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Irate Watcher Aug 2014
Had you a viral video,
you’d watch it
more than once.

2. Instagram hearts
make you smile,
even from strangers.

3. Which would
you rather:
***
or
Zuckerberg
friending you
on Facebook.

No, this isn’t a Cosmo quiz —
it’s a social experiment.

Because no one ACTUALLY
answers these questions honestly
without looking like
that ****** at the pool
trying to get as MANY
high fives as possible.

Yet, we all do it.
Alone or in public.
Day or night.
LED screen spice up our lives.

It was probably
best embodied
by that girl taking
selfie
after  
selfie
after
selfie
after
selfie,
filmed for minutes
on the way to school,
the video soon posted,
by her dad
trying to teach  her a lesson?
Or trying to get attention?
Either way, he might as
well have hashtagged it
#socialsuicide.

Like most humor
we laughed at her
because we are her.
We see a dripping
characterture
******* to
itself in public.

Wait, it,
sounds wrong
when you name it.

But there is
a name for it:

Digital *******,
aka
Self-adoration
aka
Narcississism.

You won’t agree
that you do it too.

But I’ll bet
most of you
get excited
thinking about
notifications too.

Why is that?

You’d never admit it.

You can say
I smelt it, so I dealt it.
Call me a preacher,
a hater, or a hypocrit.

But I'd rather you call me a
digital masterbater too.

And then remember the last
time you opened Instagram
or Facebook
or Twitter
and took a selfie
or hashtagged something
or posted a status
that your still breathing.

How long has it been —
a minute, an hour, a day?

Now try making fun of her.
Patrick N Apr 2015
It is friendship, in that, being friends is what matters most.
Yet dangerous friends, we could be lovers,
Passionate impulses, should we be *******
Not touching brings uneasiness,
So we kiss and stare,
Shattering anxiety laden air.
Alexis J Meighan Oct 2012
I am keening
In lament
bewailed at this notion.
Contempt for structure, value and discipline is acceptable.
Jeremiad
A parent can't parent but would be praised for "friending" rather than tending to their child's growth.

Hippie tricksters and hipster is all the craze with new age bad zones and soft tones
Then everyone moans and claim the lack of parenting is to blame when they go columbine and spray bullets to deal with the torment.

I'm sick of the news and its pro no rules avocation
Sick of the pop trend of life is always a dead end
Sick of fly by night "let them be and hope they make it" attitudes
When a little hug and a quick "let me show you" can make our youths guide the progress rather than tear it down.

I little input is appreciated, accepted and acknowledged
But not mandatory
Be good be rewarded, be bad be without
Very self explanatory.
Those in between that goal are an obstacle not a hero
I want greatness for my child
Not mediocrity to a zero.

Parent with your experience and regulation
Not google and trending
See the end and before you begin and preempt the blind pretending.

Cuz today is not ok
When we fear tomorrow
Cuz yesterdays ways were forgotten.
From one father to the next

-Alexis J Meighan-
Alexis J Meighan Oct 2012
I am keening
In lament
bewailed at this notion.
Contempt for structure, value and discipline is acceptable.
Jeremiad
A parent can't parent but would be praised for "friending" rather than tending to their child's growth.

Hippie tricksters and hipster is all the craze with new age bad zones and soft tones
Then everyone moans and claim the lack of parenting is to blame when they go columbine and spray bullets to deal with the torment.

I'm sick of the news and its pro no rules avocation
Sick of the pop trend of life is always a dead end
Sick of fly by night "let them be and hope they make it" attitudes
When a little hug and a quick "let me show you" can make our youths guide the progress rather than tear it down.

I little input is appreciated, accepted and acknowledged
But not mandatory
Be good be rewarded, be bad be without
Very self explanatory.
Those in between that goal are an obstacle not a hero
I want greatness for my child
Not mediocrity to a zero.

Parent with your experience and regulation
Not google and trending
See the end and before you begin and preempt the blind pretending.

Cuz today is not ok
When we fear tomorrow
Cuz yesterdays ways were forgotten.
From one father to the next

-Alexis J Meighan-
Brent Kincaid Nov 2017
Forty Russian women
Ask me every day
They beg me to friend them
On Facebook, so hey,
How come I spend
So much time all alone?
None of these Russian babes
Ever show up in my home.

They seem to be hot for me
And say such naughty things.
I have always thought that I
Wouldn't need to be a king
Or a rockstar for me to get
The attention of such chicks.
Who, me? Not even on a bet!

Yes, I friended several of these
goddesses from the steppes;
They all demanded promises
Of some very hefty tips.
While I am not a movie star
I don't look all that bad
That I have to pay for ***.
That would just be sad.

In truth I was foolishly hoping
That one of these ladies did
Want to meet someone like me
And  wondered where I was hid.
A recent Miss Moscow runner-up
That Trump had not over abused.
And here I sit with a lonely heart
Just waiting to get itself used.

So, like the fool at slot machines
I kept thinking the next would pay
And kept on reading those requests
And believing them every day.
I know there must be lovely girl
Who is looking for someone like me.
Im even studying Russian now, so
How much more perfect can I be?
Nicole Normile Dec 2010
he was once a boy
a face in the crowd
which brought me no joy

we talked once or twice
didn't mean a thing
timing not right
I was else where
dreaming of someone else
who didn't want me on their shelf

so this boy whom I didn't feel for
liked me just so much more
but I couldn't see
him so perfectly
for I was looking elsewhere
at one who didn't care

...so this boy told me I was looking in the wrong place
and I couldn't see the beauty in his face
my mind still caught on someone else
I was stupid to not see
who it was that may have been right for me

for the boy that cared
I didn't have those feelings shared
but time went on
I stopped dreaming of the guy that was wrong
and started friending this guy that felt for me

though he had gotten a girlfriend
he became my best friend
and I'm getting close to this boy who once wanted me
but now he's taken
and I sit around crying
about a boy who once felt for me
about a boy who now isn't loving me
Oh Glenda (Miz Gee gee)
     years elapsed since, I didst hawk
     verboten fruit adrip
from yar verdant bough,  
     thy strong craven raven
     doth still twitter and flip

sans thy testosterone switch,
     where woody pecker missus grip
ping re: egret ting prospective
     relationship nixed thee
     as gull friend material, hip
mistress, though heron eye did pay lip

     service verily orgasmically quip
yes...wren doer ring
     more'n commit Freudian slip
which peeping cardinal tip
     towing thru nested tulip trip

     gave balled oriole peck whip
ping lil *** pistol be
     friending chirping ***** riot
inserting thingmabob
     after pants sigh did un zip.
                            *  
Egg gad unlike rob bin duck cradle
yar mature red breast all aswirl
     asper a stationary dreidel
mammary ducts mine mouth pursed
     yar ******* mine gums did ladle.

Only in memory, aye
hungrily thirst and thirstily hunger
     fort deux aureole dye
still affecting this gab
     bird, who didst deign
     as milquetoast guy.

Whenever this birdman alone
his thoughts metaphorically drone
worm wayward toward
     ***** thatch, where

     hello kitty doth purr and groan
of quintessentially
     ***** coiled hair moan
ning softly as thee
     bared naked lady lies prone
admiring pinkish puckered
     def flesh tone.
Brent Kincaid Aug 2015
It makes me angry
To see how many people
Don’t act like they are good
Outside the church and steeple.
It’s like someone is keeping book
On how often they appear there
And saying they love Jesus
Is all anyone should care.

There is no holiness in pretending,
When the sins are never-ending.
When the way you choose to walk
Is not the way you choose to talk.

It’s pretty scary
To watch what is happening here
When speeches like Goebbells
And the Nazis is what we hear.
When not speaking the party line
And regular people are demonized
Walk hand-in-hand with rich dreams
And high class crooks are lionized.

It’s called hypocrisy.
The friend of theocracy
For those that feel better
But just follow by the letter.

The first thing the Nazis did
Was take over the popular press
Then made the party philosophy
A religion and that started the mess.
Helping the poor, friending too
Was outlawed for those they hate.
They were made to look like criminals
And unpatriotic outlaws of the state.

There is no holiness in pretending,
When the sins are never-ending.
When the way you choose to walk
Is not the way you choose to talk.

And all was done under the banner,
The blessing of the Christian flag.
They murdered every single
Jew, Communist and those called ***.
They created new chants and songs
And verses so people could sing along
And raise a salute to the elite.
And soon there was nobody to defeat.

It’s called hypocrisy.
The friend of theocracy
For those that feel better
But just follow by the letter.
Dougie Simps Apr 2014
It was every late night,
Every rising sun,
Every memory of you're love
Every second, every outcome
I felt empty but you filled my soul
I felt alone, but you offered a hand to hold.

The perfect surprise, the unexpected happy ending
The promises that were kept
A person worth forever friending

*I write this to you even though I'm sad and know you're in the sky
I miss you every day...I still wish I could of just said one last goodbye.
Not real just a story.
rachel burch Jan 2012
I can feel her change now
The shift of turf beneath our feet
The soft spotlights hit the hillsides
The colour comes back
And summer harshness fades away.
As I turn to face the long tunnel
Of the year
I can hear the hags call
Urgent yet always gentle
I know I can face her now
Look her in the eye
Explain this past year
And the sadness has gone
From my eyes
The golden leaf strewn mist
Has lifted while I wasn’t
Looking
too busy smiling loving
Friending
So when she calls now
Her leaf blown nut fuelled
Whisper
I’m ready
A Simillacrum Oct 2018
They,
they call me greedy,
exclusive,
taciturn. . .

That I've learned
from my disease
--chronic listening--
which voices
I'd rather not hear.

Most of these sing song smiley faces
beat you to the punch as if they're racing
past you after a ******* badge.

You want a badge?
Well good for you.
Go online and buy one.
They said "spill your guts"
And So you spill out *******.
Thinking that you're making friends,
while I'm hard pressed to believe you
would be believed by anyone worth friending.
You want a badge? Good for you!
I'll make you a deal if you decide to buy one.
I'll pay the cost for the custom laser engraving:
"Sheriff Big ****" in the land
of      "No      One      Gives      A      ****"
Wordsinalign Apr 2017
Her dark coffee-roasted eyes opened into a world that vessels magnificence, it wasn’t the other humans that created on her an impact of difference. She grew up to love the wind, seas and butterflies, she caught the moonbeams when she closed her eyes. She isolated herself from the ones that commanded words to be spoken, no one listened, and without a single word she left the locks broken. What she felt with the intensity of solitude, filled her with meanings that multiplied in magnitude. How could she explain the pure lightning in her veins, she wore a pendant of the world map on her chains. She was made to do incredible things you can tell, surviving within four walls was never her place to dwell. Things weren’t handed to her and that’s what made her wonderful, street by street she discovered what it meant to be powerful.

Mocking her tattoos, “art belongs on the wall”:
the ones she built around was her masterpiece and never let them fall. In the end its the things that **** you that make you feel alive, sitting on the edge of earth on a swing, she lived until 1hundred and five. Time taught the darling, of things that were loved bitter and sour, she travelled through the countries and living by the hour.

She wore a wing on her wrist, to her acquaintances she didn’t exist. She loved cities that made her feel like home, even on the bad days they embraced her and she never felt alone. Her lust for travel was deeply-chained, friending soils that didn’t constrain. She passed through it all like a ship in its form; Beautifully broken, this is how the sky felt after a storm.
Anais Vionet May 2022
It’s Spring Fling today - an all-day campus concert with some up-and-coming music acts. We’ll be out there, in the rain if we have to, we're determined and somewhat waterproof. We went out earlier, doing a scan for friends to find seats and place stuff to hold our spot.

What, up until now, have been notes of preparation for summer move-out, will become a symphony tomorrow - after my last final - I’ll be a sophomore then, I suppose.

Peter has to check an experiment he’s working on. He hugs me and heads out.
“He’s so hot,” Anna observes, “he makes me think about ***, and you know what - YES!”
“You can have him," I say, he’s too tall - and besides - he’s friending-down, with me.” I admit.
“I like him,” Lisa says, “he doesn’t complain or disapprove of things.”
“He’s the modern man,” Anna says, dreamily.
“And he’s REALLY good at kissing games.” I confide, grinning like a creepy boy, to make them jealous. They all made various noises that piggybacked and incorporated into one coherent gagging sound.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: piggyback: "to function in conjunction or carry on the back of another."
Wordsinalign Apr 2017
Her dark coffee-roasted eyes opened into a world that vessels magnificence, it wasn’t the other humans that created on her an impact of difference. She grew up to love the wind, seas and butterflies, she caught the moonbeams when she closed her eyes. She isolated herself from the ones that commanded words to be spoken, no one listened, and without a single word she left the locks broken. What she felt with the intensity of solitude, filled her with meanings that multiplied in magnitude. How could she explain the pure lightning in her veins, she wore a pendant of the world map on her chains. She was made to do incredible things you can tell, surviving within four walls was never her place to dwell. Things weren’t handed to her and that’s what made her wonderful, street by street she discovered what it meant to be powerful.

Mocking her tattoos, “art belongs on the wall”:
the ones she built around was her masterpiece and never let them fall. In the end its the things that **** you that make you feel alive, sitting on the edge of earth on a swing, she lived until 1hundred and five. Time taught the darling, of things that were loved bitter and sour, she travelled through the countries and living by the hour.

She wore a wing on her wrist, to her acquaintances she didn’t exist. She loved cities that made her feel like home, even on the bad days they embraced her and she never felt alone. Her lust for travel was deeply-chained, friending soils that didn’t constrain. She passed through it all like a ship in its form; Beautifully broken, this is how the sky felt after a storm.
ohNoe May 2014
in the movement of a moment you met her,
  the mayhap of a magic that just might matter.
your pulse pounds in your pupils,
  pulls & pours perfect purple pearls
    of a never-known intricate history,
      an instant intimate mystery.

from the view point
         the true point
         the view to poignant
Cherry Apple Blossoms
  carry Ample Awesome.
silken sailors on a sultry wind
  blowing between their lotus friends,
wander within the waterfall
  & ride it upwards after all.

mere moments from making memories
  melding mighty might-be's,
your morbid mockingbird returns
  melting maybes into more burns.

the water appears pure
  & your scars need cure,
but it won't wash away the intense,
  can't convince me to release and rinse.
Blood bound to my soaked sleeve,
  saturated with the grieve
    of the heart worn stark there,
      the heart i can't spark or spare.
failing falling farther further
  faster into fractured forever.

from WOAH to WOE
  and WOW to OW,
one more maybe something
  dies another nothing

yeah, i know,
  you been all about NO,
    flushed in a negative flow

As Lucid As Hell

i keep seeing your fleeings
  from deep suffering feelings,
    crushed beyond breathing.

refueled and refeeled are the doubts,
  rabid to wreak the shrieks of their shouts.
happy only happening
  from external stimulation,
misery the missing of my own motivation.
even music is up down all-around,
  sometimes just sound.
how much more tired
  can you grow of uninspired?

But what the **** Dude?
  whence went your Attitude?
the epitome of optimal optimism
  within every wish or whim!
intense immense confidence,
  invincible invulnerable arrogance.
remember the relentless effortless course
  of your subconscious primal source?
the intimate emotional intelligence
  to whom all made sense.

Have you ever felt overflowing
                         been effervescent
                         knew you were undousable?

Are you aware of self-fulfilling prophecies
  that refueling never needs?

Perhaps possibly that personality is not deceased,
  and not even appreciably decreased.
If the power imbuing the flower
  simply slipped sleeping into hibernation,
then there just needs to be a shower
  to rinse in the reinCarnation.

HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY
is belief in being almost cute
  with soul-voice articulate.
a writer friends & family call poet
  who rides rhythm & rhyme
    along imagination's music,
      the inner bliss
        which inspires a kiss
witty charming stunned
  sweet smart overcum
suave swan not gone,
  just sleeping til the right dawn.

maybe it's back to the breeze,
  re-friending the days it brought teaching.
information gathered from seas & trees
  transferred to me from miles of reaching.

even then my arrogance knew reverence
  when we would watch the wind
    somehow know how much we did not know
      and wonder how different we'd be once we did...
hey, look...almost kinda positive :)
David Hasselblad Aug 2019
Inner Devils

I’m always, on the outside,
But I’m looking in,
Your greatest faults, I’ll abide,
I support and embrace your sin,

I’ll swallow your pain,
I’ll digest what’s inside,
I will rust your chain,
In me you can confide,

I’ll help you shift the blame,
Run from angels who refuse to see,
At your lowest, you’ll be glad I came,
But you’ll never know the real me,

Friending those who only think of self,
Always talk in a riddle,
Waiting on your secret shelf,
Musing you, while your privates you ******,

I smile when you call,
Us, only talking when you fall,
Two in a dance like notes of a fiddle,
Still, at your loneliness I maul,

I’ll smile when I’m used,
My shoulder ******* your tears,
I know when you’re confused,
I know, because I’ve scribed your fears,

I am the one who leers,
Watching your many tragic fates,
Coming when you shun your peers,
Remembering all the dates,

Suffering in total silence,
Guarding your souls flimsy, gate,
Torches and mobs gather and I stand in defiance,
While you sit at home and *******,

Think you see me so crystal clear,
You always call me when it’s late,
I listen, and drown you in a beer,
Fore I’m never one to subjugate,

I taste every tear,
Make you cold to further your career,
Your emotions I stow,
Take every blow,
For,
I am,
The Devil you know...
brandon nagley May 2015
Woe to you, unfaithful witness, did not even Enoch portray your endings? Falsehood friending's shall overtake homes of love...
Look above,
Oh shalllow man, doth thou not knowest the one who holds thy keys to hell and the grave? Continue in thine way brutest of beasts...
For weeping, and gnashing of teeth shall uproot you.Gomorrha once again...
Media trends, you live and compass by, for thy universe is in parrel you mut of dirtied hands...
Seven golden candle sticks do palm in his hands, as your temperature shall arise!!
Humanities own suicide...
Thine estate's shall fail, skin turned pale by your own nuclear fusion, dust bowl intrusion.
Filthy rags shall be your soup bowl, while the homeless you give no home, haveth thou not heard of charity? What disparity!
Clouds you are without the rain, your the salt of the earth, yet why art thou unsalted? For don't you know your savour isn't there?
Murderer's, complainers, do you seek thine own lusts? For repentance is a must, when the fire's down below!
Howl and moan you speaker's of evil dignity, for thy pride and thou pity shall you muster up in confidence, all countenance..
You mock, though doth not receive, bury your own for you shall grieve,
Your own futuristic nightmare of course!!!!
CHRISTIANITY AND ITS GOOD OLD DAYS
Can you help me in doing this?
Let’s cast our minds back to those days,

Do you remember those days, when you were been sent to church to dedicate and commit you to God, few month after giving birth to you with the belief that you begin your life with Christ.

Do you remember those days you were been sent to Sunday school, every Sunday with the confidence that you will live a Christ like life.

Those who had this opportunity, I wish you could remember those vividly.
As the days go by, with its stories running by,
Let’s continue to cast our minds back to those days.

Do you remember those days you seem to be a white angel in church but deep within you, you are like a wolf in a sheep skin,

Do you remember those days you call the good old days but full of devilish bad ways.
Sleeping with flimsy ******, grabbing bear bottles, taking ciggy and befriending *** when outside your vicinity but within, you are seen to be part of the archangels in Heaven. Who are you deceiving?

Even in our churches today, there are no differences between dresses sent to churches and beaches, why do we want to compare shame with fame, guessing they are same and at times interchanging them  with hame.

In our “new world” today, instead of friending God, we are friending Facebook, instead of following God’s way, we are following twitter, instead of chatting with God through prayer every day, we are chatting on whatsApp all day, instead of imagining the new heaven and the new earth, we are imagining the new images on Instagram.

It’s better to be hot or cold, and not both. For a double minded person is fickle in all his ways says the book of James, so stop playing hide and seek with names.

Do you remember those days when you seem to be perfect in the midst of God’s children but behind the scene, there are characters yet  to be unfolded?

So enough, enough of the hypocrisy, enjoying delicacies of mediocrity, making people think you are crazy for God, oh that’s just a pity.

It’s better to change your way before you no say on that day.

Don’t be an outcast before you are been cast out on the Day of Judgment.
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!!
                                                       ­                       WRITTEN BY:Christabel Owusu Fremah©
                              +233-540467534
Ken Pepiton Oct 2019
uncommon ways of thinking are more subject to be
friending,
odd ionic quests are  trending---
what is the most noble quest?
like
What good am I, peace and safety wise
be me
as a wild bird might feel safe with you near,
as you quest on, leaning on the lift, rolling in the flow

life lives, ideas find shapes that fit,
moreso than a similar unit of your own mind's
left-behinds

just-in-case

we are commanded, be first
he who treads the grain eats first,
as the grain is tread,
or he stores his treasure in an imaginary vault,

safety deposit rule being if I was in the spirit,
as witnessed by the breath
filtered from gnats, and flushed of flem,
Ah hem, Aachen, is back.
Say he has a silver wedge worth risking the wrath of god,
you ever felt that urge,
to taste,
partake of the growing and harvest and decarbing and steeping
first partaker, the husband man, wombed or un, who labors,
must be, then
be the little red hen who shares the over flow,
--- what is being asked of whom, in this room?
not the filling,
let them be only thy own and not another's with thee
but the flood's free
running, whirling vein to one artery to another
we share the air.

My grandsons all can make that clear, the youngest,
three and one half swirls,
lefty lucy, righty tighty, one way or another
no no no … I'll follow the sun

twist again, like we did last summer, oh the
world swallowed me whole

as if I, not Faustus, I am bond to stand toe to toe
with old Mephisto,
by any other name, I tripped

on my feet I land on my feet Agri-industrial experimental,
oil company loss producer to allow tax credits
maybe useful toward avoiding
hundred and forty acre water
that, ****** if they didn't, we was plantin' trees
the names of those reaped
the fruits of our labor,

I see the rod, of an almond tree…

Ich kenne nicht I hid mein heir under the standing
pillars of right we learn
to live under, standing up right, relative to
who our DNA proves,
close enough for Perry Mason,
in the white of the egg, is there any taste?
it is an acquired taste,
a select strand of ancient as we, as a family,
mito-chondrial DNA,
is this not poetryscumbagthunderword getter
good, we

see the flaw, no flaw at all, a short cut for the trout, see

see the flaw in the flow is a matter of matter it self.
Self it sel, per se, same same logos I heard a meta
knower of something or another,
expert, in the literature of his field.

we seem the fruit of a life examined and found lacking nothing,
each day's evil sufficiency settled to gentle predictable waves,
marked by the red tent in the stories
of when there was so much grass and so much wool

every shepherd was feeding three wives in exchange,
for making life livable as the fate spin us
to true rest remaining for the people of {as we all agree, the idea does exist and is believed, though you may not know or know you do and know this form of reality, me and you bot reading thishit}
God god gods and sub beings with
From out of the culvert, east on 66, see I said then
that's me, I'll see what that man sees

you need not reprove the signs,
shake the dust and wander on samsara, as they say, one way

Child eyes, no fear at all, sees himself, a
strange old men
lurking where he remembers only old drunks,
smell of ****,

once watched a squaw in velvet skirt,
drop a qew outside a white outhouse

these windows persist as windows,
no doors if your ligends don’t match the receptors,

fret not, worst can happen,
but not here, time being as it is, you know, variable

In states of mind I can maintain for longer periods than i…
I take that back,
this is the real binge.
The last round. The words form constant ever after
bubble, **** I guess able to bubbles in milk
bubbles of being being my whole metaphor for life inside this one bubble we can sort of see the edge of…
synchronos compromise signals life change…

Invest in a three year old boy who is on-the-ball-*****-trained,
constant barking trained seal balancing the world,
beneath his feet, gripper stockinged ,
but a way can may be
still slide in the hall is if you put 'em on
grippers on top,
aha
life in a child
loves knowing any thing, for as long as knowing
happens along with everything else,

Like," Grandpa", from this blonde head with adult sized eyes,
seeing me look him in those eyes, signal
eyes touch, he sees his reflexion in the glare on my glasses,

I know, I saw my reflexion in my grandma's glasses,
when I was three, or so.

"Grandpa, stars come in all the colors." They do,
I said. I told my daughter, she shone.

I feel sorta Norman Rockwell, 2019.
I noticed last year, in Oct and November, through the year, voices change.
but smooth as yesteryear morphing to now
Cedric McClester Aug 2015
By: Cedric McClester,

As long as we remain
Unbending
It’s as if we’re simply
Pretending
That the world as we know it
Isn’t ending
From a desperate need
Of friending

The world as we know it
Is changing
Slowly the elements are
Rearranging
When we consider
The inherent danger
Of our repeated denials
It gets stranger

As long as we continue
To deny
What is clear
To the naked eye
Our planet
Will continue to die
And we are the main reason
Why

The world as we know it
Is changing
Slowly the elements are
Rearranging
When we consider
The inherent danger
Of our repeated denials
It gets stranger

The world as we know it
Won’t last
Cos we’re destroying it
Too fast
The ozone is thinning
From emissions of gas
And the pundit
Are showing us their ***

Nature has reached
A decision
In spite of the critics
Derision
Though we all wanna
Keep on living
The fire next time
Is a given

The world as we know it
Is changing
Slowly the elements are
Rearranging
When we consider
The inherent danger
Of our repeated denials
It gets stranger




















Cedric McClester Copyright (c) 2015.  All rights reserved.(082615cm)
Living life livida loca, love womens from all different sorts of chocha,
On the coast of, Costa Rica I gotta keep it real still fill knowledge to ****,
Any plot laid against my will, no longer popped the blue or red pill,
I just stay, true to myself image of god in the flesh lay on the mightiest,
Breast in the east to the west, yes I got the curse of Solomon's bless,
Too many wifey's, tryna knife me, but I focused on a higher synergy,
Baby girls chasing the world, I'm tryna show her how hell loves to curl,
Us into devious ambition, she cant see the suspensions of visions,
Deeply align, to the serpentine divine, watch the backs of the felines,
Conniving tactics, with a bitten apple, I take a toast of henny and the snapple,





Some people will hate you, and some will love you, but the ones who love you,
Quick to bury you, deeper than quick sand, understand the masterplan,
I lay destiny in my hand, flirt with her but never propose marriage to her,
Cuz she'll have you, friending for her, like the chilites or the jodeci fever,
I just leave it to ******'s, dams buildup the back woods, and control my woods,
Never did like the hoods, it's so misoverunderstood, planned parenthood,
Love to see us fry, look in they eyes,
You'll see its closed, from all the evil shadows, sunshine battles,
With the darkness, like who's the smartest, I just sit back n let my mind digest,
**** these simps and political correctness, poetically I'll still progress,
This ain't a script from Porgy and Bess, buddha monk to help my consciousness protest
Cedric McClester Dec 2019
By: Cedric McClester

From the message that he’s sending
Lindsey Graham is not pretending
That there will be another ending
For the guy that he’s been friending
He’s pretty much resigned
Because he’s made up his mind
That no matter what they find
He’s going with the party’s line

And you already knew
That goes for Mitch McConnell too
Soas they skip to my loo
Give ‘em both a great big boo
They represent the worst
And their conclusions are rehearsed
See they will not be reversed
Even though they all are cursed

Dollars to donuts that he’ll run
Lindsey Graham’s a chameleon
Who changes colors with the sun
But hopefully he’ll be undone
He’s a bootlicker supreme
A tyrant in the making’s dream
whoAnd righteous though he may seem
He’s not on this country’s team

He’s clearly an enigma
Who is saddled with the stigma
Of having a heart that is maligna
In fact he’s the prime paradigma
I can think of no one better
To wear the President’s varsity sweater
With a big T as his letter
Like a sycophantic debtor









Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Brian McDonagh Mar 2020
This is the thought
That many I knew couldn't solve for me
Or that kept me wondering
About when I would grow
Taller:
How I should know better
(Take from every person who has reprimanded me to now),
How there are things I should be doing
At a certain age.

You know what this means?
Fear doesn't die.
People like those family members and friends
I knew, know, maybe will know
Keep fear alive each time I should have done something,
Said something,
Thought something
At a given instant.

I've always had other fears though:
I would always like the bedroom lights turned on at night
To be able to see and notice movement;
During the years my brother and I shared a bedroom,
He liked immediate darkness at night so he could fall asleep.
When it's dark in a given space,
Not only is it hard for me to sense
If my eyes are open or closed,
But it 'twas hard and still is a question
Whether the moving particles pupils take from darkness
Are just optical matter construed in the air
Or ghosts and other dimension-flopping figures
That I can't make go away.

Other fears over the years:
I never liked being stung or bit by any insect,
But the ones I feared the most were the ones people told me not to worry about,
Like wasps or yellow jackets
Or spiders.
I can feel stung before even feeling a sting sometimes.

I was always afraid of balloons popping.
They look so innocent, but forcefully stabbing the air out of a full one
Chokes me on the inside and makes me jump
As if taking that sound as a bullet,
Felt yet unfelt.

Afraid of rooms with indentations or corners.
I may have had an illusory vision or two in my sleep
Of friends leaving me behind for whatever reason
To face a ferocious being alone,
Two fears right there.
The thing about corners for me
And not having a birds-eye view of geography
Is I don't know what's around them
Until I bring myself to approach and find out.

Fear of silent places.
Being home alone
Was an exciting thing for me
The first time my mom allowed it to happen with intent.
Little did I know the fear of a new scene
Would make me so nervous,
Whether home with one of my siblings or not.
Just like the one day after a piano lesson I had at Ruth's house
When my mom was running late picking me up
And it was raining,
So being at home for the first or second time one night years back
Had me wondering if my mom would return home at all.
Some days my mom can't get a hold of me on my cell phone
While other days I can't reach her.
How have people through the years
Remained faithfully confident that, whether some one they love
Would only be gone a few minutes...hours...days...years,
Another time being together would ever come around?
Be it the time before cars,
Before horse and buggy.

There's the fear I have had and still have
Of being lost.
Socially lost, not understanding society
Or the language of social interaction.
Not knowing how to score a date with a young woman,
Not knowing the right extent to keep her interested in me
And to let her know I care
Without taking up all her time,
But yet there's the fear within a fear
Of another guy like me preying in and leaving
With a person I chose not to chase after or fight for
As they say.

As far as being lost,
How do I know what I did and what I am doing now
Is right for my person to do?
Some days, even though my mother would put this thought to rest,
I feel like I should fill every pair of laboring shoes out there.
Few interests capture my attention
To last a career's length anyway to me.
And, even though I react as angry
When trying to find my way on streets,
Walking or driving, in a town or city that I should be familiar with
Or a new view,
I get scared thinking that others will think I'm stupid,
I will think I'm stupid
When I actually appear lost
Turning around embarrassingly.
I almost think that every car going by
Has its drivers going "Hmmmm...must be a newbie."

I have a moderate fear of heights.
I say that now,
But I could easily go back to fearing heights
As I may have years back.
Even the Mount Washington lookout from Pittsburgh
Had me holding my breath some times
Hoping that the top of the mount wouldn't start slanting
And my feet wouldn't slide toward feet down into concrete streets
And buildings.

I have a fear of friending young men.
I don't have a lot of the same interests as guys my age nowadays,
And a lot don't seem to find my humor inviting.
Every random word I have said,
Every attempt at light-hearted talk
Has left a scar on my previous self
Giving my present self the burden of explaining these scars
To those who notice them.
I also found it hard when a guy like me and around me
Would get all of the attention
Even though I wasn't much of an attention getter myself
And even now not really that much.
I was afraid, like the cartoon movie Home On the Range,
That another young guy would be that Slim,
That guy who would flip out his guitar,
Hypnotize all the "lady cows" to come to his ranch.
I find a lot of guys (I shouldn't even call them friends really)
Like to challenge me and question me
All the live-long day.
Challenge me to things I can't do
To see me fall.
Challenge me to the things I am good at
To watch me crumble in on-the-spot nervousness.

I fear church ***** instruments.
I never liked them growing up,
They were always loud especially in larger atmospheres.
I felt like hearing the ***** was like hearing the rhythm
Of music to words sung and directed at exposing my faults.
Although I think its safe for me to say
That I have sinned not in my natural way of life,
But also for other people so they wouldn't have to sin,
Like eating meat for someone too holy and devoted
But also not one to waste either.
When the God of the Israelites told Adam and Eve not to eat from One tree,
I don't believe he gave them a reason why,
He didn't say a serpent will then tempt you not to listen to Command and you will go to Hell.
Suppose just being afraid of such a Deity in the Christian world
Is plenty of reason not to rebel against limitations of food.

I fear public speaking.
I love it, but when I do it
I hate it.
It's so odd to have words
And then have people-stares just eat them and leave you with Nothing.
I cried over public speaking
Because I thought I had developed this flawless reputation
(Yes, in freshman year of high school, I thought this).
I in no way am a Mozart-child prodigy,
But some adults and people pressured me to learn fast,
Which made me feel like nothing if I didn't learn as fast as a dial-up Computer.

FDR said that fear is the scariest thing to exist.
I don't disagree,
I just fear I'll never fully know that.
I have to be honest...fear is always on my shoulders.  You can tell me "It's okay" or "**** it up" all you **** well please but my body responds according to the person I am. Period.
Amelia of Ames Dec 2020
The voice in my head
Called my phone
I picked up because the number said "Mom"

The voice in my head
Asked me what I was thinking
Un-friending a man who made me uncomfortable

The voice in my head
Wouldn't let up
When I said I didn't want to talk about it

The voice in my head
Got upset
When I hung up on it

She threw away my gift to her, and left me with hers.
She says I don't treat her like I do my father.
My father was the one who fished my gift to her out of the trash.
He tries to save us, quiet us.
Me and the voice in my head.

— The End —