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mannley collins Jul 2014
Is such a big and impossible to miss step for a scribbler
of poetry free poems to trip over.
A step that cannot be ignored, except consciously and conscientiously.
Such a person as a scribbler of poetry less poems would be a person who cannot tell the difference between truth and truthfulness.
A person whose sole raison d,etre in pretending to be a poet is their lifelong angst in being unable to escape from being under the control of  their mind and its operating system --the Conditioned Identity.
The Conditioned Identity,which is the facetious and morally dishonest "I am a poet" mask that is the consciously adopted Conditioned Identity--the operating system for the Mind.
In the great scheme of things becoming just another member of the human GroupMind--one who doesn't count--not even on the fingers of one hand-.
One,who,in the grand scheme of things,never has counted and never will count-call them countless.
Shadows that flicker and dim on the walls of the Prison of political, racial,national,familial and religious conformity
And these worthless scribblers of poetry less poems do have an all consuming conditioned habit  of consciously ignoring truthfulness and integrity and substituting pathetic sub-teen lower middle class emo whinging "truth"--about their "art" and "insight"and "vision"and their "truth"--always their worthless "truth".
Sitting and mourning the fulfilling love that always evades them and always will evade them--unless they let go of the conditioned identity and the Mind--consigning them to the dustbin of history--where they rightfully belong.
Angst ridden whingers all--in love with their image in the mirror of Minds oh so believable deception.
Scribbling about a conditional possessive love that would have been a valueless truth but never can be the essence of truthfulness.
A conditional possessive love that never was and never will be unconditional and non-possessive.
Whinging about nothing more than conditional love and a truthfulness that never can be for them--- as we see openly here and there and everywhere there are scribblers of poetry less "poetry" who use sites such as this to scribble their pretentious infantile nonsense.
Poverty of values and integrity,orphaned from the Isness of the Universe, children of worthless technological consumerism and followers of false oligarchic hopes.
With their greedy gobs open for any crumbs falling from the rich peoples tables,like baby chicks in the nest--feed me feed me they screech.
Colluding with like minded betrayers of truthfulness,groupminds of
limp wristed bombastic poseurs.
Deluding themselves by babbling media made inane celebrities
empty insights and twisted conclusions--purveyors of puerile pettiness.
Oligarchic media celebrities noted only for the illusions between their ears,and the beguiling way they collude with each other to delude themselves.
Ludare!
Oh how they love to play mind games
Lives spent colluding with these babbling worthless celebrities who know the price of everything and the value of nothing,
Pompous posturing pretentious pissants of aesthetic poverty.
Bound together into a worldwide consumers Groupmind,
persuaded by perverts of PR into believing in the Illusion of Wealth and Demockery that the Oligarchy sells.
To step over the truthfulness threshold is,indeed, to  leave behind their
security blankets of "truth and beauty and revealed knowledge"
and the concomitment meaningless verbiage about "veracity" and "existence".
Shallow and unrequited attempts to own another that the weak and unwanted call "love".
Stomping through the quagmire of conditional love
up to their necks in the **** of consumer garbage.
The Conditional love of possessing another and grasping at thin air
as they submerge slowly in the seas of righteous stupidity .
poets cling to their misconceptions religiously,
poets cling to their ignorance avidly,
poets cling to their proto-fascist politics squeamishly,
with each word and stanza that they write.
Pouring out such pleasant and elegant and flowery and "deep"
words and verses(rhyming or not) that,at their core,
have only one meaning and aim.
Which is!.
To divert and confuse their readers with the"shallow beauty"
of endless strings of meaningless associated but fine sounding words .
To create a groupmind for their poetry business products.
Admire me--buy my product--join my groupmind--eulogise me,
let me rip off your energy--I need your praise,I need your lifes energy
gimme your money honey!.
The Publishing Oligarchy will bestow rewards and honours,
medals and diplomas--critiques fit only to wipe your **** on.
Book sales and the summer Poetry festival circuit--reciting and signing scribbles of narcissism--casting lecherous eyes over dripping **** or stiff wobbling **** in the adoring crowd of sycophants.
The  Media will fawn and adulate and cast its sly net
to entangle your desires in ---infamy awaits.
Come admire me and my use of other poets stolen words,
my criminality in even daring to think the word "poet" has any value.
These are my words about my inexperience and unknowingness they scream possessively in jaundiced teeny remembrance.
Remembrance of mediocre middle class homes and attitudes
of ingrained ignorance and wilful imagined self victimisation.
Eating societies poisoned dishes--.
Serve me up a burger of roasted babies on toast
from Vietnam--live on Channel Whatever.
Or chargrilled peasants from Afghanistan
with breathless commentary from
our "reporter on the spot".
Or homeless mental wrecks from the streets
of any Amerikan or World city big or small,
trailing acerbic criticism from the immoral majority.
Or dead celebrity  consumer junkies in 5 star hotels
complete with PR handouts and **** licking "friends"
positioning themselves for increased sales.
Or the children of the Oligarchs with their "I" newspapers
and inbuilt fascist attitudes.
Who spend their shallow lives hoping for the kind
of meaningless and worthless Honours and Validation
from those that do not have honour or validity..
Or the not just lame but crippled duck presidents with their finely crafted speeches that say nothing but I am a beard wearing  failure,
looking forward to penning lies and calling it a frank memoir
while holding out my hands  for the Oligarchies pennies.
Can anyone tell me where to get a bucket of truthfulness?.
A glass of honesty?.
A tumbler full of veracity?.
A beaker of back breaking honest labour?.
Can anyone tell me where I can find
a peaceful man or woman,of any of the 5 colours.
Not those merely observing a Cease-Fire
while they rearm their weapons of the lies of beauty and truth.
Oligarchy allowed social commentary.
Is there just one decent truthful man or woman out there?.
Judging by the world Id say not.
No Id say not.
Not.
There Ive said it.

www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
Bunhead17 Nov 2013
[Intro]
Ah, it's a plane, it's a bird, it's a zombie, hahaha

[Verse 1: Meech]
The highest high, I'm Ayatollah
Rubber on my ****, allergic to baby strollers
Blue dream, that amazing odor
Ant is a pyrex, I'm the coke and the baking soda
Juice be the blue flame that create the whole thing
Rap game, crack game, apparently the same thing
If this was eighty-something I'd be in shell toes
Gucci link fat rings ashy *** elbows
Saving every penny trying to get up out this hell hole
For my super-thugs, hustling up off the jail phone
Life's a battle fool you better have your weapon drawn
How could I be scared of death, *****, I'm already gone
Money on my mind, your ***** on my zipper
Breaking up pound after pound, THC on every finger
You gon' need a boost from God to get as high as me *****
Excuse me, I meant to say as high as we *****

[Bridge]
Flatbush Zombie, A$AP Mobbin'
Hit a killswitch and put an end to any problem

[Verse 2: Juice]
Hash and ****, hash in a ****
Got **** by the ton, got blow by the load
If you wanna get throwed, A$AP Ant got the po-tion
Three fly *** ******* with we
Double-cupped them double D's
Hi-high *****, hi-high living
Three young *** ****** running ****, no slipping
Gotta know the game, gotta know the lane
Gotta know the pain, no handouts, ain't **** easy
Dark shades, on my Eazy-E, got ******* on my mini-me
And you ****** in the rap game can't relate
I'm real pimping, no fornicating
**** what you heard, I'm goin' ape
Smokin Grape Ape, **** your mixtape
That's a **** plate, Zombie style
A$AP, never mind these clowns
I love brain, zombie style, never mind these clouds

[Interlude: A$AP Ant]
Juice pass me the ****, Meech where the acid at?
A$AP Ant in this *****, uh

[Verse 3: A$AP Ant]
I'm a demon triple beaming, painting pictures
****** Mona Lisa, blood sheets, creeping for the *******
With the collar danny's, killing ******* sniffing *******
***** Wonka candy *****, three ******, one *****, one clip
One brain dead girl off your mind leave your brains on your moms
Razor blades dipped in bleach, tear your skin to pieces
Dump the body in Tennessee, highway getaway OJ bronco
Cap it baby drive 'em off the bridge, look into my eyes, vivid tears
I see fear, y'all some ******' queers
Grow a ******' pair, I'm 'posed to be here
'posed to be dead, overdosed on shrooms
Let's cruise, drive by on site
Ride like a bike, for my zombie homies **** tonight

[Bridge]

[Verse 4: A$AP Rocky]
A$AP ****** we aliens, cold-blooded *****, reptilian
Acid, acid, ambiens, only **** a ***** if she lesbian
Trill ****** run the city, got the key on lock
Juice got the juice, ***** Meech gon' pop
Addie in the Caddy with the heat on ****
When a Mac go brrra cause the beef don't stop, *****
My name is, that pretty *******
From the land of the lost of the gully and the gutta
See the Preds made a toast for the honey and the butter
Only die for two things, that's my money and my mother, *******!
****** know my name, did I stutter?
****** know me, man I keep it one hunna
I'm a stunna, Hood by Air for the summer
Toast to the God and it cost nine hunna
So-so ru-run up if you wanna
Mac in the backpack, right by the Macbook
And I rep that Harlem
And my Zombie ****** straight out of Flatbush
Lyrics to "Bath Salt" by A.$.A.P rocky ft A.$.A.P ant ft Flatbush Zombies, ****. P On The Boards ... I love them and this song! :D -A.$.A.P MOB
#LORD$ NEVER WORRY #Trap lord #Rap God
Ronni McIntosh Jul 2014
I wrote a paper in school
  about ancient myths
using an old typewriter
  and by candle-light,
wrapped up in a comforter
  that cold winter night,
despite the propane heater
  in the dining room.
All of our utilities
  were shut off for months,
electric, gas, and water;
  we had no money.
We were getting food-bank meals,
  and making our own
candles out of reused wax.
  It felt pitiful,
and in the days leading to
  my paper due date
I was told repeatedly
  that it must be typed.
The school library was closed
  before my last class
ended, and we had some fines
  at the public one.
Here's a myth I often hear,
  though not learned in school,
party politics will say,
"They wanted handouts."
Abigail Madsen Jun 2014
I want to make the world a better place
but
Poverty is a disease on its own
the prerequisite to depression
U
S
A
only trying to stay
stay rich
and sway
sway money in front of those who are just out of its reach
and then they preach
“If we give handouts they wont know how to work and they will wait for us to do everything for them. it’s not our fault they ****** up their life, theirs.”
it’s their fault
nineteen year old mother
cares for 3 week old baby
“cut loose” for missing two nights on the street corner because she couldn’t handle selling her body when
when years from now
her daughter will call her mommy
and her **** will call her sloppy
and she
will look scrawny
and now as she puts 3 week old baby to sleep in her
cardboard box crib
and think to herself
“this is my fault, I couldn’t find any other work. So I had to sell her mother to nothing more than an object.”
well now that cardboard crib kid is
eighteen
and fresh out of school
fresh on the streets
fresh flesh enmeshed
tangled in the rich mans net
starting the cycle over again because
at eighteen
on her own
she cant afford college
at eighteen
on her own
even if she has the knowledge
at eighteen
living in the streets
at eighteen
pregnant
--------
Mommy wasn’t there when she took teenage boy in the ally for the first time
taught it was okay because they needed money
and she knew no better way
baby had nothing to say
baby just needed the pay
now there is no way
she now is her mother
and baby is now inside her
and poverty has tied her
and the government denied her
mother never to guide her
and as she lied down her her bed all she could think of is
maybe if I wasn’t so poor
the government might care about me
-------
future baby
cradled in the mind of loving mother
regretful for choice of father
hoping
“maybe this will all go away
maybe if I pray
I wont live another day”
Poverty a disease on its own
the prerequisite to depression
because
U
S
A
is the only country who has the
power
freedom and ability to change the poverty rates and chooses
to only offer jobs to those who own a house
instead of those who need them
ignored by those who could help
because they are the ones who need it
poverty is a disease
and you better believe it runs in the family
poverty begets poverty
believe me
I’m not suggesting communism
but when a man can have a ninety dollar glass of wine
but that eighteen year old can’t even afford to buy something to eat
Change is needed
people getting cheated
don’t tell me there is freedom
when I see how the poor are treated
not eating
they are human
and we pass by and ignore them like animals
tangible
pass by graves
candles
people killed by a government disease
leaving parents absent
children abandoned
and don’t tell me
there is nothing we can do
because seeing men live in 100 million dollar mansions
when someone out there
eighteen years old
is left with no more chances
chances are this wont change anything
but to stand by
and allow people to die
is ******
and poverty
is genocide
we can’t hide
the inequality
or when given the affordable health care policy
call it comedy
honestly
its time for an apology
and to stop the hypocrisy
because poverty is commonly
in large quantities
and logically
poverty shouldn’t be an unborn child’s prophecy
just because their a impoverished mothers progeny
doesn’t mean their life couldn’t be quality
so pardon me
while I speak audibly
when I say the government has no monopoly
on poverty
“One of the effects of living with electronic information is that we live habitually in a state of information overload.”                                                      
                                                                                      Marshall McLuhan
So, let’s review:
Man is a thinking animal.
Stanley Kubrick took us to space to get us to think.
Marshall McLuhan:  “There are no passengers on spaceship earth. We are all crew.”
Hemetucky: what was I thinking?
The Rapture for the 1%:   The Language of the World and The Language of Enthusiasm explains why Sir Richard  Branson’s ****** Galactic will only be taking the richest among us to space.
Ian (Limey Futurologist) Pearson:  “Binary is already the dominant language on Planet Earth with today’s machines having more conversations in 24 hours than the whole of humankind since the birth of Eve.”
Larry Flynt:  “**** is the answer to everything.”
Goofy:  “Yeah, I ****** Minnie. I shagged her rotten, baby!”  
Winston Smith:  “Do it to Julia!”
McNugget Buddies:   “Parts is parts.”                                          
Stunod: “Donuts-a -spella backwards issa stunod.” Think about it.
Tony Soprano.  “You ****** stunod, it's a joke.” (Stunod:  in southern dialect Italian means stupid, or a stupid person) http://(www.urbandictionary.com) define.php?term = stunod  / buy stunod mugs & shirts
Marshall McLuhan:    “Jokes are grievances.”
Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino:  “Antonio Gramsci thought that Stalin and Bolshevism could save him and Italy from Fascism:  stunod.”
The Cloud:  My acceptance of the Cloud into my life and my changeling cyborg self is by no means a capitulation to the surfing life.
Paulo Coehlo:  “The God you seek; that someone who awaits you is you.”
Howard Beale:  “That’s the God *******.”
God:   “Because you’re on television, stunod!”
The Elders of Zion:  Nu?
Meir Kahane:  “Let us not suffer from a national amnesia that causes us to forget who and what we are. No trait is more justified than revenge in the right time and place. I know that American and Israeli elections must be limited only to those who understand that the Arabs are the deadly enemy of the Jewish state, who would bring on us a slow Auschwitz - not with gas, but with knives and hatchets. Vote for Newt!”

**** Jagger:    “Get Yer Ya-Ya's Out” (40th Anniversary Edition, Rolling Stones)
Keith Richards +Fijian palm tree = Stunod.  
Marshall McLuhan:   “The more the data banks record about each of us, the less we exist.”    
Howard Beale: “If there's anybody out there that can look around this demented slaughterhouse of a world we live in and tell me that man is a noble creature, believe me: That man is not only full of *******, that man is  stunod.”
The Nam, Part I:   a demented slaughterhouse within a microcosm and grains of beach sand inside micro-Cosmo Kramer’s shorts. When I was in the Kingdom of The Nam I was always under the influence of some drug, mostly my own pure adrenaline when scared shitless--a frequent condition for me—not only my own piquant adrenal juice but other stuff like ****, hash, Thai stick, *****, amphetamines, H-Horse ******, quaaludes, horse tranquilizers and Russian *****. The drugs were always a welcome and needed friend, a respite from the horrors of war in Southeast Asia. To meditate & levitate, to transmigrate & navigate, to negotiate & regurgitate myself, I needed a head start if I was going to SLIDE through what would be called a wormhole today, making a three-dimensional movement between different parallel universes, a conquest of time and space. Cue our favorite narrator:
Rod Serling:  “You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension--a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone.”
WWII, Part I:  A slider now, I SLIDE to my father’s war—the War in Europe in the years before V.E. Day, May 8, 1945. Suddenly I’m flipped right out of the jungle to Germania, to Deutschland in the winter of 1945. I am a P.O.W. of the Germans, sent out into the economy as slave labor. It’s February in Dresden, Germany, the Baroque capital of the German state of Saxony, the city called lovingly by her (****!) many lovers: “The Florence of the Elbe.” It was a long time ago, during the war and I Survived to Tell the Tale. I am a wet floppy Kilgore Trout; I’ve flopped right out of the Twilight Zone into what appears to be an underground meat locker in Dresden. There are animal carcasses hanging from the ceiling and the building is known as Slaughterhouse Number 5. I am a lucky ******* because even though I don’t know it yet, I’m in the safest place in the entire city. Cue the Bombing of Dresden, a strategic military bombing by the British Royal Air Force (RAF) and the United States Army Air Force (USAAF).  In four raids, 1,300 heavy bombers dropped more than 3,900 tons of high-explosive bombs and incendiary devices on Dresden. The resulting firestorm destroyed 15 square miles (39 square kilometers) of the city centre and killed many thousands, according to **** figures-- largely discredited by the victors who not only get the spoils but get to spin the history any which way but loose. Casualty figures were 200,000 and death toll estimates went as high as 500,000. Or maybe just 25,000 total, if you believe the ******* Anglo-American valkyries who unleashed the wrath of Khan’s Smoking Joe’s Barbecue Ribs and Hotlinks. Win a war, get a medal and a seat in Congress, maybe the White House; lose a war, get indicted. You’re going to Nuremberg, pilgrim, or the ******* Hague.
Kurt Vonnegut: “World War II was over and I was standing in the middle of Times Square with a Purple Heart on and a purple hard-on.”
Colonel Kurtz:  “We fight for the land that's under our feet, the gold that's in our hands, women that worship the power in our *****.  I summon fire from the sky. Do you know what it is to be a white man who can summon fire from the sky? ...What it means? You can live and die for these things, not silly ideals that are always betrayed  . . . I swallowed a bug. Who are you, captain?”
Willard:   “Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste. I've been around for a long long year, stolen many man's soul and faith. Stuck around St. Petersburg when I saw it was a time for a change. Killed the Tsar and his ministers, Anastasia screamed in vain. I rode a tank, held a gen'rals rank when the blitzkrieg raged and the bodies stank. Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name.”  
WWII, Part II:  The bombing of Dresden had to have been some kind of a violation of some International Code or Geneva Convention. But, of course, the bombers, the Victors, ran the Nuremberg show trials. The bombees didn’t get a chance to say much, didn’t want to make a fuss, seeing how generous the Army of Occupation was with their coal, gasoline, clothing and food handouts. But I was there when it was safe to climb out of the meat locker, and immediately got put to work on the après les bombes clean-up. I was there doing the ***** work, a corpse miner, tasked with collecting the fried grasshopper remains of so many unlucky Krauts who were simply burned alive, like heretics at the Inquisition. So it goes.
William Tecumseh Sherman: “War is Hell, Babaloo!”
Colonel Kilgore: “You can either surf, or you can fight!”
Sam Bottoms: “I dropped a tab of acid at the Do-Long Bridge, so I think I’ll surf for awhile: ‘I see a world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour.’ Reading Blake: for years it was the only way I could block out the war, that and losing myself in a bunch of undercover assignments. Yeah, it was William Blake, I-Spy and lots more acid; that how I dealt with PTSD.”
The Nam, Part II, LT DAN:  “Good job, trooper; those ******* drugs got you coming and going, sliding so fast you’ve missed latrine duty 3 times this month. Now go get 5 gallons of diesel fuel and gasoline, mix it together and torch that ******* feces, soldier.”
** Chi Minh:  “This ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling around.”
***** Friedman:   “The Democrats and Republicans are the same guy admiring himself in the mirror.”

Muhammad Hosni El Sayed Mubarak:   “Vote for Pedro.”
Drew Gilpin Faust, Harvard:    “Fight Fiercely!”
Marshall McLuhan:    “I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t believed it.”
The Author:   I am a disaffected angry old man, formerly a disaffected angry young man; a Hopi-Italian Jew with Chinese offspring, namely my left-brained son, a mathematical genius but having a tough time dealing with idiots, the many truly stunod people in the world.  Then there’s my Rose, my sweet King Lear-jet daughter, like her half-brother, not yet finished paying for my sins. My offspring are haunted, visited upon daily by their father’s  ghosts, ghosts created, ghosts hovering over me, from wars hot and cold and peace lukewarm and cloudy, like the uranium ground contamination on the mesa, visited upon mothers and infants  and children who seek only a glass of cool water from the spring not to be glow worms in the dark, leukocytes made insane by something in the water. My sins, a father’s sins; things I did to curry favor, to ingratiate and advance myself with the 1%, things I did to get ahead in life, to get what I thought my father and others in the ancestral slipstream had failed to get, twice to the Rabbi for a get (Hebrew: גט‎, plural gittin גיטין), to get the edge my kids need now, the edge I never had, and life reduced to an exercise in ultimate combat, little more than a cage fight, man against man and God against all. The things I did for money and position shame me now. And shame is a large  source of my anger.  I will remain angry. I will hang on to my anger at God and myself and all who have been disappointed in me, by me, especially the cavalcade of short-term caretakers, women used, abused, left behind and forgotten. Why am I me? Sometimes I think that’s the way I’m programmed. But it’s okay, like Gaga: “I'm beautiful in my way 'Cause God makes no mistakes I'm on the right track, baby I was born this way' Cause God makes no mistakes, I'm on the right track, baby, I was born this way and will I continue to surf the Cloud: even though God is dead and I don’t believe you, or me, or them.
Basic: remember Basic?

10   A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 20
20   START STEP TWO ANGER KUBLER-ROSS INFINITE LOOP
30   GOTO 10
10   A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 20
20   START STEP TWO ANGER KUBLER-ROSS INFINITE LOOP
30  GOTO 10
10   A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 20
20   START STEP TWO ANGER KUBLER-ROSS INFINITE LOOP
30 A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 30
30  GOTO 10 Ad infinitum
Kate Lion Feb 2013
I find myself sidewalking everything
So Silverstein was lucky to know where it ends
Will I ever be privileged to discover such a thing?
Too many trivial needs distract from its pursuit
But how am I to know?
When it's time, I only cared for my toys
The way the sheeple only care for their handouts
Do tell; if the Pentagon lays off 800,000 people
Will we know they're telling the truth about unemployment
When their words flow between mouthfuls
Of stolen fruit and gold
At the table of the elite
So tell me, who is John Galt?
I sit at a table with a mind that knows how to think for himself
And can't help but think this is the purest form of elitism:
Until at last the time has come
For the imminent end of all serfdom
Brought by the brawn of the brainy
How are we to keep our heads when the others ***** us over
Take our heads clean off to see the contents
Only the strongest can withstand the attempts to skew ideas
Upon who's minds the lying flies
Forced off by intellect
The simple last defender of God and liberty
Big Brother would have us not discuss such things
At times, I feel that we are the last in the world
So, tell me- if this paper is the last in the world, have we written something significant?
I've no doubt the world will see
The mistakes of society
Time then, will bring forth a new renaissance, with us as creators
And they, as the readers of some disconnected thoughts
Written at a time when the end of a page was a good stopping point for poetry, but not for the limit of government infringement on personal freedom.
My friend and I passed a paper back and forth across a table at Rumbi Island Grill; we each wrote three lines at a time and only let the other person see the last line.  This is the poem that came out of it.
When you hand out
bankrolls of cynicism and cheques of failure
I will show you my bullions of perseverance
Diamonds of reality

When you show me twenty stories of disappointment
I will display five stories of utter joy and hope


Take your handouts of regret and chances-never-taken
Face me and tell me my dreams will never grace this earth

But I laugh
Even as I cry
And bleed


Hope I don't regret this
Hope is all I have
Hard work will get me far
I hope hard work will see me alive at forty
Dying regrets but hope hope hope
I hope I hope at forty
Emeka Mokeme Aug 2018
While the calmness returns,
the strangers gone,
noise of gunshots,
the cry of the wounded
and dying are no more heard,
our children and women
came out of hiding,
the young men smiling sheepishly
as they survived the onslaught
of the insurgents.
You can see the older women
in small groups scattered all over
selling food and all kinds of stuff.
The stragglers returns,
loitering all over the place,
trying to adjust and blend
into the communities.
Laughter and shouts of joy
is again heard in our land
even the morning songs
of the turtle dove.
The stray dogs are seen
looking for food and handouts.
The women pounding
their yam in mortar
with the pistil are
heard in our backyard
with the noise of
happy children singing
and dancing at the village
square in the moonlight,
while the elders and young
men keep watch.
What a beautiful moment
as peace returns.
With grateful heart we
celebrate this day.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
megan rochelle Jan 2012
sometimes it's heaven,
sometimes it's hell,
I hope I pick the right one
if not, oh well.
I tried to play nice,
But it didn't work out,
sittin in back with a bucket of ice
with my held held high
you're gonna kiss my ***
while i kiss the sky
vindictive by nature
can't supress who i am
with my nose in the air
i'm like toucan sam
I'm a free spirit
and i don't really care
if you don't want to hear it
cause i'm free, free fallin'
enjoyin every minute of it
kickin back with a bottle of ***
if you're against me *******
if you're with me get some
i don't like handouts
so hand it to me
gonna play these strings
like you can't believe
brings tears to your eyes
brings you to your knees
if i stop
you'll be begging me
please , please, please
I need more, more, more
like you can't get enough
like an unused *****
I tried to play nice
but it didn't work out
no it didn't work out
xavier thomas Jun 2021
Big dummy, you caught
Run around town like a little thot
Think you know better, but you “no” not

Always out trying to shoot your shot
Scheming on girls like wild thoughts  
Giving out handouts, handouts
Numbers so high like your body count
Name everywhere, you can yell it out
Lorem Ipsum Nov 2017
If I should have a daughter, instead of Mom, she's gonna call me Point B,
because that way she knows that no matter what happens,
at least she can always find her way to me.
And I'm going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands,
so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say,
"Oh, I know that like the back of my hand."
And she's going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face,
wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach.
But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
There is hurt here that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry.
So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn't coming,
I'll make sure she knows she doesn't have to wear the cape all by herself.
Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers,
your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I've tried.
"And, baby," I'll tell her, "don't keep your nose up in the air like that.
I know that trick; I've done it a million times.
You're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house,
so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him.
Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place,
to see if you can change him."
But I know she will anyway, so instead I'll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby,
because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can't fix.
Okay, there's a few heartbreaks that chocolate can't fix.
But that's what the rain boots are for.
Because rain will wash away everything, if you let it.
I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that's the way my mom taught me.
That there'll be days like this.
♫ There'll be days like this, my momma said. ♫
When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises;
when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape;
when your boots will fill with rain,
and you'll be up to your knees in disappointment.
And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you.
Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away.
You will put the wind in winsome, lose some.
You will put the star in starting over, and over.
And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.
And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty **** naive.
But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar.
It can crumble so easily,
but don't be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
"Baby," I'll tell her, "remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more."
Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things.
And always apologize when you've done something wrong.
But don't you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.
Your voice is small, but don't ever stop singing.
And when they finally hand you heartache,
when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat,
you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

-Sarah Kay
Sarah Kay is an American poet. Known for her spoken word poetry, Kay is the founder and co-director of Project V.O.I.C.E., founded in 2004, a group dedicated to using spoken word as an educational and inspirational tool. (Wikipedia)
Jonny Angel Aug 2014
Even the beetles
know
how to roll dung
uphill
to make a living.
I can't believe
those lazy mofos
hanging out
to collect our spoils,
with us toiling daily,
spilling more dough,
into the coffers
for easy handouts.
They're lazier
than ****-beetles.
I am all about social responsibility & taking care of the needy....but a welfare state, not!
The Dedpoet Dec 2015
I am Mexican:
       Brown and forgotten inbetween,
       Brown like the dirt poor I am.

Iv'e been in hard labor:
      I do what "they" don't want to anymore,
      I am the backbone of the working class.

Iv'e been poor:
      I see no handouts under the pyramid scheme,
      I am the Latin prince of the ghetto.

Iv'e been a hustler:
      Every penny earned off my back
      Makes dollars for "their" pockets.

Iv'e been here:
      I am no *******,
      I am the American dream,
      Still I must show identification.

I am Mexican:
      Brown and four generations deep
      American, I am still
      The immigrant face.
Langston Hughes 1902-1967
Christian Feb 2011
I´ve been thinking too much of a past without a body
of a spirit who felt a little shoddy
with a mind that wanted control of heart it could never fully control.
I´ve been thinking of the taliban, men dressed in faith for what they believe in
I´ve been thinking about belief and in what I believe in, if I believed enough to sacrifice my body for a future I can´t be sure of,
I´ve been thinking if I were givin time as my present where would I like to be, well, the present is a gift worth opening even if only for one life my life a life will affect your life and in this time we´ve been givin we make choices based on handouts from a god who loved you more then you thought possible of a soul that shined perhaps too birghtly of a heart which holds nothing but silence in a world created by our majesty
I´ve been thinking that maybe I am god, that maybe I was created as the image of myself to learn a few lessons from hard times and grow a little hope from good times
I´ve been thinking I could be a great man, maybe I´m already great man, that I am still a boy trying to recieve his addition muptiplication division arithmic badge of honor in second grade 2 plus 2 was all I could stutter but it didn´t matter cause I kept going until I dropped out for reasons that could seem a little sadder but I believe in a world that I can be me even with out a college degree, that when Im ready I can go back without a worry of how maybe it should be
and I´ve been thinking about a beautiful place thats really nowhere when I sit in silence with silence with myself, I find it there but for some reason I make the road bumpy and with too many hills where my imaginary feet get ill from too much foaming from all this guilt that maybe I´m not good enough to reach where buddha sat and I´m not worthy to make a change in world where judgement doesn´t really mean a thing except for what we think of ourselves.
Yea, I´ve been thinking of blue worlds where blue´s jazz and blue´s slide guitar and blues harmonica and saxophone and trombone and trumpet is all they play because it speaks a truth no ones heard before even with out words then I start thinking thats what it means to me how can I portray that feeling to somone else
I´ve been thinking as I cook myself some toast that maybe if I work a little bit harder and don´t expect everything handed to me I could cook something better which requires more than a couple strokes of butter
that
Maybe if I belive in what I think that I can make any reality real with just a thought that if what I say in my head is actually what I believe then what have I been thinking with thoughts like ¨I´m afraid that no one can love me¨and thoughts like ¨I wish I could be like someone else¨that if what we think is actually what we create then I should be thinking that hey I am great.
So I´ve been thinking change happens with thought so maybe I am changing more than I thought with just these thoughts I think when I´m lingering through time and greeting each wave of negativity with something close to positivity which could be said is the same as god, that love that the devil so fondly loves to hate is really the image that I´ve always been its just that I forgot with these distracting thoughts,
I started thinking then I need to stop, destroy, annhilate these demon thoughts of hate hate hate which really are just fear fear fear but then I realized that I only patronized that fear with more hate and I added gas to a fire that quickly ate my soul before I realized I was on a downward spiral, confused on thought alone of I´m supposed to be a better man not a sadder man because when I added something else to that fire it spread and I realized I needed some sort of water which could do things a little bit harder
Thats when I thought to love the hate the same as you love that love.
When I see those thoughts tromping through this sacred vessel I don´t get angry at their muddy feet instead I say its okay, sit back relax make yourself at home, and they slowly settle into this vast expanse of infinity which some have called your heart. And thats when I began to forgive myself for all that shame and anger I cast like a shadow and I began to forgive myself for all that guilt and suffering I cast like harry potter and I began to forgive myself for when I was too scared to talk because I thought that somebody out there wouldn´t like me and I began to forgive myself for all that I had embodied with this false self I had thrown out to protect this oh so holy body,
I´ve been thinking that maybe being vulnerable isn´t as bad as its been cracked out to be and that maybe one day I´ll finally become what I am in silence
that
what I´ve been thinking is maybe this is just another thought that could be forgotten, but thats exactly when I need to remember what I already know of how the future should be exciting and the past has always helped remind me that when I´m living right now I no longer have to hide behind thoughts which no longer scare me.
I´ve been thinking it all starts with a thought, something I believe we should all be taught.
Tysheanna Nov 2015
Oh oh oh oh she use to be the sweetest girl oh oh she use to be the sweetest girl but when a good girl gone she gone forever and see you can't make it rain without stormy weather and its funny cause when it rains it pours and listen this wouldn't never happened if I wouldn't have gave him my all
This wouldn't never happened if I never traded in my love for lies but I take the L cause I don't want to see my brother lose even for I been through it all
I could never fill my mother shoes and nah I don't want a no handouts I just want to tell the girls that can feel me that I just play the cards that a ***** deal me and see eveything I been thru try so hard to **** me
but I just want to tell the girls that can feel me that boys are all the same in my eyes and I'm tried of running into the same types of ****** but listen ****** are the same in my eyes and see I just don't want to hurt anymore.
          
        This is just a little something and I want to give a big shot out to all the real men's out there....
Born Sep 2013
If i should have a daughter ,

instead of "Mom,"

she's gonna call me "Point B,"  

because that way she knows that no
matter what happens,

at least she can always find her way to
me.

And I'm going to paint solar systems
on the backs of her hands  

so she has to learn the entire universe

  before she can say, "Oh, I know that
like the back of my hand."  

And she's going to learn

that this life will hit you hard in the
face,

wait for you to get back up just so it
can kick you in the stomach.

But getting the wind knocked out of
you

is the only way to remind your lungs
how much they like the taste of air.

There is hurt, here,

that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or
poetry.

So the first time she realizes

that Wonder Woman isn't coming,

I'll make sure she knows

she doesn't have to wear the cape all
by herself

because no matter how wide you
stretch your fingers,

your hands will always be too small

to catch all the pain you want to heal.

Believe me, I've tried

"And, baby," I'll tell her,

don't keep your nose up in the air like
t hat.

I know that trick; I've done it a million
times.

You're just smelling for smoke

so you can follow the trail back to a
burning house,

so you can find the boy who lost
everything in the fire

to see if you can save him.

Or else find the boy who lit the fire in
the first place,

to see if you can change him."

But I know she will anyway,

so instead I'll always keep an extra
supply

of chocolate and rain boots nearby,

because there is no heartbreak that
chocolate can't fix.

Okay, there's a few heartbreaks that
chocolate can't fix.

But that's what the rain boots are for,

because rain will wash away
everything, if you let it.

I want her to look at the world

through the underside of a glass-
bottom boat,

to look through a microscope

at the galaxies that exist

on the pinpoint of a human mind,

because that's the way my mom
taught me.

That there'll be days like this.

♫ There'll be days like this, my
momma said. ♫

When you open your hands to catch

and wind up with only blisters and
bruises;

when you step out of the phone
booth and try to fly

and the very people you want to save

are the ones standing on your cape;

when your boots will fill with rain,

and you'll be up to your knees in
disappointment.

And those are the very days you have
all the more reason to say thank you.

Because there's nothing more
beautiful

than the way the ocean refuses to stop
kissing the shoreline,

no matter how many times it's sent
away.

You will put the wind in winsome, lose
some.

You will put the star

in starting over, and over.

And no matter how many land mines
erupt in a minute,

be sure your mind lands

on the beauty of this funny place
called life..

And yes, on a scale from one to over-
trusting,

I am pretty **** naive.

But I want her to know that this world
is made out of sugar.

It can crumble so easily,

but don't be afraid to stick your
tongue out and taste it.

"Baby," I'll tell her, "remember, your
momma is a worrier,

and your poppa is a warrior,

and you are the girl with small hands
and big eyes

who never stops asking for more."

Remember that good things come in
threes

and so do bad things.

And always apologize when you've
done something wrong,

but don't you ever apologize

for the way your eyes refuse to stop
shining.

Your voice is small, but don't ever stop
singing.

And when they finally hand you
heartache,

when they slip war and hatred under
your door

and offer you handouts on street-
corners

of cynicism and defeat,

you tell them that they really ought to
meet your mother.
Sarah k
Saujan Gyawali Dec 2014
If I should have a daughter ...

If I should have a daughter, instead of "Mom," she's gonna call me "Point B," because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I'm going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, "Oh, I know that like the back of my hand." And she's going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry. So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn't coming, I'll make sure she knows she doesn't have to wear the cape all by herself because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I've tried. "And, baby," I'll tell her, don't keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick; I've done it a million times. You're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you can change him." But I know she will anyway, so instead I'll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can't fix. Okay, there's a few heartbreaks that chocolate can't fix. But that's what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything, if you let it. I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that's the way my mom taught me. That there'll be days like this. ♫ There'll be days like this, my momma said. ♫ When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises; when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape; when your boots will fill with rain, and you'll be up to your knees in disappointment. And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you. Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away. You will put the wind in winsome, lose some. You will put the star in starting over, and over. And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty **** naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily, but don't be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it. "Baby," I'll tell her, "remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more." Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things. And always apologize when you've done something wrong, but don't you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small, but don't ever stop singing. And when they finally hand you heartache, when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

© http://www.ted.com/talks/sarahkayifishouldhavea_daughter/transcript?language=en
No Matter the Wreckage: Sarah Kay in Kathmandu
She will be performing her poem in my country Nepal on December 27
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
Do you ever feel down
Painted face of a sad clown
You tell me in secret you do
But out in the streets you wear sunshine boots
Am I the only one who howls at the moon
Who curses the day I was born
(Of course not, they all curse that day, sweet child
They all throw their scorn your way
They all adorn their walls with your picture
They insert a crown of thorns
They would never mourn if you left
But don't look so forlorn)

What they don't tell you baby
Is that insanity is insanity
Insanity is (In)-sanity
You're in the deep realms now, baby
You're in the deep, dark night of the soul
But don't let them tell you you're crazy baby
You're just immersed in it All
What's in a name?
Oh, the locking away of it all
But who's running your country?
Who's building those pillars, babe?
Who's offering discounts of faith at
Five hundred & fifty-five feet of the world
They're just acting sane, babe
Oh, like everyone else
To be sane is to maim, babe
You're above all that now
It's just ol' Babylon, opening the gates
The devil's coupons give
Cheap entry
But don't lose hope, babe
Say "night" but not "good-night"
Cause buildings rise like phalluses
But you got your own sweet palaces
If you only look right, babe
No, look left
But look left the right way
Drink it all up in a golden cup
But don't raise your pinky to heaven
Lightning will strike on your grave, babe
Beware the cruel duel sevens
Oh, don't trust in mood rings or moon-beams of old
You've got the might of the brave
Don't let them lock you in dungeons so cold
Filled with white sterile walls and beds
But if so, remember that dragon
Oh, that sweet dragon in your head, babe
He'll knock down the walls
And if you just want to give up
Let out one last heavy sigh and succumb
Know that you're not under anyone's thumb
The pen can beat the sword, babe
But these days they got smart tools
They'll try to write on your mind, babe
They'll try to bend all the rules
Slay you with pin-sized compacts, babe
Inject blind Braille on your skin
Insert a button to trigger your fears
Try and teach you a lesson
Always gotta be on your guard
Always gotta prepare for attack
No longer playgrounds and nursery rhymes, babe
There's some forces out there that don't slack
Sinister ministers and diamond jacks
You're just a sheep among the wolves
But they'll be there in another life, babe
Looking for handouts and handshakes from you, babe
And inside you'll feel a yearning of vengeance
A strange, creeping feeling of righteousness
But if you don't want to deal with the weak, babe
Don't strike them down, just turn the other cheek
I say now,
Just get out, just get out, just get out
Smash all your mirrors and don't look back
You're no one's marionette
Good luck, babe
Good luck
Meaningless is the introspection
of a solitary lover
with a succubus to impress
just to fail like all the rest.
Greedy are the handouts
of a body borne charity
satiation of the poor
without knowledge of her lore.
Osmosis to attention
she commands the lustful gaze
radiating an appetite unrivaled
a raging libido with no title.
GaryFairy Oct 2021
An apple a day keeps the doctor away, unless he owns the orchard.

Either way you have to pay to keep the doctor away, or in a bushel basket. A signal from your own mind keeps the doctor away. That's free though...and we don't want nothing free! Not even our neighbor! Not even our dom. Or is it dum? No handouts buddy! Until we figure out a way to tax your mind, no handouts.

Get it yet Waldo?

Medical Industry - You Work For Us, and YOU Pay Yourself By Paying Us To Make You Think You're Not Doing The Labor. If this isn't true, we have a pill for you. We know having no pill is hard to swallow. AMA
BS hunter Dec 2013
I work up to 60/70 hours per week and ***** around on F.B & Craigslist. We had weeks of debating the poor and how some leech off the state. Had people hollering leech to all poor people even the ones in cities like Detroit where they said blacks love living on welfare and they uneducated and they come from the planet ghetto *******. Not my words but they exist in my city with population 15 thousand. Poster on Craigslist challenged community to playact we were broke,
contact dhs and get info on how much a poor person with number of your own household gets per month along with food stamps.

To make it seem real, I took out the exact amount I would get if I was a poor person. Gave possession of check books and cash and my own house key to my dad and told him what i was doing. He said good luck son you wont make it on state aid. It was cheating but I did keep my car cause no way in hell am I waiting hours for a bus and walking on busy S. Airport and streets such as Garfield is dangerous. I rode that bus when my car was getting new tires and a tune up and it smelled bad like sweat funk.  

Funds are put on a bridge card, that's cash aid and food stamps here in Michigan. I thought with this small amount of cash how in the hell will i survive?

I discovered pretty ****** fast I could not afford rent and best I could afford was a nasty room in a place in downtown are where poor people rent rooms and no one should be living in. I wouldn't let my dog stay there and I felt like I should be packing a gun for protection. No minorities but whites who are down on their luck. Could not afford the small deposit even for that nasty dump. I cheated and bunked with a friend. That place is what you wont see come film festival or cherry festival time.

Forget having enough to buy healthy foods. I could afford bread and high carb fattening **** that nobody should have to live off. If I was poor I could not afford fresh produce I'd be eating cheap **** I could afford and if I had kids it would be far worse off.

I quit after a few days and would be hating life if I was poor.

Northern Michigan craigslist posters are notorious for flagging truth.
They flag and remove what they don't want to see on forum when it
don't agree with *** backward  views of our good citizens.
They run people off with ignorance and now some like me have come here
and now see some of the ignorant have followed and joined this site posing as poets.

Found this when I went to site from a person claiming to be on vacation in Florida
but keeps posting and posting on our Forum. Poster now claims he is in *******
that "drooling halfwit" always gives this one who changes locations away.

" red cross (*******)

Let me get this straight,you can afford the internet and a car but too poor to buy gas??Bet you wish that fake boycott worked stupid.You drive around looking for free handouts so you can drive around.This story is such *******,just like you.Get a job lazy drooling halfwit.
Location: *******"

Posters originally posted months ago but keeps renewing same post. This posted after someone  was refused gas by the red cross while red cross volunteers sat there eating their lunch. Person was driving around on fumes. You try telling this idiot people down don't stay broke forever and you get posts like this one from idiots.  

I did not rely on hear say, I made calls to red cross. Red cross does not provide gas money to walk ins and they provide help in unexpected disasters BUT not to poor people already homeless. They did build a luxury hotel on property bought using donations but I can't tell you why they built it.
Alexis J Meighan Oct 2012
How does it move away?
Does it pack up what is racked up
Heading for the horizon and simply fade?

How does it walk away?
Does it stomp with every step as it squash whatever's left
Like footprints in the sand lost to the waves?

How does it stay away?
Does it rotate slowly with frustration, lamenting your suspicions
Frustrating you, festering and pestering,then it wanes
Till darkness blankets your brain?

How does it slip away?
Does it go unnoticed for days then weeks,
Wondering from the sunrise till the flickering of the lights in the streets
Insisting,persistent,yet resisted then dismissed,
Offering random handouts like a dog begging for scraps
Running and hiding, punished for trying then eventually dying
To an eventual parting of ways

What makes a Solid Bond struggle to maintain?
What makes it strong and easy to depend on?

XIN
Tommy Johnson Mar 2014
The ones we hurt the most
And the ones who hurt us the most
Are ours
Parts of us

Our beloved boomerang admirers
And they’re the ones who love us more than anything

Yugoslavian aggressively panhandling for depositions from unrelated denizens of the gin joint

A panoramic view of a wire tapped room with a lunatic with latent panic that is undisturbed

Hoarded handouts
Admissions
Acceptance
Embarking on a new flight of stairs

Pitter patter of foreign fitted shoes

Coming across label makers
“Jew”
“******”
“******”

Steer clear

Then those who memorize banned books and recite them
Who question the validity and relevance of tradition and old fashion ways

Finding things in common
Tastes in music
Fondness in wine
Alike minds that crave astonishing world widening writing
And thought provoking art

A libation to the collision of the alive and living

A somewhat scary visionary who breaks the black and white patterns of a wheel of fortune and misfortune with a lance of optimistic disregard

Stealing kisses and sipping on top shelf liquor

Smoking mystic cigarettes from Indian mountains

Idioms and vernacular

Dedicated guardian angels who hang their heads and rest their faces in their palms in puzzled disappointment

New visions
In music
In literature
In technology

But actually in
Self-expression
Communication
And progression

Stab a knife into the stuffy conservative dollar sign chasing guard

And let the prisoners of self-doubting overlooked misunderstanding go free

The complex complications of cement commitment

Walking out on an infant
Walking away in an instant
Instantaneous fear
Spontaneous combustion

A noose
Legendary
No
Not yet

Sing it to me
Play t

Lay morality to sleep
And raise yourself up
And proclaim a new way today

A jumbled viewpoint
That is brilliant and completely sound

Have a sip

Your hatred, look deep
****** it and rip it out
Then let it go

Busting up regulations and requirements

Creating an image that cannot be simulated
That is originated from the imitation out of respect from the innovative minds

Slow it down
Go
The lust
The envy
Two ingredients for a new story
All that’s left is the spilled blood and you’re done

Drift and go on a dimly lit trek into the subconscious and give birth to underived works

The world may burn, melt, freeze and shine

Surrender, transform, standstill then ascend

The ones in need fall into our laps along with the decision we all must make
To help them
Or pass them by

Click clack goes my keyboard
Revisits to the times before

With the aid of chemicals and inspiration
Mixed with ******* and crazed obsession

The feeling of being replaced
Like lying in bed on a cold night
Without a blanket that has some place better to be

My dear naval, nautical nincompoop
I miss you, you’re fighting pirates
Soon terrorists

You know it’s useless
You don’t want to be part of this nonsensical unholy fuckfest of political unrest

You’re a poet, you don’t write
Your life is your poetry
It’s beautiful, you want to live
Not just exist

Be wary, I have foreseen the pandemonium festering in your heart
You are lucky in your naïve exile in paradise
You’ve been hurt
Looking for love
Live, lend
And all the above

Fool proof plans
And ideal daylight

The suicide of the farmer’s daughter
California sushi roll
Burning embers
Red hot coals

Best of luck to you

No elegy
A eulogy
See it to the end

Distract them
Steal the vital piece
Then proceed to take what you came for

It’s okay
Forget what you’ve been spoon-fed your whole life
The greatest caper committed

Jam the doors
Skeleton keys
Skull and cross bones on the bottles
Take whatever you can carry

No man left behind

Leaving a not, imprints
For them to see
And know why we did
What we have done

Phony fame
Upper hand
Inclined
Shame

There is a time and a place for treason
When all is ugly and bigoted

For you will only be this young at this very second and never again

Shoot from the hip
Fly high on the seat of your pants

Grungy soap dish
Domestic disagreements
Empty reflections
Rapping at the window

Go away
Please
For your sake and mine
It’s insane

I expunge your from my life
Not in hate
But in agony
We both know it’s for the best

Don’t be spiteful
I hate being used
Just a tool to b left behind

Extraordinary shallow callousness

Let’s take a walk around the universe

I see two lovers showing their vulnerabilities to each other
I see a man and a man making love so pure
I see my friend traveling the world
I see an amateur addict about to take their first step into a lifelong dependency  
I hear the screams of those about to be murdered
Does that quench your thirst for reality?

Aiding and abetting
Guilty by association
Confession of guilt
Squandering money on bail

**** that
There’s a rat
*** wrap
****** wrap
Saving you from yourself
Following, no matter where you go
Always

       -Tommy Johnson

Others fail you
But you must never fail yourself

Drop
Down
Drown
Die

So many futile attempts
****** submissions
Preponderant talent

And that’s about it
Raj Arumugam Mar 2014
they all turn up as friends at first
our friendly and warm-hug super powers
with their supercilious smiles and handouts
they come with nice words and packages
and promise of development and infrastructure
and bearing gifts and loans
and remarking on affinities
and history and culture
and they throw in aid and money
and promise of riches and wealth
but they all turn bad guys
all these friendly super powers
they want  a presence first
and then
you are theirs, time present and future
they turn up with new-year fireworks and promises
and then they want to invade your country
and they want to make you theirs
they all turn up bad guys
don't they
these friendly super powers -
and their warm hugs turn into bear hugs
Lyra Apr 2016
If I should have a daughter, instead of "Mom,"
she's going to call me "Point B," because that way she knows
that no matter what happens,
at least she can always find her way to me.

And I'm going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands
so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say,
"Oh, I know that like the back of my hand."

And she's going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face,
wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach.
But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to
remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry.

So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn't coming,
I'll make sure she knows she doesn't have to
wear the cape all by herself,
because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers,
your hands will always be too small to
catch all the pain you want to heal.
Believe me, I've tried.

"And, baby," I'll tell her,
don't keep your nose up in the air like that.
I know that trick; I've done it a million times.
You're just smelling for smoke so you can
follow the trail back to a burning house,
so you can find the boy who lost everything
in the fire to see if you can save him.
Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place,
to see if you can change him.
But I know she will anyway, so instead
I'll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby,
because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can't fix.

Okay, there's a few that chocolate can't fix.

But that's what the rain boots are for,
because rain will wash away everything, if you let it.
I want her to look at the world through
the underside of a glass-bottom boat,
to look through a microscope at the galaxies
that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind,
because that's the way my mom taught me.
That there'll be days like this.

There'll be days like this, my momma said.
When you open your hands to
catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises;
when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the
very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape;
when your boots will fill with rain,
and you'll be up to your knees in disappointment.
And those are the very days you have
all the more reason to say thank you.

Because there's nothing more beautiful than the
way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline,
no matter how many times it's sent away.
You will put the wind in win some, lose some.
You will put the star in starting over, and over.
And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute,
be sure your mind lands on the
beauty of this funny place called life.

And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting,
I am pretty **** naive.
But I want her to know that
this world is made out of sugar.
It can crumble so easily,
but don't be afraid to stick your tongue out
and taste it.

"Baby," I'll tell her,
"remember, your momma is a worrier,
and your poppa is a warrior,
and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes
who never stops asking for more."

Remember that good things come in threes
and so do bad things and
always apologize when you've done something wrong,
but don't you ever apologize for
the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.
Your voice is small, but don't ever stop singing.
And when they finally hand you heartache,
when they slip war and hatred under your door and
offer you handouts on street-corners of
cynicism and defeat,

you tell them that they really
ought to meet your mother.
A brilliant piece by Sarah Kay.
Zulu Samperfas Jan 2014
like my mind is filled with ideas
my material world is boxed in by things
over capacity knowledge stores on paper pads
and journals by the pound
around me they surround
time capsules prepared industriously on the daily by me
notes and books and handouts and work outs, all strewn about
my mind externally, representing fragment thoughts ideas left whole
thoughts pursued and cast aside and fleshed out to live a life of their own
Ordinary mortals see a cluttered desk, books and papers spilling over this
But it's a furnace of the imagination, taking shape, each item a puzzle piece to be
put together, and torn apart and worked on through the night until it's just right.
Perig3e Dec 2010
T'is the season,
pigeons fare on handouts,
the homeless sell papers
that no one reads,
Mexicans wage a drug war
around about Juarez,
the Chinese run their factories
on foreign waste,
North Korean bunglers
roar 'n reign,
while South Koreans fawn and feign,
the Russians fine tune
their vanishing democracy,
Europe is all a plunder,
Greece, Ireland, Italy, Spain,
Bailed out ***** bankers
bailing bundles of bullock,
they securities and sell,
Retirement fund managers can't buy enough.
The US is on overdrive,
hot color alerts,
underwear bombers everywhere lurk,
every life is precious
when it serves our needs,
at the airports,
*** tourists smile with glee,
looking forward to having their packages ******,
Oh, to be a Belizian, or maybe Swiss,
and be able to say "cheese" to all of this.
All rights reserved by the author
why can't you just let me break for a minute,
i make this request but dont mistake what is in it
this is not weakness, this is not distress,
this is not that i am broken, i
am just tired and need rest, i mean
even princes get battlewounds it takes time to heal from
if they didnt they wouldnt be nearly as valiant.
even birds get broken wings and
take a little time to let the feathers shift,
back into place, let the barbs that they are hiding,
release to re-embrace,
even kings lose their lovers,
even blind men see pain,
even poor men hold jewels,
and they all look the same until,
you take a second
to take a second glance
sit a minute
to enter
and re enter a trance
an entrance to something more in a person
that you forgot about after that last second chance
simply because
the second second was last
you forgot just how to dance,
how to be free, how to wander,
and stay wondering,
how to ponder, and not fall under
the weight of all those pondwater thoughts
they go deeper than a, well, a lot deeper than a
pothole drop
and they can tend to suffocate you if you allow them to fill your veins
but when you realize that blood is ***** water
then you know you can be okay
because your thoughts become less murky,
perhaps a bit ironically
your glances more steady less jerky,
relax in your stability,
it't not always taking a step back
to take a step back,
sometimes thats
the true identity
of moving on
sometimes i think
that the sky is falling but
then i realize im upside down and
got disoriented while flying
forget the things that threaten to drown me
helpless to stop smiling
i will spend this time to tell you
i wont break,
but it's not for fear or shame of crying,
no, i am strong enough to do that, and that is more healing
than losing a piece of myself,
see, when i cry i leak away things i dont need,
loose currents and  torrents of saline
to bring back to life the dead things
that i buried without trying,
uncover beauty within myself
that i would have told you didnt exist, but,
i was just mistaken, not lying,
i believed every word i said when i said
that i wasnt worth the scars i carried,
that the burdens were too heavy,
that i needed your charity,
that i didnt need to be loved,
then i figured out that
i transcended my scars like i was the stars above,
magnificent in my strength
even by myself and
magnificent in my self love,
that i could accept your handouts but i never would rely on them,
that i could find comfort in your shoulders, that i might even cry on them
but i was never too weak, never to brittle,
never to broken, never too little.
so tonight I am a king,
even though my crown doesnt look like anything youve ever seen
it isnt gold or silver, isnt covered in jewels,
hell, its invisible, you might think im a fraud.
But i know what ive got.
I am a bird, even if ive got hollow or shattered bones
ive got wings even though ive got no home,
i can fly even if you dont believe me,
and, believe me i am not day dreaming.
i may be poor and blind,
but the value is in being visionary
ordinarily, in contradiction youd think
i lose myself, but i found myself there
i may be a prince whose spilled a little blood
but ultimately I am a man,
i can take whatever comes.
I cant recall the nights I used to stare at stars thinking you would answer
Protesting my state and berating the loss
Children have been less needy than myself.. Handouts of sympathy no longer require my attendance....
Happy birthday only means I have the regret I created loss meant I couldn't be found
Blame is no longer sought... I burned all the memories but theres a few I forgot....
Nitetime hugs seemed so foolish as you always gave me a goodnite kiss...
Id trade everything I have for one more embrace.... Take back everything ive done for one more glimpse of your face...
Oh memories I guess tonight I know that candles on a cake are the one thing I wont blow out.....
with forgotten pain and new brought sorrow..... my birthday wish is simple " I cant wait till tomorrow".....
My parents died when I was only a year old then adopted they passed about a year ago nite like tonite I wonder why?
Breaching the surface
largemouth jumps up to see if…
It can hold its breath.


The pregnant fishes
lounge upon the riverbed
waiting to give birth.


Dancing smallmouth bass
pirouettes around boat
looking for handouts.


Learning never ends!
For even the fish will stay…
Forever in school.


Protective coating:
Slimy perspective to us;
Life saving to them.




Author Note:

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2006, All rights reserved.
Joe Wilson Mar 2016
Carefully, he laid the book on the table
He’d been re-reading Oliver Twist
In those terrible poor Dickensian times
He often wondered how the poor could exist.

The rain poured down heavy on the windows
The sky matched his mood, it was grey
For after they had both done their eight hours of work
They had picked up a parcel today.

Journeys to the food bank were in silence
Both felt an extreme sense of loss
That they had to rely on charity and handouts
From a government who treated them as dross.

The food banks get more, the poor get more poor
It was ever thus and shall ever be
He wondered what Dickens would think of it all
About poverty he thought, no change he’d see.

He’d look to the Houses of Parliament
No changes would he expect to see there
Then he’d look to the poor who still roam the streets
And see a government that still didn’t care.

Then he’d put his quill to notepaper
And tell them exactly what he thought
And ask if they’d do something about it
Or whether their  votes had been bought.

All this the man mused as they emptied the box
As a solitary tear ran down his cheek
Then he held his wife and child in his arms
And he wept, for he just couldn’t speak.

©Joe Wilson – I wonder what Dickens would think…2016
Erika Soerensen Dec 2016
Trump nation, Aleppo sin
fighting battles we'll never win.
I am you and you are me,
something humans dread to see.

Burning effigies of terror and hate
in hopes of making America great (again).
Blue collars turned red from the loudest silence,
Inciting their God-given right to violence.

All for one and one for one,
that's how you negotiate and
get **** done.

Caring for your neighbors
does them no favors
and handouts aint for free,
but you can earn them and more
by becoming a slave
exactly
like
me.
Bored meeting again,
And we’ve assembled ourselves,
Well situated, to see the clock,
Later arrivals take the leftover chairs
And the words begin to drone.

Pencils getting pushed,
While we’re thinking, how’d we get here;
We left in such a rush,
Our brains are scrambled mush,
When suddenly there’s a silence-

A response is now required;
More murmuring and muttering,
Chair legs being squawked,
Drawings on white boards,
Handouts passed about:

We wish that we just had the guts
To get up; walk right out.
Our lives are lived in neutral,
While clocks hammer out our days;
We owe our every bit of food

To something someone says.
This meeting feels interminable,
In so many different ways,
And just when we’re most sure, we’ll die-
Adjournment comes; the end.

— The End —