"foreigners" poems
You probably understand. Or maybe you don't, after all. Either way, it is jumping around inside me and if I don't let it out soon all my carbonation will fizz up and run over the side of my glass and I don't want to waste all that sweetness.
I want to kiss you underwater.
I want that kiss to be the only thing keeping us alive. Down there we are foreigners, aliens. Grasping, I want to feel your flesh in stark contrast to the smooth wetness all around me, like a secret.
All that life where we cannot live. Exotic, forbidden, so lovely. I am sick with love.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC
Lost is the African pride
Gone are those who could ride the tide
Left are those who drown beneath the wave
Prone to dehumanization because of greed
I see burning buildings
Mutilated bodies
Escalating violence
And social unrest
Lost is the Spirit of Ubuntu
Left is a society deprived of its integrity
Selfishness and poverty is at the core of our society
Is the real Africa lost to antiquity?
Crime is rife as people strive for a decent life.
A decent life earned through decadence
Should we stone foreigners because the government is failing to provide employment?
Or should we burn down buildings so that our voices can be heard?
I am ashamed of the profanity we breed
It’s a calamity for us to be xenophobic
It’s a taboo for us to call Africans foreigners in their motherland.
It’s not who they are.
It’s not who we are
It’s not who you are
It’s not who I am
Together we are the Africa that has survived slave trade
The Africa that has survived apartheid
The Africa that has survived colonization
The Africa that is surviving westernization
We don’t fight for employment
We create employment
We don’t breed resentment
We translate sentiments
Let us evoke the Spirit of Ubuntu
And let’s behave like men not animals
Let us ignite the Spirit of Ubuntu
And let’s stand like men immortal
The Spirit of Ubuntu is what separates us from animals
Terrorism shouldn’t exist in Africa
It’s a disgrace for us to be unethical
Xenophobia shouldn’t be heard in Africa
Animosity is not our portion
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 6:28 AM UTC
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs
Incarcerating women's wombs
Justifying men's genes
Foreigners appropriating
Women's and men's sexualities
Losing the power to be
When changing our roles' long overdue
Gendering our words and attitudes
Man, who taught you to be a chauvinist!
Woman, who taught you to be a *********
Don't put your god in gendered bigotry
Do man's emotions feminize him?
When will women freely carry torches!
What gender do you assign this voice?
What gender do you assign this words?
Will the masses even understand these choices?
Don't worry, my sexuality won't infect you
Criminalizing sexuality
Placing it front and center, implying that's all I am
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs
Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Because men and women of society
Full of stride, take pride, in their gendered hyde
Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Ignored hoods, barrios, countrysides, ghettos, projects
Devouring women's and men's bodies
Younger and younger people falling to HIV/AIDS and STDS
Vaginas receiving the violence, wombs bringing misery
LGBT youth ****** into fire
Lost males (in mental chains) ****** to assert their manhoods
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Full of dangerous chemicals, being sprayed onto
The landscapes between thighs
Attempting to legislate our stories, without warrant
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
Jade sauna
just over body temperature
to increase metabolism
smooth blood flow
and sweat out toxins
my hair is up
there are no lines on my pale smooth face
I'm happy and peaceful
I look so serene
and so skinny
"'scuse me you speak Russian?"
it's one of the cute foreigners
I've had my eye on
flirtations ensued
and it was nice
to be looked at
with fascination
with cute wonder
getting complimented
through broken english
as he ran his hands through his hair
smiling abashedly
trying to make sense of my words
as I did the same for his--
we were up all night talking
"no halloween in Russia,
but if had, you be Queen"
he knew nothing of me
just this peaceful calm side
that smiled and giggled
and carried a conversation
like a feather on the wind
he saw a girl he could smile at
and say
"you are very beautiful"
"you have lovely smile"
I'll never see him again in my life
but what a wonderful memory to have of someone
nothing but kind words
and laughter
and peace
serenity
a few of the things
I treasure most,
yes,
what a lovely memory
of Annex the smiling Russian boy
who drank tea with me
at the Jeju Spa
until the sun rose
and the lights came back on.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC
Dear America,
How are you ?
I must ask what do you see as beauty . For I am a young black women who just want to be beautiful in your eyes and so I ask what must I become to be such in yours. Must I buy the hair of foreigners and wear it as my own since I know my natural hair and rough texture to distasteful for your eyes. I have become too ashamed of my appearance therefore please tell me what I must do to be beautiful. I know that my thick thighs and curves are not acceptable. I eat less and run more but I can't seem to quite reach the image displayed in the magazines. My buttocks are quite small and I do not have the means to pay for implantations but I want to be beautiful so I must find a way, right? Oh America my biggest blemish is my dark skin. I search for bleaching products since lighter skin women are superior and I must be part of the hierarchy of beauty. My skin contains this substance called melanin that I just can't seem to get rid of but of course I won't disappoint you I will find a way to become the right complexion. America I truly do want to be beautiful in your eyes and will do what is necessary. I want men to find me appealing, I want my fellow women to envy my beauty, and most of all I want to be what you view beautiful. ..I have foreign hair now no more of that rough natural hair, my skin is much lighter and I am a size zero now with a large buttocks. I do not recognize myself in the mirror but why does that matter because you think I'm beautiful now, right America?
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 4:10 AM UTC
Foreigners are people somewhere else,
Natives are people at home;
If the place you’re at
Is your habitat,
You’re a foreigner, say in Rome.
But the scales of Justice balance true,
And *** leads into tat,
So the man who’s at home
When he stays in Rome
Is abroad when he’s where you’re at.
When we leave the limits of the land in which
Our birth certificates sat us,
It does not mean
Just a change of scene,
But also a change of status.
The Frenchman with his fetching beard,
The Scot with his kilt and sporran,
One moment he
May a native be,
And the next may find him foreign.
There’s many a difference quickly found
Between the different races,
But the only essential
Differential
Is living different places.
Yet such is the pride of prideful man,
From Austrians to Australians,
That wherever he is,
He regards as his,
And the natives there, as aliens.
Oh, I’ll be friends if you’ll be friends,
The foreigner tells the native,
And we’ll work together for our common ends
Like a preposition and a dative.
If our common ends seem mostly mine,
Why not, you ignorant foreigner?
And the native replies
Contrariwise;
And hence, my dears, the coroner.
So mind your manners when a native, please,
And doubly when you visit
And between us all
A rapport may fall
Ecstatically exquisite.
One simple thought, if you have it pat,
Will eliminate the coroner:
You may be a native in your habitat,
But to foreigners you’re just a foreigner.
5.4k
instead of making them feel at home
we are telling them to go back home
have we got no shame calling our brothers and sisters foreigners in their own motherland?
what happened to Ubuntu?
umntu ngu mntu ngabantu?
has the long walk to freedom not been walk for us?
there will be no freedom in Africa if we still believe in brutality rather than humanity
there will be no freedom in Africa if don't understand the meaning of struggle, poverty
yesterday we were crying for freedom
praising and promoting the spirit of togetherness,today we stone the same African brother who held our hands in the years of apartheid and gave us hope!
why do we have to be so cruel not so fucken cool!
Nelson Mandela did not die for this!
Walter sisulu did not die for this!
our black brothers and sisters in sharpville did not die for this!
where did it all go wrong?
we claim to be the land of peace yet we do not know the meaning of forgiveness
we claim to be the land of great leaders and born dreamers yet we do not know the meaning of Ubuntu!
I am not proud of what this land has become....
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
Profile:
Yuwen Chengdu is the son of Yuwen Huaji, who was a general of the Sui dynasty. He is a warrior of Sui, only secondary to Li Yuanba, who is naturally super powerful. As recorded, he was as tall as ten feet with strong waist and body. In the appearance of golden face, long beard and thick eyebrow, he often hold a weapon as heavy as 350 pounds.
Introduction of ****** makeup:
****** makeup, or Lian Pu, refers to ****** designs for Jing and Chou roles. It originated from daily life experience, describing such changes of expression as white for fear, red for shyness, dark for suntan, and sallow for illness. Most ****** designs attach great importance to the eyes. The ****** designs for the Jing roles are made by painting, powdering and coloring in the basic forms of Zheng Lian (keeping the basic face pattern), San Kuai Wa Lian (three-section face) and Sui Lian (fragmentary face). These types are widely used to represent generals, officials, heroes, gods and ghosts. The Chou actors can be recognized by the patch of white in various shapes painted around the eyes and nose. Sometimes these patches are outlined in black, hence the term Xiao Hua Lian (partly painted face). The Chou roles fall into the following two categories: Wen Chou and Wu Chou.
Features:
****** makeup bears three main characteristics. Firstly, it is the unity and contradiction of beauty and ugliness. Secondly, it is closely related to the personality of the characters. Lastly, the patterns are stylized.
Beijing opera is one of the most popular drama widely welcomed and loved, no matter home and abroad. It is now acknowledged as a sign of Chinese traditional culture. The photos of ****** mask can be found on large buildings, product packages, various porcelains and clothes. It has gone beyond the stage, from which we can see the deep influence of ****** makeup. More and more foreigners have interest in it and begin to explore the secret of ****** makeup.
http://www.toywill.com
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 3:02 AM UTC
bones creaking,
thoughts creeping
from the back my mind
and take form in the shadows.
my thoughts seem to be leaking.
I have a castle
in my mind
which has turned me blind.
dark corners
occupied with foreigners.
these evil creatures walk free
torturing me;
protection is seldom,
shine is not welcome,
and there is no hope of rebellion
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
This Letter Poem WM is dedicated to Mr. Williamsji Maveli, our Masterpoet.
Why a dedication to him? These initials WM are his names.
Accidentally also the initials of the first name of our Dutch Crown prince Willem-Alexander.
The second initial is of his wife's first name: Máxima.
I want to write also about our Royal Family, since our Queen of the Netherlands Beatrix will abdicate next 30 April 2013 and at the same time Willem-Alexander and his wife will be crowned as King and Queen of the Nederlanden.
Now you know a bit about the Dutch Royal family.
Today Her Majesty Queen Beatrix is still Queen of de Nederlanden till next 30 April 2013.
These humble verse is for you, Williamsji. Please, enjoy!
Thank you for your attention.
Sincerely,
Sylvia Frances Chan.
****************************************************************************************************
This letter W stands for WILLIAMSJI
and the next letter, an M for MAVELI
This W par accidence is also the first letter
of our Crown prince WILLEM-ALEXANDER
on next 30 April WILLEM and his époussée, his wife MAXIMA
will be crowned King and Queen of Neerlandica
Usually our country is called Nederland
the foreigners call it mostly the Netherlands
the tourists a many of them prefer to say Holland
with your permission, this dedication, if I may
can also be used as introduction, what do you say?
WILLIAMSJI is the first name of our masterpoet
he creates poems mostly about sensuality
entwined in beauty, eroticism and love
when you'll read his poetry
you wouldn't see all those I've written about him above
Instead you must use your rational ability
in the lines throughout his verse
you won't find, of course not, all that worse
instead, you will enjoy all the beauty
of his master's talent writing about sensuality
His family name is also beautiful, MAVELI
well known as the masterpoet Williamsji Maveli
both are his true names belonging to Mr. Maveli
this M reminds me of MáXIMA,
Crown prince Willem-Alexander's wife in optima
Now you know why I dedicate this poem to you
your initials are quite the same as Willem and Máxima
WM is Williamsji Maveli the famous poet
WM is also Crown prince Willem-Alexander
and his wife Princess Máxima
Still one thing hasn't been told
today the 27th April is Willem-Alexander's birthday
he has become forty six years old
a good father of three daughters,
all their first names begin with an A
princess Amalia, Alexia and Ariane
their grandma is Her Majesty Queen Beatrix
she will abdicate after three and thirty years of reign
Dear Mr. Williamsji Maheli, our masterpoet
your initials WM are exactly the same as
our Crown prince Willem-Alexander
and his beloved wife Máxima
that's why I present this humble dedication
to you today as a small Dutch presentation
© Sylvia Frances Chan
27th April 1967-2013
Crown prince Willem-Alexander's 46th Birthday
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
tropical breeze waves washed upon a
soothsayer sand beach whispering love poems between each sigh
seagull clouds baying from above
lustrous sunshine massaging with temperate beams
beneath the waves, turtles twist in tubular turnabouts
bright coral and jaded fish teem in the reef
shimmering sunshine shining through waves
casting shadows and light amongst an oceanic spectrum
we flit through the ocean as foreigners and locals
tiny air bubbles pressing from our lips
unlike the denizens filtering through the reef
we press up to the surface and break through for breath
exiting the ocean of life, we wash upon the shore
driftboards sewn together in matrimony
our clam shelled hands interwoven in the fabric of our souls
sand pressed between to make a glistening pearl
i sit up while you lay down on our thin towels
falling asleep with an upward curve on your lips
i trace my finger down your back like pencil to paper
drawing each crevice, perfection, and blemish
on the landscape of your body
a faint breeze ghosts through the swaying palm trees
dolphins nonchalantly diving through the air and ocean
***** scuttling along the precipice of the sea and sand
waves washing the crooked edges of stones
amongst this equilibrium we are infinite
soaking up this portrait life like a sea sponge
in these moments we are infinite
moments we imagined we had
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
"Foreigner in my own land"
Words that I will forever have in my skin.
This tattoo, means
An ancestral burden that I did not choose.
Quoted directly,
From a man... Who faught
Side by side with heroes in order to gain a taste of freedom.
An ideal he believed essential.
But....
The tint of his skin, and his mother tongue,
determined his fate...
He was forever exiled from the country he fought for and held on so dear.
"Foreigner in my own land."
Generations passed,
And we still hold this burden.
My roots... Determined something.
An idea that I am less according to some.
My people are fighting a fight,
That shouldnt even exist.
And I am proud to say...
I am a foreigner in my own land.
Because no matter where I go...
I am a stranger.
Regardless of race and color.
We will always be foreigners to others. Yet,
I am a stranger that will hold a smile,
And welcome the bigotry.
I know what I am.
And I am proud.
Instead of infecting others with hate....
Let us celebrate our differences and appreciate each other.
Because we are all Foreigners.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 12:24 AM UTC
Restless hungry, found a tiny scrap of a brownie in the back of the refrigerator, wrapped in plastic about the size of a large 35 cent quarter.
Gobbled up and gone.
Eye had purchased it a week ago, maybe more.
Actually it was more like eye was held up at gunpoint by a sad young face for a large and green single dollar Bill.
In return, was bequeathed said brownie eye dropper-ful.
The apartment I live in a big city, many apartments were recession empty for a long time. But in the last few years, the empty apartments in the building were almost all sold to foreigners.
Now the bldg is an amulet melted of the lucky overseas fortunate, those overseers overseas seizers, who come to reside in the most fabulous site in these United States...and buy a piece of the dream away from the be-headers, secret police or governments that decide you are now an enemy of the state, as of this morning. No judgement.
anyway, this doe eyed child of estimated six or eight years of age accosts me in our large lobby, proffers me the brownie scrap for a Bill.
me a sucker of a salesman myself, and an eye affician-doe, well those doefuls, those eyes, no one could resist!
so eye asked her name,
but all she could say in
Anglais was...
"Brownie One Dollar?"
laughing out loud for no apparent cause,
the hanging about lobbyists looked at me staring...
Why was eye laughing?
laughing cause eye realized
this elfin child had become
fitfully but fully Americanized.
and I loved her eyes in mine, and when I see her periodically, I say:
"Hey! Brownie One Dollar, How are ya!"
and everyone snicker smiles at the old man with the even stupider grin upon his eyes.
That would be eye.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:02 PM UTC
Are humans inherently evil?
Does it go right to the core?
Do we always need to prove ourselves?
Do we need to settle the score?
I watched a documentary
With people doing experiments
On other people just like them
Callous with their detriments
The lower class
The prisoners
The foreigners
By practitioners
And now we have this information
Torture, surgery, chemical weaponry
Some classified, some out to view
Is it their duty of citizenry
To share that information with me?
To tell me how and when and why
To share results of tests gone by?
Do I even want to know?
Do not let them die in vain
Maybe I should share the pain
(maybe you should share it too)
To learn
To see
And
NOT to do
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
Dark nights where pain resides
No where to run, no place to hide
A young child, a boy of only five
A young child, a boy of only five
Giving chase were the foreigners
Hunters, killers, demons alive
No where to run, no place to hide
In this place where pain resides
"Pull the trigger... Now."
The first shot rang out,
The boy loses his left arm which held his prized possession
A bamboo stick, shaped into a doll
Now sitting in his right fist
The second shot rang out,
The boy loses his right arm and his bargaining chip
He sits on his last two limbs,
He cries out in pain and anguish
Two more shots ring out,
His right and left legs burst out
From right underneath him,
Giving way to the soft ground
Soaked in his blood and his tears,
As he sniffles and goes into shock
The soldier steps closer in fear,
And then the boys face was lost
Another soldier asks them
"What the hell have you done?
He was only a child, a boy,
Why is this the outcome?"
At this moment a man turned a corner
His grocery bags fell to the floor
As he laid his eyes upon
The torso that lay in an ocean
Of blood next to a bamboo doll
That he had made 5 short years ago
He slowly said, "My Son."
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
I am an African,
Just like you are,
Here I am in Africa,
From Africa,
I may speak,
Not your African language,
But a cataclysmic African,
Who speaks my African language,
I am.
An inferior African,
You may as you do,
Regard me,
But still,
African I am,
African I cry,
African I laugh,
African I sing,
African I live.
You have made me feel ashamed,
To be in this part of Africa,
But never,
Will you make me feel ashamed,
To be African,
Whatever derogatory labels,
You may stick on me,
No matter how unAfrican,
Kwerekwere, Grigamba or whatever,
But still,
I will be an African,
Even a much better one.
African,
Like my father,
His fore fathers,
And their forefathers,
African,
Just like I was yesterday,
African,
Just like I am now,
African,
That is what I will always be,
And African,
Forever.
According to the author, we are all foreigners in any country on this earth, more like tenants. No one has any claim to any portion of this earth for it belongs to God. The barbaric, self-centered and intolerant demeanor we have recently witnessed in South Africa tells the story of mindless teaks on a dog that are claiming to own the dog and solidifies the myth that Africa is a dark continent and Africans are still stuck in the animal kingdom. How do we dispute what is becoming more of a fact that “you can take Africans from the bush but you can never take the bush out of Africans”. Fellow South Africans (the perpetrators), you have proved to be more disgusting than ***** and the most befitting place for you is the sewage dump that is far away from Africa. If there was another Africa that is not this Africa, I would have done the obvious and most logical thing – to completely disassociate my dignified African self from the brainless, destructive, inhuman thugs that you are. Today, I am an African who is dead ashamed to be African!
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 4:48 AM UTC
You’re basic,
a lengthy silhouette
miming the human experience.
Staying up late
to blind yourself,
blinking to the sounds of sleepiness
heart beating to Skinny Love.
What ifs,
pre-recorded scenarios
imagining that first hug.
Contemplate that bottle of pills by the sink
that new film that you want to see,
condensation in the lid of the teapot.
You’re candid,
unsure if all scabs heal
trying to remember when you didn't have a writing callus,
when you slept through the night,
when purple was the only colour you didn't use.
Purify infectious matter,
***** green-blue wine glasses overflowing.
Tinfoil vases and orchid flowers,
melting boxes of 64 assorted crayons.
You’re laconic,
often dying to create,
like the verbose and the wordy
sighing simply to translate.
Missouri gift exchanges,
loose blue jeans ******
stacks of classics.
Tales of the Jazz Age wrinkling
to a slow 50s song.
You’re a try hard
dying to knit,
only true fear is disappointment
burning in the lime light.
6000 voluntary hours
linking syllables to daisy chains,
dropping pesos to foreigners,
hands sandwiched inside
the front cover and the first page
of The Count of Monte Cristo.
You’re basic,
down for maintenance,
compressing the weight of the atmosphere.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
CHAI GARAM CHAI
Millions of cups of TEA/CHAI each day, we Indians happily consume
It is almost a must every morning, evening and before we work resume
Lures us its aroma at home or when we pass by a tea-stall, tempting are its fumes
One of the most consumed drinks in India is definitely chai, anyone can this presume
Huge varieties there are, count one cannot; but the most famous I guess is Masala chai
Most Indians, specially Gujjus, this thoroughly enjoy; even foreigners must definitely it try.
Every morning a fresh cup of boiling chai makes your day; ah! that cup of "garma-garam chai"
My most favorites are the aadu-ilaichi (ginger cardamom) n Bawaji special, the fudhina-leeli-chai
Once you sip it, along with Bun-Muska, almost addicted you are, you get a "Chaska" true.
There is an art in concocting a good cup of chai; one must know how to it properly brew
Sadly I wasn't allowed to taste coffee or tea/chai when young, I tasted it, only when I grew
Tea here, is a drink old, but the Brits loved it n made it famous; so, chai is old tea is new
Armin Dutia Motashaw
Apr 24, 2022
Apr 24, 2022 at 4:59 AM UTC
Dear Night;
The day breaks like a child's neck,
And there she is -
Like a fresh sand hills beckoned seductively
By childish poetry that
Rings off the fingertips like marshmallows
Burnt from too much *****
A cradle erupts:
Two deaths turning into one,
A turning sensation of philosophers timid to experience
We are what?
We are the writhing fiends caught on
By electricity sought upon by
The high priests of a no man's land
Billy the Kid
Tragic care giving fiends telling tales
Of naturality that grow like figs neath virgins
And we share the fragrance of foreigners
Dancing neath' their dead bodies for we
Are the store fronts of the epileptic rich
Sharing nothing, we forgive the dead angels that
Share in nothing but their own salvation
And we the nation hold their hands as they are handed
Their medals that shine and beat against innocent
Sun where we - Good Humans - will always feel inferior
I take thee for my own prisoner
Let's go and check out the sun for mine own
I said I was having sun...asleep
Mine own mind was bent, crooked, doomed
Warranted evil will of course be put to light
Teller tell me what I wish to know
You tell me the secret
You wish to hold, oh' you wish to keep
We are the children you asked for
But you are so unwilling up accept
But the press is something that is intangible
They are spread spearers that are accepted as they are:
A good german; a fair dutchman; a funny Chaplin;
Genius moving with insecure marijuana.
But she presses her own soul on the glass
Never lasting - a pure bread horse
There she stands, like an egyptian statuette incarnate
Breaking through the clouds like a pillar
Bent only for salvation and glory
A cool informant next to Hemingway that breaks
The next vinyl that's hot mixed with devil sweat
Someone breathes something on my neck and I'm soon
To wonder what the next place I need to be is
So...I wonder...Myself is the one to take care of this mess?
Here we are - stagnant - like a tombstone,
Wondering what we are meant for and wondering
Where we are not supposed to go.
We have our labels.
We have our names.
And, yes, we have our jobs that were
Given to us by companies that have no face,
Only a name and yet we obey...
Too push a confidence you have to ask me
What I wish to know for the assignment that no one cares about
After I get what people will listen too
What the truth is a very thing
I love the hash that beeps like a dead hyena on the road side
Howling like a lost lover without someone to love
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
The exploration of womanhood,
viewed by a child, who had failed to birth an heir
and was auctioned amidst a war,
to lay beside the man who Lyrnessus heard before it saw,
and felt, before they felt nothing at all.
Plucked from childhood to motherhood,
failed motherhood, into obedience and slavery,
despised by her husband's mother for the absence of life she yearned to grow.
Then veiled in a soft pearlescent,
that blurred, but did not hide, the reason she survived,
and her brothers and husband did not.
Her barren belly proved a blessing when the girls in tents sprouted kleos from their swollen stomachs,
to carry the son of foreigners, bloodthirsty for their native home.
These girls, they are just girls, brainwashed by glory and trauma,
carry children that will slaughter their brothers of blood,
in the name of a woman seen only as a measurement of egotistic revenge.
And what of Briseis?
Aristos Achaion, they cried.
To them, he will always be: the best of the Greeks,
even after Apollo favours the hand of Paris and forges fate to impale the accidental hamartia.
What is her legacy?
Aristos Achaion, they cry.
As the boy who carries his blood rises from the fire and carries forward after his father's body hit the ground.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
It's not all that hard, it's so easy to learn,
Each and every one of these simple rules.
You see, I'm not even American,
But not even us Mexicans are such fools.
I know this language like I know myself,
I never laid hand on the shelf,
Where everyone placed their literature books,
Just to drop it for looks.
It's easy to remember,
Why can't you see,
English is so easy,
Or is it just me?
No.
That wouldn't make sense.
Spanish was my first language.
Yet I've come to know English better than my native tongue.
You're not North American, British, or Australian?
Alright whatever, I'll let it slide.
But really, born and raised here?
Come on, it's a free ride.
Deosnt it btoher you taht erevy wrod is speled rong?
Notice can't that you is order your wrong?
Proud to be an American, it isn't really saying much.
Cuz it lik jus syin I cn bearle evn speek such.
Yes, I think you're stupid, every time you spell wrong,
Because it's so easy to fix even a word that is long.
It makes me wonder wether your autocorrect's off?
Because that simple thing, knows each time that you're off.
Is it really so hard to put in that one vowel,
Or put in the consonant so your spelling's not foul.
Or correct the double-negative, you know it's not true,
It's easy to do, just proofread right through.
We all have the ability needed learn,
Yet it seems your ability's been placed in an urn.
You've got a big brain, so why don't you use it?
Trust me, I know, you shouldn't abuse it.
If you have pride in nothing else,
That's fine,
But it's good to have pride in the fact that you know,
YOUR LANGUAGE.
Be proud that you can communicate well,
Be proud that even the nerdiest of nerds can't use words you won't understand,
Be proud that you know how to use correct punctuation,
Be proud to know where "ph", "gh", "ou", "eau" and the silent "t" are used,
Be proud to know which words comes first, and which one comes last,
Be proud to know English, you can learn it all fast,
Be proud to know the art of words,
The art so many ancient cultures knew,
The ancient Japanese, and Romans, and even the French,
Yet America has forgotten how to use words.
Be proud to be a leader of the generation in the USA,
The generation that brings back knowing our own tongue,
So that foreigners who come don't know us better than us.
Be proud to know the beauty of language.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
The news will say we're suffering from excess immigration
That a rampant hoard of foreigners has fallen on our nation
But truthfully, there hasn't been a native Briton here
Since people dressed in mammoth skin and hunted with a spear
Our language is a mixture of a dozen different tongues
We munch our way through poppadoms, fajitas and fu-yungs
When cheering at a football match, we're infamously vocal
Our teams may be the finest but the players won’t be local
Genetically, a Briton is a multi-cultured stew
With Romans, Saxons, Vikings and the Celts, to name a few
Our national drink is Indian, the Germans make our beer
The TV comes from China and the table from IKEA
Potatoes from America and onions grown in Spain
A multitude of British things arrive by boat and plane
The rain that falls upon our hills has blown from over seas
And with it come migrating birds to nest in British trees
The Royal Windsor family have Greek and German genes
So think about just what it is that being British means
We're stronger with our differences, the best of humankind
Our nation, not an island but a common state of mind
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
I TRAVEL INSIDE MYSELF
picking flowers along the way
watching the mysterious insect land on my shoulder
feeling the tickle nearly not there
I travel inside myself
rising and falling with the seashore waves
connecting with other travelers
we are all foreigners
smiling knowingly
I travel inside myself
telling stories to myself
we are all swimming in this sea
we are all flying in the sky
I travel inside myself
gathering flowers along the way
gathering along the way
other travelers and other flowers
I love them as they travel to death
as I travel to death inside myself
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
Fermented undergarments
farmers markets, Targets, turn tarnish!
An angle of self-righteousness moves to left.
.
a group of cleft palates peel all the way back for the attic
after a thousand years of theft. (Arent you in awe?)
when hairless hands wrap and grab Tef – lon
get on one of the seven horses.
Hercules the matter seems urgent
Please
create morses.
.
Your Torsos show their bland position
portable valves, three of horse pistons.
so if they want violence, they certainly will achieve.
shout above the crowd and call for former foreigners – roll up sleeves.
in the white and black reality
we flee once we believe
.
but perfection is a perspective
the artist is just an elective and a given
IN GETTING BITTEN BY THE SOCIAL TAPE WORM –
we let the world squirm -
and turn
tighter in silky cob webs
the spider traps and they took laps
‘til the insect bled out
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC