"implant" poems
The blue necklace...
The sun
is laughing and shining
Oh God,
Why are you so powerless ?
I implant the fish in the sea
The whales implant the trees in the oceans
My golden earrings were lost
His eyes were not blue
My blue necklace is beautiful
My mother's eyes are more beautiful
for knowing Gandhi as a good leader
And ****** as a bad one
and I'm just scared of fame
The poet stacks on the words
in such a way
that even he himself
doesn't know what is he saying
The society is always colorful
But my eyes are black and white
I was praying for the death of
my mom,
my sister
or me ''Jasmine''
Mom!
Are The Clouds whiter up there in the sky?!
گردنبند آبی
خورشید
می خندد و می درخشد
...خدایا
تو چرا هیچ قدرتی نداری!؟
من ماهی ها را در دریا می کارم
نهنگ ها در اقیانوس درخت می کارند
گوشواره های طلایی من گم شد
چشمان او آبی نبود
گردنبند آبی من زیباست
چشم های مادر من زیبا تر است
که گاندی را
رهبری خوب می دانند
و هیتلر را بد
و من فقط از شهرت می ترسم
شاعر
آنقدر کلمات را
روی هم می چیند
که حتی خودش هم نمی داند چی می گوید
جامعه همیشه رنگارنگ است
و چشم های من سیاه و سفید
دعا می کردم
کاش مادرم مرده بود
یا خواهرم
خودم
''یاسمن''
!مامان
اون بالا
تو آسمون
ابرها سفید تراند!؟
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 10:05 AM UTC
Society is so focused on being flawless. Perfect. No one is flawless, not even Beyonce. We will forget who we are on the inside, and soon that won’t even matter because the physical appearance is the main priority. Women these days are spending so much effort trying to look perfect, which hurts. Pretty hurts. Society is expecting women to look perfect, otherwise people will judge. ‘Perfection is a disease of a nation’. The showbiz industry is giving a negative message to the world. Photoshop is one of them. Making a celebrity look flawless is fooling the world into thinking we must look like that. Spending so much money on clothes, hair etc. but we don’t need to focus on that because all that matters is on the inside, which most people don’t seem to see anymore. We are constantly getting the messages in our mind that we must be flawless, and sooner or later, this is a disease. Some of us can’t take it anymore, which leads to anorexia, bulimia, insecurities, and issues with body image. Pain also takes over our minds, which is ridiculous. Even celebrities have gone through this because in our naïve little minds, we are thinking we have to be pretty. There is so much pressure it takes over our minds, and that’s the only thing we think about. We look into the mirror despising ourselves, because we are who we are. Society has created us into thinking there’s a certain way we must look, which there is not. Our flaws make us who we are, makes us positively different. Unique. But we aren’t allowed to think that way because the media isn’t allowing us to. When people change, they are only cheating on themselves because media displays images of what we should and shouldn’t look like. It’s not their fault though. They can’t help it. Changing, like getting botox or body implant is only giving us a masquerade. It’s a mask to hide our real, inner beauty, which the media has taken the idea away from us, to become people who we actually aren’t.
And in the end, we know that pretty hurts.
a.a.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
Tattoo your passion onto my tongue
Give me something to talk about
Brand the heart in your chest
Into my fingertips
So I can write about love
Implant your smile to my eyelids
Then I will dream of reasons to wake
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
me wish me wasnt a trucker
me wish me had 5 foot dreads
me ave to act like a trucker
and pucker me lips for me wife
me wish me was on de island
where all de noises is silent
we wish me could dig for diamonds
and smoke all de ganga me wish
and eat dead fish of de road
be broke like a true reggae mon
me wish me was never born
because me never gona be a reggae boy
me hart is as torn as me cloth.
me want to love a reggae woman
and implant me reggae seed.
and grow me some reggae children
and show dem da way of de ganga
me wish.
love reggae.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
I wonder if other lifeforms
have Twitter & Facebook,
watch You Tube,
or if they are more advanced
& use other forms of social media,
like anti-gravity billboards,
clairvoyant message boards
or mind-implant videos?
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
How come everytime i turn around
People are worried about others opinion?
How come everytime i turn around
People are dying
Dying cuz they are scared to be themselves
Scared cuz the world is soo cruel
Losing all hope
Dont know what else to do..
Society why
Why Do you implant things in our head
Making us believe
What seem soo real
But its oh so fake
Making us blind
And feeding us with soo many lies
Sociey why
Why are you doing this to us
Taking what we love and live for
To give us something thats filled
With so much hate
Giving us our only option
To give up and die
We have no hope
Society why
Do you make use feel soo little
When we mean so much
Making this world a death trap
We die either way it go
If we dont **** ourselves
Then the world do
Our only safety
Is away from humanity
Society
We shouldnt have to feel
Or live like that
Society why
Do you pay more attention to the rich
And ignore all the poor
Its like a war
Rich against poor
How much more bull
Can we take?
Society why
Are you hiding soo much history
And leaving parts of our brain so empty
Making us believe
What you want us to believe
You try to make us seem dumb
So that no one can "Rebell" against you?
Society is ****** up
Just like the government is
Society why
Are you doing this to us
What happen to peace?
Or love?
Or forming a better union?
All the past activist
Will be very disappoint in you
Society
please give us a break
I dont know how much more people
Can handle
Giving us limited options
Society is a comedian
And the biggest joke is us.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
it's inherent ontology, it's not even necessary to process inherited ontology; inherited ontology can be riddled and lost to abstraction like the invention of crosswords as antidote to the drilling-in of the Bible... but inherent ontology? inherent is a tautological invitation to italicise the word ontology - tautology anti synonym - the doubly stressed, point origin secured, but from two adjacent / adjective angles - well, might as well be a compound, the adjacent-adjective, when language meets math and math meets.... d'uh... or simply arithmetic, because that's how it's easily translated, arithmetic is grey people and math the rich... language the poets and grammar the farts.
a shortened critique of pure reason -
a) based on phenomena
(things most likely talked about)
and
b) based of noumenna
(things least likely talked about)....
i.e. a) and the ego implant,
and b) the god implant -
likewise the zealots on either side,
bleep bleep beep r r e r s.... and muslims...
i forgot to mention that Kant forgot
to mention the trigonometric foundations
as justifying owning a villa or whatnot,
the same foundations of having
the implant ego secured and willed
are the same parameters of the
implant god secured and thought
the point being dynamic parallelism,
mid-way between cosine and sine
rigid fluctuation tangents occur,
the ridiculous abbreviations, the p.s., and ibis.;
you're basically born with ego
or you're born with god -
there's no woof woof Pavlov chime chime in between -
ring-a-ding-ding-surprise?
there's no side-winding to create cinema -
being born with ego is explained clearly, coerced
with monetary affairs;
being born with god is explained "clearly", coerced
with murderers, lastly -
no psychological theory will box-me-in
given the lost tribalism and the usage of
the trans-valuation of the synonym of thing -
with money came slang - and all thorough evils,
with slang, synonyms, antonyms, critique of vocab.,
Arizona in the ******* Amazon -
i'm basically saying what Kant said:
god isn't uncool or whatever atheism tends to forget,
it's an implant of functioning, we can't rid it
by argument, and we certainly can't accept it
by prayer - unless we're dumb enough to do either
for worth of understanding tornadoes;
because that's were Seymour Hoffman started for me,
filming Twister.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
We have seen the magic bullet
Cure all disease.
Cows won't go extinct.
Lush, green pastures run to the waters' edges.
Twisted ankles in gopher holes are passe.
Trees are well-placed for shade beneath a relentless sky.
The lands are full, plush and crowded
With work-a-day leather. Wool is everywhere.
The barren creeks are clear of poison.
The grunts and runts of the stead
Blissfully graze, munching towards our tables.
Brown eggs thrive in computerized out buildings.
We are idle. No wars, disease or poverty.
It is either life or death by choice.
We implant, are implanted, removeable,
And sustainable as any Victorian.
In place of the Immaculate Heart,
I hang a picture of my old pet, Sophie,
Walking on a balance beam,
With a strange black V high in the sky.
And with all this, we grow fat.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 9:38 AM UTC
*two bottles of 70cl whiskey later and a few beers, popping sleeping pills for an actual effect worked with (it's ten past five p.m., i'm already mentioning ~ eleven minutes to midnight, so wait)... you get the shovel and broom ushering the ***** drinkers from a town centre in Leicester or Norwich; or you implant a hope to live in Scandinavia; you're basically laughing with a russian at that point: 'eh eh, where's lithuania?' 'ah **** it's next to yuri reciting poetry on the laika satellite.' 'thought so.' german started from monkeys, sent one into space... slavs started with dogs... like all good people, i would too have kept the cats grounded in atmosphere; well, the oedipal riddle began with a sphinx, so i'm more than ready for the cerberus.*
i'm not going to repent for
my alcoholic metabolism,
i'll wait till you turn into ostriches
ostricizing vegans for anaemia
and bulimia and the london fashion show;
bullseye market that cares for
diaphragms and diabetes; sure the arabs
are alcohol free, but diabetic
looking into the sand dunes like looking
at dunes of sugar.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
Yes, Sunshine. Stay angry at me forever. Use this break-up as another excuse for why your life is terrible. Use this as an excuse to have a chip on your shoulder that will weigh you deeper into your habits. I did not implant in you the seed of hatred that was already blooming when we met. You will care for and nourish the deep rooted evils that run through you like blood, a mimicry of a life, fueled only by the blood of your fury. Blame me for all that could be wrong, but you will see that the melancholy willows are far too engraved in you for you to hack them away with your searing alcohol and blame.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
This was once all that we knew.
A world in parts before we knew
it
as such subdivisions as this, that and
more beneath that still: there was
once good and evil, god and them,
the rest of us, and
Jesus, simply looking upwards after
he flung himself forth from the dust
to the sky and the light was bleached
off and the colours leaked from our
eyes to our canvases. What more
can I say before we take more
of ourselves away from each other? What more
before you implant me into some other's
body, and the prayer completed,
and I am finally a computer? In
the meanwhile my eyes will look and
my neck will strain as the sun sets and
so does my little life: how long have I
wanted to see you again, o lord, since
my first scream of myself all so long
ago when I left my mother's salt
and was flashed into the flood of your
world?
How long, o lord, will you have me here
to see your work through these ceiling
songs, such sonorous ringings, fleshy
twists and turns of paint as muscle
and what's that behind the cloud?
Your finger
appareled in such golden rays?
Endless. When your ships brought such
dark skin as mine across these
times and spaces, what?, where you
surprised of my dreams to see it,
this,
all engulfed in flames? And
yet here you are and here I am and
here is the quiet my birth your
glory your joy the brushstrokes
the colours and the full fleshy taste
of my non-belief, leaking into my fingers,
sticky, frisk, and always.
When I leave these, they will fall
and crumble. It will all go. In the hallways,
as I walk away: several big windows:
Rome, sunset.
When I leave these, they will go
and disappear. Into salt. Those large windows:
blue-shadowed branches begin some small slow dance.
When I leave these temples they will dust
and return to dust the soil of our hands.
And the trees remain beautiful.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 3:49 AM UTC
In a thousand years, will anyone remember you?
Will people read about you on their brain implant computers and bring you up in casual conversation over whatever coffee flavor is popular a millenia from now?
It seems like a stretch. Us humans operate on such a small scale, but we love to dress everything we do up with purpose and grandeur. These days its easier to sink to the bottomside of insignificance and pretend you run the show as you drown than to swim towards relevancy.
There's always time to do it later, right? We can wait... right?
Just... not now.
So many dreams and aspirations have broken open against the constant battering of those reschedulings and put-offs.
Keep your dreams alive. Don't fall under the curse of the Not-now.
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 7:06 PM UTC
Two Men's vibes
burning reach my Evez ice.
Two my diamond cave enter.
underneath my water fall.
Vibration's from beyond,
two distinctive voices won,
ever twirling on and on;
deep as violins his pitch fiddle
his electrical guitar's timbre
command starry skies above!
My tantrick abyss below.
I love thee two, lovers mine.
Punjabi voice lover divine.
I thirst for yours all's mine
Our stars wisely magnetized!
Both cosmically energized.
A state of knowing is ours.
dancing eons on two poles,
to twirl on and ages on,
the mornings and eves long.
I twirl on two magestic poles.
Long shiny studs hard as steal!
First pole's twirl echoes longer
Kemah lover elite's older
ancient memory hunger!
Implant blue pill chip slumber.
From willow tree, past pole lover
to renewed beloved my forever Kemah twin oaks
two glistening poles
I am art twirl divine
from past to present LOVE
Lives on and on!
~~~
By Karijinbba
All Rights Revised 7-29-21.
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 12:58 PM UTC
There once was a man named Jake
He thought he could swim in the crystal clear lake
He striped down to his birthday suit,for heavens sake
The water was so clear everyone could see his little snake
He was embarrassed and started to shake
It felt like a big earth quake
Luckily along came his friend named Drake
That pulled up in his truck and set the hand brake
His friendship to Jake he wouldn't forsake
He wrapped Jake in a towel knowing what was at stake
For you see Jake's snake was an implant, a fake
And that's when Jake became awake
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 1:54 PM UTC
Should the seed of doubt implant
Inside familiar soil
Sunflowers of Faith
Would lose their trident grace
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 6:18 AM UTC
Its gone
Said and done
Drunken stupor for you
Pushes me to the edge
Conceals the pain
**** the truth
My lips are burning
My organs are on fire
Swallow hard have another pill
Go to the place that you know
Blackness taste the best
Just like china white
Mutilates my spine
Allowing you to implant this disguise
Annihilate the cells that can't speak
Asphyxiate on your own blood and pain
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
We are fickle,
rushed, lonely, and lost.
I can either care for you
or forget everything in apathy.
Do you understand?
Before you say yes
and kiss my face,
realize this:
You are not
my weakness.
Love is,
or, the lack of it,
the endeavor,
the hope, the chase.
Interlaced fingers, wandering hands
are the best teachers,
the perfect cons.
The Captain doesn’t teach
how to tear love apart,
we do. We are earthquakes.
Don’t you dare romanticize
natural disasters.
They scratch on the chalkboards of your mind
and implant ideas that never should’ve existed
or they run their fingernails down instead -
sometimes destroying everything
they breathe on.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
the pro-anti-abortion argument:
so the tissue argument doesn't count?
so...
once the ***** leaves the body
of a male....
it is the sole possession
of a female?"
sign me up for euthanasia...
please! send me to
gaßkammern!
might as well cut my testicles off!
employ me as a *******
castrato for holding the harem
***** free...
so i can't *********
did i forget my napkin,
or did my bride forget her *****
just asking...
so...
as long as my ***** remains in my,
or on a tissue, flushed down a toilet...
but them she takes over
the ownership?
she gets the bigoted bargain
and bias?
**** me...
i'm sure a Rabbi would argue
that a 16 year old
is always ready...
because... given the current
secular year p.s. a.d. that's always
true...
so i can't...
**** off...
wait a minute... but i haven't
been circumcised...
look at me! woo woo!
next time i *********
into a woman...
i'll secure some wolf ***** into
a syringe...
and then implant a
Frankenstein experiment into her...
my...
didn't a woman, epitome...
make a case for desiring vampires
& werewolves?
**** it...
let's make josef mengele
2.0,
i'm ready...
i'm craving for the laboratory...
but... clearly... you're not...
given...
can a woman really claim such
ownership?
i must make an equal claim...
whatever i *********
into a tissue and flush it down
a toilet...
has to become a pseudo crocodile
child of the deep...
if only i was born in the end of the 19th century...
my Auschwitz would have looked much
more differently...
i would have attempted less twin experiments...
to curate a cure for the Siamese...
i would have injected women
with wolf *****
such a mild,
childhood fantasy...
and people worried
about the treatment of
heretics by the church in
the Renaissance;
if i were the primordial evil
of the 20th century...
i'd pocket my concerns...
where i began the 21st century with.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC
This is not about you
This is not about me,
This ain’t really ‘bout anyone-y, honey;
I’m a liar, for Christ’s sakes!
Sure, sure,
THIS one is about me,
That much I can say,
But everything else?
‘Twas all fake.
I am an ink-and-paper conman,
Because that is how I choose to make a living.
Hate me, if you so dare,
For if you do,
Then you, too, hate the likes of
Rowling and Twain and Wells and Hemingway
Shakespeare and Spielberg and Lucas—
Oh, yes, read up,
Lies upon lies in black-and-white!
We are similar in such a way
Which creates alternate worlds and feelings
And beings of different kinds;
We are those who love to implant things
Into your subconscious mind.
What is true to you,
But false to all,
Is the picture you happen to imagine
When you flip pages and have a ball!
Semantics, my dear,
It is what takes you on a trip
Across a flexible lexicon
Where words are invented and used anew;
Where instead of shoes, you wear foot-canoes.
Your favorite books and movies and songs,
All figments of enigmatic mind,
But,
Is it really all that wrong?
Our lies are
For your enjoyment,
And the good of mankind,
An escape from what’s real,
It brings you to light,
Without this work,
There’d be no color to life.
And that’s why we’re liars
In black-and-white.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 6:02 AM UTC
origination of Satanism,
tied Buddhism to hedonism –
to bastardize the -isms.
not fitting, not where i am
supposed to be.
if Napoleon were alive this
moment, think he’d be living
the life i’ve led? prememories
causing us to be learn’d
without having ever experienced.
recurring Josephine.
(epigenetics)
to be found implant’d upon all
those slivers. beyond physical.
and Hemingway tactics:
“each line is a waste if
every line is not its own story.”
reason to state, ease up. relax,
drink up and write. all is implicit.
come back less fuck’d up, with
no more quotes, drop hyphens and
speak.
– unintelligent men will
die for their cause.
intelligent men will
live forever for their cause.
reality of once homelessness.
oh, how stark. was waiting
to lose self for a better perspective.
– if you wanna know a man,
know the world when he was twenty.
was restless for wisdom, was
starved for communion,
and my eyes again will ache.
(this time it’s just a line)
and a dog ate the last papers –
how terribly frustrating.
break. and all conversations
are destined to progress.
– don’t you know you shouldn’t
do that? it could stain the carpet.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 2:14 PM UTC
This week we talked over beers,
and my mother told us a ghost story.
We each have dreams that plague us
again and again, over years,
threatening to creep their way into our realities.
(these are our ghosts.)
My dream was always deep blue and black,
of my body surrounded by water, though I did not drown,
or even gasp.
I was ensnared in moving parts that I had no power over,
held underwater in this churning machine,
not quite a victim but certainly not a hero.
Sunshine was my eventual respite, as was the cushion of my bed,
but the morning always seemed like a fragile gift, then.
My mother dreamed of her teeth, over the years.
She dreamed that they were the traitors inside her,
decaying and betraying,
perhaps cackling as they fell to the floor or
just lying there like bones.
My mother’s delayed trip to the dentist promised her a bridge,
or an implant, but also some calm.
NPR and This American Life pulled my dream,
my ghost,
from the shadows, too. The story of a diver
ensnared
at 900 feet below the sun,
who would never see it again.
I’ll never be at the bottom of Bushman’s cave,
but, the ghosts say,
you never know.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
bizarre world
it's a bizarre world
for in thailand men go white
they have their penis' lasered
destroying the pigment
so they can look white
while in england
it goes the other way
white men go big and black
getting their tool tattooed
and made three inches longer
with a silicone implant
some want to be white
and others want to be black
as the old saying goes:
china man too small
black man too large
white man just right
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
Cannabis: the female plant:
here to implant: a new world,
ruled by Ladies &
worshipped by Gentle Men.
Could you imagine...
the world's beginning again?;
the backwards thoughts of a hem:
the glimmer of a precious gem...
not only the gem itself,
or the structure of its features,
but a time of lovely leisure:
a shrine of kind procedure
in which the stone is looked upon:
a world has come; a world has gone...
and still, a throne to sit upon,
and yet that throne is empty,
though full of kings and centuries,
the twine spins on and on...
The world is but a fallen leaf,
that cannot fall without gravity:
a force that joins with other forces:
a climb that is filled with all rejoices,
sang by entities of all kinds;
filled with soul and filled with mind.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
There's a magical place in the forest
Where fairies go to cultivate
Flutter around with verses and rhyme
Sweet poetry they make
They frolic amongst the
Verbs and nouns
Plucking flowers and synonyms
Joining hands and ripe phrases
Create odes they want to sing
Cross pollinating the pieces of poetry
With different story lines
Fertilizing with a purpose
In the growing of the rhyme.
Their dainty feet
Sow similie seeds,
And their deft little hands
Root out mispelled weeds.
Then they whisper the words to the
passing breeze
Who takes words, caresses them,
And floats with ease.
They travel and roam
Off to distant pastures new
Where they settle
And blossom into a muse.
Then implant in the mind
Of a resting poet
Enter his thoughts and views
Who upon waking
Will stretch, smile and write,
And continue to grow and enthuse.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC