"immoral" poems
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea.
At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate.
This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land.
“Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment.
Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement.
Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused.
Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control.
The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed.
In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
Leg off the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door!
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric
join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and crocodile shoes
get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines!
did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all those impressionable basics
put to the test?
you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade
old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the shiit storm
with those hostile priicks
and a slew
of insatiable
cures
there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)
soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)
might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern!)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!
headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final
shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line ~
this banter
is killing me
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
Hijab is my crown
shaped in a circle
around my head
like that of a full moon
bringing light
from the One
who has commanded me
to wear it
to my face
Hijab is my crown
shaped in a circle
around my head
like a merry-go-round
rotating with a joyful force
in places near and far
illuminating its power
a reflection of my soul
and inner beauty
Hijab is my crown
shaped in a circle
around my head
the way whirling dervishes move
we're so high
aspiring nearness to Allah Masha'Allah
our act of wearing hijab daily
deserving of much respect
and Insha Allah
The Seventh Heaven
Hijab is my crown
shaped in a circle
around my head
like a spinning wheel
many made
in different colors
and in different textures
each brightening the world
and when wearing it
like Khadijah (AS), Fatimah (AS), and Aisha (RA)
attracts attention of the best kind
Hijab is my crown
shaped in a circle
around my head
like Big Ben
I'm so high
dignified
a visible ambassador
of Islam
saying no to immodesty
and saying yes to our Majesty
Hijab is my crown
shaped in a circle
around my head
like a halo
starting my day with Bismillah
and looking into the mirror
to carefully donn it
I remember
I'm doing this to help men
married and unmarried
from sinning
and to protect myself
from impurity and immoral acts
as
Hijab is my crown
for me a Queen
By: Najwa Kareem
Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 2:42 PM UTC
Syria
**** the adults, save the children"
Plea of parents from war torn Syria
Children being killed for 'throwing stones'
Parents dying from broken hearts
Worlds most immoral army
Fabricating the deaths of men, women
Young, and old
The world is quiet oh so quiet
There are humans but no humanity
A word known as justice
But nobody here to deliver it
The world is a cruel place
None will speak until its them that suffer :(
Why is it so hard to let each other live in peace?
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 12:16 PM UTC
I can't compute and become mute
When you walk by
My circuitry is fried
Because your program is an encryption
And your pulse is electromagnetic
My car dies, so does my phone, so does my home
I'm immobilized
And demoralized
By immoral ties
To temporary generators
They're validating veneraters
Ultimately unsatisfying
When you're still not buying
I'm attracted to your charge
Until there's a battery
Yet you're the cure to your lure
The EMT for your EMP
Your negative charge casts a cloud around my nucleus
But if you could be positive for a change
We could meet in the middle
And feel energy in our synergy
But as soon as I feel electricity between us
You shut me down
With your EMP
I can't get free
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 6:14 AM UTC
O mistress, your gentle eyes were a warm angel’s song.
Your glazed almond skin was soft like a virgin's touch.
Bound me in chains of desire and sin in your love dungeon.
Your euphonic voice calls out to me like a raven’s tweet.
I licked my lips and pleasured my *******
My face flushed like a thorny rose.
I reached out to caress her tendril twine of hair.
She whispered sweet nothings that filled the air.
O mistress! Our love is wrong.
In the heat of this forbidden love
we embrace the eternal night,
sharing a kiss in the moonless delight.
My body’s a canvas, craving her touch
I yearn for her sweet **********
Pain and pleasure whips me to shape.
My love for her will always creep.
O mistress, come close to me.
Print your skin on my pale flesh.
Prepare me for my best nightmare.
Where you invite worship for this time.
You stab me with love like a swordswoman
and make art out of my darkness.
No demon or god can tear us asunder.
There is still beauty in this immoral hunger.
O mistress, I submit every ounce of my soul to you.
For you have your way with me for eternity.
The bellowing echoes of ****** rumors
will never take my love for you away.
May 4, 2024
May 4, 2024 at 10:06 PM UTC
My heart hurts
And so do my eyes
And what's left of my brain
And my legs ache
It is if as I am running from who I am
All the time.
I love her so much, I cannot even explain how deep
My love for her truly is.
And I cannot imagine my life without her
Because she truly is my light.
But I can't help how afraid I am.
I am not afraid of our beautiful relationship,
But what our relationship might be if
Someone-our school and/or parents- we're to find out.
I can feel tension and anger and sadness swell up inside of my chest
And all I want to do is to protect her.
But how can I do that by hiding all of the time?
We kissed openly yesterday by the lakefront
And my God, I miss the way she looked under that sunset.
I miss the way she tasted with that hint of salt in the air.
I just miss being hers openly.
Sometimes I ask myself and God, why am I gay?
Is there no man who will ever perfectly complete me like
She does? I honestly think not, she truly feels like the only one
Who can know me better than I ever could.
And does any mans lips feel any more truer than when her lips
Are on mine? Everything about me in this moment is a fire that is burning. I am burning and raging against this door because I'm not sure how much longer I can be contained. I simply cannot live in secrecy but if I ever let this flame out then everything would burn. I love her so much and I simply cannot let this flame go because if I did, all hell would break loose and we would both be put to death in the worst manner possible.
I just want to love her the way God meant for it to be, but how can I do that when everyone I've ever loved has told me it is wrong? That it is immoral and disgusting and a sin. I can't believe for a single second that our love could be a sin. Maybe we can't have children and maybe the way we make love is different from the way you do it, but in all honesty, is that what makes a relationship beautiful? I find the way she crinkles her nose to be enough to set a flame in my heart and the way she points her toes when swinging on swings to add to ignition and the way she smiles at me to keep me going forever. I love her so strongly and passionately that maybe I am crazy, but this love can certainly not be immoral. Why would He make me this way? Just to put me in hell? Did Satan indeed win my soul from the moment I was conceived and God just... gave up? No, I cannot believe this for a single second. He loves me and he loves her and he loves us and if you cannot understand how we have maintained this beautiful and loving relationship for so long while staying hidden it is because you do not see the effect that God has on us. I believe that he wants us together, not to eventually cause us pain. I hate lying, and I'm sure God can see it even more easily than my lovely girlfriend does, but maybe He lets me lie because he does not see any other way to let me be with my other half.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
I exist
on the border
between Reality,
and the Imaginary.
I breathe in belligerent Black,
and Withering whites.
I am incapable of grays,
a gradient of gruesome Grief.
I dance on the Border,
exhaling exuberant fragility,
my border is made of glass.
And I rise from the ashes,
a Byproduct of the
bridges I've burned.
Craving soothing touch,
Yet silently seeking
Incriminating Isolation,
Addicted to my own destruction.
A shattered soul dutifully
Dances on the Border,
Held captive by her sins.
Trapped between Good
and Bad. Happiness
and Heartbreak. Lost
and Found. Death
and Resurrection.
Born on the Border, a
Simple Figment of
Immoral Imagination.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
Men give less value to a Promiscuous or immoral woman, and sometime she’s a victim not the circumstance, why do men hold less value to the hurt that is caused because they heard you get around or you trusted them with your secrets?
Some choose to pursue a faithless, unworthy, or idolatrous desire only to find out this person this ***** does have a heart and *** is not meaningless ,to scurry around and bounce from bed to bed giving disregard to the countless broken hearts laid by a path of deceitful pleasure should you be so lucky??
Who gives a **** about a ***** or ***** or ********** they’ll get over it, there used to it, does it not come with the job or there easy! Not always true even a ***** needs love or the ********** needs genuine affection.
Why do you not care enough to hold them and or ease their pain if their hurting as well ,defined love and what’s valuable to you ….I don’t care about her I hurt my family but you cared enough to slip your **** up in her …and or have it ****** !
****** have feelings too!
You took your time and played out the situation, found a vulnerable place to lay you head even enjoyed getting in between this WHORE's legs ,now you’re feeling some sort of way and she has to go because after all she’s a ***** and the pleasure was mutual, she was your refuge an open ear in your time of need ..But she still a *****
WHY bother??
written by Monica Chrisandtras Hines
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
This world is perverse
Sickos run everything
People feed their hungers
With the most immoral things
****
Whips
Pain
******
Hating
Killing
It's sick
Disgusting
Perverted
It seems as if
No one can control themselves
Anymore.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
Blood, gore
*** *****
High, drugs
Thief, mugs
Anger, harm
Cut, arm
**** *******
Looser, *******
***** ****
Slutty, shunned
****** ugly
Smart, nerdy
Stupid, dumb
Perfect, come
Gay, handy
Ignorant, trani
Black, ******
White, *******
Lost, dog
Fat, hog
Illegal, immigrant
Immoral, rent
Discriminate
Hate
Procrastinate
Fake
We all give labels to everyone
All of us, let's have some fun
Let's go out and **** someone
Who hurts you, don't let them run
Make all pay for labels begun.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
The heart asks for love when there's none
It screams out "send help"
The brain has questions but no answer
It screams out "send help"
The soul feels empty but there's immoral surroundings
It screams out "send help"
The body aches however there is no rest
It screams out "send help"
The world whispers back two simple words
"Help yourself"
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
The colour draining from my face.
The life draining from my body.
The hatred for the Capitol building.
The everlasting sound of her name.
“Katniss Everdeen”
She doesn't deserve to be killed.
She doesn't deserve to fight
An impossible battle to live.
That battle takes place here everyday.
“Katniss Everdeen”
It's painful to watch.
It's immoral to watch.
It's too vile to watch.
But I can't stray my eyes
From
Her.
“Katniss Everdeen”
The blood, the gore, the killing:
Is not the reason I can't look away.
Each glance, each touch with him
Kills.
Me.
Inside.
“Katniss Everdeen, I love you”
- Gale Hawthorne
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 2:55 PM UTC
Senses smothered in filth,
wails in repugnance,
isolated from immoral.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
F for the fistfights I was asked to sit out of, because I was born with a different set of genitals
E for the equal rights I've been begging for, only to be let down time and over again
M for all the military applications that weren't even reviewed, because I seemed unfit for not having a pair of nuts
I for the inferno that you made me feel, fighting so hard to be a pilot that was obviously only ' a man's job '
N for the number of convictions the guy who ***** his girlfriend didn't have to face, because the way she dressed up showed that she "wanted"it
I for all the immoral stares that I couldn't counter back for the fear of your lawyers defending you saying it was a friendly one, for the fear of you blaming the shorts and crop top that I picked out for that lovely Sunday
S for all the standards that women themselves set for themselves, ***** standards; I'll do what I want and say what I want, I'll eat what and I want and dress the way that I feel like I need to, I'll wear bikinis that probably doesn't flatter my body and height but you know what? I don't give two flying f**ks
M for the mortals that made it necessary for feminism to even exist
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
Sitting in the dark wondering
when will I find someone
worth knowing,
worth noting.
You tell me that there are
many,
all around me and beyond,
But you lie or are mistaken
because all I see are mismatched
people to my desires.
I want to learn from this Her,
To kiss her sweet lips,
To render myself senseless
by touching her body,
To lose myself in her eyes.
But it seems that this unfeeling
Thing,
does not let me get close with
anyone,
before I find their flaws
and start pondering
how to break their heart.
It seems that I set my standards too
high,
or they have theirs too
low,
but the fact remains that
I am betrayed:
by dishonesty and cowardice,
by laziness and greed,
by stupidity and facades.
but most of all:
by the immoral,
the obsession with nothing but pleasure
with no depth.
I am a confused and lonely thing,
searching in the dark for a feeling Thing.
what is this Thing I seek?
Well dear reader,
Nothing less than a good Heart.
One to heal me,
in return for being healed,
before this hollowness becomes
a shadow and swallows me whole,
leaving nothing but a crass man,
a cruel and callous thing undeserving of
the veracity of Love.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
The soil of defeat,
Sheathed in the essence of life,
Residing is the fury of a moral man,
Unleashed by an immoral thought,
The intensity of the moment,
Unforgiving.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 3:23 AM UTC
My Sunglasses
I’ve got all of Tucson trapped behind my sunglasses
I’ve framed mountain ranges in the frames of my Raybands
I’ve got reflections of saguaro’s stranding still in front of my eyes
I have sunny days taking refuge underneath my shades
I’ve domesticated the giant star that rides blues skies into walking the edge of my brow
I use black plastic as onyx shields
So Tucson, I see you.
There’s an art revolution beating at your horizon
I’ve seen it skirting around these wastelands
They tell us we’re wasting our time
Telling the roadrunner to run back home
When its nest was here since the beginning of time
Tucson.
I’ve seen folklorico and mariachi pay tribute to your origins on the hottest of days
I’ve seen in the shadows in underground art forms
Graffetti. There’s a protest in there somewhere.
I’ve even witnessed it in pen to paper
In lips to mics. In cafés in your desert nights for your desert nighttime audiences.
Tucson, your culture and artistic value shines too bright for others to see.
Your artistic worth shines too bright for others to broadcast
They tend to only record your overdoses and murders
Seems like our televised story tellers prefer to paint us in immoral reds
The only time they pay the south side attention is when the south side is aching
It doesn’t help that schools force you to choose business
Give you chance to study law all the while cut out your art programs
Fine art is required by universities but they don’t always expect you to get that far.
Tucson’s fine art is too fine and infinite to be recognized by those undeserving
Society wants to capture our southern brethren as outlaws not poets
We’re called the misfit of the desert. As if every spray can, paint stroke, choreographed twist,
Slam poem wasn’t something to take pride in.
I’m sorry they only pay your schools attention when ambulances are parked in your driveways
And administrators get caught in doing ***** deeds.
I see your talent wasted. Your talent shown.
To remind myself of your artistic significance, I’ve framed you
On walks home I photograph your murals.
Listen to the poets in the hallways.
Observe the dancers compose and the musicians choreograph
I’ve caught your reflection in my corneas’.
I’ve dilated my pupils thoughts behind my sunglasses.
Framed your mountain ranges in my frames.
Took cover in your shades.
Trained the artistic freedom and right to walk on my brow
Tucson
I see you.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
In long lasting fortitude is the fight of the astute.
A lot of effort is made towards the war of the moral.
And a race towards life is the route.
Preparing the endless fit of strength of all.
There is he who is choosing his fate.
Working hard despite all opposers’ bait.
There is he who is choosing life.
Working hard despite all opposers’ strife.
Lost in the dirt, seeking out of the ruse.
Forced towards the light, brighter and rife.
No letting up despite the refuse.
Clean is the proud, and happy, the player of the flute.
A rite of passage for all is the praise of the immortal.
War is the only dispute
Death is not fatal.
The renegade does not enter the gate.
He is stuck outside the city, and left without state.
The renegade does not know his wife.
He is stuck at heart and can’t even play a fife.
In the dirt he is and is with a lot of abuse.
He cannot escape the knife.
Cut, cutting up despite the accuse.
Reality is but the face of cute.
Subjected to falsified doctrine and the immoral.
It is callous and as rotten fruit.
Moxie exists with everyone no matter how small.
Can the one who is happy learn to hate?
Only he or she can solve this debate.
Finally the long absent sky above the Alewife.
Can’t say that I have seen such teeming wildlife...
Swimming in a sea of its Muse.
The lowly continue their sighs
But I do proudly diffuse.
.This plight of mine is hard to toot.
Exemplified by my emphasis on the astral.
With which I dress in an armoured suit.
So my enemies do not mute my oral.
and the skies do tell in high rate,
How esteemed they are on time and ne’er late.
But giving ever virtuous despite
All those dead or dying, without prospect of afterlife.
It is their way to choose:
The dark abyss of guise,
(or) The gentle river of blue
For now I do keep silent, But still I commute,
With those of higher propositions and goal,
So I do instill thyself a deeper root.
In the waterbed truly formal.
Those who truth ‘I do navigate’
and those of lies ‘I do alienate’
At a loss O’ man or mesmerize,
Work harder on thoughts than just plagiarize.
The foes of old are still and sleuth
I show them love and they in lies are baptized
Tradition is there with purpose, don’t misuse.
I see to it the wise stay wise,
For better they will strategize.
And the unwise, wisdom they will pursue.
Giving them their much needed paradise.
And the lost I will use.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
Flowers aren't choosy
Which bee which bug
Come one come all.
Bees and bugs
Aren't choosy either
All entries sweetly natural.
Imagine a flower
Closing its throat
Against a bee it thought a bore.
Who said object
Should excite act
That that was moral?
If only the verb
The act acts,
Why call your sister a *****
Sin and shame!
Abandon the word
Moral. You can see it's immoral.
3.3k
Only if you knew…
How it bleeds inside
The baby born of blood and flesh
Just a hideous beast ruined by time.
Single dame- thousand names
Only if you knew,
How the ice burns my throat
How the wills and wants went cold…
Only if I knew,
What the skies hold for me
I didn’t touch the blade,
But the stains don’t fade away..
Why the contrition of yesterday
Still ****** my soul’s edges
Why the sweet reminiscences,
Still a gloomy haze?
Why the memoirs of divinity
Have turned in immoral disgrace?
Why the reaper can’t sing in its solace?
Thee heart keep running but lost in its pace
Why each passing moment moans for the albatross?
Only if we knew…
The curiosities of life
And anxieties open and wide
Don’t stop the eyes
Now open and searching life
Taking my chances,
Hiding my grievances
I risk the curve
Once was jilted and deserted from love
I bask in the glow, soak in the sun
Step out of the low
The Satan takes no pity
Leaves the beast with an impaired heart
Now the eyes are shut, the dark creeps in
The clouds come and lo! they win
The stars now astray in a veiled sky
Feeble and faint
Again leave the beast forsaken
But animal instincts they call it
It strives again..
Only if you knew…
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
Evidently it was meant to be.
Long before I was born my DNA
sat on a shelf in God's laboratory,
a sticky note attached,
name, date of birth, perhaps
a tiny alarm to notify the lab
of inception.
God doesn't lose things
and God doesn’t forget.
It must be for a reason and
it must be meant to be.
A critical piece of who I am.
I should show a little pride because
as they say God don't make no ******
But I’m a little late to the party..
*The party that celebrates those who choose to be identified
by a gender other than the one they were born with,
but shames anyone who struggles with substance abuse.*
I'm having trouble understanding the difference.
If I were to gather my drug addled friends
and march down the street with banners and signs
demanding the right to openly inject mind altering
substances into my veins I would be seen as
a criminal and a derelict even though my constant struggle
came right off the shelf of God’s laboratory where
my sticky noted DNA sat right next to yours.
I guess I shouldn't care what people think..
I know my rights, and I demand to be accepted,
NO, praised for coming out so bravely,
carrying a new flag, flaunting in the streets,
paving the way for future generations of addicts.
I will take my God given DNA out of the dark
and go out into light,
light so bright you'll be forced to accept it.
accept my sickness!
embrace it!
this is in my DNA,
God made me this way
so it must be ok.
I feel better now.
I no longer feel guilty,
or depressed,
or weak,
or wrong,
or immoral,
No longer do I need to contain it.
no longer do I need to be shamed.
I am an addict and I am beautiful.
Just like you.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
Last night
She accidentally
Walked to her balcony
And looked outside
She saw her soul
Wandering
Being sabotaged
By demonic creatures
Molested by those unholy beings
But all she could do was
Stand and stare
Scrutinise and regret
Because then she realised
She let it go
7 years ago
When she
Questioned her existence
And acted in an immoral way.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 10:33 AM UTC
I held the height of human industry aloft in my left hand,
A polymer all of your children's great-grandchildren won't outlive.
And some old stranger glared at me, so I yelled at her "I litter!"
Her scowl grew, the old biddy knew I was a liar, and a kidder
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC