"filtration" poems
This generation is the selfie nation,
Taking pictures of the dying, digitization,
This generation is the generic nation,
Cancelling history and subjects, Salvation,
This generation is the death nation,
Being overweight is healthy, becoming purgation,
This generation is the stronger nation,
Deeming everything offensive, becoming manipulation,
This generation is the hateful nation,
Hating the own agnations,
This gerenation is the end nation,
Pushing and pushing, damnation,
This generation is the promoting nation,
Gender Swap, *** paedophilia, pushing all these, Arbitration.
This genernation is the activism nation,
Save the Earth, making change that still damages the Earth, ruination.
This generation is the we won't do this nation,
Won't go to war to fight for others, pure negation,
This generation is the nation,
The eldery generation regrets fighting for their foundation,
This generation is the Anti-Homosexuality nation,
That still disowns there child for there sexuaility, Affirmation,
This generation who is fighting LGBTQ Rights Nation,
Hating those who refuse to date the same *** hating religion, so **** condamnation.
This generation scream Black Lives Matter Nation,
Reducing Police Brutality, improving lot more crimes, congratulation,
This generation fighting for women right nation,
Taking away male rights, instead of alterations and collaborations.
This generation is the older nation,
Bullying, lies and caring nation, Allocation,
This generation is the end nation,
Death filtration of the world's creation.
This generation buid this nation,
They have to learn to live with the cermation.
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 10:11 AM UTC
we are free to be
_whatever we please_
whether or not
any others agree
our distinct vibration
shifts all of the nations
and our unique ways
are the _cosmic-hydration_
with _no need for fixation_
on anothers’ dictation
we rid ourselves of
any self-love cessation
we _explode in our glory_
all free from filtration
and use our relations
for human salvation
let us be who we are
embracing each scar
our imperfect nature
keeps us _reaching far_
releasing self-judgement
with our hearts kept ajar
we can see that our falls
_were just crossroads to stars_
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 12:39 PM UTC
If I were ruler of all nations... As one of Gods creations
There would be policies created from this societies frustrations
I wouldn't waste your time... In fact doing so would be a crime
It wouldn't be about politics with all it's dirt & grime
It would be about the people
It would ensure our rights are equal
Spread to all from high above, preached atop the highest steeple
And I wouldn't be afraid to say...
That expiring some freedoms may be the only way
And that would mean taking certain peoples "rights" away
Some freedoms are given away too easily
They should require much harder accessibility
Which will aid in the filtration of humanity
One right I would retrieve because it's abuse is so hard to believe
I'd make it official that not all persons would have the right to conceive
Not unless certain criteria are met, I'd have certain rules that would be set
I'd put a hold on this right until one disproves their ignorant
And since ignorance is bred I wouldn't allow our future to continue to be mislead Stuck in communities that will never get ahead
If I were faced with this position, I have no doubt in my disposition
Life skills would be taught in school, a required graduation precondition
I'd advocate the importance of community Gone would be the privilege of immunity And with it would go all feelings of disunity
To ensure all are exposed to equal possibility
Early education would include lessons on life & moral responsibility
To ensure guidance to all despite personal accessibility
I'd replace things like algebra and womans lit with classes on life knowledge
It's more important that the youth learn financal stability and manners, those who want to learn the square root of X can take that major in college
Priority should be that each leaves high school with the tools to survive
Each would leave with equal opportunity to prosper and to thrive
Oh if I ruled the world!!
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 8:44 AM UTC
To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality,
is waking up in dazed desolate imitation,
that creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Blades of grass, sharp tipped spears of unreality.
A chilling, a challenged negation;
to lose the robust and ephemeral vitality.
Spinning round the ugly formality,
are snickers, unshy sneers of an evil salvation,
that creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Thrilling no longer a verb, piano key pressing its precious mortality
into her throbbing thrashed temple dictation.
To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality.
A ****** numb soul with the criticality
of skeptics, chewing their lips, a dead cell castration
emotional stripping, slipping into complete impromptu filtration.
That creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
Nothing calls for morals, like lovers’ quarrels
Though all is fair in love and war
I have one law, for all clenched jaws
Don’t fight in metaphor
“You’re always the martyr” one may brand the other
In passive aggressive verse
Mere iteration, through metaphorical filtration
That truly reveals the reverse
Here’s one I despise, that utters love’s demise
“Honey, the door swings both ways”
It’s an image projected, of love infected
Spat in pseudo poetic haze
It’s a double edged blade that ought to be stayed
Though a wonderful figure of speech
It does not pay, to duel this way
Nay it is to love, but a leech
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
You stay there and i'll stay here
we dont even want you to get near
block off the front and the rear
make sure no entry is clear
put a fence around our own land
make all other nations banned
shoot to **** so they understand
our walls must never expand
i'll stay here and you stay there
there's just no more room to spare
dont even try to breathe our air
we stole this land fair and square
==========================
Monorhyme
So much talk about immigration
causing fear and frustration
are we fair in our filtration?
while we let the rich vacation
humanity is lost in translation
causing a hateful sensation
just looking for some salvation
leading to their migration
some are looking for vocation
a better life is their fixation
then they meet our damnation
no admittance to this location
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
It's Sunday again for you cloistered patricians
aloof from the madness, the magic and myth;
who trust in your wisdom, investments, physicians
unready to answer forthwith:
"Why bother with worship—in church or the zoo—
why weaken the links with a dull set of tools ?"
you ask yourself over your high-end Tarrazu,
bemused at the fables of fools.
You've bartered salvation for New York Times articles,
sipping on bitterness (shade-grown organic).
You settle for molecules, atoms and particles
unfairly-traded, satanic—
while you celebrate emptiness, general futility
musing on nothingness, sure of specifics
ensconced in your kitchen of pampered gentility
flirting with atheist physics.
Those simple plebeians: you'd love to enlighten them
help them, like you, to become a free-thinker
but you remain tasteful, for boldness might frighten them
reeling in fairy tales: hook, line and sinker.
Yet somebody, somewhere has uttered your sentence
(though you abhor judgement, let's read it again).
Sheba and Nineveh, versed in repentance
await you—not whether but when.
The darkness is brewing unholy filtration;
the wine of the harlot approaches the rim;
your guilt is augmenting in slow percolation;
you shrug it all off on a whim.
The souls of Assyria rise from your paper
they watch in amazement, prepare your abyss.
Your coffee now brims a more sulfurous vapor;
oh sinner—there's something amiss:
The crypts of Marib and the tombs of the Axumites
shudder and groan while you're reading the Times...
(immune to the words that some Christarded poet writes
mixing psychosis with rhymes.)
Royal Sheba will chastise your erudite unbelief,
smug self-importance and cynical squawk.
Then she'll sigh with immense Ethiopian grief
and her Highness Queen Bilqis will talk.
It is Sunday in Babylon. What if your sunlight ends...
why are there mobs in the streets of the nation?
Shall you have breakfast—or calculate dividends...
what would you pay for salvation?
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
Hey, I don't mean any offense, but man,
your lyrics lack essence!
Walking disasters with their gang signs and excuses
of artistic freedom spit out words
and pass it off as lyrics;
with their rebellious attitudes,
rhymes from ************ to ************
addicted, afflicted, constricted, predicted.
Please.
Words you produce
are misused, overused.
With twenty-six letters and endless combinations,
your lyrics sound more like quotations!
I've heard those stories before.
If you want to stand out,
stand up
and walk through disasters.
I want words
that stir,
that move,
that breathes
a different air into these lungs
who's tired of clones and copies,
words that no longer shake this body.
I want words of liberation,
acclamation of passions,
filtration of frustrations,
words of sensations,
plantations and gestations
of hope and light,
strength that will keep me in sight
of the goals in the Fight.
Now that
is artistic freedom.
—S.C., October 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
I know winter has
arrived.
The nights
are now
frigid silent
As if the very
Chill
compressed soundwaves.
As if the very
cold that crept through to
my marrow,
unimpeaded
by however many layers I was wearing
(it was two),
laughing and biting my nose,
burning my
throat and lungs with
each breath,
could actually
block out the noise!
As if the very
ice in the air had
magnified the moonlight
wiped away the
fog and smog
pollution and dust.
Cold Air Filtration.
...And that's why, with
weather cold enough,
from high enough,
looking hard enough
mortals may see the light
but
will probably
Blink.
Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 9:32 AM UTC
*Speaking now,
Is pointless conversation.
Like the fluid talks we used to have,
Got lost in filtration.
It's sad because lately,
I've come to the realization.
I used to hate the distance,
But now it feels like
A* vacation.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 12:23 PM UTC
The horizon lies asleep in a grey blanket
In a sea of myriad figures,
And an unimaginable silhouette.
The engineering of black feathers,
Sets ablaze hazy azure weathers.
The Art Decorates Towers,
Like giants with arms outstretched,
Look down commanding superiority
Over the volatile beauty of the wretched.
Who branded this Pandora’s Box to be garbage?
Stop turning your faces away
Like this is some butchery,
Or an abhorable carnage.
The dogs have repeatedly protested against the injustice
The heavy wind suppresses their voices and entices
A seduction of inarticulate silence.
Brothers who embrace us,
Have known nothing of such malices’.
Only the birds are left unenchanted;
Because they fly too high to be pervaded.
I hear children’s voices
And mothers’ too,
And taste the flies and insects,
And all the devils they shoo;
Because they understand not the complexities of a civilization,
They have never rendered their thoughts,
Never undergone no filtration.
The unconquerable spirit of this world,
Has made them savage,
Their claws curled.
In the heat, in the light,
In the plight
Which brings the cold night.
The sunlight here is too dense to penetrate,
Therefore it unabashedly spills over,
No opening,
Just a gateless emptiness on which to concentrate,
Lives and lives here,
Forever proliferate.
With none to remember their faces,
And no mortal soul to commemorate.
Dust settles upon the fingertips which talk.
This place is deemed unfit,
Unsuitable for a walk.
Yet birds, animals and humans alike,
Have stated their preference of what they like.
This land is perpetually theirs to ****
Passion resides here,
In this unintended landfill.
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 11:57 AM UTC
When the shadows overtake me
I hope my throat is already slit.
/MERCY.
I've learned by now
That fast and painless
Is a concept of fiction.
It wouldn't matter
If you were to tear out my heart
Or rip out my spine,
It's all death just the same.
If you choose to take my life,
Don't take mercy into consideration,
Because mercy has been long lost
On those already rotting
In the graves dug in their minds.
/CONSUMPTION.
Peace from the darkness
Has taken the shape
Of your hand on the goblet,
With all my absolution taking the form
Of your loving embrace.
Let's build up our legions,
Show them the light in our gospel,
And convert them to our truth...
Such a beautiful proposition,
If we could work it out ourselves.
Wash over me with your holy sermon.
Let me absorb all your light.
Reconstruct all my arrogance
Upon the backs of the broken,
Just for the rare opportunity
For such a picture perfect landscape.
Monarchy never looked so stunning.
/EMPIRE.
Drowning is becoming an art.
Deeper and deeper
Into the depths do I venture,
All the while indifferent
To my lack of oxygen.
I'm plugging in plot holes.
I'm re-founding Byzantium,
And all for the iconography
That has left me
In such a state of marvel.
I don't want compromise
Or pity of any sort.
I just want you in tidal waves,
And to get pulled deeper
Beneath the whole of your personality.
In a modern world
So short on imperialism
Why was it so easy for you
To colonize my heart?
/TRANSLATION.
For the first time in years,
I need no translation.
I speak clearly, openly,
And without filtration.
She both listens and hears,
And that's not even the beginning
Of her infinite positive traits.
She's a modern masterpiece,
So above modern art.
I want to dissolve into her brilliance
If for even a moment.
/RECOIL.
I have nothing to fear.
I am the God of Death...
I am the shadows
That haunt even the deepest corners
Of my recuperating mind.
I'm gaining back the strength
To show the world once more,
That there are better, truer
Forms of evil in our control.
I am the culmination
Of the lives I have taken,
And now I choose to never
Be frightened by fate again.
I am the God of Death,
And now I choose to live.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
can you count them on one hand, the good ones,
or do you have to take off your socks and shoes,
using your finger and your toes,
to count them all, but only, the good ones...?
they are like a soil where your roots can go deep
and be exposed, and still be nourished,
in the harshest of times, still flourish,
and like something vulnerable, be nurtured.
time is not a friend, and if you are like me, and I hope you are not,
I have more time than friends, soil has been replaced by rocks,
the filtration is great, for the amount of saline water that flows,
on every lateral root socket that grows,
would have drowned the roots years ago,
and the soil would have washed away.
today
roots still exposed,
memories of those
who were once close
greying like my hair,
fading while
the roots hang on
but there is no one there.
©DWE122013
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
Protecting the carcinogen
God bless this anomaly
Who they choose to protect
Intravenously a sight to see
Saving this misstep
Blight of justice, repetition
Six million people left to vet
Each one with tunnel vision
That's the view
Who
Is right
Wrong
Death and disorder
Tagging
The walls
Of the holy manor
Then **** them all
Inside and out
Violent, volition
No one truly knows self doubt
Ventricle technicians
Each coat of paint
Is closing the space between the walls
Halls closing in
How much longer before you fall?
---------------------
Oh god, I'm still alive
Please, someone **** me
I shouldn't have to go through this
---------------------
It's funny, ain't it
Fancy feast for the whole congregation
My words aren't an open book
A buffet for crooks run amok
On ground up horse hooves
Frowning down I pout
I'd **** my ******* self to put their fire out
A brisk shower of intuition
Intention of slowing mass emissions
Eating ***** in
Filtration organs
Go vegan
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 1:19 AM UTC
What is me
What is this place I'm living in
I've begun to doubt the reality of the world
It's an illusion I've developed
During the days I've spent in straight limbo
I'm afraid
What if i wake up and mourn a lost dream
I can't go back to the white
The pain, the solitude
How can I remain in this beautiful illusion?
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
the decrease in morale seemed to linger
across the keys as i dragged my fingers
to the beat of something simple in mind,
simple in length, and simple in rhyme
but the reasons i'd continued to continue on
were never meant to be played as a pawn
in the constant fight i'd been having alone
with the uncertainty ringing in my phone
where i heard them utter the news i'd heard
and hearing this knew that i'd gotten word
of what i was to be knowing for some time
and now that i was knowing was too sublime
as the filtration of this seems to fall off
and all i can seem to do is hold in this cough
to keep from releasing my sickness to you
and keep you safe from what's keeping me blue.
safe from harm's way.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 9:06 PM UTC
wile away or while away?
these are the questions one has time to ponder
when newly retired
honey wheat or white bread for my tuna fish sandwich?
toasted or plain?
why didn't I buy a few onions when I went out yesterday?
onions, cucumbers and vinegar...make a note!
which series should I begin watching on dvds
that were given to me years ago for just this time?
I guess I'll start with 'Breaking Bad'
since I've seen the first 3 or 4 episodes
then 'True Detectives', then 'Fargo' even though
I mistakenly saw the last episode
bought a water filtration system for drinking and showering
did you know that in 10 minutes of showering the body
absorbs a gallon of water and it's just as lethal as drinking it?
I gotta get back to my book...get serious man!
serious or sirius?
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 7:15 PM UTC
If you were anything other
Than what I thought you were,
You’d be everything ugly.
Because I looked to you
As if you woke up the sun each morning,
But you only ever blotted it out.
You took some frizzled brush
With its bristles cut ragged
And pointing in all directions
And you painted the sky
Some slimy, green-black shadow
Which reminded me of pond ****
Or worse yet
It reminded me of the filtration
In my fish tank I never got around to cleaning,
Oozing yellow pus
And clearing any room with its stench,
It was so much like you.
For just like a soaking,
Disgustingly rotten fish tank filter,
You maintained the image of beauty,
You plucked the sickness
And flakes of half eaten food
From the sea of this world
And built it all up inside of you.
So now people gaze
With some sort of admiration in their eyes
At a tank housing a vibrancy
Of life and plants and healthy things
That only exist to brighten the day,
But little do they know
That if you undo this,
And unscrew that,
You’ll pop right open,
Your filthy inner workings exposed,
And taint all the good things around you,
You’ll leak out into the crystal clarity,
Make it hazy and cloudy and
You’ll blind all the fish,
You’ll **** all the fish
If we don’t keep you closed.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
20 August 2018 4:46 PM
Haunted by the plague of empathy:
Filtration in a house of human emotion.
I am dampened by the tears;
the walls swell with empty apologies.
Paint chips fall with cancelled plans
the mirror cracks upon reflection of wasted time.
Hinges creak with a wilted will:
the taunting of unopened doors.
Tattered floorboards chance comfort
scuff marks of a dance never felt.
Shadowed by the doubts dragged in from my visitors
Will the beauty in my woodwork show through?
Every step towards the attic clouds grow in my chest
And soon it won’t just be the rain, but a storm of all my rage.
I’m sick and tired of the wires and the walls holding me in
This isn’t home, it is my hell, my own head is like a prison.
You’ve picked at everything I’ve built, so don’t dare call me a friend
So please, dear, do me a favor and don’t ever knock again.
-newportsmooths h.g.
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 3:47 PM UTC
A private passenger jet flies on by, and past,
- leaving lethal chemicals, so, high up in the sky
- to be breathed in by your' and my own gasps;
- it causes each & every one of us to, slowly, die.
It's all been decided by some ole' greedy guy
- sitting in a golden office, so, high up in the sky.
An' he has an air filtration system, of course;
- for, he doesn't need his throat feeling hoarse.
Though, it seems it's fine if it's you or mine..
- oh yes; he's guilty of such a dastardly crime!
He kills all our mothers - and kills all our fathers..
- oh yes; he is, truly, such a sinister monster!
He'll **** all our siblings and **** all our children;
- his mission is a cruel one of killing off millions!
We have no way to stop what is being displayed;
- he's a master of evading all those he betrayed.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 10:44 PM UTC
Viktor Frankl's faith was trust that one's life holds meaning
trust in ultimate meaning...
t'me,
My word trust holds true and rest crammed together for support
to stand under knowing the entire set of upgrades
and lock changes,
to mankind-basic knowledge of good and evil, since my last
a filtration algo-i'll-go rythmn and hyme adjusterho rholler
that powers ourkind past wayless places
when language joins the gamers playing for glory, at any cost,
Old Glory
per pose haps need happening,
sans happy-ness,
what ness could ever be?
What's the haps? Don't lie.
What's goin' on? Don't lie. Say,
Regular stuff. My side's winnin'. A *** in Pershing Square,
under the Jesus Saves sign, brought that to mind,
Fifty years ago, for him, looked like "no direction home"
Sansara sera, whatever sera selah
Nihili, to the max, right. But,
we know
other than this now,
this
breath
thinking process of cognitive rythm building
thunderwordmagicalthoughtsenchanghgken
coughing final, expulsion of some invading barb,
a fiery dart, setting cooling
actions sponding to ligands loosed when the
third aveili in a micron failed to expell
smooth
slowww whoooshhhhh
in-a-ginning be da vita, see...
say I think I know this feeling
qwhy-esse quiessence,
a settling,
after all that could be shaken, was.
acid to water, or water to acid?
who would gno?
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 3:29 PM UTC
I have no regrets
starting a landscaping job this summer
after responding to a newspaper advertisement.
During my phone interview
with my soon-to-be boss Jeff,
I learned that this seasonal job
meant working in a team of two.
Jeff said this guy’s name was Mel,
A man who claims over twenty years of experience
piping sewer systems
for the Martinsburg water filtration plant
on top of his continued seasonal work
weeding streets, painting curbs,
and waving to city neighbors.
I usually go along with what I’m given,
but I’m an inexperienced worker,
let alone in pairs of teams.
I also wasn’t happy about working with another guy.
I often think that any person I work with
Will be my age, someone I already know (heaven forbid I should be picked on doubly),
And someone else who doesn’t know the job either.
Not that I’m a full-time feminist,
but I haven’t had many enjoyable moments
associating with the guys
outside my family,
most men I’ve met
are largely competitive, pride-absorbing carnivores.
I was met with relief
when I found out my colleague
is a 72-year-old Mel who seems slow at first glance
yet I am barely able to keep pace with him painting and weeding along streets.
When I first heard my colleague’s name,
I didn’t stereotype.
I honestly assumed my coworker would be my age.
My mental picture of my colleague
was only half wrong:
He may be wrinkled and gray on the outside,
with a raspy voice that quakes his loose dentures on the inside,
but his attitudes and actions haven’t caught up with the times.
I occasionally see him
staring me down while I’m painting
to make sure I don’t overpaint or angle the roller
at an up-down stroke position.
And when I’m driving the company car,
he’ll calmly let out an “Easy there!”
when I’m only going 15 on a 25.
The saying goes:
“A picture is worth a thousand words.”
And a thousand pictures can grow
from one word:
Mel.
Jun 27, 2020
Jun 27, 2020 at 6:45 PM UTC
There erupts a quarrel between the five senses,
Who among them has the most significance,
Is it the eye who is the perceiver?
Is it the ear who is the observer?
Is it the nose who is the moisturizer?
Is it the skin who is the sensor?
Or is it the tongue who is the taster?
The Eyes says it's him who is the mightiest!
He sees the beauty, perceives the stars; the shiniest!
Sees the flowers, trees, bugs; even the tiniest,
However, he lies, he says he sees the inner beauty,
But we know, he's after the external; he's guilty!
He can't see purity- limited is his duty.
The ear goes next, she is the master of interpretation,
She gives us pleasure, the sound of nature and it's creation,
The calm sound of streams and birds without filtration,
However, she is not perfect, she prefers to hear gossips,
She is the reasons for dispute and strains in friendships,
She is evil and intrigued to break relationships.
It is the nose's turn, he gives us sensory pleasure,
He identifies odor- sweet, bitter, lovely-All flavors,
From flowers to soaps, ranging to natural odor,
However, he fails to smell the foul in the air,
Gives us dissatisfaction, sensetive to anything near,
It gives up instantly, as soon there is something it can't bare.
Skin's turn is up next, she comes in all colors,
Unique and special in it's own tone, like flowers,
She senses all natural gifts, she senses nature's showers,
However, she is unruly, she is a distinctive status,
Only favoring some, it becomes an inferiority apparatus,
Between sensory love and physical lust, towards the latter it is gratus.
Finally, it's the tongue's turn, he presides over taste,
Gifts of God- fruits, edibles, he engulfs without haste,
Anything that gives him joy, he never throws it to waste,
However, he is highly defective, he likes drugs,
The taste of it, puts his adrenaline high- sugar rush!
Verbal abuse is his thing, after this don't expect for hugs.
Hence, we conclude.... All the senses have their pros and cons,
The eye with blindness for internal beauty,
The ear with deafness to morals,
The nose with blockage to nature,
The skin with insensibility to hugs and love,
The tongue with nullness to moral taste....
Aug 16, 2024
Aug 16, 2024 at 8:45 AM UTC