internal storm
That rips apart inside his soul
A storm that no one's seen
It knocked him on a wayward course
He lost who he might have been
We'll never know just who he was
We only know him at this hour
For those who pass him here each day
He's known as Whiskey Sour
He sits there with his plastic tub
Watching people on their way
Whiskey Sour thanks them kindly
No matter what they say
A victim of his own devices
Or a victim of all ours
No matter where you walk and look
You will all meet Whiskey Sours.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 3:38 PM UTC
A philosopher thinks
A writer expresses
A planner makes plans
A poet feels, conceives and reflects with emotions
To reshape the world using a mortar of love of nature
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
I like the idea of Slim Shady
Eminem's alter ego
I like the idea because I can relate
I understand
I believe everyone
Has an alter ego
A worse version of themselves
That tears at them from the inside
Even though some people
Don't acknowledge it
Lately
I've been listening to Eminem quite a bit
My favorite song
Is My Darling
Because half way through the song
Eminem fights with his demon
Granted, I've never been in most of the situations
That he dealt with
I've never had an abusive mother
I've never had a drug problem
I've never had an alcohol problem
But I have dealt with inner demons
I hear a dark and angry voice in my head
Eminem fascinates me
He tells his story
Through his words
He expresses his pain
His anger
His love
His hate
When you really think about it
How is rap much different than poetry?
I think it's similar
Rap tells a story
Rap expresses emotions
Rap speaks the artist's truth
That they couldn't say any other way
Rap is a form of slam poetry
In my opinion
The difference is
Rap has a beat
Maybe that's why
Eminem inspires me so much
Maybe it's because I understand the pain
Of hearing the inner demon
Always screaming in your ear
Telling you these lies
Trying to force you into things
Trying to trick you into your old ways
I'm probably not the only one
But I don't really care
Because it doesn't really matter
I will continue to be inspired
About how brutally honest his words are
About how he's not afraid
To say what he thinks
How he's not afraid to tell his story
No matter how hard it may be
Slim Shady fascinates me
Eminem inspires me
And Marshall Mathers understands me
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 10:04 AM UTC
pink sky
drizzled with the radiance of
the morning sun
the earth holds this precious light
purple smoke
dissipates into
the woven clouds
the sky holds the secret
luscious greens
mixed with aqua blues
soothes the serene landscape
the land expresses a longing desire
to be one
(b.d.s.)
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
Asking a question does more than fill open space.
It expresses curiosity.
Devolving into things not easily expressed.
Given our availability.
It expresses a deeper need for connection.
Whether we are open to what we desire most.
Closed off to preference.
The right time of day or night we can de-clutter.
Taking in what we give out.
Asking a question isn't something done out of boredom.
Or merely because your there.
It expresses a thought that requires action.
That I've thought of you.
That there is a desire laid bare.
An anticipation that builds until the next time
I am able to hear your voice.
For the more serious moments require a deeper tone.
An ear that senses deeper need.
Responding to this deep need of connection.
A need of care.
A need of longing.
To respond to this vulnerability not out of responsibility.
But in the openness of being
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
Marry a poet--
she'll tell you the universe in a sonnet.
She expresses her affection in a poem,
for endlessly, to a bard;
you are an anthem.
Apr 1, 2021
Apr 1, 2021 at 11:33 AM UTC
In symmetry
and colors
a notable image..
meditative model
Hubble finding
in night sky
light years
from here
and Now..
***Science musings:
How created..?***
A creator or
creation..?
***A centered aging
binary system..?***
Polarity energy
says it all..?
The unusual shape?
Sacred geometry
expresses itself..?
A definite torus..
All Reality
and Consciousness
expressed as Torus..?
***Boundaries of cones
form an X..?***
Creation of symmetry
interconnectedness
recognized..?
***Why unusual colors
Red and Blue..?***
Left and Right
Male and Female
oppositions prevail..?
***As hydrocarbon molecules
colors building blocks
for organic life..?***
Center Light transforming
to component colors..?
***In a few million years
the Red Rectangle nebula
will probably bloom
into a planetary
nebula..***
New birth
Now announced...?
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
Lilac emits her scent,
Orchid’s winks bring elation;
Love speaks through us all!
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC
A poet is somebody who feels, and who expresses his feeling through words.
This may sound easy. It isn't.
A lot of people think or believe or know they feel - but that's thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling. And poetry is feeling - not knowing or believing or thinking.
Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel. Why? Because whenever you think or you believe or you know, you're a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you're nobody-but-yourself.
To be nobody-but-yourself - in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else - means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.
As for expressing nobody-but-yourself in words, that means working just a little harder than anybody who isn't a poet can possibly imagine. Why?
Because nothing is quite as easy as using words like somebody else. We all of us do exactly this nearly all of the time - and whenever we do it, we are not poets.
If, at the end of your first ten or fifteen years of fighting and working and feeling, you find you've written one line of one poem, you'll be very lucky indeed.
And so my advice to all young people who wish to become poets is: do something easy, like learning how to blow up the world - unless you're not only willing, but glad, to feel and work and fight till you die.
Does this sound dismal? It isn't.
It's the most wonderful life on earth.
Or so I feel.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
i cannot remember how your lips taste.
i can only remember they felt like
an uninvited guest trying to move in.
your lips and teeth are perfectly
made to **** on skin
so then you won't have to make lies with them.
but i let you in.
(maybe if i do what
he wants, no one will get hurt).
the tribe of my love,
has never been one to be
silenced by any lips but my own.
that should have been my
warning for a war cry.
but it was too late.
you were Columbus Day.
you came in as a new reality
and you left as a tragedy.
you put a knife to the strings
that held us together.
there is a spirit floating around
the ghost town of my heart
that is mourning the loss
of your name.
it is aching to hold on to
memories before the battle,
but is blind to see the bodies,
the bullets.
we have taken a knife,
and cut the strings that
held us together.
(for many people, Columbus Day only expresses the start of the damage introduced by imperialism, colonialism and the celebration of the birth of issues in North America, that still happen to plague us world wide)
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
Nicknames make me laugh
They express a person,
Through another persons eyes.
Or maybe a name,
Given by the person themselves.
The love of my life.
His nickname is my baby bear.
Why?
He doesn't have bear like qualities,
Nor is he a baby (sometimes)
But because for me,
His nickname expresses clearly what he is.
He is MY baby bear.
Without intention it has came to be,
The possessiveness that comes out of me.
Because no matter what he may be...
Sweetie, Hunny, Sugar Pie.
He will always be my,
My love of my life.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 3:41 AM UTC
I am a traveler commuting on life's rails,
going station to station.
Disembarking at different destinations,
each time spent differently.
The car can be claustrophobic with passengers,
suffocating me in anxiety.
Other times, just a few of familiar faces,
friends, families, locals, daily riders.
Some talking, of life, nonsense, all or nothing,
each making their way.
There are times of light, above ground and of sun,
the rest tunneled, falsely lit, dark.
The sights of open land, buildings, and of the day,
the faces of love, hurt, hurried and grind.
Day in Day out this cycle goes on,
different,yet the same.
I am part of this mass exodus to get somewhere,
yet my commute is my own.
At times I arrive with many at the platform
bustling towards their tasks.
Trains for life come and go, expresses to locals,
roaring with noise, movements, purpose.
However, there are times i am the only one there,
Occasional train, in silence, alone.
Those are the days that my commute seems fruitless,
leaving me to wonder,
Have I just been passing it all by?
© J.L.Gonzalez75 09/2016
* this is a rough edit... am not a poet, but just write.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC