"glorify" poems
Grace.
Let it fall like an ocean
Let it rip through the skies
Let it fill up my heart and pour out my eyes
Let it gravitate my soul
Let it make me feel whole
Let it remind me of why I live
Let it remind me of all that you give!
Grace
Let my heart be made still and let mine eyes be opened!
Let me remember that my ears
were made to listen
And my lips exist for a lot more than just kissin'
Let me remember that these hands simply cannot do it all
Cuz see I wasn't made for that
I wasn't made for that at all
Grace
I was made to live and when I say live I think I mean give
But then I quickly realize I can only give so much!
And there's only so many lives I can touch!
Well how can I love if I can't constantly give
And how can I live if I can't constantly love but
Where's the hope in the God above if I'm the one doin' all the work?
And that's when I remember I accomplish the most when I just let go
And let You grab hold
Grace
Well what were these hands made for if not feeding the poor?
And what are these heart-wrenching feelings of constantly wanting more?
Why do my bones ache and my soul quake at the thought
Of living for myself?
Why do I worry so much about putting the marginalized on the shelf?
Why do I worry
about a life that loves hell?
Well maybe all this
is an unidentified desire to glorify God personified in Jesus Christ crucified
Grace
And maybe my soul's been singin' songs to my saviour since the day I was born
And maybe my saviour's been singin' sweet lullabies to quench the fear in my eyes
Maybe not all is lost
Maybe hope and salvation really come without cost
WELL TRY AND TELL THAT TO THE MAN LIVIN' ON THE STREET WITH NOTHIN' TO EAT
an'
TELL THAT TO THE CHILD WHOSE FATHER GIVES HIM A DAILY BEATING
TELL THE MURDERER'S AND RAPISTS THAT THEY CAN GO FREE
TELL THEIR VICTIMS...
Tell them what?
Grace
Maybe it's time I remembered I don't have all the answers
Maybe it's time I remembered I am a speck of dust in a rolling beach of existence
Maybe it's time I look at what's right in front of me
And not strain my neck as far as the eye can see
Maybe it's time to focus on living and not just surviving
Maybe thriving looks more like trusting than trying
Maybe all the answers to my questions aren't really answers at all
Maybe it's alright that my walk sometimes feels like a crawl
Maybe 100% of the wrongs I do are all my fault
Grace
Maybe God's lookin' at me like a child set free
Maybe God's not lookin' at who I used to be
Maybe God's lookin' right past all the bitterness and apathy
Maybe God really does look at the heart
And maybe He's been holding mine from the very start
Maybe this is all going according to plan and if it's not well then maybe God's still using it to help me become a better man
Maybe it's time I stopped trying to figure all this out!
Grace
Let it be felt
Tangibly
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 8:56 PM UTC
Take me to the art museum and kiss me by the paintings, Take me to the deeper parts of the oceans, so deep that any coral reef will be jealous that we will survive, Take me to that little ice cream shop my parents use to go on dates to when they were hopelessly in love and I'll let you order your favorite ice cream, Take me to the Chinese restaurant where my schizophrenic grandmother use to take me on late night outings and I'll kiss you in every booth, take me to New Jersey, to that beach where your parents stood in the same room and introduced you to home, take me to your bed, talk to me about those parts of your body not everyone gets to meet, take me to an abandoned hospital and let me take your blood on a canvas and make it resemble the Mona Lisa, so that people years from now glorify us, take me to the hill where I first tried ******* and let's make our hearts beat in sync with the breath of the flowers surrounding us, take me to that bench in the school gym where we met and kiss me, kiss me like you've never kissed anyone before, kiss me as if it'll be the last lips you ever touch, kiss me as if your life depended on it, take me to the edge of the universe and I'll show you the end of my love.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
I tried, x
**
something I get a lot is, “you’re too young to be a feminist.”
too young to be a feminist for you’ve yet to witness a rhyme or reason to believe we lived in a patriarch-fueled
society where the erectile dysfunctions of men are paid for by health care but, God forbid a
woman seeks birth control to help herself
God forbid a woman does anything to help herself
a society where women are taught to be happy with what they can get
yet to be ashamed when they get it
a society where I grew up being taught not to trust a man for he’d hurt me but
taught to have the house clean and his dinner on the table when he got home
a society where a woman in a tank top and a pair of daisy dukes is a ***** who is asking for it”
when the same woman is what’s used to market the male population who are taught that this is the woman they deserve
a society where a woman is unworthy and ***** if she isn’t a ******
but a man is a man so long as he is “getting the hoes”
a society where women are taught to protect their innocence and their virtue
and the society where they are ostracized and ridiculed for not being ready
a society where consent is hopped, skipped, and jumped around and the so called “fact” issued by
Scott Johnson that says men can’t control their issues
a society where a woman’s womb is not her own whether she wants this baby or not
I was taught *** was shameful and wrong unless you were married
but please, give him a baby and keep him satisfied
we glorify teen pregnancies and ignore the accomplishments of women
if I’m too young to be a feminist,
then it’s quite **** sad I can point out what’s wrong in the world.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
By now,the seed varieties of the world,
may have been attacked beyond recovery
by wars of pretense and relapses.
We are still learning
how to handle it properly.
We tend to say.
Some will talk and plan over dinner parties,
over TV or Radio. Most will leave
it behind like another corpse
of lessons thrown to the gutter,
like a dead *** on another Sunset Boulevard.
Iraq's seed banks
we blew up in the 2000s.
In various places in Asia
and the Middle East, places of life and cultured
varieties gone in an instant.
Echoing our imprisoned
ignorance and drives for more instant goods and services.
Indian farmers have committed mass suicides after
their god Hanuman was used by a chemical giant
to sell poison seeds and renewed
bondages of indebtedness.
One question a stranger asked a group of writers on tour
was not what their poetry or books were about,
nor why they wrote it, but how writing may and
may not be helping as we make decisions and solve problems now?
Once agricultural lands turn into new promises
of commercial buildings. Cities of inaccessible towers and
abandoned malls in America, Spain, China, and Russia
feeds us back our own echo.
Like converted uses of lands, our humanity
is converted into inanimate collections and status
symbols of some players or parties. As we face
our continuing struggle between
our oppressor-selves and our genuine roots.
Despite the perversions,
inside vicious habits of waste
where we glorify promises of war and efficiencies,
we continue to be entrusted with the ongoing lessons:
Rarely do surviving generations through famine, war and diseases,
throw away means to live, or destroy any kind of seed.
Every day we wake to the ruins and remains of
Our living poetry, word spaces, hours, exchanges,
gains and losses, stopping and going. This time,
not just for fires of anguish or unnecessary losses,
but for each other's midnight lamps.#
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 12:42 AM UTC
#
You are your own instrument in the
world orchestra
Join the chorus
Play a solo
Or
Simply stop
Rest
And listen to the beauty
happening all around you
The choice is yours
Be your own voice
Or follow another
But only follow another if
it resonates in your core
as your true calling
Above all else
follow your heart
Let your inner beauty shine
so that the world can
share in the special unique
characteristics and traits that glorify
your idiosyncratic nature
wholly encompassing
all that you are
Making you special
Making you YOU
Because the best version of you
is the authentic you
And it not only
brings inner peace
but is also
the greatest gift
you can give
the world
#
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
Tolerance is a form of intolerance:
public acceptance, private disdain,
the pretense that humanity is one's to allow.
Acceptable operating parameters
are not to be defined by support,
and certainly not by a token indifference.
To tolerate is to glorify one's limits.
Feigning acceptance of the beyond,
true character remains just out of reach.
Better to hate openly and honestly
than veil it in the robes of community;
...better yet, see tolerance for what it isn't.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
He is a link between this and the coming world.
He is
A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink.
He is a tree watered by the River of Beauty, bearing
Fruit which the hungry heart craves;
He is a nightingale, soothing the depressed
Spirit with his beautiful melodies;
He is a white cloud appearing over the horizon,
Ascending and growing until it fills the face of the sky.
Then it falls on the flows in the field of Life,
Opening their petals to admit the light.
He is an angel, send by the goddess to
Preach the Deity's gospel;
He is a brilliant lamp, unconquered by darkness
And inextinguishable by the wind. It is filled with
Oil by Istar of Love, and lighted by Apollon of Music.
He is a solitary figure, robed in simplicity and
Kindness; He sits upon the lap of Nature to draw his
Inspiration, and stays up in the silence of the night,
Awaiting the descending of the spirit.
He is a sower who sows the seeds of his heart in the
Prairies of affection, and humanity reaps the
Harvest for her nourishment.
This is the poet -- whom the people ignore in this life,
And who is recognized only when he bids the earthly
World farewell and returns to his arbor in heaven.
This is the poet -- who asks naught of
Humanity but a smile.
This is the poet -- whose spirit ascends and
Fills the firmament with beautiful sayings;
Yet the people deny themselves his radiance.
Until when shall the people remain asleep?
Until when shall they continue to glorify those
Who attain greatness by moments of advantage?
How long shall they ignore those who enable
Them to see the beauty of their spirit,
Symbol of peace and love?
Until when shall human beings honor the dead
And forget the living, who spend their lives
Encircled in misery, and who consume themselves
Like burning candles to illuminate the way
For the ignorant and lead them into the path of light?
Poet, you are the life of this life, and you have
Triumphed over the ages of despite their severity.
Poet, you will one day rule the hearts, and
Therefore, your kingdom has no ending.
Poet, examine your crown of thorns; you will
Find concealed in it a budding wreath of laurel.
8.9k
By: Cedric McClester
Any ***** can shoot a *****
What’s it take to pull a trigger
How much pressure do ya figure
Is required to dead a *****
Problem is you’re killin you
When you pull the trigger to
Shoot someone who looks like you
But ain’t that what you ****** do
A ***** lookin for respect
Could pull out a Nine or Tec
At a time you least expect
And you might have to hit the deck
Cuz when the bullets start to fly
Those who don’t just might die
And you don’t wanna go - okay
Like ****** do around the way – cuz
Any ***** can shoot a *****
What’s it take to pull a trigger
How much pressure do ya figure
Is required to dead a *****
Problem is you’re killin you
When you pull the trigger to
Shoot someone who looks like you
But ain’t that what you ****** do
Keep one eye open when you sleep
Cuz in the hood life is cheap
So watch the company you keep
Your main man might be a creep
Don’t let ‘em get the drop on you
The way some ****** like to do
They’ll roll up on you with a crew
And run a clip off into you
Any ***** can shoot a *****
What’s it take to pull a trigger
How much pressure do ya figure
Is required to dead a *****
Problem is you’re killin you
When you pull the trigger to
Shoot someone who looks like you
But ain’t that what you ****** do
****** don’t respect themselves
Never mind someone else
That’s why they keep their gats and shells
And you know what that often spells
Cuz ****** are up to no good
There’s gun smoke in the neighborhood
And it’s high time they realize
That it’s themselve who they despise – cuz
Any ***** can shoot a *****
What’s it take to pull a trigger
How much pressure do ya figure
Is required to dead a *****
Problem is you’re killin you
When you pull the trigger to
Shoot someone who looks like you
But ain’t that what you ****** do
Did you ever stop to think
****** could become extinct
In the time it takes to blink
Like some kind of missin link
Unless we suddenly stop killin
The prophesy will keep fulfillin
Even though the thought is chillin
Long as the blood just keep on spillin – cuz
Any ***** can shoot a *****
What’s it take to pull a trigger
How much pressure do ya figure
Is required to dead a *****
Problem is you’re killin you
When you pull the trigger to
Shoot someone who looks like you
But ain’t that what you ****** do
Although it’s often said in play
And despite what some folks say
The use of ***** ain’t okay
Though you might hear it everyday
My usage of it in this joint
Is for effect to prove a point
It’s not to glorify the term
But will you ****** ever learn – that
Any ***** can shoot a *****
What’s it take to pull a trigger
How much pressure do ya figure
Is required to dead a *****
Problem is you’re killin you
When you pull the trigger to
Shoot someone who looks like you
But ain’t that what you ****** do
Although it’s often said in play
And despite what some folks say
The use of ***** ain’t okay
Though you might hear it everyday
My usage of it in this joint
Is for effect to prove a point
It’s not to glorify the term
But will you ****** ever learn
(c) Copyright 2015. Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 11:17 PM UTC
In that land somewhere of our dreams
all is to be found right therein it seems
where there isn’t a struggle for survival
as the brotherhood of man is in revival.
We help each other and have no real fear
our hope is occassioned with good cheer.
Whatever we think, do or therefore say
is imbued with love and lights the way.
We have all arrived at that promised land
and must work together as a united band;
giving and sharing of the good we all can
while upholding this brotherhood of man.
Non-violence is one of the rules we live by
the essence of love we maintain and glorify.
We all live as one in both our heart and mind
and express those feelings of a universal kind.
There are no problems that we can’t resolve
as all our life around love does here revolve.
In living by the truth we are becoming free
and in this condition enjoy the grace to see
All that exists in the world can be seen anew
which is an affirmation of scripture and true.
Our life now is filled with bliss as it once began
in this state of knowing the brotherhood of man.
We do not therefore seek to get the better of each other
but accomplish all that we need to helping one another.
Being free from any unnatural cares our lives are whole
and all that ever happens a joyful experience of the soul.
Awake to intuition we have to realise our ultimate potential
and so everything bears the stamp of some divine credential.
In being as we are then our years extend for a long span
as we all live in accordance with the brotherhood of man.
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 7:08 PM UTC
What can we give you that isn't already yours? What can we offer that you don't already possess? You don't ask for slaughtered goats or lambs. You don't need them to survive; they are yours anyway. You don't need us to call attention to outward sacrifice, you would rather our sacrifice be quiet and internal. Sacrifice a little of our time and spend it with you. Sacrifice our desires, our bad habits and make good habits. Sacrifice our selfishness and be a little more selfless. But the most pleasing of all sacrifices to you, you say: is a sacrifice of praise. To give thanks and praise and to glorify your Holy Name. You assure us that if we do this, then when we are in need and call upon your name, you will be there for us.
Lord, so often, as humans we focus on what is on the outside but what matters most to you is what is on the inside. We are often so busy and preoccupied with by the world around us that we forget to stop or slow down and we miss what is most important in our lives. Lord help us sacrifice a little of our time to deepen and strengthen our friendship. Help us Lord to step back and open our eyes to what matters most in our lives: friends, family, and faith and to take time to be grateful for them and really cherish what precious short time we have together.
Open our hearts Lord and fill them with the love you had and gave for the whole world so that we might be less selfish and more selfless. In being more selfless there is less of my self and there is more of you. We were all created in God's image and likeness. God is selfless love. The more we are selfless the closer we are to God and the more clearly we reflect the image and likeness of Christ to the world and those in it. We were created to be selfless, but like Jesus we must take the time to be alone, give thanks and praise for all the blessings we have and to eat, drink and rest that we might have Strength for the Journey.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
They call it a 'Class War"
They call it a "War of Liberation"
whilst its just another instance of white oppression
Childish, immature, mean and nasty underachievers
like the kid on the beach who kicks over others sandcastle
because they are better than the ******* castle he made
Like that that uncool dumb teen who scatters the board game
because he's now seen that he is losing and cannot win at all
like those ugly pimpled friends who would play gooseberry
and cock-blockers because they can't get nice dates of their own
like that bitter mad one who will spill ink over your white top
or new Trainers because he or she has old and ***** ones
They are all from the world of the sicko psychos and damaged
talent-less mean, envious, sad pathetic people going nowhere
If I can't make it, why should others do and be winners
They all graduate to the divisive politics of the ****** losers
Power is stopping progress and advancement because they are down
Power is bringing achievers and enterprise down they can's gain
Power is sabotaging all that is good because they are bad in all
Measly fetid minds they plot and conspire in gangrenous network
dolts, scums, unwashed losers and rejects of society, bottom feeders
Come join the Party, our specialty is chaos and disruption of winners
The pathetic jokes of the white West, losers in their own backyards
picks on an African who came from disadvantages to better them
better educated, more intelligent, cool and stylish in every way
pack full of potential, going places they can never go or reach
Our sick, mean spirited under-achievers, expert losers and scums
crawled on the war-path, riddled with envy, sick with jealousy
ruin his progress, oppose and disrupt a black man who doubles
efforts to achieve, what if losers try is given to them on a plate
What here is done for the greater good, what here is honorable
celebrated victories for psychos, racist underachievers I think not
peoples power? more sick, tormented, jealous n envious chicanery
anarchy jealousy, anarchy shame, anarchy racists, anarchy liars
One Single Black achiever demonstrates the inherent strength
and grace of our all our Ancestors against sick, persistent white oppression. That's the story here.
If its a fair war, why hide and go underground, why fight *****
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 7:40 AM UTC
I pray that you will daily see
The God who fashioned you and me
Who formed the stars and gave us breath
Who’s sovereign over life and death
He is supreme and He is Love
Fulfills His purpose from Above
A Grand Design! A Perfect Plan!
Holding all things in His hand
His care is deep; His pleasures, sweet
Into which I pray you’ll sink
Deep and deep…and deeper still
Adore Him always; seek His will
He calls you “child” – loves you much
And so much so He loved you such:
When you were yet a rebel to
The heart of God, Christ died for you
A chosen soul, a chosen Bride
“Born that man no more may die!”
He gave His life for all His Sheep
He sowed it all that we might reap
Might reap new life and strength to run
To glorify God’s Only Son
To speak of Truth and sing with joy:
“In death, death has been destroyed!”
So, see the riches of His grace
By which you have beheld His face
He opened your blind eyes to see
Now daily look, and with Him, be
He’ll hold you safe until the end
No one can ****** you from His hand
He runs to meet you – draws you near
And daily whispers, “Do not fear”
.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 10:40 AM UTC
Flooded and doomed alone I stand
Helplessly watching my people fall out of my hand
I wish I could quaff down this copious water
And save them all from this clutter
It takes me back to the bloodshed
When innocent Kashmiris time and again bled
For a war that thrived for my land and soil
Helplessly watching it made my heart coil
I wish to break into a million pieces
When I watch these sorrowful bruised faces
But I am the king of the north
I need to stand tall and face the wrath.
But oh Allah, tell me why do my people suffer?
Can you give me the power to buffer?
I, Jammu & Kashmir plead you to glorify us all
We cannot take another fall
I dream of a day full of joy
Where guns are never replicated even as a toy
I dream of freedom from all bad omen
Please bless each animal, child, man and women.
The people of Pakistan and India are welcome on my land
Only with friendly non-armed hands.
You have no rights to claim me
I am the creator’s property, you shouldn't break me.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
title: not god, but his clock, will gnaw at us: that we are mortal, and agitated by a libido to continue, as to why the immortals find us so cosmic, for the worth of not exacting a better joke prescribed to other genus archetypes... whether the atheists believe in a blind-watchmaker is beside the point... the actual conjuring of the ultimate engineered thing will undo us... only the gods could have engineered time... space? they can't fathom space, the gods could only engineer time, but they couldn't engineer space: the cliche, think outside the box? even the gods know nought concerning this; and if there is only one god... he has been lodged into a letter: θ - a 1 inside a 0; the being already confined... even gods have limits beyond the stressor of supposed immortality... they can't engineer space... all they can engineer, is a transcendence of time... only mortals, men, can engineer the concept of space... hence nations, hence borders, hence differences, hence the concept of magnetism and repulsion... if gods engineered time, then men engineered space... as now, and forever, will remain so, the quest for a cosmic joke / clue.
it won't be the blind-watchmaker
who eats us up,
the the clock itself -
it will devour us,
it will gnaw our flesh toward
the bone,
and then with out bones
play an instrument
to glorify its procession down
the aisles of our endeavours
to express civility...
was there any to begin with?
our temporal anxiety, being mortals,
equates itself
with the spatial anxiety of the immortals
(gods).
