"formalities" poems
Kashmir Delirium
Oh People Of Earth! Thankful are we,
For each act of benevolence shown to us.
Your gilded sweet words describing,
The beauty of Kasmir, land and people.
Mention in books and talks of it's riches,
Naming it the Sweet Paradise Of Earth.
The Lord has been bountiful to Kashmir,
Treasure of resources in every sphere.
To elevate each aspect, our wish for life,
As every acre of this land is worth millions.
Full of treasures and recreational value,
Forestry with grandeur and silvery rivers.
The outside world's view is so limited,
Simple folks living in the lap of rich bounty.
Mentioned in world forums and organizations,
But what of the goal of giving us freedom?
What has The UN established in our name?
To measure the pain and anguish we bear,
At the hands, of our supposed benefactors.
The saviours who has us fractured.
But in reality they train their enforcers,
In the art of creating oceans of tears.
The red blood now hidden in camouflage,
The spent shells now gathered and hidden.
The leaders we are told to elect in electoral shams,
Run publicity kiosks and swell friend lists.
Joint conferences to address personal interests
Dialogues that never address the root issues.
Just the formalities and no sympathy,
For the ones burnt in cruel sadistic reprisals.
The hypocrisy continues deliriously unabated,
More augmentation of the security forces.
For a first hand view of deep hypocrisy,
Walk this land, you know as beautiful.
Religious leaders will teach you political artistry,
Sermons full of ambiguity and guile.
Waywardness and narrow mindedness on display,
Political apologists give great lessons.
Religion and religious ethnicity are tools,
That keep minds and bodies in total check.
Gamesmanship by leaders is the rule of thumb,
As promises are forgotten once office is obtained.
When writing of this succulent beautiful land,
Write of the air, pregnant with sadistic practices.
This land is being stripped of worldly treasures,
And the greatest treasure is mistreated daily.
The best of nation is the inhabitants,
Ignored are the real gems of this beautiful paradise.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 6:44 AM UTC
And when I met that girl in San Francisco
Off a dusty little pier
with rotting wood
and squawking seals
And screaming bayside wind
She caught me off-tropics
and danced with the grace
of a palm tree
lines between the quaked
concrete
off telegraph avenue
On an obscuring Sunday morning
and no
she didn't go
to church or any silly thing
like a temple or synagogue
She said those were no places
for god
God was the trees
We smoked cigarettes and got off to each other's
carcinogenic practices
oxidizing a little faster in conjunction with hopeful
Formaldehyde
Deriding the formalities
of small talk and trivialities
She liked her guitars with nickel-wound strings
I with nylon
But I couldn't play songs
that sounded any good with them
while she could
and did.
and girl did it ever sound good
She'd laugh at the contests on the radio
while we drove on a half-moon
to half-moon
full and whole of ourselves
We'd stopped in the lobby of a cheap motel
And waltzed to background
muzak
wacked out of our minds
Sniffing in deep huffs of subliminal
divinity
Understanding
loving
that mind-numbing
monotony
muzak...
ppsh.
Who ever really listened to that?
And then she left
at the end of one fine winter day
in a cloudless sky I waved
watched her plane
skip off
towards the edge of a pale blue horizon
back south
to warmer climes
to wherever she truly stayed
The tugging on my heartstrings
chimed grotesque in
precise
D minor.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 9:23 PM UTC
weary of mothers and friends
losing their children,
before their time,
weary of failing
to achieve reconciliation
with whatever one nominates
the force that regulates,
fate, Name-Your-God,
deity of your choice,
nature, laws of physics,
the "whatever"
that controls, interferes,
that you think to believe
wills these event's occurrence
non-randomly
cessation of formalities,
one sided truce
signed and delivered,
unafraid to call this
what it is,
**** and damning fate,
for no god
could be so cruel...
If only there was a
Dislike button
for life and the poems
wrenched from death
at 5:00 am
this thought is my
sole inhabitant
once again,
nature's bosses distort,
another friend's grief
asks, cajoles me
to betray my/thy belief
banish it or me,
for we both cannot be
cohabitants
under the one roof,
of this limited mind,
where flailing
poems
never good enough,
failing
to express my
sorrowed rage
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC
Normal?
What does it mean to be normal?
What is normal?
Normal to you, may not be normal to me.
From the life of the simple,
Formal, may not be normal.
From the views of the formal,
Simple may be looked down upon,
Frowned upon.
Judging one another based on normality,
A life created on formalities,
Complications, Discrimination.
All because of our definition of normal?
Definition of
normal-
1. conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected.
"Usual?", "Expected?", "Typical?".
Hypocritical!
Normal?
Does it even exist?
Why do we persist- to have our definitions of what normal is?
And what it isn't?
Normal-
What is it?
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
If only we could fly like
those that tweet or hoot
without aid of jet or
parachute
For I sure don't like
wings that boom and roar
just so they can take off
and soar
Ah, to fly without petrol, diesel
or fuel
Oh, to halt that taloned midair
duel *
Birds they don't pollute
the air
nor need they any airline
fare
So if only I too could rise
and glide
and let the wind be my
sole guide
I'd be happy to fly all the
way to 'em' faraway stars
if I was assured I'd risk
no charring scars.
Flying without aviation
formalities
I could be sightseeing
many more cities
Ah I so wish to fly just
like a jay or jackdaw
Then I'd fly across all and
every border
For I'd know nor follow
no man-made law!
If only we needed no darned immigration pass or visa
We could have visited so many more touristy places
Say even the spectacular and popular pyramids of Giza
And we could have known different cultures and races
Ah, a stylish photo next to the leaning tower of Pisa
And return with exotica like a framed pic of the Mona Lisa
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 12:20 PM UTC
August is a time for remorse.
A time for memories,
swelling up and distorting one's vision.
The ripeness of summer has withered
under the harsh July heat,
leaving behind a shriveled skeleton of time.
August is a time of love.
Emotions that have been accumulating through June,
subtly burst through the seams,
oblivious to the Goodbyes,
lurking right beyond the bend.
August is a time of forgotten promises,
of the misled see you later,
so often mumbled from lover's lips.
The scent of leaving lingers in the air,
creating a bitter aftertaste,
mixed with the flavor of devotion.
For, forever doesn't mix well with farewell.
August is a time of silence.
A time where a single word might betray a hidden feeling,
that is swelling up beyond the bend of casual conversation.
August is a time of noise.
Where "I love you" and "see you soon",
drown out the static of reality.
Where loneliness is judged by the tangible,
and everyone is afraid of being left.
August is a time of leaving.
Minutes become muddled with sentiment, moving like molasses,
dripping slowly into the oncoming hour,
overflowing with empty formalities.
August has no tolerance for long goodbyes;
which fester like an open wound in the middle of the day.
No, August is parting in silence,
with one's final words uttered in the darkness,
the moon and stars as the only witnesses.
August is a time of closure,
not the type seen in movies,
full of mundane routines.
Accompanied by tears and terse observations,
"Your coat appears worn thin, my dear".
August is the closure that comes in the middle of the night,
when it is least expected.
It is neither welcomed,
nor is it pushed aside.
It comes as easily as sleep,
nestling into the deepest corners of one's soul.
Sometimes August isn't recognized,
until December.
After it has faded into the hazy realm,
which all past months inhabit.
Its only legacy is etched upon our souls,
haunting our every thought,
in the most lovely way:
August is a time of growing up,
of forgotten forever's,
full of the sweetest intent.
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 7:35 PM UTC
She said she was Ibo
And spoke with a fake accent
Wanna’s and gonna’s
Littered her speech
Not a trace of Igbo, in her exotic accent.
She smirked boldly
As I answered my phone
Greeting my friend natively
In a lavish of deep expressions
So deep, only Ndi Igbo can share.
