"fraternized" poems
Have you seen the downcast faces
fraternized with the loathed ******
Look behind you,
You owned the shadow of facade
That moves between the surface of falsity
with the light of profound verity.
Can you see the similarities
Of the downcast and *****
Or can you recognize yourself,
Together with those words?
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 1:48 PM UTC
An unsuspecting observer would view his property as bland
With subterranean secrets rarely breaching for detection
When pointed ends met with his cracking winter surface
The sludge bubbled out filling every empty space
His inner oil to some
Was black gold
Prosperity
To others still, a tar pit worthy of dinosaur death
He grew as a sheet of ice which could harbor skating lessons
Or unseen, send auto travelers in lack of traction spirals
His light-stealing sticky venom clotted neural networks
A fat tarantula plucking whims from the web between two ears
He fraternized with Morpheus
On odds
With cousin evens
Awakening unsure if he were caught in silky cobs
Or the hands above it all
He certainly felt like a marionette, dangling on feeble feet
Pulled by the digits of ink stained impulse
Hate, tug
Create, tug
They made him dance to their tattooed meter
He felt the crunch of beetles and flies
His temples throbbed as tar dripped from his eyes
Drops forming clefs, pictures, and words
I am but a stencil, he buzzed
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 2:02 PM UTC
Frank fraternized with females
frolicing, flirting, fun
fantastic, fanciful feelings
Fabricating fantasies
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
We blame our fathers
We call them traitors
We wish they had fought
We analyze and criticize!
But; while we slept…
Our villages were attacked
Our houses were ransacked
Our lives… shattered!
Under our noses
Our heroes fell,
Like petals of roses.
While we made merry…
Our women were *****
Our girls were enslaved
Our maidens… depraved!
Under our watch
Our cattle were looted
Our farms were torched.
While we fraternized…
Our children were slaughtered
Our youths were murdered
Our species… endangered!
How long shall we segregate?
While they usurp our heritage.
How long, till our place in history
Becomes a “Once upon…” story?
© Raphael Uzor
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 7:23 AM UTC
Can you ask someone to love you as
they lead you down gentle paths
Guided by sensations you know exist;
Sometime long ago, neglected to ask?
Who couldn't have fraternized with the girl
Of dark look and sultry eyes ?
But for a life I mis-created ...
Struggling in circles to weave new ties
Sweet encroaching lust awakes you
and erases dust
You seem to think lazy -
The terror is gone, so many miles away love
might have
stolen the air of wintry haze
Hell, God knows I was feeling insecure
And for what to come, nothing more?
Sometimes, wavering self-respect
And past tribulations
you'd rather forget
© Copyright David Bosworth January 2014
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
Last night I dreamt of thunder storms
Lightning, hail, and rain.
I dreamt of people screaming and
The somber rattling of chains
In my dream I saw my death
The absence of ever breathing life
I saw hardship and simplicity
In my never ending strife.
I dreamt of un-measurable beauty
And the evils of this earth
I never longed for anything.
Nothing I valued had worth
I dreamt of life long journeys
But never took a step
I dreamt of rainy Sundays
And floors that needed swept
Last night I dreamt of crying
And death before a chance
Last night I dreamt of laughter
And young love’s silent glance.
I dreamt of what could be,
And what I’d never see again.
I fraternized with enemies,
And hated all of my friends.
I ran into the woods
Bare feet and solemn eyes
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! I screamed,
With my eyes trained on the sky
Last night I dreamt of blood
And death and beauty and pain
Last night I dreamt of summer.
Last night I dreamt of rain.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
staring into the warm void this evening
i take my place within jarring volitions.
thought is volatile. a mason strikes
metal, revealing its malleability.
there is treason in thought of geography;
i will shatter the mooring and find myself
something the fluting wind is the muse
and echoing quiet, a ripple from stone-skip.
the next place to go is the beginning
stemming from a concatenation of ruins.
the thinning visage of masses crossing
the streets wary of collisions
is something realer than the wounded glaze
of asphalt and the mirage that goes along
tiptoeing like a danseuse through shards
of incandescent figures. fumes. sprawls.
untouched virgins. tacit stones. doves
perching on powerlines nestled like youth
suckling mothers. fathers facing telegraphs
and the sure machine of dearth.
stasis of peregrinations. peripatetic
crush of imminent homes.
this is to assuage its call, from nowhere
arrives the next train to Kamuning,
disappearing in a plethora of arms
sequined by sweat under the swelter of planets
unfurling a bent axis of tragedies. we are
fraternized to tracks, unyielding distances,
makeshift solaces serial, benign, tenured.
belonging. unbelonging.
our destination: an impending sojourn,
the verdigris taking form.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 8:57 PM UTC
Pretty regularly now
I pass by that house
It was my first feelings of security
It was my true home away from home
Always there
Always happy
I've truly grown since I've known
What that household
Set in stone
I outgrew my shell
I fraternized for the first time
I experienced my first feelings
of gratification
of wanting
of being longed for
I expanded my mind
broadened my horizons
I've stayed up all night
I've broken the law
I've formed bonds
so strong
so strong
I met my second mom
I became the prodigal son
I owe everything to that place
everything to you & her
It all comes back to me now
He in an instant ruined it all
he ripped the carpet from underneath
The times are lost in obscurity
He's all that's left there now
You and her have far moved on for better
The trees die and the character with it
But I will always have my memories
He cannot, WILL not take those away
Driving by now it all flashes by, just like that
Every time I pass it
And every time I see his car in the driveway
I roll down my windows and yell
**** YOU
and keep driving on
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 4:15 AM UTC
It raged across five Aprils, killed 600,000 sons,
but now, there was a chance for peace, if Johnston wanted one.
Some urged a guerrilla war, a game of hit and run,
but Johnston saw a suffering South and knew this must be done.
He called a truce with Sherman to surrender his command.
In truth, I think he would have rather shook the Devil’s hand.
The defeated kept their horses, and were paroled back to their homes.
This land once more united, its prior sins atoned.
For every drop of blood that had been spilled by blow or lash
had been matched, drop for drop, in every ****** clash.
On the ninth of April 65’ Rebels tore their battle flags
and little strips of colored cloth were given to each man.
The flags were not surrendered to become the spoils of war.
They fraternized with men they would have killed the day before.
Now all who had survived the war, all but one, would live.
Good Friday night would claim the last that Lincoln had to give.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
i go out seeking a great perhaps
immenser than the void i know.
but you have left
as all the others did --
only a few remained.
yellowing letters with words growing thinner and thinner barely
hanging, loosely against the mouth
of the fringe.
it is not enough that you have left.
it is not enough that this room
shouts enormously with its
darkness pressing against the venetian and i cannot see you anymore.
it is not enough that i hear your
footsteps mince away towards the seep of the door where your departure has overstayed its welcome.
it is not enough that there will be no more mornings to delight in - only nights where i scrounge for light only to find that even the things that glint have no use anymore.
it is not enough that we have screamed, yelled, bellowed our names at each other in love, now on hate. it is not enough that your once callow eyes are now lion-telling and mine, vulterine.
the arrival is just as swift
as the pulse of leaving and now
in the next room are so many women,
and it does not help that there
are also many rooms fraternized
altogether, filled with more
and more people.
the fuller the earth gets,
the sicker i become,
and the more stricken i become,
the more i remember that i have died wanting more deaths.
soon i will find your debris scattered throughout the streets
made for me to walk on.
a strand of hair, a pair of shoes,
a dress you never wore, the telephone like a petrified train
in the station of my hollow being,
and that it would ring,
i know it too well,
but there will be a strange voice
at the other end that will
pierce me back to remembering
how you sound and i will take
it, i will take it for
for the indictment nears its brutal straightforwardness:
it will never be you waving
at the other end of the street
together with the ugly palms.
it will never be you
in the dress, it will never
be you on the passenger seat
peering out into the world with
eyes beating the darkness of the freeway with the many exploding lights of who you are
and what you've given me with
what was left of you,
and what i've given you
amid this thing of being me.
it is never enough.
it is never enough that
i know this, and it is never enough that unknowing you is longer
than how we have known each
other when our voices are the
only once that dwelt within
ourselves.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC