"finagled" poems
I stole your copy of Green Eggs and Ham.
I never meant to,
not like the clothing and paints I finagled from your dismissive fingers.
And we stopped talking.
Oh we didn't mean to,
there was no clamorous declaration this is the end
No sharp event that caused us two to break apart.
And yet this afternoon
Sitting alone by my window eating nutella with a spoon,
I couldn't say precisely that I miss you
without even knowing how long it was since we spoke.
But I think
Some time
it might be nice to show you my new hat
and paints
and return your old Green Eggs and Ham
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
Give appraisal for the betrayals
because we are finagled by who we worship
stuck in a coma
zombied
sad that every truth is hidden
I mean what is TRUTH?
A story with no beginnings
no citation, illustrations, fake bibliographies and no conversation
YOU RACIST!
No truth be told
Stories are intermingled
Twisted, misguided by the ignorant pedestrians
misunderstood because of the constant human being believing they understand
the energy, the rhythm of each personalities
which then creates mythology....which in turns crumbles to ********
To those who believe the world is progressing..
nope we live the past, present, future
you loser
can I school yah?
bamboozle yah?
like the dear light man with an easy snap of his finger
smack yah with some knowledge of slavery
slave your minds to the mysteries...of decieval
You been fooled
Can you pick yourself up dear sir?
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
A poise possessed, in unfulfilling actuality,
Longing for freedom, freedom from normality,
Quelling every bit of counterfeit congeniality,
A taste of reassurance, isolated from individuality.
Driving this jalopy, a man dressed to nines,
His undergarments ragged, camouflaged to blind,
His teeth are pearly, though the pearliness grinds,
A moment of glory, he has yet to find.
Phony fads infesting fraudulent causes,
He sits in silence, while sounding the applauses,
A bittersweet flavor of momentary diapauses,
Every year holds similarity, inevitably with menopauses.
Commitments crumbling, chafing positivity,
Vows are demolished, rebuilt with ****** proclivity,
Reputations are finagled with selfless anonymity,
As society lacks honest accountability.
A shadow he’ll reside’n, distant from sight,
While pleading for nobility and faithful delight,
To remain a man and not out of spite,
As a room filled with vultures ravage his might.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 12:11 PM UTC