A Blue bird flies
in a flock of red fellows,
and he is the only one
to notice the Difference.

He sees,
but all is in black and white.
He understands,
but does not Know
Why.
He hears,
but there is no sound.
He feels,
but there's no touch.
...Not love...

This is not love he feels.
This 'thing', this, new
'feeling' that is indescribable...
An Ampullae of Lorenzi of some sort
What is it??

It is not love; No,
Not love.

This is just black and white to the rest;
in a two-tone world

This/His Difference
is much easier to comprehend
once comprehended(perceived/grasped) beyond just/ the/ 'weakness'
of being
"different" (seeing that you're different isn't the problem. why are you different? if you are "so" different, there must be a reason.  a blue bird sees the diff in a b&w; world not bc of the color, but because of capacity. capability. power. 'force'. Emily saw she was different. and identified. when she speaks of telling truth on a slant and gradually, it's due to the incomprehnsible ability to take in of "the people". she locked herself up bc others didn't get and will chastise her. she was a blue bird who noticed she was blue in a black and white world filled with red fellows.  it was easy for her to see bc all were so blatantly different. dramatically different. blue versus red in a black and white world.  below is going to explain that now, in times of the same dramatic differences, people wear different clothes. they think they are of all different hues and colors of the rainbow in a black and white world. it is much more difficult to understand what this 'feeling' is when it can't be diffcultly yet blatantly seen in a black and white world of blue and red birds. especially when 'power' pushes all to find individuality yet manipulates homogenization).  

When a blue bird flies, in a flock of red fellows,
all who wear clothes of hue, and texture.
brightness and scale
cashmere and rubber  (these lines above are supposed to have 2 things that have nothing to do with the other...shows how 'much' there is to add to....materialism for identity I guess)
in a multi-tone world
Spoon fed a (false) (all-known) (media-passed) vision
and encouraged a sense of "self difference" of indifferent similarity (to the next(fellow)) (supposed to be a contradictive. feel, "we are all so different, in the same way")

The blue bird's view is much more convoluted now (raw it down)

hard to see and understand and comprehend a difference when we are all made the same
hard to see and understand and comprehend a difference when we are all told to be different, but made the same.

milk thick
with clotted cream
not conversant
with homogenization
sat it a sqaut blue
earthenware jug
in the coolness
of the foodsafe
with the pan of water
cold from being ice
below, the soothing drip
part of the melody
of the old kitchen
along with the slap of dough
on the slice of marble
cut from mountainside
in a counrty old and
across a sea of troubles
tibits of sweetness
handed down
for consumption
dough and flour dusted hands
leave imprints on cheeks
and warmth in hearts
in the oven thick ginger bread
rises bringing hunger
to stomachs already full
as women talkand bake
and solve the problems
of the world, banished now
we sit on the step, out the back,
the sun warm on our faces
waiting, waiting, waiting
for a slice of gingerbread
hot from the oven
and a glass of
cold, fresh, creamy milk

Humanity
is now in a
blender.
For
centuries
humanity
lived in pockets,
developing
different ways
of being.
Time passes
humanity
spreads
mixing the
pockets.
Friction, grinding,
war,
the pockets
grind against
one another.
Time passes
technology
advances.
Enter the
Internet.
Homogenization
accelerates at
the speed of
light.
Old ways
obliterated,
pockets
homogenized.
a new world
is
born.

Hello, Hello Poetry
An Online Poetry Community™
A humble place to share
All those words you do care

Do mind our rules and the terms of use
Nothing 'offensive', please. Definitely, no abuse.
Submit a work to start and wait for a bot to reply
Sometimes this doesn't work. We still 'don't know why'

'Hello, Hello Poetry'
'To be a 'Poet'?! Surely, I can be!'
'Just mash the letter keys into rhyming words...'
'Less than zero potential for dog turds!'

'My magnum opus is so brilliant!'
No map, compass or sextant
'My first effort; a monument to laud'
'Mind the ovation and the accelerating, un-seated applause'

Hello, Hello Poetry
The troglodytes dwell in a festering hyperbole
Unsupportive support, it's the rule of the land
Any constructive feedback?; Let it be burned and ******!

'I wrote some things, I deserve praise!'
'Cross me not, lest the unlike sword of anonymity be raised!'
'The self-serving homogenization of mediocrity must be maintained!'
Of this, I have clearly (and notably) disdained...

Hello, Hello Poetry
The Internet's Bath-House for "Creativity"™
'Mom already hung it on the fridge--not good enough for me!'
'This "greatness" needs ALL the internet to see!'

To what end? Stranger's validation?
A legitimization of your station?
At what point is this *******?
In this self-agrandization?

*Hello Poet-Try™

I wake with the sun
In hopes of meeting you.
thick with pasteurization,
you have the probiotics I crave.
Chilled from your Frigidaire home,
all you need is a stir.
lumpy and unsatisfying,
homogenization is the goal.
I mix tirelessly until nightfall,
praying for your smooth texture
At last,
it is mixed.
or so I thought.
your betrayal,
clumpy.
It leaves me hurt,
and hungry
I must mix again.

Surrendering to a folly worse than evisceration, apologetic Germans pay for premisal crimes of ancestral bureaucrats...o tal vez: Germans embrace criminal Arabs who search for ermine women to disgrace. Given to folly worse than evisceration, apologetic Germans pay for conjectural crimes that haunt long-dead politicians. Homogenization & assimilation = miscegenation which destroys diversity because: spooning leads to swooning as forking leads to corking while: each Christus Mass we celebrate the sacrifices of Jesús (God's son) with fir trees in glitter; roasted fowl denuded of innards & stuffed with stale bread, chestnuts, celery & shell fish. Our children are ingratiated with baubles by the ancestors of the ancestresses who were mistresses of fathers who afforded them wifely status. These celebratory 12 days grant living men opportunities to exhume & inhume harlots; to replenish larder stock; to avenge treachery. Earthen waters slake thirst while the 3,000-mile-wide sun remands darkling. Who is a Jew? Jews populate each of the 4 anthropological designations (races). Self-proclaimed/self-anointed Jews know little of the Tora, the Talmud, & the crickets & the locusts that are Kosher under the Kashrut.

Information,
data flowing.
Flowing
through my
being.
Invisible hands
working my
mind,
Kneading
like clay.
Shaping,
forming what
I think.
Formatting
how
I think.
Information
invasion,
out
to capture
terrain,
territory.
Coursing
the folds
of my
mind.
Capturing
the ripples
of my being.
Homogenization
of thought
globally.
Power of
information.
The power to
control,
brainwash.
Brainwash
all who stare
too long.
Too long
into the
abyss!

My originality, yes,
Can be overshadowed by who I
Resemble.

I assume positions and mannerisms
Like my dad,
I’ve been told.
The laughter, the cadences in dialogue
Similar on the paternal end, it seems.

Any mention of resembling Mom?
Not really,
Mostly the “like father, like son” interpretation.
I know I have Mom in me, though;
She even told me how I have her lips,
And my dad notices the excited energy Mom and I both have.
Time to break the norm:
I propose “like mother, like son”
For what I learn and have inherited from the maternal side.

I’m not just a mix of my parents, though,
I’m also a homogenization of those I encounter.

There were times where I would try
To emulate my brother’s life strength,
Letting words that try to haunt evaporate from memory.
Of course, when people advise me to “be yourself”
The truth becomes clearer as I experiment with ways
Of trying to escape the life-burdens only I can undertake
That mimicry only makes “me-me-cry.”

Sometimes I’d love my sister’s assertiveness,
How somehow the strength of her direct dialogue
Thunders when her mind is set on a course of action.

Too many instances
Where before friends my eyes become “copy machines”
Scanning what I see fit to scale, but unfit for me:
Folding my arms toughly,
******* my hands in my pants’ pockets,
Adjusting the cadences of my voice,
Adjusting the volume/tone of my voice,
Thinking I can think what others think.

How do I stay original, regardless of how I’m prone to change?
Well, at least I have one area of originality:
Who I’ve encountered
And where I’ve been
At uniquely arranged times fit for me.