"idealists" poems
We have many ideals,
but we do not seem to have idealists anymore.
We have droves of problem solvers,
but we do not seem to have solutions anymore.
We have endless media discourse,
but we do not seem to have dialogue anymore.
We have unrestrained capitalism,
but we do not seem to have money anymore.
We have innumerable drugs,
but we do not seem to have treatment anymore.
We have scores of Baby Boomers,
but we do not seem to have elders anymore.
We have unlimited vacation days,
but we do not seem to have days off anymore.
We have incalculable amounts of information,
but we do not seem to have facts anymore.
We have regular, established elections,
but we do not seem to have elected officials anymore.
We have America,
but we do not seem to have a nation anymore.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 3:20 AM UTC
I hate woodstock
I hate the whole
mainstream counterculture
why embrace something as alternative
when society itself is evolving to be just that?
I almost desire to be
the textbook,
cookie-cut
worker drone
family man
but I figure,
I'll push in a different direction
than anyone I know
most writers are
bullshitters
anyway
especially the best
ones--
I could imagine Sartre
before fans,
promising a world he couldn't provide
I think all writers
at their core,
are idealists
dreamers
when that ceases,
they can no longer write
or turn
to nonfiction
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 1:25 PM UTC
Composed
wandering the Commons, quietly listening
to the sounds of Childish Gambino
Confused
Looking for the sixteenth time for
An escape from the Pru
Sipping a glass of Sam Adams Boston Brick Red
at a corner of WHISKEY'S on Boylston
Stopped in at Ben & Jerry's on Park:
Bought a cone of ™
Paid for it with
my Bank of America® VISA® P L A T I N U M P L U S ®
Checked in on foursquare and
read the protest tweets on
my verizonwireless® hTC® ThunderBolt™
with Google:
@OccupyWallSt
#NYPD collapses on #Sanctuary and begins arresting clergy and occupiers
inside. #D17 #Re-Occupy #OWS
\_Retweeted by Occupy Boston
@HoraceBoothroyd
@OccupyWallSt Links to sanctuary/clergy violations?
Erst I wandered the sights
and thought of thoughts
Tweeted a picture of the “pro-corporate” march
Pictured Headlines:
Area Cop Arrests Area Man for Obeying Traffic Signal
"Didn't anybody tell him that's not how its done round here?"
Cell of Young Idealists with ties to
Low-Level Terrorist Organization Busted & Detained:
Found Plotting the Grassroots, Digitized, Non-Violent Overthrow of the Status Quo
Op-ed:
City upon a Hill: “Whose city?! Whose hill?!”
#SOPA #NDAA
#OCCUPYBOSTON
~D.B. Guy, 12/17/11
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 3:35 AM UTC
Ebola Sars and *** sounds like a big deal to me
Isis recruits Australians, Russia bombs Ukrainians
Economic bubble crash is starting to give me a rash
Tumblr just gets really mad when you say a word they think is bad
Hyper fervent slactivism causing me a social schism
Picking up the pieces of a shattered governmental system
Cliches of a topic piled up into a rhyming pattern
Pundits pumping such hot air they might as well just move to Saturn
Tumblr just gets really mad when you say a word they think is bad
Post Modern kids all broke it down as something they could
deconstruct
Idealists will polish turds, while cynics just don't give a ****
Focus on your social status, eating healthy, getting hotter
Better drink my own **** cause we're quickly running out of water
Tumblr just gets really mad when you say a word they think is bad
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
I've experienced the exuberance of youth.
Through endless summer days, of blissful childhood ignorance.
I have drempt the most glorious dreams. The ability to soar with the eagles was mine, most any night. I was to live, forever.
I have know the delirious intoxication, of boyish infatuation.
And to such a degree, I have tasted the bitterness of rejection.
I have lived amid nonconformists. I shared in their ideological beliefs. Old Guard be ******
I have witnessed the gatherings of idealists, who's main purpose
was to spread their premise of the brotherhood of man.
I have seen them chained and gagged. Beaten for their beliefs. Shot down in their youth, by those who's superficial dogmas kept them from the truth.
I have been among the ranks of the tens of thousands, shouting my incensement's against a failing war. And I have been to the "wall" and wept for my fallen brothers.I have seen the rise of iconic performers. Some who would pay the ultimate price for their notoriety.
I have felt the power of their karma and reveled in their idioms'.
I have witnessed the miraculous wonder of birth. I've had the privilege to hold the embodiment of purity, God's ultimate creation, in the hollow of my arms.
I have walked among the Angels. And I have delved into the pit of my own iniquity's.
I have loved the un-loved, and scoffed at those who would be cherished.
I have lived as if, there were no tomorrow. I have learned there is just today.
I have lived to be a better man than I was. I live to be a better man than I am.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 5:40 PM UTC
I have observed that history rhymes,
with no exact repeats each time.
As foreign nationals flock to fight
For ISIS and the Caliphate.
It seems I’ve heard this tune before
When socialists fought in the
Spanish war.
That dress rehearsal for World War Two
That played out on the Iberian plains.
Then Communists and Fascists fought
and idealists were slaughtered for their dreams.
Now in the village of Kobane
Its U.S. drones, not **** Planes,
The Kurds expel the men in black
Who leave behind their friends remains.
Foreign fighters by the score
won’t need their passports anymore.
They fought against America,
Is this a second Guernica?
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
4 am child awakened from sleep
By my father gently shaking my shoulder
It did not matter that my sisters
Had declined first
I, the youngest, was about
To inherit an honor
To go alone in the boat, just dad and I
To Little Swan Lake, about 3 miles from home
A familiar place very different in this light
Night sounds and odours distilled
He lowered the boat into the water
And extended his hand to help me climb inside
Looking around me, this darkness was new
Enchanted silence was new and
It did not take long to recognize
That I liked it that way
Soft rowing carried us
To the center of the lake
Where quietly drifting
He introduced me
To the space
Where humans were asleep
And nature claimed you as her own
Smoothing words with his hand
He implored me to be still
As he gave me the gift
of Solitude
An hour passed as we listened
To the rhythm of water
The voices of fish
And the depths of our thoughts
Our eyes exchanged sadness
When other boats crept in
Knowing soon, daylight would waken
The sleeping dogs and invaders
And we would no longer be alone
In our nest of idealists
Did he know
How I worshipped his every action?
That every word he spoke has molded my character?
His humility would never have boasted of such
Which is all the more reason to want to be like him
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
You ever think about how shallow some people are?
So shallow that if you stepped in a puddle of them your feet would still be dry
The people who aim to do things, maybe even great things just to impress or gratify someone
To put someone down
To make up for some kind of weakness
To prove others wrong
Those who create this image of themselves that appeases others perception of them
Money
Material things
Cars
Planes
Designer clothes
Gizmos and gadgets
Things that don't mean anything more than a look see to anyone of real depth
You know depth?
To appreciate everything you're lucky enough to have or gain
To understand the little things and the bigger picture
To have been through hardships and learned from them
Empathy
Patience
Passion
Creativity
Selflessness
Respect
Depth
But then, there is something worse than being shallow
Hollow
To be empty of anything
No desires
No pleasure
Just numb hopelessness
The ones who have been hurt and just couldn't get back up
And fill the void with either drugs, things of only monetary value or self-inflected lashings of pity, loathing and mistrust
They look at the ones with depth and see them as idiotic idealists with no direction or any idea what it means to be part of a normal society
They look at the shallow ones and see great figures of wealthy stature
Exciting lives being lead by beautiful elitists
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
I often find that the people I know are polarized,
they range from,
positive to negative,
you have your optimists,
your idealists,
your cynics,
your nihilists,
and oddly enough,
everyone else.
Optimists believe in Hamilton's Principle,
but they tailor it to our own fabric,
they believe that for some unknown reason,
the current situation is the optimal one,
everything will be alright,
que sera sera,
carpe diem.
Idealists believe in truth,
they understand what is ideal,
and what is not,
they attempt to apply such principles to the observed world,
and more often than not,
they fail,
but that's alright,
they tried their best.
Cynics view the world as it is,
they observe and make rational judgement,
realism at its finest,
a time tested trait,
pragmatism has served them well.
Nihilists believe that life is without intrinsic meaning,
there is nothing that cannot be observed,
a craft of existentialist theory,
they assert that morality is a figment of mankind's imagination,
and for all we know,
they could be right.
And finally we have the remainder,
those of us we have no idea what we believe,
no path traced in the sand,
no trail blazed in the years prior,
and sometimes I think that perhaps this group is right,
there are limits to human understanding,
and so I ask,
how can we know,
oh,
how can we know?
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC
You useless man, Socrates -
I think you need a shower…
I don’t know what the Athenians
find in you but as far as I can see you’re just wasting time
hanging out in the market places
and at dinners and symposiums
where all you do is stay late drinking nights
and talk about philosophy, and ideas
and of origin of things and justice
and nature of human beings
and such useless, impractical things;
and you bring not a cent home
and I can’t count on you for regular support
as all women and good wives might expect of a husband;
and you can’t even hold a good argument with me
for all you do when I use my Xanthippe’s questioning method
against your so-called Socratic method
all you do is mumble and tumble
and use words like shrew and nag
when all I’m asking of you is for you
to keep your part of the implied bargain in marriage
to put some food on the table
and bring some silver coins for the future of our three children:
Lamprocles, Sophroniscus and Menexenus -
have you forgotten them? Do you even remember their names?
And so you bring no money
but instead all you give me are empty words
and lofty words and airy words
and words coined in your head
and you put silly ideas that’s just confusing our children
and if not for me taking the children under my wings
they’ll just turn out to be mere
talkers and market-place prattlers
and hangers-on and leeches at other men’s feasts.
They may have a place in misguided history
if they follow your way
but they will bring weak bodies to their wives
when it is their time.
I don’t want them to be talkers,
and idealists and philosophers, Socrates –
I want them to be responsible
and I want them to bring meat and coins home
regularly and steadily, Socrates.
Socrates, you old man, I don’t care what they say of you
in the Greek world –
I haven’t had proof of your worth and value
here at home, especially in the kitchen.
You useless man, I think you need a shower;
maybe this water from the chamber-pot will wake you up.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 1:27 AM UTC
A dream
Soaring towards
boundless ideas
Paving the path
Verisimilitude
Society.
Placed me in the box of
idealists.
Striding to convince me
my feet
need to find
the ground.
Society.
Untethered me.
Released me
into the realm
of possibility.
Freeing me
to create
Ideology Reality
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
Infidel and traitors to Christ!
Dreaming of a utopia with Pope Frank
and the devil.
Mocking individualism,
and parading around with indians
for liberation.
You don’t make sense.
Organized religion now dead;
due to your deeds to now.
Idealists still not satisfied in hell.
New thought, new thought, new thought.
Here is another one, tired of the same ole one.
Divine science.
Look for the self & God
Do you see it?
Hail Nathaniel Hawthorne
And Edgar Allan Poe!
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
When graphite meets the silky threads of paper
Or when ink drips upon the golden sheet
A beautiful artist is born.
There are many kinds of artists in this world
Although today I shall speak of only one..
A neglected kind that does not wish to
Gain fame or to capture the spotlight
But rather to share to listening ears.
There be people
Who see the world through the eyes of a painter
But are capable of stealing the elegance
Of a dancer, a fighter, royal blood, and much more
And condensing what they feel and see
Into a narcotic thread of words.
There be people
With broken and shining hearts alike
That run on wheels of ideas and epiphanies
And feed on overstuffed buffets of salty tears and sugary kindness.
Idealists and realists,
The poor and the rich,
The hungry and the fed,
The broken and the salvaged,
The logical and the emotional,
This beautiful art is not limited to anyone.
It is the echoing voice of the heart
It is the pleading cries of the soul
And the smile of our childhood innocence.
This art we call "poetry"
It is the life itself whispering ideas into ears.
And if that isn't beautiful.. I don't know what is.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
We are not the voices of nations,
but of people. Our people.
The people of uncensored thought
and true word and strong speech.
The candid lines from our pens
are the last line of defence between
our hopelessly self-destructive people
and themselves. Our people, the poets;
the dreamers and idealists and romantics.
The people who press on through hardship
and disappointment and pain and heartbreak
and discrimination and depression and controversy.
The guiding light from the shadows.
The bucket to the well, and the rope
to bring the water to the thirsty masses.
We are the people of poems,
the people of dreams,
the people of song.
We are the people
of past, present, and future.
We,
The People,
The Poets.
h.f.m.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 7:31 PM UTC
You want true expression, and true honesty
Or so you claim
You don't want the heat that comes with a call for the flame
You don't want to be enveloped in the purity of anyone
I hear you ask for honesty, and I know you don't want it
You want facsimiles, you want approximations, but truth is not for you
We have ego strokes, crutches, blinders, confused priorities
We have people set in their ways, and idealists lacking perspective
I want truth, I want life to blossom unfiltered, raw, and untouched
But if we can't even agree on medicines for diseases
If we can't even agree on who to let live
who to nurture
what to be upset about
Who to feed
When the answers are clearly spelled out
How do you expect me to feel like you even want truth?
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
Upon the worn trails of down trodden souls,
The fool, the sinner and the hopeful leave their woes.
On the path of salvation when many lost their way,
Other paths start to branch away.
A conestoga lays abandoned on the trail,
Where many idealists withered and failed.
The industrial city left behind in the dust filled wake,
No turning back from the journey,
You already chose your fate.
Where would you go in the months and weeks ahead?
Possibly to new Zion or make your own land to think that you'll be well on.
Beware of the adventure who is a fool to travel along,
So always journey together or die without a throne.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
Here the triple-shadowed unveil their beliefs:
wrangled dusk-bitten demigods walking with-
out shame.
Between the voice I feel and the
touch I see, sweetness loses itself in multiplic-
ity. Here the ****** creators
peddle their big
dreams: failed, half-imagined writers writing
for some fame. Between the ink I taste
and
the blank page I peel, beauty spills onto an
unfinished film-reel. Here the salient idealists
distribute their silent pleas:
faceless, disre-
garded farmers farming hapless grain. Be-
tween
the thoughts I see and the biases I smell,
innocence sits unwanted in a wishing-well.
Here the greatest artists
present their newest
piece: aged, masterful painters painting to
stay stane. Between
the subtlest colors and
the heart-arresting hues, skill picks up a gui-
tar and sings some southern
blues.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
impetuous ******* braying at blooming roses
chosen one flowing stream like into view
truth adjectively curtailed
so as to prove useless theory
researching hypnotherapy in lue of information
unpresented speeches sit dusty, shelved
lacking interested parties
showboating cowboy quoting comic books
gazes into starless night skies
pollution fills the space
particulates dance, unencumbered
free to display each nuance of wind movement
air currents placate emaciated youths
as the soft breezes are the only comfort in this new world
globalized idealism creating pop-culture idolatry
faceless masses praying to the media outlets
begging for entertainment and indoctrination
as the pain of thinking for oneself hurts too badly
corroded pineal glands beg for rebirth
injecting the need for fresh green vegetables into the minds
of the McDonaldized populace
showing glimpses of traditional values
based on equality and love
a low rumble creeps up from the bowels
buildings tremble and windows rattle
howls of insane laughter pour over the people
like the biblical flood
love?
equality?
fools notions or the games of little children
twice dubbed voice over auto tuned and through a megaphone shouts out
deafening the society it rules
we killed the hippies with ****
ruined the idealists with animal rights
and stopped the liberals
with cash payments
we have won
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
Your words melt in my mouth
I savor them in
Drawing the flavor
******* on them
And they dissolve
Leaving me craving more
You had me hooked
On your saccharine
Your very own heroine
Marketed specifically for
Idealists like me
Optimistic
Unaware
I turned my head away and refused to see
Refused to taste the underlying sour
The syrupy sickness surging through your veins
Travelled up to your brain
Tainting your thoughts
Your words
Your actions
And you cast off your innocence
Like a snake simply sheds their skin
Revealing the rotten core
Within you
Beneath layers
Walls you built around this tumor
Carefully guarded
Drowned in a lake of fake maple
Syrup you find in grocery stores
With empty promises
And wishy washy half truths
I didn’t realize your poison
Until it was too late
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
little Dreams, small Goals, and tiny Hopes
you should crave for nothing more
this will grant you happiness, this will offer peace
There is no such thing as disappointment
or discontentment, or displeasure, or dissatisfaction
when you acquire only
little Dreams, small Goals, and tiny Hopes
When you desire only
such things that are within arm’s reach
or near-sighted view
Nothing is a let-down
It can all be done reasonably
And stress will only be something you witness
In the lives of others, others who crave more than
little Dreams, small Goals, and tiny Hopes
Poor romantics
And visionaries
And idealists
Their days must be spent
Thinking of all the ends they will never cross
Fantasizing of all they long for...
I warned them, I tried to help them
“little Dreams, small Goals, and tiny Hopes!”
Yet some did not listen
Now look where they are,
Witness what they have become
Nothing less
Than
Great Dreamers,Enormous Achievers,and Vast Seekers
Nothing less
Than
Creators, makers and originators
Desiring, doing and obtaining
Poor ones, who just won't stop
Those who just could not listen
To the advice
from a little Dreamer
They must be miserable…
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
i hate poets
i hate poets and their in-to-na-tion
i hate their formulas for the way words should sound
i hate their bookshelves packed with collected works of ts eliot or whoever they're supposed to like
i hate you
i hate that if you publish a book the world is so ******* interested in how you feel but when someone in the street is screaming their heart out about god or politics or just being nonsensical the world is more interested in putting them away
i have heard more beautiful, insightful, and entertaining diatribes from drunkards, fools, idealists, and madmen than from any ******* poet
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
Where are you
my one perfect muse
the shape of contours
conjured in dreams
held since bud was formed
Where do you rest
waiting
like me for that
eclipse
of moments
Where?!
Are you even
embraced in capsule
light
weightless
located in One
Or are you diverse
scattered like seed on
winds unknown
beyond my reach
as I wonder
Where?!
Is it pointless to conceive
of your fullness
knowing deep down
you exist only in
poetry of disenchanted idealists
Newly formed realists
whose life work
lies smashed
pointless journey
reaching reality
Or will I glimpse you
in passing crowd
ephemeral but
sharply cut out
from all the rest?
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 4:07 AM UTC