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 9:30 PM UTC
Tonight I learned what it means to be mortal. To have a fifteen year dream crushed publicly. To smile and be the man that lies, “it’s ok, God has better plans and I trust that.” Tonight my wings were clipped and I was sentenced to a life of soil and toil, forever forced to watch the eagles in orange soar in the clouds and sky that I know I was created to own. I love this place because it is more of a home than I have ever known. It is pure and navy and orange and majestic. I wanted to serve it and glorify my king and this institution. Alas, no. Not I but the vultures. How is it that carrion dominate? How is it that prestige trumps passion? How is it that title and gold trump heart and integrity? I lost respect for my home. I feel as if a stranger in my own walls. I gave more than sweat and blood and tears yet they were swept under the carpet to rot. Fester and rot. I hope my passion and time as leader was well spent, it was and always was for you, tiger, not me! Always! I sharpened your claws and defended your teeth until they ****** me. Why. This is not how it is supposed to be. I pray this love and three year passion was not for non. Not for me, not for nametags or orange jackets, not for titles or for comfort but for passion and unbridled love of the institution which ****** me have I served. I have yet to work through what I’ve learned through this but tonight I know a chapter has ended and it hurts. It’s not that the chapter ended and a period was placed and the next began, it’s the end of the climactical chapter and the next pages are blank. Existent, yes. But blank. And the white on the page pales in comparison to orange and blue. I hate white and it’s idle uncertainty. I hold the pen but tonight my hand was severed, my limbs they rot, and my heart is numb. I am jello and I am free. And I hate, with every inth of my fibrous being, this freedom. I miss my chains.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 12:28 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
let me begin my salutation to you
by expressing my angst about your ghastly night experience
that you go through when in the hands of the policemen
who often walk around in the name of security patrols
while in truth they bettle terror in the show of evil mighty
they swop you down and arrest you spreadeagled
asking for bribes substantially the money of your proceeds
from the ware of your trade your body the temple of christian God,
Wherever your lack money
your beauty saves you as they go on to **** you in circles among themselves
as they glorify the power of your bossom in their policeman's slang,
where beauty , tyranny of bossom and your bribe is absent
you are forlornly arrested from the streets of Nairobi and Lagos or Johannesburg
then rounded down to a dingy police cell to be charged
with heinous crimes of prostitution and vagrancy,
when the true origin of your fortune's tomfoolery
is powers that be as they glorify anti woman crude cultures
beseeching a girl child into despair and depravement,
they are these men who refused to see you as a beacon of glory
they always link you to the filthy bedrooms from which you ennoble not.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
∅⚢☢⚧☯✰⚩✿⚥∅☢⚧☯✰⚢✿⚥☠⚩☯⚧✰
Too little and of course, too late
they spend what’s left imprudently
attempting to alleviate
the love of God’s own liberty:
The world transexual one-party state.
They think it’s normal — right for all
lost in a prideful dying fall
their lions heed the sea-horse call
attempting to transgender fate;
the devil searches for a mate
his nightly Babylonian date:
the world transexual one-party state.
They’ll legislate the Lord away
(his fundie followers as well)
their hateful heaven, holy hell
shall wither up and disappear
before redemption can draw near.
Their myths no more shall obfuscate
nor dangle such celestial bait
that underwriters overrate:
the world transexual one-party state.
Their antichrist is overpriced,
the nations, globally enticed,
now glorify the deviance
in herd-like mass obedience
surrendering to expedience:
where good is bad, and bad is great
and Christ the only one to hate,
allegiances exacerbate
the world *********** one-party state.
Parties will form and parties end
but parties can no more defend
consolidation into one
than flip a switch and dark the sun;
the Caesars left this part undone
the Muslims are just having fun
with our *********** one-party state.
Bring on the night until we see
that dark means dimming by degree
two parties? Overdone by one !
So let it bleed and let it be
till One is All and all agree
that we are doomed to hesitate
when God cannot resuscitate
the late One-World *********** State.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
i am a summer wild child,
i was born with sunflowers in my hair,
sand tickling my pores.
i am a fairy with periwinkle lids,
gold dust when i need to..
jolt.
i am a mermaid with scales to
mesmerize, hypnotize, glorify.
(but i fell in love with a two-legged fellow)
i am the pixie your mother told you to stay away from,
but you frolic through the meadows,
hoping to catch a glimpse.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
let's make a deal.
uncap the bottle,
discover my greatest work-
a soliloquy on sentience,
performed to an empty room.
the walls
are bleeding lead poisoning again
and i
am leaving logic behind.
the air is crisp on my wretched skin
and as the world dies
its aching breath helps me
to finally feel alive.
i am pure white.
let me rise, enlightened.
as i float, breathless,
i can feel, finally,
the weight of my bones.
make me into a sparrow,
feast upon my marrow,
so i can become porous-
but leave my hollow mind whole.
idolize me.
spin my disease into pure beauty.
a stone-cold rose
grounds the coffin for my dreams,
liberating me from responsibility.
awaken me.
strip my heavy corpse of its wings,
eviscerate the breath from my lungs
cease my tangibility
oh glory,
build me up
strip me down
to my knuckles and teeth,
to the weathered bone.
remove the bloodstains from my home.
if i bleed now
it will be beautiful
when i fall, i
will glorify the cement, decorate it
with my shining insides
when i come down
it will be stunning
it will be dreadful
and i will be resplendent
-but the delivery
won't change the content
candy wrapping
can't cover up the stench of death-
i have given up
on purging the necrosis from my tissue
i have found
this tantalizing muse once again, and
once more i
will let her put cigarettes out
on my sorry skin.
i've grown to love the smell,
that acrid poison
it almost covers up the scars
she leaves-
if i can make dying sound beautiful
then to hell
with us all
if you could romanticise suicide
you'd be rotting
too
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC
things get boring.
even vaginas get boring.
a thousand vaginas
might not get boring,
neither would a million.
i’d like a million vaginas.
i would eat and drink from them,
use them as bait,
sell, smoke and ponder them,
write sonnets for them
and live in them,
glorify,
sail and sauté them.
then they wouldn’t be
vaginas at all.
they would be more like a habitat,
or an ecosystem.
now that might be something
of interest.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 8:29 AM UTC
You're sixty years too late
to feel that rumble glorify
your feet & drum a rhythm
into your sole.
Even the printing press is a ghost
& Waterloo Station
-abandoned clockwork-
awaits its next passenger.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
Our fellow ******** people, or should I say mentally handicapped, have two eyes, a nose, and a beating heart far more large and caring then any1 else's. Everyday people abuse the word ****** We use it to describe something slow or stupid. The problem with this is that everytime you use that word, you're insulting a group of people that cannot defend themselves.
The mentally handicapped aren't locked in dark basements to rot and die anymore; they're out in the world living as every1 else. And becuz of this we've "accepted" them right? We're a big happy and accepting world to every single human being becuz we're all equal! WRONG. We glorify freedom and how wonderful it is, but with freedom comes hate. With freedom comes words that r always going to be there forever, just to remind the human race that some1 with an extra chromosome is different.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
"Who's willing to be the traitor?"
Nobody volunteered but me
I love Jesus and the humanity
If I don't do it, the cross wouldn't happen
"Who wants the suicide role?"
Again, nobody volunteered but me
I have to set a bad example for everyone to see
I have to eternally burn in hell for everyone to glorify heaven
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
A hollow ‘hello’ from Hell! Yes, from Hell.
Where do names come from? This Hell is
a sleepy fishing village and the best
spot that we’ve found on Hollow Head,
a Sleepy Hollows, so to speak.
We are in the ‘Bridegroom’, a little Bed
and Breakfast, run by a Rip Van Winkle
wise enough to know it was Empedocles
who jumped into Mount Etna. Empedocles!
Is my face red! Yet it will glorify
my pronoun to perfection—‘he jumps’. Yes,
both poetry and philosophy ought
to have the same antecedent. They forge
a world that’s capable of consciousness.
The self, per se, remains vestigial—
the voice of the volcano, not its source.
Your pronoun is the antecedent, not
your noun. Problematic resolved. Perhaps
I will go for a walk in Hell, perhaps
I will take the air, take the breezes.
A wonderful day in Hell! Ha-ha!
Apr 18, 2010
Apr 18, 2010 at 4:49 PM UTC