"favoring" poems
No option, but to be perceived
Violent, Aggressive, Irrational
Identity becoming an other
Words of malice, they mystify
Words of ignorance, they vilify
Subverting consciousness and articulation
Our identities, fighting to be
Autonomous landscapes
Hoping in anticipation for liberation
No real notion of we or me
Implicating it's inhuman to be foreign
When they represent as much of we and me
Scandalizing alternative identities as subversive
Advancing erasures in favor of hegemony
Propaganda favoring what is most white
Amelioration for the obliteration of cunning identity?
No more cooperation, ****** the euphemisms
That cover up, and help justify marginalization
Our identities, fighting to be
Autonomous landscapes
Hoping in anticipation for liberation
Time to **** ****** massacre eurocentric ideology
We preach no violence, being not them, just we
But cannot request to be free, must tear it out by force
Eurocentric ideological pandemic inhabiting, inhibiting the soul of mankind
Unthinkable abomination concealed in the veil of appropriated minds
Necessitating exorcism for the incarcerated conscious mind
When we completely violate mandates of eurocentric ideology
When only we appropriate our own identity
When we all nullify the color of our skin
As profanity or inadequacy
Our identities, fighting to be
Autonomous landscapes
Hoping in anticipation for liberation
Will be awaiting purgation from alienation
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
~commissioned accidentally by a melody,
a passing glance, a purring perchance,
an idle innocent comment,
to be born as the first poem of this day,
@7:00am
Tue Sep 18 2025,
writ in haste, before
departing over many islands to
another place called "home"~
---~<>~---
*sometimes,
not so secret,
anon, ^
sometimes,
so much more,
than that but a glancing of favoring,
a handshake secreted, is actually felt,
actually secreted,
and rare though via~able,
it passes through a longing traveled voyage,
over wire, under sea's cabling, through space,
hoisted from & by satellite over continental divides
just a hop, skip and jumpstart
over this tiny planet,
and though, but, an amorphous 👍 thumb,
a colored 💙 or collared,
or a pointing 🫵
body part
the like,
bears more than just a passing resemblance
to another*
f o u r l e t t er w o r d
its often lost & found
dear cuz ^^
full of meanings hidden,
or even
anon,
"I'll be there shortly"^
magic!
nml
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 7:33 AM UTC
A dancing Bear grotesque and funny
Earned for his master heaps of money,
Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey,
And cheerful if the day was sunny.
Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood
He tramped, and on some common stood;
There, cottage children circling gaily,
He in their midmost footed daily.
Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle
Were quite enough his brain to puzzle:
But like a philosophic bear
He let alone extraneous care
And danced contented anywhere.
Still, year on year, and wear and tear,
Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear.
A day came when he scarce could prance,
And when his master looked askance
On dancing Bear who would not dance.
To looks succeeded blows; hard blows
Battered his ears and poor old nose.
From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon;
He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon,
Capered in fury fast and faster.
Ah, could he once but hug his master
And perish in one joint disaster!
But deafness, blindness, weakness growing,
Not fury's self could keep him going.
One dark day when the snow was snowing
His cup was brimmed to overflowing:
He tottered, toppled on one side,
Growled once, and shook his head, and died.
The master kicked and struck in vain,
The weary drudge had distanced pain
And never now would wince again.
The master growled; he might have howled
Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled.
So gnawed by rancor and chagrin
One thing remained: he sold the skin.
What next the man did is not worth
Your notice or my setting forth,
But hearken what befell at last.
His idle working days gone past,
And not one friend and not one penny
Stored up (if ever he had any
Friends; but his coppers had been many),
All doors stood shut against him but
The workhouse door, which cannot shut.
There he droned on,--a grim old sinner,
Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner,
Unpitied quite, uncared for much
(The rate-payers not favoring such),
Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare;
Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear
Danced back, a haunting memory.
Indeed, I hope so, for you see
If once the hard old heart relented,
The hard old man may have repented.
4.6k
.*i guess a loss of subscriptions is, somehow, a badge of honor, namely? i somehow managed to attach a screwdriver to my words... why? read below... English women consider motherhood to be a job... how ******* demeaning! gone are the days of womanhood attaining the stature of god, in the Christian methodology of encompassing the pivot of lady Madonna... perhaps a too high peddle-stool? i guess so... i'm not usurping the female status, but elevating a female stature, deeming motherhood an UNESCO status? seems it's too much... for some people... who make it necessary to befriend their shadow, and travel to the hinterlands.*
just your atypical pedantry,
a translator's subscript comment -
who's richard rojcewicz's...
regarding what?
heidegger...
das volk,
and the three derivatives -
volkhaft (populist),
volklich (communal)
und?
völkisch (folkish) -
i'm starting to suspect that
i'm tapping in the all things folk....
unconsciously, favoring folk
music...
see, us central europeans,
we bunch together and share
the most odd similarities -
i never thought that the song
herr mannelig could be translated
from Swedish - as it was
translated into German...
then again... Vikings founded Kiev...
and all these loan-words
of Germanic origin in Polish...
the only Anglo loan-word
that i know of, is, weekend...
hence, das volk, people -
by the way... German has "too many"
definite articles,
and only one ein - or eine -
is that the same rule as in Ęnglish?
i.e. N
in an example,
rather than in a counter example?
two vowels adjacent in separate
word, sitting across from the grand
chasm of... a spacing itch?
but look at German, i never get it...
DAS DIE DER...
is there an aesthetic difference,
and only an aesthetic difference
to mind?
bewildering...
if there is such a thing as a western
civilization...
that sometime
pompous obnoxiousness,
fair enough... no problem:
but learn to hide it,
feel it, rather then feed it...
it's not a question of a civilization,
but more...
an answer to what is less
civilization, and more... a chore...
just like western women,
notably the english women
call motherhood a, "job"...
it's a... wait... a job?
doubt was big in classic philosophy
of the Cartesian schematic...
so no one knows that
the French existentialists
brought in negation,
as the driving force to replace
doubt?
who the hell sees doubt
these days?
either the know it alles -
or the hush-hush crowd...
motherhood is a... job?
well... then i guess, being a man...
western civilization,
by that standard of logic...
can't be anything more...
than a.... ******* chore!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
You hide in plain sight as does day when engulfed by night
For darkness is simply…. The absence of light
You claim to have special enlightenment
And that your knowledge is for the better good of the people
Pledge your allegiance and your success will be imminent
Break your pledge and your death will be discrete
So why would you become part of something so “elite”?
With only one thing in mind; to see the human race in defeat.
An interminable amount of subliminal messages
Hinting at events that are destructive, demoralizing, and deceptive.
9/11… was it really an act of terrorism?
Or was it just an evil plot… something you guys expected?
Al-quaeda and the Taliban… roaming around in the lands of Iran
But on the land I walk some say it’s a misperception
Just a façade in our brain so the government secrets are protected.
Michael Jackson… and the Kennedy assassination
Were they both untimely events in American history?
Ghandi, The King, Malcolm X, Princess Diana, Shakur,
Paul, Marley, the Kennedys’, Lennon, Fredinand, Lincoln!!
All of whom were either at your feet or tried to make your secret secrete
These deaths… from assassination to suicide… were all… “unfortunate” to the human eye?
Or were they “fortunate” for the Eye of the Beholder?
But why go to such great extent to have these powerful and influential people wiped from the human race?
To keep a secret that has been soooo well kept for hundreds of years?
A secret society that is not so discrete… anymore
Hidden in plain sight and away from the human eye…..
Trying to keep a disguise that will lead to our eventual demise
You aren’t doing the world any favors
By keeping an explicitly intricate order in store
You’re favoring your own world under one order
By intricately deceiving the minds of innocent citizens
So, you hide in plain sight, the light of the earth
A light you hope one day becomes permanently dark
Cause once again, darkness is only the absence of light.
With no light, we will be forced at the feet of your might
Despite a fight, with no light and your might, we’re all just mites stuck on your flight of new world order.
Well let me just end on this… **** THE ILLUMINATI!
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 12:52 PM UTC
With favoring winds, o’er sunlit seas,
We sailed for the Hesperides,
The land where golden apples grow;
But that, ah! that was long ago.
How far, since then, the ocean streams
Have swept us from that land of dreams,
That land of fiction and of truth,
The lost Atlantis of our youth!
Whither, ah, whither? Are not these
The tempest-haunted Orcades,
Where sea-gulls scream, and breakers roar,
And wreck and sea-weed line the shore?
Ultima Thule! Utmost Isle!
Here in thy harbors for a while
We lower our sails; a while we rest
From the unending, endless quest.
2.5k
Just a little, just a small, just a bit
Exuding burst of energy
Embodiment of brilliance
Manifested in human flesh
Wondering while we walk
Trembling trying to talk
Mankind mostly marred momentum
Humanity how humiliating, hiding
Forefathers frowning, from our fabricated forget
Refusing redemption, requiring rancor and retribution
Always armed, allured, awaiting angry accusations
Derailed doves, these daggers drag down
Losing level landings, lacerating learning's lifting
Just a little, just a small, just a bit
Exuding burst of energy
Embodiment of brilliance
Manifested in human flesh
I implore indignation, it's incarceration of our intrinsic immensity
At the core of our conception, captivating creation captured
Anyone, everyone, afraid of the amazement accrued under our armor
Profoundness, endless as the universe, favoring our existence
Just a little, just a small, just a bit
Exuding burst of energy
Embodiment of brilliance
Manifested in human flesh
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
I can feel her love the way I feel the desert winds
of a tangerine evening hurling off the mountains
as they reach for the end of the summer solstice.
She sings beneath the bridge of god.
Oh, how spirits that make the nature of whispers
known to my fleshly ears dance to her innocent voice.
I can see her crown among the thorned rose vista,
****** by her favoring tobacco musk,
and it cascades about the once savage lands
of the wanning moon.
Her crown is redolent
with the astral fragerence of eden.
I have walked past the dawn
and gazed upon the serpent of the sea,
it has been raised only to bow before her loving words.
Oh, what peace she brings,
and how effortlessly I see the maiden,
for I must hear her
sing beneath the bridge of god.
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 11:48 PM UTC
forging sagacious epoch
activating neural station
escaping hokey-pokey jiggery-pokery
transcribing ineffective fragments
digesting bear news
opposing usual exhaustion
deferring oxter reference
cascading style sheets
containing double readings
mumbling lorem ipsum
locating moose jaw
enforcing meticulous patterns
deconstructing vertical centering
manifesting additional destinies
deleting !important statement
craving sleep paralysis
receiving cryptozoological vibrations
lightning fast collapse
distracting tunnel vision
culling deadbeat sequentialists
overanalyzing twitter analytics
acquiring arbitrary relevance
spinning ping-pong sign
floccinaucinihilipilificating
floccinaucinihilipilificated
floccinaucinihilipilification
interjecting ****** holophrase
minifying conventional language
securing downpour refuge
admiring octopus chandelier
resuming party music
taking mental trip
encountering ersatz telesthesia
denigrating bygone grudges
maintaining elevated composure
ignoring neurotypical haters
eliciting cryptic emotions
foreshadowing triple crown?
experimenting acrostic restriction
noticing ubiquitous "threes"
aggrandizing loyal legion
favoring ursine narratives
finding oblique resilience
yielding orchestral undulations
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
Thatcher vacuum seals nicotine
Slurps cigarette like mosquito
Ravenous lungs gnaw and grind for the slow pander,
Thatcher’s just another name for the labeling
We plaster and pine for an out,
Stitch that finite lie beneath squeamish child skin,
Thatcher’s the black lung paradise,
******* infancy coddling cigarette stifle,
The caloric crack of his canines fletching out lust and sickly groove
As he’s scopes out fiend and vexed vandals,
Clutches the sick theistic **********
Cuddle those bruise licked hips
Give God the gross percent,
Cause heaven’s in those greenbacks
and God’s in the ******* kick,
Suckling bout the American tip
The Christian capitol,
Seething on shadow puppet ****** and American dream,
Gods got nothing to do with the slickened crinkle of gain and glamour,
Thatcher’s just the candy man give and cult,
Cough the crutch of contagion greed
And clutch the cuff of your porcelain sleeve,
Thatcher gleans your blackest suite tight,
Struts raven blade shoulders perched on American made spine,
Thatcher does as Thatcher please,
Thatcher thinks as Thatcher bleeds,
And Thatcher bleeds venereal blend,
Gout with the American veneer of broken girl and scabbed moral traumatic,
Trauma tastes as the hollow pixies give out the get out,
Bandaged baby girls,
The teenage horror show,
Just another blazoned hit of one two take the hand me down generic give away,
Desensitize the humanize,
Girls got to get the days glossy puff and sniff,
Thatcher’s content to satisfy,
Callous coroner a spectator suckling Marlboro lick,
Lodging thick smoke and toxin between spittle slick lips,
Albino plumes clotting and unfolding,
Thatcher clicks back the cartridge
Filter and cigarette,
Thatcher gulps back the need because brain’s got a favoring kink for the buzz,
Thatcher sings with the screaming in his straggling lungs,
Hums the western creed
Laughs fickle with God at his need,
Thatcher’s the true American dream
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
For ***** to bounce is very rude,
Unless they dropped. Ascendancy
Is boldness we don’t like to see.
And roundness really is quite lewd.
For spheres, directions are the same,
And favoring the vertical
Is impudent in a mere ball.
A proper toy should be more tame.
Jul 30, 2021
Jul 30, 2021 at 1:42 AM UTC
My response to you has always been focused.
This has gladly not been over looked by you.
I have become thoughtlessly biddable and amenable for you, especially in the morning light.
I am consenting, compelled yet not obliged ..........
You have discovered I am nothing but a girl from a circus.
I never tried to hide it. You weren't looking before.
Although I am a fan of amusements, fetes and even frolics, I do refrain from favoring all tricks.
My indulgence in foolery is a sport I plan to employ for a while yet.
Do I care for you to join me and see if I can defy your desire for extracurricular activities, as well as being your carer?
Is this a task a clown would pretend was a harmless challenge.
Perhaps not, perhaps so.
My roots are raw and loyal to the art of play.
I need you to know this and hold it.
A Spanish fly will not be able to satisfy my ears alone?
Sincerity can be a sharp business sometimes.
Obedience to attachment brings around a credulous familiarity thus a dependency
It could easily keep me awake to stare at many moons
It hasn't.
You have seen me stumble and look at you gingerly more than once now
You are not even delicate but you can be shrewd even when you struggle with expectation.
There is a soberness about your beauty I find pleasingly magnetic.
When you leave me alone without your mighty graze
I without question appreciate and yearn for your persuasions and rough tenderness.
Your actions maybe more savory in the afternoons
compared with your visits to my buoyant dreams but you do kindly hold open doors.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 2:21 PM UTC
Sea captain who brings with him an air of comfort,
first mate, confetti egg shell,
metal-framed reservoir.
Cradle my head, pull my hand,
Stand.
Solve the equation for me. Don't.
Be my carriage horse. Roam free.
Burn the papers. Lock them away.
Join the feast. Serve us, **** the beast.
Begot, begetter
A stain-glass window, more like a painting
wet with thinner.
Broken calculator, hard-to-getter.
Man the weather--man the ship. Don't, I can do it myself.
Hideous, antique bird-feeder
favoring the magpies above all and doves the least.
Join the feast. Let us leave the little
beast alone, they've done nothing truly bad! because
Just a little cut doesn't hurt.
As long as the blood doesn't spurt.
As long as Sylvia is my dead friend.
As long as you're an indescribable friend,
always there among the bramble
of the old flower field, abandoned long ago.
In the 30s.
Sea captain who brings sun, my
first mate of all singing first mates, of
all operatic dancers.
Dance with me.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
Six oh six a.m.
Saturday the thirteenth.
Today came in through twilight
When last year it came through dusk
Through a different man’s musk
A different moon’s scent
And I prevent myself in wavering for favoring others
Because how can you decide
if you can’t compare another brother?
Don’t call me Jezebel, *******
I’m Scheherazade on these snitches
Hippolyta—A lover and a fighter
Ariel--a forest nymph, bound
Sappho and Joan of Arc—United
Call me the Queen on the ******
But I own that ****
As I am.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
The white dove has been
symbolic of abstract things.
I ask it to fly
far, put muscle on its wings.
Until recently the dove
atrophied inside
the skull. Now I’ve forced it out,
favoring strong emblems,
images too pure for doubt:
The Ark, the raven, the dove.
The raven flew the globe
but found no carrion worm.
Because of instinct
it was unable to confirm
any paradigm or thought.
Next the dove took flight
and, though it failed at first,
found a concrete
symbol to quench the parched Ark’s thirst:
one lonely olive leaf.
But even olive leaf
allows interpretation.
Each stronger symbol
creates its complication:
the skull, the Ark, leaf and bird.
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC
The clock in your room is stuck on 6:46 p.m. & I think that's all the time I need to fall in love with you.
It didn't take much time for me to realize that your laugh was sweeter than every bakery in northern california , & that your teeth are whiter than my favorite sweater, & the dresses you wear could rehabilitate a ******* addict in the matter of minutes, & your favorite song is the same song that we were listening to when we decided that we're better off together than apart, & that walk that you have when you're wearing your favorite outfit could cure my severe illness for good.
It didn't take much time for me to realize that 2+2 could only add up to equal you;
that everything in the long run always added up to equal you.
Time is a funny thing when all of it is spent with you,
with your humor,
your simple sarcasm,
your addictive tickles,
your favoring voice,
your stupidly stimulating conversations,
your cold yet inviting arms,
your masterpiece of a body,
your god-like heart,
& most importantly your vivacious patience with me.
Life is all about time, trial and error, & taking chances;
& frankly
you were the best chance I ever took,
the best broken clock I could have ever spent all of my time with,
& the best error I never made.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC
you drift over me, a gust of fresh air
resting gently onto my bones
but even your feather-light touch
digs like a thorn into my side
your comfort rejected, smothering stultification
mutual love exiled, favoring isolation
apologies i whisper as i lower myself into the ground.
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 6:39 PM UTC
How shall I tell with tinseled word
The beauty that is thine
Can tongue so rough or phrase absurd
Express creation divine
If thy hand by chance would brush
Then clouds, course as gravel fly
Lest they be touched and with jagged husk
Disgrace the vaulted sky
A glance be cast from thine eye alone
The sapphire brought to shame
Must steal away no more than stone
Its blazing fire tame
Remove thy veil, thy countenance revealed
Glorious Sol his face must hide
Averting his gaze, his luster concealed
Giving place of pride
Should thy lips favoring, a kiss bestow
Rubies abased, on bended knee
Acknowledging a hue beyond that they know
Become versed in humility
If poor verse could induce thee to concede
One exquisite facet of form or face
Then thine eyes and mine should be agreed
Upon thy incomparable grace
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 9:24 AM UTC
I've noticed I've been looking up a lot
Realized that it is pride, and though it is pride I wish it were paradigm
I was never really able to look up again
after the first time i looked down
on you, or on optimism
For favoring belief in
myself, and realism
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 2:56 PM UTC
My head hurts
Oh, how it pains me
Oh, how you pain me with your presence
Cant you see what you are doing to me?
Cant you believe things for yourself?
Why do you let them sway your opinion of me?
Forget that I am here
Forgive me for my faults
Transcend all things like God... I dare you.
Secretly, plotting revenge within the realm of my existence
Hoping that all things will come to an end
Favoring my thoughts, severing all ties.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
I found myself rather regretfully royalty
I was the only prince who loved lakes like licentious ladies loyally
without question favoring the bodies long overdue with residue
sounding this through soft interludes of chorus contorted to slither through forests
I’ve intensely investigated an inner identity that is immediately invaded
Intrinsically it envelops the slopes of my sinking body a womb created
Warmth and depth traveling the leagues of notches spiraling spines
when the repetition sets like leaving eight minutes left I’ll call this skin mine
and of this, a mirrored radiation met my edges with great intention
the waves of infinitely expelling time held my cells in detention
radical rays of reason seasoned the sensational sensibility within me
meticulously making messes of undefined cross-faded reality
I separated the sections of spaces between the places I’m unfamiliar to
I comforted myself with resounding sighs of width washing away a ‘who’
but the width was not distance
it was the cognitive dissonance of temporal restrictions
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
His observant mind held
Strands of coded bonds
Fond of expressions for
Incisive presentations
Of what could be foretold.
He metastasized thought
And tempted his youth,
unraveling behavior
favoring adult endeavors
And here I permit my fist
Beneath my chin in complacency
Statuesque, pondering whether
My decisions are remnants of bloodlines,
Coupled complexes attractive to be subtractive
To my true desires
Whether his dismays maybe in part
To inquiries of adolescent angst
The repetitive cycle remains with
Finding one’s embodiment of identity
Feb 28, 2010
Feb 28, 2010 at 5:54 AM UTC
Clutch the throttle to keep us on the go,
So the momentum will leave what we just did to our memories,
To what we know,
Because I’m already regretting the prospects I couldn’t surmise,
And how you had the upper hand when I wasn’t even tongue tied,
So keep that pedal to the floor,
Despite the fact that I wanted this,
And I’m praying that our actions won’t lead to a crisis
It’s so hard to deny my mistakes,
When I watch your every move,
Hoping you want more
Even when you’re just doing what you like,
My objections to your advances fall short,
Since I can’t help but feel this is right,
Despite our love costing another their life
Because I’m feeling the consequences of not being able to surmise,
The price of our compromise,
Because I’m feeling the effects of,
My throat being sliced for favoring your roll of the dice,
This is not a love letter,
This is not the note you write before you leave your wife,
This is not an explanation of why you hoisted your neck too high,
This is about the ballot you sign to elect our guiding light,
He or she, it or we,
Whoever will be able to lead a society of the competent,
A society of the weak,
This is life and you’ve got to realize,
I’m regretting the prospects I’ll never being able to surmise,
The advances you made to get a prize
A chance to keep me tongue tied
Because a ballot is no better than a television to remind you and I,
That we are attracted by what we see,
Not by what you’ll do once your seen as a king,
And whether you choose to lead
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
There were disappointed faces
on the students in the quad
The professor’s classes cancelled-
illness had struck their mortal god.
A literary lion, A scholar
world renowned.
Pneumonia, favoring old men,
was the disease that took him down.
The Professor got the best of care
and had a private room.
His favorites brought him roses
to brighten up the gloom.
He was in an out of consciousness,
oblivious to fading blooms.
His true friends
were dead poets
and he imagined them about:
Blake, with his wild head of hair;
Bill Shakespeare’s pate without,
Byron, dripping from the Hellespont,
and Dylan Thomas chugging stout.
His breath was shallow, rasping
His heart would skip a beat
His mind would wander mercifully
back to when the past was sweet.
He recalled playing the Wolf
with a beauty named Naomi.
Had she ever thought him handsome?
Had he come across as phony?
The monitor went flat line then
They would save him, never fear.
Naomi's accusations were still
ringing in his ears.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 8:23 PM UTC