"incarcerate" poems
Two faced
Many minds
Shifter of shapes
Dr. Jekyll
Mr. Hyde
Past lives
Intertwined
Most mean
Few kind
All vie for equal time
All determine to shine
The writer
The fighter
Drama king
*** machine
The revolution ignite-r
The brave slave
One with
Passion and fire
The singer
Dead ringer
One who points the finger
Conspiracy theorist
Lyricist
Soulful swagger
Hip Hop demeanor
The teacher and student
The dude with attitude
And no one can refute it
A brother and a son
The one that has been shunned
One who leaves them stunned
With the selfish things
I’ve done
The secret me
The enemy
The one whose heart is numb
There are a lot of us
No stopping us
And yes there’s more to come
I’ll never alter
My alter selves
Incarcerate them
In individual cells
Even when they scream and yell
All are a part of me
And they refuse to be veiled
You ask me
Is there a pill?
A remedy…?
Because this has to
be
Insanity
Did you disrespect
My dissociative identities?
Do you really want
to make all of us
your #1 enemy?
We’re laughing
Its killing me
We flip the script easily
Me- and all of my
inner entities
Chillingly
You’re triggering
A very sad memory
Oh, what a tragedy
You’re just another casualty
Unfortunate fatality
Of my Multiple Personalities…
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
Darling, I hope I'm the cause of your
existential crisis,
opening your mind
in horrifying,
vulnerable
ways.
I hope I make you question
and I hope I make you learn.
Maybe I'll rewire your brain--
praise me
let me incarcerate my
writings in your
bones,
let my thoughts linger,
let the pads of my finger tips
dwell along
the contours of the railways
in your head,
let me in.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
what do you do when the person you hate the most is yourself?
what am I to do when all my thoughts revolve around you,
where do I sign up to get self help?
I miss the way you would do your curly hair.
I regret the fact that we never went to the fair.
I miss that black shirt you have with that little pizza slice on it,
you were my form of anesthesia, now everyday feels like ****
I miss it. What we had, looking back, it wasn't all that bad.
I miss that time of day,
sunset,
where I would forget all of my heart's regrets
and watch you stare at the sun
we did the dumbest things just for fun.
you shined brighter than the lighter that lit those cigarettes you hated so much,
no matter how often you inadvertently hurt me, I can't hold a grudge,
you are the one who can truly judge.
take me to court, decide if I get to go free living so sadly,
or incarcerate me and my inner demons, can the state fund my treatment?
trick question, the cure is a secret.
it's not a drug, pill, or form of escape,
it was that girl I could never make feel safe.
she was the princess in the tower,
but the dragon guarding it had too much power.
he whispered my worst fears into my ears,
my mind went blank,
and that's when I sank into this hole called depression
being sad?
I'm so good at that, I'd call it my profession.
I'll be the first to admit I am very weak,
I have no right to speak.
I'll just sing my hate at the stars,
let it drift off into space.
maybe the gods above will pity my mortality,
think about my well being more than she does.
who is she?
everything I've ever wanted,
giver her back to me.
P L E A S E ...
?
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
In God We Trust, For He Invented Reasonable Doubt
In Courtroom of the State of New York, Part 62,
where the only decoration extant,
in gold leaf letters,
a magnificent joke,
In God We Trust.
Words so incongruous
to the real time drama,
a poorly acted Law and Order episode
of which I partake,
(as Juror No. 1,
ergo you may address me as
Mr. Jury Foreman),
they stun me into stupefaction
every time we enter and the
Bailiff pronounces with much gravitas,
"Jury Entering"
A potpourri of a dozen Manhattanites,
with wisdom acquired
by the singular virtue of
having attained the robust age of 18,
noteworthy for being free of
criminal record,
having been nominated
to sit upon the jury that will decide
the fate of one Eric B.,
for what he may have done upon West 11th Street
one Summer night in
June Two Thousand and Eleven,
If adjudged guilty,
New York State can take,
incarcerate him for up to
15 years of his life
Predicate felon by the age of twenty seven,
Eric's resume consists of
four felonies,
two misdemeanors
a wife and two little children,
and a partridge in a pear tree.
Facts turgid and muddy,
Eric tells a story
one juror calls a confection of lies,
no one murmurs
much disagreement in the
tiny, overheated room
we have been sequestered to
replay
the 2012 version of
Twelve Angry Men.
But I am not his peer,
nor am I a seer,
common sense says
if appearances are what they seem to be,
he aided and abetted
in the forcible taking of
a nice Connecticut lady's cell phone
with his brother who just happened to be
released from prison earlier that day
A convoluted tale
ripe with inanities is told,
upshot is our defendant's tale,
his robust defense,
portrays him as the unluckiest man
in the whole world,
a good Samaritan,
*{chasing after the thief,
** ** his bro}*
against whom events have conspired
In Manhattan can be a harsh place,
where the natives
a tough lot,
tougher than the Indians from whom
they stole it all.
Our bridges we sell to out-of-towers,
all it takes is one to say,
what the heck,
reasonable doubt is
a ***** to overcome
so let him go
Jan, 2012
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
Set ships mast,
Set sails,
Set the wind to blow,
Set your heart towards the canopy,
Set all these desires on fire.
Criminalize the masses,
Decriminalize the drugs,
Incarcerate the children,
Forward facing guns,
Man and man with no Goliath.
Drink away the glass you covet, crush the glass between your toes.
Like grains of sand made muddy ****** lose yourself to the gold.
And melt it all when earth rampages, melt it all and melt the faces.
Burning bushes speak to you? Your dreams are government weather balloons.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
She told me she would take a bullet for me
I was left stunned only recalling my hereditary
The horrendous guilt emerging all at once before me
Until I recognized her inactivity and realized she want listening to me
I dropped down on the floor almost instantly
Kneeling on one knee hoping her approval of me
Pledging allegiance so she knew she has the chance to consult me
Every time she recalled her children that neglected her for another woman they didn't know
Or the times she felt enigmatic to disown you
As she calls out your name begging to return home
Hearing your voice and having that bit of hope that one day
You mention her, get back to her and abide in her
playing with the golden precious sand
that make up the land which your ancestors once lived in.
I stare at the ruins that lay before me
A familiar face I stumble across
As I lift the grains of sand hoping its a person I know
Unidentified
I stand beneath the bridge hoping it will echo my freedom just like it did back home
I want to scream a thunder
but knowing its too late I'm pelted with stones
being told to go home
as I sit in font of the TV screen hoping I see a familiar face before me
My country.
Hergeysa burco barebera ceerigaabo
Our cities names was never meant to be pronounced by you
The syllabols were never meant to pass your diseased lips
And the delicacy not meant to struggle through your rough throat
But they did anyway.
Every night I see the elan in her face
Whilst providing me with the decree of a fast spree from our relationship
The visions we incarcerate together
And the identical marks and scars we endeavor
With out any confession of our pleasure we seek forever
Our heart beat beats twice as fast
Forming a rhythmic percussion
simultaneously taking a breath of Africa
I lay beneath the golden sun as the rays shine through my eyes
Proudly defining the color of my skin
Showing that none other can be akin
As I am the uniqueness of this historical country
Mogadishu, bosaaso, Los anod, barberra
Our cities names were never meant to be pronounced by you
But when we look at our stars one last time
I realized that it has been colonized too
© S Y A
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
Atrocious images consume the mind. Society is the devil without horns nourishing the masses with lies
When the truth is, the robes of the pious veil predators.
Pigs bathe in the mud of corruption, assume high positions, incarcerate victims while the streets flood with villains.
Is this a forest of lost souls and weeping widows, where beauty is but another fallen tree? Or A stage of villainous acts with heroics words?
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC
They’re watching in the avenues
They’re watching in the rain,
They’re waiting for the animals
To cause our children pain.
They join in condemnation
They point the finger straight
They single out the people
Who dispense biff and hate.
They stand in haunting fog and mist
Those children who are dead,
They stand and watch in legions
And wait with mounting dread.
For somewhere in this fair green land
An adolescent mum
Is thrashing her young children
Until they’re bruised and numb.
A baby crying in the night
A baby much in need
Of nappies and a tender hand
Than punches and a bleed.
The little ones are dying
Broken & obscene
Their little bodies black and blue
From beatings in between
Collections from the dole queue
**** ups in the shed
Cigarettes and hopelessness
“P” your dull mind dead.
The Moaris say its Pakeha
The cops say crime don’t pay,
The politicians shrug and sigh
And look the other way.
The population wrings it’s hands
And gets on with it’s life
Whist violence and brutality
Still cause our kiddies strife.
No one’s owning up to this
No one’s taking blame,
The ******** flows in rivers
And the world has turned insane.
We must find a leader
To take this thing in hand.
Eradicate the baby bashing
From our PC land.
Fling abusers into gaol
And lose the ****** key
Take the kids & farm them out
To families good & free.
We break the cycle hard & fast
And teach the lesson straight
Abuseing kids will see you GONE
Inside..incarcerate!
Where’s the leader, burning bright,
Where is courage in this fight,
Who will lift the banner high
Who will rise up and defy
The apathy , the poisoned sloth
Indifference of the public cloth.
Who will rise and make a stand
Make us proud to love this land
Who will rid us of this thing
WHO WILL MAKE THE GAUNT GHOSTS SING ?
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
12th August 2007
Nov 22, 2009
Nov 22, 2009 at 8:18 PM UTC
In the house I have today
Most everything has a place
Wardrobes incarcerate prior and present
Each with gates for closing
An open seat is kept for comfort
Another for imposing
A shelf I have for string and twine
Another for hope and faithful
Rakes and spades are saved outside
And perseverance on the table
Honesty's stored behind mahogany doors
And sacrifice on the stove
Cleanliness is kept in sight
And dust in neglected alcoves
A place I have for peace and joy
And even one for sorrow
But in all the rooms
Of my house of today
I have not room for tomorrow.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
in my mind
all i really
wanted
was mind enough
to say no...
and yet
as i had knelt...
and as i had pleaded..
all i could ask for
was ignorance
and all i could say
was thank you
for all the venom---
still
it
feels just
a little bit sad
i couldn't
ask for more...
more drops
by
drops
wishing
wanting
waiting
washing down
falling
even deeper
ever faster
intoxicating
sating myself more and more in this
scrumptouos feast of more and more
and with every single mouthful
i take in
my appetite begs for more and more
yes
i am a wolf.
the lowest of the low
in a tripartite soul.
and i can't help
but fill myself up
no matter how much
i weigh myself down.
i just want more.
more of bullets
for every single word you say
more of icicles
for every single awkward touch
more of daggers
*for every single glare you look me
down with*
more of poison
*for every single lie you make me swallow
forcefully down my own throat saying
that you've always been true*
more of you...
*for every single night i waste
away lying wide awake lying
to myself about not regretting
every sound i taught, trained
my tongue to incarcerate until
you were no longer there to listen*
more of flames.
*the feeling i get whenever you
quench my burning aching hunger.*
more of flames
*that blazing glimmer i become
when everyone looks at all my
scars with disappointment.*
i want more of flames.
and i just want to burn it all down
along with you.
and then
i'd happily engulf myself
engorge myself
on all our
shared
pain
and
misery
knowing that no one will ever
knowingly share anything else with me...
let me bask
at least one last supper
in the blissful toxin
of our cannibalism
and one last time
we'll cast a miracle and
burn
in the gluttony
of our lustful intersuffering
drowning drunk
from the deathly fermentation
of our own flowing blood
knowing
we'll never again
have to wake up
with a killer of a hangover tomorrow.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 6:43 AM UTC
Music is my strongest scent
When the softest tune
Triggers all of what it meant
To come to grips with the end of sentiment
I traveled far in this bed
Came to a tunnel
At the end of my head
And in the light I saw a dream
Where I froze all memory
In a tray next to my hearts glow and gleam
I pull it out when the melody begins
Love letters and holiday inns
Cubes of desire in glasses of gin
In dreams, in misfortune I try to melt
All of which your heart ever felt
Oct 22, 2009
Oct 22, 2009 at 1:12 PM UTC
Castigate Sublimate
Sanctify Indoctrinate
Expatriate Disseminate
Proselytize Reiterate
Reject, Deny, and Obfuscate
Incarcerate Dehumanize
Desensitize Decimate
Incinerate Rejuvenate
Simplify and Permeate
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 9:44 AM UTC
I just keep falling in love with her all the time. The air seems new like in an early may evening. That feeling you get of comfort and refreshment of breathing in deep and almost tasting it. An old porch door swinging open over beaten and worn down boards, comfort and clarity of a familiar place and time. So how should I specify my love in words? Impossible, words are just that, words. My intention is not to tell her but show her. My intention is to love her not own her, my intention is to kiss her not hurt her, my intention is to need her not incarcerate her, my intention is to whisper all these lovely things into her ear. I could certainly be drunk in emotion, I could certainly be wrong in my trust of her, but what is love with out emotion, what is love without trust, what am I without her? I am myself, a slightly out of step odd man with great aspirations, but what I am with her is complete. The night of great design, the day of accomplishment, the sleep of insomniacs, the lunch of a begger, the time of summer in the warm maine coast.
Jun 7, 2010
Jun 7, 2010 at 8:54 PM UTC
I watch the rust gather.
And etch time into a stone.
Marking these moments until the bars erode.
I’ll bleed on my knees until my prayers are heard.
Incarcerate my flesh and bone,
Yet my mind is free to roam.
Nov 6, 2024
Nov 6, 2024 at 2:02 AM UTC
Maybe one day
you and I
will figure all of
this out.
And maybe the
images flowing
in your mind
will incarcerate
themselves
into my heart.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
Incarcerate me
Turn me into your best feeling.
Mother Nature never knew her trenches.
Until she swam with me.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 3:55 AM UTC
Imprison me
For I had performed some vilest sin
Not burn this rapacious body
but gulp every last piece
and **** over your kempt mouth
And not incarcerate my soul
You vow me this
I beseech you lord
keep my soul in such a state
that even among the ****** of all the goddess it will not be able to touch the thirst within .
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 6:20 AM UTC
It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.
They say the road to hell,
is paved with good intentions,
like the cherry tree split in two dimensions.
Here comes a rain storm,
so we'll see,
how that Great Man, begins to flee.
Uncle Sam says, I want you.
You want me to die,
in a battle of crude oil and some glue?
**** that **** I begin to cry,
all the while they begin to fly,
to the other side of the desert.
It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.
The children speak to their families now,
Why mom, why dad?
Must I despise that towel head?
Yes dear, they softly speak,
they hit us first so now we freak,
the **** out, and glass em, til they speak.
No more.
It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.
Freedom and democracy, Uncle Sam cries,
Don't let their tyrrany make you shy,
stand up for your right to live and lie.
Terrorists they call them,
Oh, that much is true. True, true,
So that gives us the right to prosecute.
Those that resist.
Are terrorists themselves, says the NDAA,
let's incarcerate them without a trial today,
off to GTMO, on you go.
It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.
You can take that to the bank he says,
that ebony clad man, dressed to please,
denies himself and his liberty.
They are armed with nucular weapons,
that balding man spits,
and down we go into the pit.
Of Hell-fire and brimstone.
Is what they preach,
to the masses, let's wash their brains in bleach!
You like it that way, modern Bushido man.
You slave, you sheep, you ignorant twip.
It's okay. I don't blame you,
most of what I have to say,
falls on deaf ears anyway.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
have you ever tried holding air in your hands?
cup it slightly, like this;
can you feel it?
hold it firmly, and make sure it
doesn’t drip from your fingers
air is life
you try to make it stay
within the walls of your flesh and blood,
and incarcerate it behind the bars of bone;
but it always finds a crevice
between your clean, filthy fingers
and escapes
Aug 19, 2010
Aug 19, 2010 at 11:11 AM UTC
Here I am
The master of change
Trying not to give a ****
Guess the simple exchange
Of window views
Wasn't enough to alleviate
Them **** social cues
Tellin' me to incarcerate
The feelings I've got for you
It's hard to get over you
(You're in my head)
When I'm so often under you
in my bed
So I'm leavin' this town
Gettin' out while I still can
Won't let you hold me down
'Cause darlin', you ain't my man
Anymore
I broke down helplessly
And I know it's weak
That I'm running selfishly
Away from home, but I ought to seek
Out some sort of happy emotion
That's only far away from you
Accept this notion
And move on, too
That shouldn't be hard for someone like you
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC
Eventual obscenity scribble on a prison wall.
Trouble called in desperation, as pride it came, long before the fall.
The lions roar and reap their toils.
As dogs of war chase cats who spoiled.
Street corners at midnight.
Those cats, they are calling in adamant rapture.
Avoiding the parasites who capture,
and incarcerate.
The words on the street that the world's in a state.
For love and religion.
All that's corrupted.
Collecting amethyst, to purchase angel dust.
Angel dust took the hand of the loser, who feeds supply with demand.
Back on the corner or a heap on a kerb.
Thereafter follows a funeral dirge.
Purged.
(c)LIVVI
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
'Imprisoned by my Addiction'
The harmless things that causes an addiction that consumes, like cancer,
See my confession, about how my addictions are destroying my health, my life, my relationships and everything in between, the beginning absent of odor,
Spinning around my mortal being are vibrant healthy hues; yellow, blues and greens,
Thrusting me, flying sky high, only to nose dive instantly,
Wishing it to remain, My passion, my comfort one in the same; words that must be written.
We're programmed to all 3, reading, writing and pursuing passions ...important qualities to own,
Somehow captivating me,
I hardly eat, much less drink,
I'm overwhelmed to express thoughts into words,
Another relationship dies as the neglected ink dries.
A pale unnoticed ghost while present or maybe not,
Maybe my lover, the warden.
I come up for breath only long enough not to drown, reality hits, the ghost disappears,
I don't search, seek or try to persuade them to return,
I say every time, just let me get these words scribbled to vent, then after, I'll go and gather them up,
Compares to Christmas morn, green, red, gold, silver and blue,
the house, the tree, the gifts,
The house is adorned with eccentric polished crowns of refined jewels, interest fills you while rushing to open the shiny gifts, Uncontrollable enchanting words, enslaving, shoving the gifts against the glittered wall,
Chained in the same prison 24 hours later, exhausted, nearly comatose, I wrestle the sleep, becoming feeble, compelled to sleep, only to suddenly awaken, lunatic mode, panic stricken crazed rush, forced sleep, words got neglected, when there could have been much more!
Welcome to my addiction, the dark hole where words incarcerate tempting thoughts,
What, change the situation, you said to me? I'm handcuffed to pens that bleed, beleaguered by enticing verbiage.
~Venjencie Arnold -SacredInkedBlood
.
Jul 1, 2023
Jul 1, 2023 at 11:49 PM UTC
..I'm
running
dry
stagnating
in these crude resides
too easily
this wind-farmed face
betrays my base emotions
As the alleyways incarcerate,
their nauseating politics
unqualify my
sympathetic
ear
Therefore..
If I appear
uninterested
its just
because
I am
Sep 16, 2021
Sep 16, 2021 at 2:57 PM UTC
your self imprisonment
no visitation
i can't taste life anymore
need you free
your curled up in the darkest corner
of your cell
clutching the key
i was an accomplice
to your brilliant delinquency
hoping they
incarcerate me
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC