"harambe" poems
harambe salami
king of the apes
with some credible japes
oh how i miss your sweet smile
you could slam dunk a crocodile
but there was nothing they could do
to stop you from turning that kid into poo
so they shot you through the heart
and you're to blame
you give love
a bad name
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
When I opened my eyes I sat in this body.
The wind ran through thick black hair.
Grass surrendered under my heels.
I didn't hate myself then, or yet, or ever.
Even now, when I part the clouds and look down down,
squinting into the tops of trees that were in my yard.
In the last home I knew, gentle hands fed me food.
We joked and my eyes smoldered for their pictures.
Why did they always take so many pictures?
You probably think I'm angry I had to leave like this.
That with one terrified bullet from two firmly planted hands,
my might and power and God given beauty did not move.
I remember that moment. The air was swept from my lungs,
through my lips, and two angels descended on my animal form.
My soul wound around one of their slender gray fingers,
while the other angel folded up my skin into a cavernous pocket.
We ascended into lush tropical rich radiant paradise--who knew?
Animals are allowed here.
Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I could have morphed into human form in the right moment.
When I became human, they became animal.
You see, an animal is that which is unpredictable and wild;
terribly aggressive.
But people were scared. Now they have more reason to lock up
their kids behind bright little screens as they push them in secure strollers.
"Look at this game. Isn't it fun? Mommy's here. You're in a belt. You are
safe."
I just heard a sob from below. As I think these thoughts, I can sense
she is crying and missing me, missing a creature she never knew.
She sees God in me. She sees God in everything around her.
To shoot me was to shoot her spirit in the chest, to watch the blood
form in pools while people watched and put away their cell phones
and pushed their strollers to the next set of bars. On to more eyes that hide their secrets from the humans.
[in memory of Harambe the Gorilla]
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 12:35 AM UTC
Fingers type aggressively into the night as I stare at the screen of my phone.
A group debate about whether or not applying deodorant to your ****** will stop the chronic itching is being played out
We all smile and laugh.
For the record, it totally will.
The discussion of memes enthrals my mind as I relax into the cotton comforter.
The feeling of satisfaction travels through my veins as I embrace the friendship I have and the light, playful conversation taking place.
Anxiety and paranoia settle in and take their well worn places in my mind.
Like icy blue dragons, they curl around my thoughts, just waiting for these people who will soon be irrelevant to leave me.
The words they type about Harambe have no meaning
But the words they think about what I say in return imprison me.
Fear of abandonment creeps in as I swirl the aspects of my personality into a hue that will convince them not to drop me in a ditch.
I know, not because I’m afraid, but because I’ve seen it happen, that my trust in them will be burned to ashes eventually and I’ll be yet
Another traitor to the fragile glass of friendships that we all hold together.
Just waiting for them to use my insecurities against me like a time bomb ticking
Ticking
Ticking in my ear.
And I can’t see the timer.
But I laugh along.
And send a relevant emoji.
They laugh at my jokes and I can’t stop thinking about how soon enough they’ll be laughing at
Me.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 3:47 PM UTC
Now at long last
The year has past
Another now begins
Yet here I am still counting
All the 2016 sins
Let's start with Donald Trump
And this historical election
Another Great Leap Forward
Just back in the wrong direction
Truth itself was scandalous
And lies are still the norm
The media remembered Caitlyn
Then forgot the storm
While we just ate a Twitter feed
Like Russia they were hacking
Uploading Zika viruses
That sent refugees packing
To the blood-addicted streets
From Syria to our front steps
While we kept droppin' photobombs
And hashtag #noregrets
The pigs in blue, the black sheep herd
Still fighting all our battles
Since pale horses still possess
Each head of branded cattle
In this pea-brained agri-culture
Old McDonald take the hint
They're poisoning the wishing well
Just take a sip of Flint
Then dry your lips like Cali'
Where only Prince is sadder
To Wells Fargo draining pockets
None of your lives matter
Colin couldn't stand it
And even Britain's bailin'
As 20,000 people wrote
Harambe on their mail-in
Yet still we had some winners
Like Lebron, Leo and Sioux
But victories for Mother Earth
Are still too small and few
And now we stand
Throughout the land
Divided for the fall
All I can say is how the ****
Do we still drop the ball?
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 4:04 AM UTC
You are a gorilla,
Strong, ugly and fat.
But we all love you,
And we know you love us too.
Even though you're not here,
We'll be keeping you near.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
A 2 year old boy was killed by an alligator
"I don't care he was white"
"The parents are neglectful"as these people mourn their baby that
they created, birthed and raised for just a short time.
The gorilla was shot simply to save a child
" justice for harambe" " they should of killed the kid"
50 people have been shot dead in a gay nightclub by a man who pledged to isis. "Islam is a religion of peace" "hug a Muslim" so the LBGT community no longer matters? You'd rather defend a religion that isis branched off of?
A man gets arrested for ****** a girl and gets 3 months in prison which is completely unfair and he doesn't need to be in society. All you say is " it's white male privilege" do you people care about that traumatized girl? Who has the deal with this humiliation for the rest of her life.
Take time to realize the suffering and embarrassment the victims and the ones who personally know the victims are going through instead of defending perpetrators and bring outside stories into the case.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
Harambe the inquisitive Self
Harambe the mangy dog
Harambe the broken Spirit
Harambe whose bones are my altar, scepter
Harambe who in his jailhouse did rock
Harambe whose name is communal labor
Harambe who stared into clear blank eyes and intuited the nature of the Soul
Harambe because Blake
Harambe because Hattie Carroll
Harambe because Truth in unintelligible letters, bleak
Harambe because big black bullets pointed your way
Harambe because Et tu, Brute?
Harambe who constructed mental labyrinths out of paradise
Harambe who was half divine
Harambe who was half Man
Harambe who was full Anima Mundi
Harambe who was aped by the lollygagging necks and stiff roboticism of the masses
Harambe who was memed within an inch of his exhumed life
Harambe who was politicized
Harambe who was poeticized, needlessly
Harambe who stared down a Cincinnati sunrise just once upon arrival
Harambe who could not take it
Harambe who stayed inside all day
Harambe who was struck by the immensity of small broken objects (especially children)
Harambe who could not fathom my poetry, but wrote it all the same
Harambe who did not die in vain
Harambe whose voice will never taste his country
Harambe who no amount of ***** held out will return his stagnant soul to his body again
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 3:59 PM UTC
that's one of the reasons that i don't
"think"
that **** sapiens*
exists...
it seems that from *dementia
praecox's* evolution into schiozophrenia
has allowed a poetic evolution
of spreschen...
you can write subjectivity
and subjectivity,
completely devoid of polar attitudes
as to how the word is accomplished
in a sentence...
but in terms of objectivity?
you always tend to side with the people
who cite "objectivity",
i.e. third party narrators...
these this precursor stress
for a necessity
of ambiguity...
fuck's sake, like inverting a caron
into a circumflex...
^ > < ? the ****
yeah... manga
why wasn't it ever > <
_ ?
ob. human
animal sub.
if there's a subconsciousness,
surely, given the prefix-rule,
there must also be an obconsciousness...
that's ******* with my mind
right now...
but, after all, there's the categorical
foundation...
we already have puritan
objectivity... it's called physics...
dynamic (ɔ) - an "invisible" hand:
ball (p) smacks against ball (b)
and you have the dynamic (c),
i.e. ball (p) stops moving,
and ball (b) moves from
the interaction.
journalism isn't a science,
you can't be objective as such,
you don't have the safety of
a lab. slothing away at
some mundane experiment...
in journalism you only have 1 chance...
you don't get to compare
within the concept
of heidegger's dasein...
you're there, be a ******* journalist!
objectivity to me is a myth of
pompous brats who really want to
reach the apathetic potential of
a psychopath;
that's all they're doing,
imitating psychopathy;
and might i add? very poorly...
the ultimate psychopaths,
i.e. giving the most objective: oops?
the manhattan project...
so yeah...
"objectively" speaking i'm a late cousin
of harambe (the gorilla)...
but subjectively i'm equipped
with the ability to write,
something like this, rather than reduce
myself to a rainbow onomatopoeia of
syllables, imitating a human
coughing or sneezing or laughing,
rather than a gorilla intimidating
a contender for his abode and harem.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 11:03 AM UTC