With a ****** passport
She spoke better than most Britons
She was born in her village
Yet all she knows is “bia”
She thinks she’s cool, I think she’s lost!
The whole point of wooing her
An “mgbe-eke” from the east
Was so we could regularly, take a break
From all formalities and English
And bask in mother tongues…
I might as well be yoked
With a foreign damsel
For the whole purpose of looking within
Is defeated if your tongue is white
And we can only commune in “oyibo”
Call me tribalistic
Call me uncivilized
Call me superficial if you will
But what you call vernacular
The same is my root. I am proudly Igbo!
© Raphael Uzor
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
formalities were always a must,
you'd have to be crazy to forget your manners.
Shoes off, Gi on, Belt ready;
forget that and the push ups would **** you.
As soon as anyone crossed that threshold,
their mind, body, and spirit tuned into an ancient frequency.
We were raw potential energy encased in flesh,
the trespasses we'd endured throughout the week
our sole source of fuel.
Sifu would shout, We would listen.
Our partners would punch us
And we'd block; no thought required.
With every belt, we moved up in the art;
Educated furthermore in climbing ladders.
That was the first time I had ever been disciplined
And not solely abused,
My first real encounter with tough love.
After those classes, I guess I felt safer around my parents,
But that didn't make them good people.
I almost had to fight them once,
Yet I couldn't bring myself to defend the dignity
Already taken from me.
Maybe I should have let my instincts and not my sense
Guide my hand that night,
Maybe then I'd be a hero to myself as well as everyone's villain.
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 5:23 PM UTC
It is only when you realise,
As you sit in the far corner of the room,
that they are all so far away from you.
So
Distant.
Laughing amongst themselves
In a joke you clearly don’t understand.
Alienated from the throws of conversation
And the formalities of friendship.
You daren’t say a word for the silence that will follow.
A dragging
Periodic
Calculating
Silence.
So you sit, content with your space
In need of something you cannot categorise.
They’re all just
So
Distant.
If the physical space weren’t enough,
Your individuality will seal the deal.
So
Distant.
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 2:18 PM UTC
To discover human remains
Cinched to the rafters
he leapt off
Adorned in the noose
a morbid necklace
Inner turmoil no more to live
A note deserted in drunken scrawl
In shreds
those left behind
Fatherless innocents
inquire why
No rationalization
for a senseless deed
Aching at the formalities
Enduring our shared existence
Bye is the lifetime
that remains in the past
Dried up are all the tears
Angst with respect to an echo
Horror lays imprinted on my mind
Forever gone
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
Well where do we start?
Bob,
That answers a lot of questions before asked.
He was a vegan, kind of?
Never did he linger on thoughts of animal flesh,
vegan you could single him upon in certain words.
He would not linger on the animal nutritional formalities.
Could he linger on the repulsive tastes of pork, beef, lamb.
He would heave at mere thoughts of digesting these
peaceful recipients of the plant we delve all upon.
But even fish was out of his lingering taste buds.
He did how ever have a taste that differed from the
palettes of most, for it was of those he called friend.
He contorted on the repulsiveness of what his hunger
desired in wanting attention, but as those around waited
for there inevitable ending. He lingered on how they were savoured.
Bankruptcy of morals was his downfall, he saw others as
just meat sacks. Things that were as wanting in consumption
as those they fed upon, There screams were so inviting.
Have you heard an animal scream. No they don't, they
just look cynical in why your ending, their existence and stare.
Where we cry like lambs to the slaughter of our ending.
Emotion makes those that tear salt upon features
taste that much better than those unintelligent creatures
that just except there oblivion with eyes of so be it.
I have a sickness that thrives on the taste of you superficial
fear that I will not end you. No I will cease you light and
endeavour to feed on you lifeless carcass now silent.
*"Hi I'm Bob I'm a vegan struggling with the concept of
no meat in my diet, I don't eat animal, but I still linger
for the taste of meat inbetween of my moist lips and teeth.*
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 6:47 PM UTC
Some time you feel as if you're lost in space
Where you can not feel your weight or control your pace
Strong emotion rushes through you...a fervor of a certain state
For once you believe in something...deforming it, is your fate
For u dissect the rules to make them your own regulations
And u manipulate the semantics of the words to empty your frustration
A man is not put in cages...unless he himself have carved and built the bars
One can not leave an impact on you...unless you admit the scars
I think; therefor i am...they say...everybody thinks...but not everybody is
I write this note in a dark unworthy mind a poem of great amiss
I do not say this with a heavy heart...but my image is quite clear
Being scared of something is impossible...unless we emancipate the fear
But if impossible is possible...than everything is potentially right
And i would never argue with you on this point for i don't know how to hold up a fight
Stop whatever we are doing for we are digging our own graves of regret
Repent on your sins weather you believe in God or in humanistic respect
A poem of thoughts, feelings, and grand reflection
For if you don't have empathy you have affection
You love your self and we love you gone...we sure do
With all your suites,fake propaganda and formalities, ow how i wish the sky above us was blue
It is blue in color, but not blue in mind
It is true inside; but truth is hard to find
BELIEVE THAT THE SKY IS REAL? BELIEFS ARE LEFT BEHIND...
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
lower your lids, lap at liquid luxury
feel the flutter, flood of fire, fleeting--
bring your lips to the liquor, illegal lethality
forgo the former formalities, explore further, you're fascinated
i'm listless lately, lackluster from liquor's lullaby
forgetful and foggy, focused on feeling the friction
labors of lust, light-headed, lead me lightly, love me
**** me*. **** familiarity, **** me fast, foreign fingers
lower my limits, leave your legacy on me
lead. i follow, feeling foolish, little foreword:
be too forward. leave me lying, flesh flushed, limp and loyal
every fiber filled with life and lust: i finished first.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
Astonishingly! This poetry analogy is partially of a prodigy poet! It is of his endearment and endeavorment in our great Government that desecrated, medicated, sedated and segregated him. Doped! Desperately copping and hoping he made it! To add, no dad! An artistically rad-lad through the bad, the glad, the sad and mad. This destiny of a poet is also of apologies, felonies, formalities, legalities and theories.
Furthermore it’s of mournful and scornful-laughter! Capture and rapture, dreamingly and seemingly, chapter after chapter... Pondering and wondering is there a happily ever after? This destiny of a poet is heavenly, randomly and religiously, tellingly of lots of many thoughts! Some adventuresome, awesome, burdensome, fearsome and gruesome! Some loathsome, lonesome and wholesome!
Some of dreams, schemes and many themes! Some deemed and seemed differently, discriminately, indecently or racially true, from some views. Some askew and blue! Some of clues, of Jews, of taboo, tattoos and voodoo! This destiny of a poet; stunningly who could’ve and would’ve thought once, twice or thrice of this price? Of the cheers and peers, the jeers, the leers,
the tears and weary years... Therefore I say, some artist’s
clever art may create, dictate, relate and translate similar-thriller craftsmanship with negative, positive or relative penmanship. However, typically some probably will publicly criticize as a travesty. Some will harmonize, some will publicize or socialize, some will disrespect as imperfect, some will neglect, some will respect as perfect! Hark! I remark; brethren, children and women keep and upkeep that
creative spark! For in the dark or as you embark. Literally, morality and reality is in my poetry and story. Expect excellent, brilliant, decadent, resilient talent and testaments! Basically on final note! I positively devote, quote and wrote these eccentrically optimistic, rhetoric and theoretic poetically lyrical rhyming notes. Finally and bluntly, do not negatively amend, bend, pretend or transcend this end. Amen...
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
I live in north Florida
That's just a hop, skip, and a jump
From the land known as Georgia
Where "Honey Boo Boo" holds court with her mom
If'n you don't know "Honey Boo Boo"
Your in for a treat or more than one
She's a multi car train wreak
That you can't turn your eyes away from
First let me explain the state of Georgia
So this family ya'll will understand
Not long ago they re-dirted both paved roads
Said progress was getting out of hand
So with that said and done
And formalities out of the way
Lets turn our attention back to our star attraction
And see what she has to say
Her fame started on Toddlers & Tiaras
Reality shows we all seem to love
From The Crazed Housewives to The Kardashion's
America can not get enough
And since it's on T.V. it's gotta be true
Have you ever tried her drink sensation
Of Red Bull and Mountain Dew, She likes to call "Go Go Juice"
It'll put a hurtin' on you
And who wouldn't want to see a six year old
With that kind of Hellacious Buzz
What goes through my mind when I look at that is
Ahhh, Redneck Motherly Love
So you had better redneckonize her!
If you know what's good for you
Cause a dolla makes her holla!
I'm so glad they've brought back the **** Tube...
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 8:10 AM UTC
Lost in a sea
Of false realities,
****** fantasies and
Tiresome formalities.
Accustomed to the overture of
Treachery writhing in mouths.
Staggered by waves
Eclipsing my
Avenue to fulfillment
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC
Sugar nightmares haunt children
Nancy harlequins cane them
Oh, child of mine
your life you did,
away,
sign.
Force fed familiarity with already branded emotions,
irregular realities and clouded surreal formalities,
so very many humans’ form dichotomies
out of our shared mute gray;
spinning constant self-important prose.
So very many humans share so much,
so little,
not often
doing little to soften
all of their emotional blows
trying hard to strike enigmatic pose.
Oh, child of mine
the heart of utilitarian method
has receded in incredulous fashion
followed by authoritarian apologies;
the majority is not icecream people
spreading simple good thought,
but generations fraught
with trivial conformist ideologies.
We are all hiding our seams
with creative masks
and self created tasks.
Oh, child of mine
your prescription reality is revealing itself as Atlantis,
sinking and shuddering into Quaaludes
with frightening psychotic interludes.
Emotions paint
stained lurid faces,
dancing with
ludes effecting movement,
nudes of swaying and repose.
You arose deeming so much rightfully yours
waltzing through seemingly already opened doors.
Holy curb their anti-Christ
Consider your aging soul
Oh, child of mine
Belief of awareness in action
understand the probability of dissatisfaction,
Stop!
treating the moment as a bleak bridge to the next inaction.
Eventually ponderous thoughts form
resembling an orrery,
an incessantly philippic story
orchestrates your oleaginous personality.
Oh, child of mine
Youth flees and your mind
takes once again to the seas,
a vexing penumbra of perception.
Bathos permeates the fathoms of an obstreperous life
and if you still care,
lament that this meaningless congeries
of moments
inspires only delusion,
no disillusionment.
Eventually a lilting threnody
leading 'tween burning pews of proposed serenity
and the following bumping callithump
will firmly stamp you into black infinity.
Oh, child of mine
You've used the switch
too much
too often
coupled with lofty scoffing
giving the innocent up as offering
to the
mechanical engine
of organic creation.
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 11:05 AM UTC
Your hands were your first language
and all formalities and expectations aside
I want you to whisper into my skin
spell words into my flesh
just like I spelled my name over and over
inside my chest when I first learned
how to make letters out of my fingers
at summer camp in 5th grade
last night you reminded me of that week
more than I'll ever tell you
you are running through thick forrest
you are sunlight through the trees
you are blue skies
and you are also thunderstorms
I have seen both in your eyes
don't ever be afraid to rain
I wanted to tell you
Both storms were on a Wednesday night
the water never touched me either time
yet seemed to soak my soul
arms around my knees
whispered words
I think you were too upset to notice
that you reverted back to the voice that projects from your fingers
sometimes I forget English is your second language
you speak it so eloquently
hands
around your face
as if speaking in perfect verse
fluttering
"what are you saying"
fluttering
"you're so pretty"
"you're so pretty"
"you're so pretty"
you whispered
"pretty"
"pretty"
"pretty"
I repeated
using nothing
but my hands
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
Gazing into her eyes
This universe of another kind
Gazing beyond formalities
Where society is blind
In simplicity is where
Sanctity must hide
Infusion of the soul
With what we've left behind
Gazing into her eyes
This complex world unwinds
Gazing back into a time
Where the infinite held our minds
I danced upon memories
When there was reason behind life
And all our shallow insecurities
Were not solved underneath the knife
I gazed upon the intrigue
Of sudden, sharp surprise
The sting of knowledge that proves
Behind each horrid truth
Is an even more horrific lie
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
Set aside the formalities
Put behind your brutalities
Forget about the finalities
Throw away all moralities
Come hide from your realities
Forgive me for my irrationalities
I plea not for practicalities
I know of the abnormalities
Do you know of the totalities
Just listen to the modalities
It's becoming a lethality
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
Life is pretty drunk
With all the madness suppressed
under the veil of formalities
With all the wildness hidden
behind rocks of normalities
My life would have flew if
you had taught me
Gravity wasn't the only reason
My life would have been LIFE if
you had said the heaven exist in life
not after life...
I have been drunk with dreams of desires and ambitions
I have been so destroyed with convolutions and conjugations
And I still act sober
with life such drunk
If only I had been informed
Life is not for drunkards
I would have refused my birth
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
When there were no T.V's or cell phones,
When the sky was sequined with stars.
After dinner,family members and neighbours would gather outside on stone benches and chairs,
News and gossip would be shared with keen interest......
Whose wife ran away with whom,
Who delivered a baby,
Who was getting married.
Songs from the latest movie would be sung,
Stories and anecdotes related,
It was fun.
We shared one apple and drank from the same bottle,
Are fruits like mangoes and guavas from the fruitcarts without washing them,
Nothing happened to us.
We never went to a playground,
We played football,cricket, marbles, seven stones and other games on the streets,
And if broke a window, we would run for our life.
We just popped in at our friends' house and shared their food,ate what was cooking in the kitchen,opened their fridges,
No formalities,
You didn't need a nanny to look after your children,
Extended family and neighbours helped out.
Everybody called the grandparents dadi or dadu,
The whole neighbourhood was one big happy family,
Those were the times.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 4:59 AM UTC
so sick of wasting words
on these formalities
honesty and truth is
I'll never be the same again
please never leave my side.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
-
they say if a tree falls in the woods
and no one's around to hear it,
it creates a silence
in vibration,
without even
deaf ears upon which to crash.
-
and they say if a tree dies in the woods,
the only formalities it receives
are a coffin of moss and lichen,
a bouquet of fungi,
and a burial in overgrowth.
-
and i say, if a man dies in the woods
at the trunk of a silently falling tree,
then i am that man,
and the funeral would be attended by none,
and i would garner little more sympathy
than the corpse of the last man before me.
-
and finally, i say too that
this poem is inaptly named,
for i have no victim
to suffer
from
my
loss.
-
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 3:38 AM UTC
Earthlings
We send out waves into the deepest reaches of space, and deeper
We send mechanical eyes to the edges of the solar system
We are not looking for answers, we never were
Like a lonely sail boat sinking at sea, launching a flare so bright in the cusp of the darkest hours
Or when a dictator looses all their power from the burden of rebellion
Torn of all the comforts of formalities
They cower in the dampest corner, in that unbearable discomfort, when your thighs have went numb and you need to, you proceed to move but you just can't
So you toss fragments of rock in to the hall outside your prison cell, hoping for an answer
Because everyone is against you
For you are a person, and are thus the dictator of every mistake you have made
And this haunts you while you hide in the shade
Humanity does not seek truth or conclusions,
we seek help
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC