"hybrid" poems
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©Franko the Christian Poet
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 6:00 AM UTC
I am the rose that grew from concrete
Budded from stones, rocks, mortar, cement, broken glass, drug vials and bags.
I am a product of my environment.
What you thought would **** me,
Only served to make me stronger.
Evolved into a hybrid
I'm the only of my kind.
My thorns fortified with brass knuckles,
My color faded from weather beatings,
And all other beatings,
The travesty of my existence
is not lost on me.
Beauty in the midst of pain,
And what is the epitome of ugly.
I don't belong here and never did.
Wisdom I have absorbed
From rains never to come again
Rejuvenates my leaves.
Although I cannot absorb it all,
Through the cracks in the concrete.
I relish what I can
And vow to absorb more the next time,
Should I be so fortunate.
Because the concrete can protect
As well as expose my naivete.
So compelling to manipulate,
It would be ideal to control.
Impossible though.
How can you control
What grows and survives in the midst of chaos?
And at what cost to your soul?
Even through the ominous clouds,
I remain in light.
The Sun has never been immune to my plight.
Providing the strength, energy and hope
I'll need for the next season of my fight.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
Darling, there are few facts that you
must know as a student of science,
And there are many more that you
must know as a cute human being.
There are three bearing mango trees
& one guava tree outside our home,
The guava tree is infested with the
parasitic growth of a sacred fig tree.
After many years' from today
the "Bargad" tree will grow out,
Ousting the guava tree it will finally
be free but it won't forget guava tree.
It will always feel having been parented by the guava tree, and so it might actually become a hybrid of both the trees and so a love child hybrid tree would ultimately give shade and fruits to people in the future generation.
So should the ideal love of a human being be inspired towards everyone including the ones who they love and fellow human beings - selfless and pure.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
There is a legend
about a bird
which sings just once in its life. more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth,
From the moment it leaves
the nest it searches for
a thorn tree,and it does not rest
until it has found one.
Then singing, among the savage branches, it pales itself upon the sharpest spine. And dying, it rises above its own agony
to outcarol the larkand the nightingale.
One superlative song,existence the price.
But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles.
for the best is only bought at the cost of great pain....Or
so says the legend.This resonates deeply within me
because being an RHO negativeMother every Gyno MD advised
termination of my unborn a malicious prejudice
even called me hybrid race! the medical database is WRONG
I SAVED three of my children they were born
they live the loves of my life
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
A few hours after midnight; the world is fast asleep.
Alone and cold do I wander. Like a nightmare do I creep.
With the intent of nothing I sit and watch the street.
It’s a week after Halloween and my shoes are on my feet.
I near my house, I think I’ll shave, (My chin has an itch.)
But at my feet upon the ground a color doesn’t fit;
Black on black with a spot of white doesn’t sit quite right.
You’d think they’d be more careful, ornery little gits.
Yet here at my feet, some candy lies plainly in my sight.
I stop to stare and wonder, and my brain does a nervous twitch.
So here I am; with a piece of candy that might have mange
Meanwhile my mind is discovering a whole new range
For all the pain we go through, to keep the world nice,
Nothing anyone does ever seems to pay the price.
I’ve got a new hybrid car, gets 50 to the gallon plus it’s electric.
And when I finish a snack trash is out the window. Are we epileptic?
I mean you’ve got to be kidding me, who can say that they are not
A miserable little hypocrite? World is full of betrayal and lies.
Filling with anger, righteous and hot, I feel a change in my soul.
I’ll be better! I’ll change the world or the two of us will sever ties!
The earth will follow my example and we’ll hold to higher goal.
Give me a few years and then lets see what we’ve got!
I hold onto the fantasy for a while, sad to let it slip.
But the truth does sink in and reality has a tighter grip.
Even if I spoke who would listen? One cry in a thousand’s not so great.
I’m not saying we shouldn’t try, to resign ourselves to our fate.
I’ve never been a pessimist, just a realistic optimist you understand.
If you want change, aim for what you can hold in your hand.
Think you can bring about world peace, think you’ve got the might?
Try to keep peace in your town, or your block, or home without a fight.
I stand and think to myself one more Sucker here and there,
Isn’t going to change a thing. If ten men vowed never to let themselves repeat
Their mistakes, the next day a chance would come, one would stand,
Nine would shudder and forsake him. Alone he’d return to his seat.
I step away and head home. I return my thoughts to the matters at hand.
Like my homework; a poem and some calc. I’ve still got to lose some ****** hair
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
how silly of me
to think that anyone would ever
choose a used truck
over a pristine new hybrid
i am too used and too broken
for anyone to even bother to repair
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
The great dictatorship of the futon
A hybrid beast not truly made for two
Cover play turned treatised malice
The brilliance of cold imposed on waking
To find no roses just pillows between
Lying nestled in inert ecstasy
Singing rusty hist'ries, its a sales job
For the masses Know that it will return
No wit like the brain before sleep sets in
No sight like a deaf dreamers providence
No solution like the one no one wants
To drift away and return on waking
The day seems touched to find us divided
A restful sleep met with a restless heart
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 8:45 PM UTC
Sprang forth with no branches or leaves. Small roots.
Bore mangoes, papayas,guava and bananas. Hybrid, mid limb grafting.
The trunk is a figment but it stands non less. You see
my family tree never was and always will be.
A roadside shade with low hanging fruit.
Was never planted.It was a deposit from the bowels of an exotic bird
of the jungles that sampled at leisure the offerings of the rain forests.
The Hardtack and marmalade came on ships with the kings business
Mixed with the Nigerian Fu-Fu ,the Aztec maize the Mayan legumes.
and all points of the compass.
Old Joe Denegri, The Blancaneaux , The Cattouse, The Melado, The Pinks
The Flowers,The Orozco and more. And boundless from the ***** of opportunity.
Piecemeal and untethered. But it is the tree that I must cling to.
However rough the bark.
The sap runs heavy and slow in the humid Belizean heat.To meet the earth.
Cool breezes blow a haunting disharmony. A sweet unity in chaos.
The soil is rich,pungent and forgiving. Soon, A bell tolls in the distance.
The Sea mists my dreams.
A stairway of coconut fronds to azure skies.
Nighttime smells like creation.
The still slackened pace.
The small rat race.
Tempest in a teapot.
Urban-rural.
Coolie gal.
Creole boy.
New Chinese.
Old African.
Ubiquitous Espania.
Garinagu. Mosquito coast.
Children of Mennon.
Old Basque faces.
Things we call races left with small traces
of what?
My tree, her tree, histree.
I am you and you are me.
I see me in your face and you see me.
We are and will continue to be.
Blended.
a hybrid. An orchid wild.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 5:02 AM UTC
The Mockery of Fairyland
In silence watching, as fellow, fallow fairies dance,
Sylphs float above while gnomes furrow,
Donating water brothers.
Undine.
Spiritual creatures, unseen.
Creation of nature from nature.
Mankind evading.
Those fairies will still catch your eye,
In form of genus butterfly.
God forbid you meet them.
Stumble on their fairy rings.
You should never ever tell a fairy your name.
For in fairyland you may remain.
For safety's sake.
While you're out walking in the woods.
Inside out, you must wear your shirt,
Wear a ring of of iron!
So you can breach the fairies curse.
For in seven year cycles.
Fairies must donate to hell.
A good soul,Tam Hin.
Because he tricked the fairy queen.
She had to set him free.
Ti's said.
As man folk mate.
Fairies do true procreate.
In a way akin to ours!
Hybrid fairies once existed.
They were such melancholy souls.
Far too sad to live in fairyland.
Too fairy like to live on earth!
Titania she still sits waiting patiently.
For her Oberon to arrive.
King and queen of fairyland, in literacy.
Supreme?
No Fallacy!
By ladylivvi1
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 4:56 AM UTC
a miscarriage
a road to nowhere
an ******
a hybrid
a chance missed
a tarantula's kiss
everything's lost
a sea of critique
a man chained in front of the mirror
a priest reciting an unending bible
everything's lost
because perfection is the goal
and failure is the only hope.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
I remember the night my mother
was stung by a scorpion. Ten hours
of steady rain had driven him
to crawl beneath a sack of rice.
Parting with his poison - flash
of diabolic tail in the dark room -
he risked the rain again.
The peasants came like swarms of flies
and buzzed the name of God a hundred times
to paralyse the Evil One.
With candles and with lanterns
throwing giant scorpion shadows
on the mud-baked walls
they searched for him: he was not found.
They clicked their tongues.
With every movement that the scorpion made his poison moved in Mother's blood, they said.
May he sit still, they said
May the sins of your previous birth
be burned away tonight, they said.
May your suffering decrease
the misfortunes of your next birth, they said.
May the sum of all evil
balanced in this unreal world
against the sum of good
become diminished by your pain.
May the poison purify your flesh
of desire, and your spirit of ambition,
they said, and they sat around
on the floor with my mother in the centre,
the peace of understanding on each face.
More candles, more lanterns, more neighbours,
more insects, and the endless rain.
My mother twisted through and through,
groaning on a mat.
My father, sceptic, rationalist,
trying every curse and blessing,
powder, mixture, herb and hybrid.
He even poured a little paraffin
upon the bitten toe and put a match to it.
I watched the flame feeding on my mother.
I watched the holy man perform his rites to tame the poison with an incantation.
After twenty hours
it lost its sting.
My mother only said
Thank God the scorpion picked on me
And spared my children.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 7:29 AM UTC
I wrote this for a slam to explain who I am
It's PoetryByMAN
Yes I am a pseudonym
Mystery I provoke
Take it in let it soak
Word playing every stroke
Savor every ****
Next level set the tier
I'm here to make it clear
Though Twisted is the mirror
Rhymes you shouldn't fear
Competition vital
Here questing for the title
Who shall be my rival
In this game of survival
Hit with love
Vibrating like a hub
Ba doom Ba doom
Hit like a Sub...Woofer...
Heart full not hallow
LIKE ME!
If there was a button would you follow?
Messenger I am
Also I'm a fan
Diggity **** he thinks he's a rapper man
Simple..direct
Vocabulary wreck
All due respect..
Don't want to be correct
Commercial break watch me pop my snapple
Many skills acquired hope my talent is ample
Kung fu poet
Choose style I'll flow it
Talent the seed
Nurture grow it
From my bones
A melodic tone
Comfort comes from coming home
Shaman Buddha
Hybrid to school you
Sand a vibe
Runs right through you
Play my part
In this world of art
Butterfly to a new start
Blow nose with prose
Words without flow
Stand on stage
Put on a show
Hope you enjoyed PoetryByMAN
Spoken in 3rd I am
Blogs on tumblr..Facebook can't stand
Throw all in the air top rope poetry SLAM!!
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 7:03 PM UTC
Here are my eyes
my fried eggs
teal lily-pads floating
on white albumen.
Here are my elbows
like deformed peaches
my knuckles the peas
wrist corn on the cob.
Here are my teeth
my frosty Stonehenge
a ring of slabs
solid halibut.
Here are my ankles
four gobstoppers
cracking as rocks
under her size-five feet.
Here is my nose
fastened to my face
the garbage chute
meets hoover hybrid.
Here are my knees
two wrinkled potatoes
mashing in their sockets
as waves crumble on me.
Here is my hair
my straw candyfloss
unlike her buttered popcorn
curly-wurly waterfall.
Here are my tonsils
squashy strawberries
wedged at the back
of the cave I once made.
Here are my lips
azalea-pink sweets
flecked with salt
from our slice of sea.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
Forever and longer, from
a time long before this one,
we are souls drawn together
in a rare and deep love.
Not always seeing eye to eye,
always, eventually, seeing into the
heart of each other, into the place
where being is all there is.
Our bonds of blood,
and an ancient, hybrid
ancestry braid continuity.
Breathing into the starry interstices
of this infinite correlation, living
within this web of connectivity,
we are never fully apart.
You are my brothers, and forever
will not be long enough to love you.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
I am the shy man
you see at 6 AM in Starbucks
umbrella cocked under my left arm like a guidon,
formless and murky as the latte in my cup,
neufchatel slathered on the bageled
cusp of a new day, one bus token removed
from yesterday's office, aspiring
toward tomorrow's and the next day's sunrise,
convinced of nothing printed
in splashy headlines of USA Today.
I am the strong man
who smiles at the concept
of growing ******* watching women
surrender their eggs, take on new testicles.
I would eagerly belly
your child, assume your burden,
let you envelope me with velvet
*** dream submissive destiny
in the absence of Bodhisattva's caress,
if delicious debauchery empowers you.
I am a Boy Toy on the half-shell,
a nascent embryo filled with dread
of wombs which recently had bound me.
You offer deliverance. I am seed
in your fertile loam-brown soil.
I germinate sinking roots in your mind,
fully conscious I will flower,
a stubborn hybrid planted for your pleasure.
I am a pilgrim without a rock,
the twilight sky beneath your periwinkled heavens.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
On
The counters of poetry
I dock and lock myself
Then
I scope on the bottles of liquors seductively
And spellblind by their syllables
I took the shakers and hybrid
The Similes
The Onomatopeia's
The Nemesis'
The Near-Rhymes
And The Triadic-Lines
Then I gulp fourteen shots of Sonnets
From my paper-glass
And glug a paradox
Or a foil-sigh
Trice,
The knots
Bundling my eloquence
Will exonerated itself
And torpidity will cuff my consciousness
And the droplets remains in my paper- glass
Will impel me
To quest for myriad of them
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stock on a comedy chair
Then
When the
Limbs of time tread
Will I rush to the counter
Like the athletes at Olympia
And hybrid
The Blank-verses
The Alliterations
The Limericks
The Litotes
The Aporia's
And The Dysphemism's
And
Gulp countless
Yet measured shoots
Of Ballad,with my paper-glass
And unravel the oratories
Of sacred secrets,eclectic enchantment and regrettable reflexes
Aside,or injects the world
With my rugged pins of eruditions
Bestowed in me by the liquors of poetry
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stocked on a comedy-chair
Again
I will rush
To the counter,and hybrid
The Exaggerations
The Personifications
The Imageries
And The Caesura's
And
Gulp uncounted shoots
Of Epic's from my paper-glass
And
Eulogise my steam and wit
Yet,I'm drunk
And deeply drunk wholly
By a might that mortify me so much
That I've become a slave
In the awe of my servitude
Now and then
Will I weep and wail terribly
Each morning,each noon,and each night
For the great demise of myself
And for an emancipation
From the perpetual counter-cells poetry
I'm drunk,and deeply drunk by poetry.
Deeply Drunk
©Historian E.Lexano
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
Oftentimes I find myself having these random bubble bursts of thoughts-I want to learn Sanskrit…..what? Where does that even come from? Or Hey! Learning to sew would be neat. Or you know, I could really benefit from reading the newspaper.
And the thing that I struggle to understand is that when I have thoughts like this, is this an attempt to discover more of me or is this me trying to force an idea onto myself that isn’t actually me, but what I think I would like to be...
Think about it. If you came out of the womb and you had a catalogue and could then choose carefully categorized qualities in yourself, what would you choose? Sometimes it feels like then it would be easier then having to try and discover it for yourself. And I could go on about how no, it’s great that we have to go through this struggle to find it and I’ve learned all these things from my journey, but unfortunately, that is not this poem.
No one actually knows who they are completely ever. That’s a neverending journey according to...well everyone. But why do we fight so hard to find it?
If someone paid me to try one new thing each day, I would take them up on that opportunity but if you think at the end of it all, I’d tell you what I learned about myself, then you can have your money back because I’m not interested.
Not every experience is a learning experience and not every adventure has to mean something. I like rock climbing. I like blueberries and strawberries and raspberries. I take long car rides just because I can, thank you Hybrid vehicles. But I am not a rock climber or a farm girl or a lover of cars. I know that I am a person who is going day to day doing things that I like to do. So I may pick up my ukulele this day and I may never pick it up again for another year, but I certainly won’t be selling it because of that. I own more books than I can account for and haven’t read more than 30% of them, but I hate having to take books to the used book store and I love buying more. And so what does that make me?
I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter, because that is not this poem.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
I knew we were in trouble
when they taught the machines to talk
parliament of artificial owls
nocturnal park line pirates
watch and learn
these conspirators
abduct the listening chair
and strap deniability to
another infernal device
so some hotwired pilgriming woman
possesses superior ****** abilities
and a skill with
the violin, the pointy end
camera is king
yet all the negatives
have been destroyed
still somewhere out there
remains a flash card
and a hybrid set of eyes
watching all the people fall to pieces
we're perambulations around
collapsed buildings,
rather than the collapsing buildings themselves
me and the machine
of contradictions
sick as our secrets
with all kinds of shenanigans going on
welcome to the age of copying minds
onto hard drives and cellphones
a future too heavy to carry
and so we plant it deep into the soil
letting the cables sleep
like fading city lights, receding
like strange fractured reactors
at the edge of the world
in lieu of flowers send hope
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 6:37 PM UTC
Grapefruit: abomination!
Such a hybrid shan't exist!
So within my machination
This strange pink fruit I protest
But if it seems I cannot win it
I will find rest within.
Yes, the peace of all my oranges,
My fruit goes without a sin
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
Often times a question regarding death, "what happens, where do you go?"
I'd say it's neutral, no ringing ears, nothing at all.
Though I've grown up neck deep in the tired and frightening atmosphere of death, nights spent as a child contemplating my own existence, I had learned to accept it at a fairly young age
This question no longer bothers me
Before I walked, before I talked genuinely, I was a million questions, a million ideas all kept under lock
And the way I walked and talked was not my own
And now, some days they'll call me a "man", but what I am is a hybrid of all of these thoughts
bright and faded colors, painted fingers and toes, distorted and vulnerable
And that sudden burst of consciousness at birth was the same I'd come to know in that moment, at the bottom with the fishes, counting pictures and having visions with my last bit of oxygen. Mermaids, gold glitter, and snakes in the water.
Never had I known such a gentle touch, among some collapsed lakeside cottage.
And that is why I am no longer afraid of death, because to cease to exist is not any kind of experience.
And I will always remember, the sudden burst of consciousness just before the renaissance that ensued from your touch.
And I will not wait
And I will sing in a violently feminine fashion
before the day my lung collapses
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 7:57 AM UTC
You are the light
streaming through the wings of a Phengaris Arion, butterfly.
The real blue a divergence
from the brilliant hybrid lanterns,
your radiant eyes.
I walked in reckless,
The slash the superheated steel,
ate the sea and drank the sky, died, and flew.
From the outside I came to you,
a reflection, you, yourself,
pineapple slices on banana leaf.
Curtain the day, let the glass go dark,
place the mattress on the lawn,
spawn nightmares in the street,
revel in an autumn rain, the dull dark white,
the blazing black awaiting dawn.
Your beauty is a tempest or swirling currents,
that caress all the senses, for it lies not only before the eye,
but in the content of action and creation, the heart in your endeavors.
Forget the insincere frauds and sharks scenting sorrow,
and feeding on misery in a frenzy.
We together can blunt the teeth of the shark with our joy.
Rose pink and fuchsia, euphoric light.
The Creature from the Black Lagoon on a drive in big screen,
black and white in the night. The air is scented electric.
Bright waters ripple in the spaces between us.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 3:54 PM UTC
I guess
It's my duty to express
Unpopular opinions
But
The only man I want
Leaving things
In my stockings
Doesn't wear red
He doesn't have a beard
And he's not fat
He's my Guy
With top shelf
On sale
For half price
I only know
Two things about
mistletoe
1. I've never parted
My mouth inside of
Its shadow
2. It would probably
**** to smoke
I don't need no fancy christmas trees
With lights, and stars, and hypocrisies
I've got hybrid harlots creeping
Down into the pink of
My cigarette kissed lungs
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 8:53 PM UTC
I stand before you, not as an expert, but as a concerned citizen.
One of the four hundred thousand people who marched in the streets of New York on Sunday and the billions of others around the world who want to solve our climate crisis.
As a poet, I pretend for a living. I play fictitious characters often solving fictitious problems. I believe that mankind has looked at climate change in that same way; as if it were a fiction. As if pretending that climate change wasn’t real would somehow make it go away.
But I think we all know better than that now. Every week we’re seeing new and undeniable climate events, evidence that accelerated climate change is here, right now.
Droughts are intensifying, our ocean’s are acidifying, with methane plumes rising up from the ocean floor. We are seeing extreme weather events and the west Antarctic and Greenland ice sheets melting at unprecedented rates decades ahead of scientific projections. The scientific community knows it. Industry knows it. Governments know it. Even the United States military knows it.
The chief of the US navy’s Pacific command, Admiral Samuel Locklear recently said that climate change is our single greatest security threat.
My friends, this body, perhaps more than any other gathering in human history now faces this difficult but achievable task.
You can make history or you will be vilified by it.
To be clear, this is not about just telling people to change lightbulbs or to buy a hybrid car. This disaster has grown beyond the choices that individuals make. This is now about our industries and our governments around the world taking decisive large-scale action. We need to put a price tag on carbon emissions and eliminate government subsidies for all oil, coal, and gas companies. We need to end the free ride that industrial polluters have been given in the name of a free market economy. They do not deserve our tax dollars, they deserve our scrutiny. For the economy itself will die if our ecosystems collapse. This is not a partisan debate, it is a human one. Clean air and a livable climate area inalienable human rights and solving this crisis is not just a question of politics. It is a question of our own survival. But now it is your turn.
The time to answer humankind’s greatest challenge, is now. We beg of you to face it with courage and honesty.
Thank you
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 6:51 AM UTC
The encapsulating power of silence is a beckoning wonder of the universe, as we abandon our awareness and travail toward psychedelic oblivion.
Although Neolithic tendencies have shaped our foreign fields of hybrid plantations at the expense of organic exuberance, it is wise that we listen to the concerts at dawn and dusk as they echo from the depths of the woodlands.
In our unwitting state of being, owls often grace us with their ghostly presence.
This sullen atmosphere is so damp with the juices of forgotten dreams, and we are not yet shrouded by the mysteries of such treacherous slumbers and defensive immobilisations.
Look at the patterns upon the rock of the Badlands where geological delicacies are too difficult to masticate.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC