"grad" poems
Ove
As love remove the glove from my eyes like dark See's the light
In the journey of disprove by true love
So as fox glove can not hold a ladylove from the light in mourning love over me
In a selflove state
I began approve my love with reprove pains in my eyes,
I switch.
Oh your love is sad ,she said "badlove is not mad ,"he replied"
So ,farfad people had no love by their dad
JUST to be grad that my hands is on a footpad or a lush
No love on ove.
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 4:48 AM UTC
Once not long ago
In the vile state of Utah,
An evil wizard
Impregnated a feral cat with
Mormon seed.
In no time at all,
A litter was born
And all of them died
But one–
Mittens the Kitten.
Mittens grew up with a sense of entitlement
Because the evil wizard filled his head
With the Mormon scriptures.
When Mittens would catch and **** a mouse,
The evil wizard would pet Mittens
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****
In the evenings,
Mittens would enjoy a bowl of warm blood.
Sometimes it would coagulate,
But Mittens loved his blood.
He lapped it up
With a a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****
The evil wizard was a Harvard Business Grad,
And since feline-humanoids were not accepted
At Harvard Business School,
The evil wizard taught Mittens
All that he knew.
Mittens soaked up the knowledge
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****
Some years went by and Mittens
Became a successful business owner.
He would lap up bowls of
Other people's business
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****
Fast forward to the present tense
(My personal favorite tense)
And Mittens is running for president.
He uses his magical smirk to cloak his lies
So that naive voters might believe that
They should vote for this cat.
He smirks and he lies
With a vigor that is borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 9:07 PM UTC
For every night we've spent sitting on loveseats
crying about mistakes and burdens promising to haunt
us for the rest of our under-grad, I could've gotten a humanities
degree two years ago.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC
Dear Me,
I love you and
I know I haven't been fair to us
For most of our life really
I tend to let others lead me
Sway my desires
And otherwise dictate my life
I think I'm afraid to admit that I'm real
That I'm alive and a person
Due to our ****** up past
But that's not an excuse anymore
There are good things in life now
Top surgery in November
Our job has picked back up again
And we're experiencing grad school
I understand that life is scary and
That nothing seems good for long
But we can move towards happiness
Choose to see the good in things
Stop complaining and
Focusing on the bad things in life
We can grow together
Find ourselves
And finally find the best way to be happy
OUR best way
We got this
I love you
-Carter
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC
I
If I were a poet
I would compose beautiful line
breaks and elegant stanzas.
Similes would be ******** scattered
with alliteration like
stars against a sunset sky.
My tone would be of reason
rather than innocence.
I would refuse to analyze
the meaning of death in literature.
II
Fortune cookies would be my mantra
and life would be a wiggle
instead of a struggle.
I would pray five times a day
to my journal
most benevolent, ever-merciful.
My poems would not be of peace
of war
or (you)nity
or them here Amur'cans.
III
My form would be indifferent
and probably never earn me awards
or acceptance to grad school.
Fondness of (parentheses)
may get me compared to e.e. cummings
or completely dismissed
if I were a poet.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 11:49 AM UTC
This is one of those serious poems
And yet it has nothing new to say
But the poet needs to keep himself busy
And writing seems to be the easiest way
The poet rises up on his soapbox
Because he works better from an elevated height
He screams about organized religion, politics
And stripping away of our basic human rights
Like a magician with a classic misdirection
The poet wraps his moralizing in purple prose
He hits you over the head with one simple point
That he’s forgotten more than you’ll ever know
Around the time of the nineteenth obscure reference
The reader is in awe of his far-reaching knowledge
Then the poet overuses polysyllabic words
Just to prove he went to a good college
And the poet keeps filling up the notebooks
Even though he should have stopped long ago
But the publisher agreed to pay by the word
So unfortunately, there’s four more stanzas to go
Quickly, the release date approaches
There’s one printing, then two, then three
And the poem becomes a hit in coffee shops
Recited by grad students in between bites of biscotti
His face now graces the cover of every magazine
In an explosion of exuberant media admiration
Dozens of talk show appearances are scheduled
For the newly crowned “voice of our generation”
The publisher decorates the dust jacket with blurbs
Complimenting the book’s “dangerously original rhymes”
But it’s nothing more than passing hyperbole
Gathered from a glowing review in The New York Times
Now thousands grasp the paperback edition
And eagerly await the feature film adaptation
Meanwhile, the poet hunches over his typewriter
And commits more sententious literary ************
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 3:18 PM UTC
What failures
oh the failures of leaving home at seventeen
of living and thriving as a minority foreigner
of working and studying to post-grad levels
of maturing wonderfully and being up and decent
of loving and marrying and creating a good home
of no crime, no debts, not a drunk, not a player
of no stained reputation, no borrowing or theft
of being easy-going, nice and friendly, an all-rounder
what failures
the failure of being successful and capable in grace
the failure of doing so well a white neighbor burgled
the failure of saying that's not right, you're rotten thieves
the failure of standing up to bullying thieving mobs
the failure of being gangstalked and destroyed
the failure of being an educated professional black
the failure of being a solid, courageous, wholesome man
the failure of knowing you can't do wrong and get by
Ladies and Gentlemen
these are my failures
Its all there in black and white
its the failure of being a minority
In the british democracy of the Socialists
for it is greed to work hard and be successful
its a failure for blacks to aspire and do well when your white
neighbor is a drunken, welfare dependent waster and thief
And Blacks beware, for if you dare tell them to go change
you will be stalked, hounded, smeared, defamed, humiliated
harassed, bullied, slandered, sabotaged, and basically driven to
suicide or a breakdown
They manufacture Failures to reflect their own failures
They call it Trading Places and dish it out to 'Uppity' Blacks
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 7:40 AM UTC
His name is Zachary James
But he's shouted at by many names
Running man or crazy jogger
Pushing all he needs in a stroller
Dodging cars like a game of Frogger
His passion for running is a benefactor
Of his compassion for humanity
Running across the country is insanity
Knows politics better than Sean Hannity
A motor city kid and an Eastern Michigan grad
Thought he'd run to correct a world gone mad
Our paths crossed on the vicious highway 322
If you're lucky, fate will send him your way too
I'm proud to host such a fine young philanthropist
But soon he'll run off into the mysterious mist
Yet he will jog on proud and steadfast
With our help reaching his goals at last
Run for the children and for the love of running
Run for life and eternity hereafter coming
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
Unknown, conceived, and unaware
His first breath, his first words
His first steps, his first girl
He screams from hunger
Teary eyed and bawling for his mother
The world seems too big for his tiny hands
But in his lifetime, the world would be in his grasp
First day in class
Alone
Learning the basics
The path walked by legends, scholars, and warriors
Shapes colors and words
A long time in no time
First kiss the prom night
Life long friends then grad night
His first love, his first wife
His first child, his first highlight
First loan for his first home
Stock market on the rise
He takes full advantage
Market crashes
And they manage
Business man with business plan
Older brother, caring friend
Loving father, devoted husband
There for his child's first breath
His first words, his first steps
The day would come when he would pass
Now the chance
His first born from his first home
Raised to be the man he was and so much more
He followed in his fathers first footsteps.
Once follower now leading
Repeat these example for words are fleeting
From next to next
as is man
-Alexis J Meighan-
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 11:35 PM UTC
tomorrow's thanksgiving,
i've been trying to avoid
thinking about this day
for weeks.
i've lodged the thought of
it out of my head,
i've buried it away
but i can no longer
avoid it.
i don't want to
stare at an empty
place at the table.
four plates,
four forks,
four spoons,
four knives,
four glasses,
instead of five.
having to fill the silence
with questions about
school and post-grad life,
to steer the topic away
from how empty and sad
we feel without you.
at some points,
seven months
feels the same
as one.
time physically passes by,
and the next thing i know,
it's been seven months
rather than three.
it feels subjective to me,
i've been waiting for time
to mend me and my
hurting heart
but the day hasn't
come.
living with the loss
of you will always
sting,
even if it's just a bit.
i will stare at
the empty place
tomorrow and wonder
why you had to be taken
from me.
i give thanks for the 21
years i had with you
but they'll never feel like
enough.
do they celebrate
thanksgiving in heaven?
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
Some people say Im mad I just blame the L-RAD
Attacked by services syndicate post grad
Breaking the code of conduct that's sad
Criminal cause nullify's the collaborative ad
All privileged storm troopers got more than I have
Is the conscience alive while watching that sat-nav?
As a key worker your care is what we have
But straying for a kickback is a dent & bad
The mental health stigma is the foot soldiers weapon
Labelling us mentally ill with the DSM con
Exclaiming we're mental while the victim is alone
Stigma comes from the compound hear us groan
Hearing me everywhere have traits of a stalker
Attacking innocents with energy weapons lawbreaker
Violating human rights piggy back hijacker
The conspiracy hypothesis is the startler
Whats the biological molecular structure
Of a mental health disorder
A caucus of people of who can shout louder
Followed by misrepresentation from a reporter
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 6:35 AM UTC
The Miss-Director was beaming with pride
as he came to escort me inside.
"Come along, these are perilous times,
there is much ugly truth we must hide."
"Herr Goebbels was our school's inspiration.
Joe McCarthy taught here till he died.
Charlie Rangel is among our directors.
Our Grads over nations preside."
"We recruit each years class from young children
who display a disdain for the truth."
"We start with a class on tall stories,
progressing to fibs and untruths."
"By the time they are teens they are ready
to leave little white lies behind."
"They engage in deceit and deception.
These skills help them rob people blind."
"With our Grad course in prevarication
They misdirect and deflect with the great."
"Obama was born in Hawaii,
his foes say he was birthed out of state."
"When Bill Clinton was caught in that perjury
I nearly went out of my mind."
"If only he'd paid more attention in Class
and less to some coed's behind."
We had come to a massive rotunda
The Pantheon of all untruth.
Holograms of Stalin and Churchill
told whoppers in an endless loop.
There were quotes from
the World's Great Religions
inscribed on the sides of the wall.
A Left wing devoted to Lenin.
A right wing like a Munich beer hall.
" The sheeple must never be told
that a place like this even exists."
" You can count on me not to inform them."
I said, without moving my lips.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 8:57 AM UTC
Thick glasses till high school,
Long hair done up in a pony tail,
With a lollipop between her lips
Tinted with a strawberry lip balm,
And lemon drops in her pockets,
She graduated and entered grad school.
Lenses replaced those nerdy glasses,
Siren red colored her lips instead--
Lipsticks were here to stay and reign.
Lollipops were childish, but cigarettes thrilled,
Smoked with élan, only to bring bored numbness
Behind those costly sunglasses hiding her eyes,
Set snugly into her neat brown chignon.
Little did they know, though beautiful,
She refused to led down her hair,
For her demons would go on a rampage
And her illness would devour her:
That which was kept at bay,
By anti-depressants in her pockets
A wistful dirge for her golden days.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
Coffee and cigarettes. Barbecues and ball games
An unordinary lifestyle. Is this the aim?
Doing 9 to 5's and friday nights with friends
Eating, being merry, drinking away weekends.
Routine is good. Routine is healthy.
This is the right thing. This is becoming wealthy.
Financial success. A roof over our head.
Three well balanced meals and an inviting bed.
A partner to care for and who cares for you.
So grow up, you dreamer. Get over your post grad blues.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
Wake up, stare out your jagged window at the yellow-green, creeping mist that pours through the suburbs. Taste darkness inside a spit shined, stream lined dank tank that your roommates call home. Shower and be appalled at just how unshapely you have gotten, your body a testament to your diet of Wendy’s and alcohol. Go to your dream crush, thankless job and stand at attention as the human flesh wave moves blankly through aisles and registers, even as they pretend that they are not the target market. Watch as they consume ferociously violent DVDs and smart devices at discount prices. Stand startlingly still and pray to God that they are like Tyrannosaurus and can’t see movement. Realize you are a ******* idiot because you get your facts from movies. Feel fear and dread make a shrapnel nest in your stomach when you understand that this might be the best that you can do. Frame count with fellow claustrophobic agoraphobics and call that pointless perfection pursuit escape. Desperately have twisted, quasi-acrobatic *** with every woman that is willing, but not so secretly wish they were that somewhat mousy, yet charming, grad student who makes your coffee every morning. Try to shrink into her pocket, invisible, only an absent touch away. Hope that someday you can intervene in her life positively so she notices you there. Go to sleep and breathe in that yellow-green vapor that reacts with your cells and becomes a clean cancer. Rinse, repeat and pray for that big break.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
Homework
Homework
Reading
Notes
Homework
Oral exam
“Get good grades, sweetheart”
Exam
Pop quiz
Paper. 10 Pages. That’s bull **** Can I double space?
“Only straight A’s will get you into grad school”
Honor roll
Study session
When’s that deadline? Today? Crap.
Procrastination
Stress
“Knowledge is power”
But how do I keep that knowledge locked in my mind when I am spread so thin?
I give up.
Let me educate you.
**** everything and just relax”
Nov 5, 2011
Nov 5, 2011 at 3:18 PM UTC
laying horizontally is an eastern
yoga relaxant for food babies.
I learned this while running in Chinatown
with stolen cash after a mob dinner.
the bodyguard knocked me out and my
stomach felt great as I layed their on the street.
aside from the headache,
and the mild Head-On addiction
I was fine and very sleepy.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
The other morning,
As opposed to this one,
(There was indeed
Another morning)
As I walked the
10 1/2 blocks to work,
I passed by a playground
Full of post grad
Parents who dress
Real nice
Real fashionable
And all of their
Children who are
Dressed the same, in
Non gender specific
Garb, because it’s
2011 not last century
And they run and
Scream and get
Their thrift store
Clothes all *****
They laugh and I
Hear crying
And reprimanding
And ‘good job!’
And I can’t help but
See the future in
These kids, with
Their well adjusted
Parents adjusting
Them well to the world
And making sure
They follow all the
Advice in the hip
Parenting and child
Psychology books they
Read, and I see
Among the smiling
Innocent faces
Yet to be
Drug addicts
Wife beaters
Alcoholics
Strippers
Drunk drivers
Liars
Cheaters
Thieves
Heartbreakers
And the occasional
College grad
Who will be well
Adjusted
And will adjust
The child they have
At 34
Very well to the
New society
So that
Child can become
A date ******
Or a car thief
Or a vagrant
Or maybe a college
Grad who
Will be well adjusted
And adjust their child well.
Our children are the future.
Go to school, kids.
Adjust.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 12:37 PM UTC
Mad at myself
Mad at myself
Why am I always
so mad at myself?
Cut clients short
time is but a construct but
this is my second or third complainant this week or last week and it’s like I’m impatient and cut their time short always middle-aged blond women maybe I’m projecting maybe I’m not so bad, maybe I’m just tired and lazy and being catty
I’m mad at myself
I’m mad at my actions
Waiting until last minute to register for classes got a way in but it’s becoming a disaster
I’m mad at my actions
I’m mad at myself
I’m no longer a child
on the fucken shelf
that needs to be helped
that needs her hand held
while doing every grown-up step
I’m mad at myself
I’m mad at myself
Mad at myself
At myself
Myself
Self
Elf
Am I an elf?
Why did I **** up?
Why did I **** it up?
Why am I stuck?
Why do I ****
I can salvage it all
I can stop my fucken fall
So ****** I feel
It almost feels unreal
Work and School
I’m stacking
and slacking
I’m procrastinating
and waiting
I’m ******* up
and ******* it up
So mad at myself
So mad at my elf
So mad to be a self on the shelf
of childhood fighting adulthood fighting endless deadlines ending early making my clients ****** and not want to come back because they feel like they don’t matter because I’m cutting their sessions short or running late or taking my sweet **** time, acting like a shorty clown and in grad school I sent all those emails out but then go awol and have so many doubts that I’m making mistakes and failing just a little bit and I don’t get it
Why am I doing this?
Why are they so ******
Why can’t I shake off my fears and fully fucken get into gear
until I work this work this out
until I forge my life with sound
until this mountain of mourning or sorrow splits like the hilt of a samurai blade splitting grain becoming fits of bulbous rage and it feels like I’ve gotten a bad grade in life not a C or a D but a big fat F
Full of strife
I can’t eat
I can’t sleep
I ****** up
I’m in heat
I’m in love
in my head
and my heart’s
full of dread
I’m upset
I’m aloof
I’m unaware
and a goof
I ****** up
I’m alright
I’ll make it all right
I’ll make it all better
I’ll stop straying off the beaten path
I’ll get wetter
and wetter
so soaked and sloshy I’ll
be okay and forgive myself
I’m no longer mad at myself
No longer mad at myself
I forgive myself
Forgive myself
Myself
Self
Elf
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 4:53 PM UTC
The Fates
1914 Heaven & Hell BLVD
Waco Texas 666
C.E.O. Master O. Cards
Incomplete Application For Living
This Is An App. For Living
Name: Last______ First______ Middle Initial__
Home Address: Mt Olive RD
State: AR. City:________ & Zip Code:________
Social Security Number:
*-(ect)-9797
Male or Female (please circle one)
Race: Yellow, Black, Red or Caucasian?
List Previous Acquaintances:
(beginning last to first,
in detail please, do rank them all
& mark which ones are worse)
Name:____________Have known for How Long?____________
Age:____________How would you rate this one?____________
Are you Enemies or Friends now?____________
What will they do?____________ What have they done?____________
Have you been convicted of a Felony?____________
Misdemeanor?____________ Or Likewise?____________
Plead Guilty?____________ Or No Contest?____________
Go against Legal Advise?____________
(If yes, then please explain:)________________________
_____________________________________________
Are you most Happy?____________ Somewhat Sad?____________
A High school Dropout?____________ College Grad?____________
Thin?________ Obese?________ Medium Build?________
Pretty?________ Ugly?________ Clumsy?________ Skilled?________
Disclaimer
If we are to judge you right, Please fill in all the spaces, The process must be quite precise, On Looks, I.Q. and Races. This information’s vital and our tally is what counts, It let’s us know which ones will live and which will need put down.
I hereby swear this is the truth, not made~up to cause hurt,
I understand the consequence should there be falsehoods in word.
Applicant: ______________________
(must be signed in blood or other D.N.A.)
Please Print Name:________________
(so we can read of whom we are to slay)
For questions please call our hotline toll-free @ 1-666-0My-Fate
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 7:19 AM UTC
While they spent a couple years in college learning calculus, I was emotionally imbalanced and so behaviorally challenged.
When I was on meds and learning music, they were learning differential equations, linear algebra, and real analysis.
When I changed majors to philosophy of religion, they were reading hundreds of math papers from journals in grad school.
When I was getting a master's in criminal justice, taking my first statistics course, they were working on their dissertation.
When I was getting an electronics degree, they were getting published and doing research at universities.
After that I started studying physics, then math.
I struggle still to finish basic Calc 2&3 problems, and find it hard to get help with linear algebra.
All I know is that my trajectory is anything but common.
And the way I cover material would not be taught in most schools and universities.
It is more like the Montessori schools: I have an innate path to psychological development, and I act freely, supposedly creating my optimal way.
Mar 12, 2021
Mar 12, 2021 at 5:10 PM UTC
Grad me footless,
World class; fruitless,
Jumping backwards,
Three steps; bootless.
Call me stupid,
Call me smart.
Call me funny,
Fire for the dead head-start.
Breaking windows,
Crashing cars;
Wasting nights,
In dead-end bars.
Losing grip,
Of jaded souls;
Ditching all our,
Larger goals.
Flying solo,
Through the void;
Running low,
On blood-steroid.
Washing freshmen,
Clean of youth;
It hurts, I know,
Like sugared- tooth.
Growing up,
Is tough, it seems;
But through the thick,
A bright light gleams.
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 9:55 PM UTC
Inhale, exhale
A quick intake and shuddering sigh
The last thing he wants to do is this thing here and now.
It's pointless he says sourly
He has potential but he hides it behind the ****** job he got
As a freshman in high school.
It's a horrible habit he'll never kick.
Potential-hiding that is.
He's not legal, but I buy him the alcohol he wants anyway.
Because I went to grad school, and still I see myself
Wishing I was this loser dropout
Still splurging paycheques on condoms and red solo cups.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 4:58 PM UTC
Maybe
i brought one ticket to my grad, knowing he won’t be there knowing imma be sitting in a seat looking at the door just hoping that maybe he will walk through and maybe this was a dream maybe we didn’t break up maybe he still cares, maybe my family will stop asking how he’s doing because he’s with you. Just maybe I could be happy again. Maybe the nights won’t continue to seem long maybe my days are filled with smiles maybe I will always have him on my mind. Maybe that one day I’ll be able to forgive myself for letting you go. Maybe I won’t be the one crying myself to sleep, crying and begging my friends on why he left, just maybe I’ll find peace in all this chaos and maybe I’ll be me again.
Just maybe.
Aug 19, 2023
Aug 19, 2023 at 10:07 PM UTC
Ustajali grad
Smrdi na puna usta i
prazne želuce.
U pete grada urezane su
propuštene prilike i
strahovi sadašnjice.
Uklesali su ih drhtavi prolaznici
svojim nesigurnim stopama.
Kamo ideš, putniče?
Koračaju li tvoje misli sadašnjošću
ili prošlošću?
Ne srami se.
Svi smo mi manje-više isti.
Udarac palicom osjetit će i najtvrđa glava.
Ljudi zaborave trenutke
u kojima si mirisao.
Ne srami se.
Baš te pamtit će
ustajali grad.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC