"inclusive" poems
I’m in my prime; at the cusp of my development.
A few more years of growth make decay a lot more relevant…
*Glass Elephant,
Glass Elephant,*
Irrelevance, benevolence,
Compassion, or malevolence;
I’m one of few who sees it sums no difference.
Glass objects.
Or Elephants.
Irrelevance,
Irrelevance
Striving for motion, with motive elusive
Each thing I endeavor is far too exclusive
I need something inclusive, objectively singular
A sinusoidal wave with a mean lacking integers
Peace in zero and equilibrium inclusion
*Glass Elephant
Glass Elephant*
Delusions, Delusions
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
•helping the kids with homework•
no one told you,
was part of the job description
paycheck earner a-ok,
gruff but tender lover,
knowing her special places,
building a tree swing,
a tree house safe and satisfactory,
one the neighbors envy
taking them to the hospital for
broken arms and chemotherapy,
part two of the non-routine but a very possible foreseeable,
going to school to give that principal a look
that will make him think twice before suspending
one of his for defending himself
you remember your daddy doing the same for you,
forgetting to repeat the tar and hiding that came later
the tucking in, the pretense ouch
when your end of day
scratchy beard ruffling the skin of babies,
carrying tissues in a toolbox,
never heard of, nevertheless done,
tho not a memory defining the future inclusive,
definitely a learning ability, a likeability
doing homework, nuh uh,
no way jose, don’t dare let them
know how you never got a gold star,
always sat in the back row, outta sight,
all day dreaming, chemistry rhymes with mystery,
and poetry is rhymes needing a big vocabulary
which means lots of words for a man who don’t talk much
ain’t exactly his strong suit
sure, heard of Shakespeare but never met him,
know where the on/off computer button hides,
the rest is up to them;
got no email address, but taught them sir and ma’am,
how to address humans with respect,
i’ll promise them anything
but not doing any homework,
unless it the kind that that makes
“a home work”
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
Nobody chooses a bottle willingly. A pill or a loaded gun, in the end it's all the same.
We're waiting, still, hiding. In our holiest of places:
The kitchen and the office. A quiet sideways-slide into the last available stall in a casino washroom. The seat is still warm.
Teachers don't tell kids that drugs are bad. They told us that we were the evil ones for deep-throating a bottle of ***** every Friday.
They didn't know what we had to go home to.
Cancer sounded better than living past 20, and that's the thing that they'll never comprehend:
There's always a reason underneath overdose.
The only time a drug is bad is when you can't afford it, and you're sitting alone in a fetal position crying in need for a chemical bliss that you've caressed over and over; a blanket covering memories. Feelings. Emotions.
The only time a drug is bad is when you're too **** poor to grab anything better than a box of Benadryl and a dimebag of shake.
The only time a drug is bad is when you're anything but rich an' white and pretty, because then you're not addicted, you're having fun with the price of 1,000 a week at an all-inclusive rehab resort.
Drugs don't discriminate, but people sure as Hell do.
There's always a reason underneath overdose.
There's always a reason underneath.
There's always a reason.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
Procrastination
with lack of motivation
Leading you towards devastation
Favorite song on the radio station
Not really caring about any education
Instead daydreaming with a vivid imagination
Wanting to go on an all inclusive 3 week vacation
Taking a 30 minute break for some much needed meditation
Rhyming this many words to make a poem takes too much dedication
I really did write this so I'll put a personal problem in for some further verification
Thats my poem on Procrastination
Sorry Its Late
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
The Equalist!
RE: The guerrilla girl’s poster 5% women artists yet 85% of the models are female.
This poster was heralded as a feminist rebuff of misogyny and the male gaze.
It is my opinion: one of the reasons females are more sexualised than males in Western society; is because the majority of women working in a sexualised industry such as modelling, dancing, fashion or *********** choose to perpetuate that role and the connection between *** and femininity; often in industries where females outnumber the men six to one; I'm also aware that the majority of the hierarchy in theses industries are male, it seems their gender solidarity is more concerned with the money; than notions of ****** inequality; thus perpetuating the issue.
Vernacular test:
Step one - Question one:
I took a survey of 30 fellow artists asking what is a misandry? followed by what is your gender?
Step two - Question two:
I took a survey of 30 fellow artists asking what is a misogyny? followed by what is your gender?
I did offer any information or allow any of the subjects to see the survey paper, or overhear the question.
Results: 30 subjects took part in the survey; One female knew both words and their meaning, and one female didn't know what Misogyny was. (Two females approached refused to take part in the survey, all men approached engaged.)
Step three - Question three:
I then gave all the subjects the dictionary definition and asked why they thought the vernacular misandry is not as well known as the word misogyny?
(I should add that I too couldn't recall the vernacular meaning of: Misandry; though I could recall the meaning or definition of Misogyny.)
Answers:
Female... "I don't care"
Female... "It's due to a gender economic imbalance"
Female..."Blokes just don't like it when women speak out about it"
Female..."I don't get involved in protests"
Female..."I don't know"
Female..."Men just think with their ******
Female... "There's more misogynists"
Female... "Because men are pigs"
Female... "Why does it mater"
Female... "It's just a word"
Female... "I'm not interested"
Female..."Try being a women"
Female... " It's ******** it's just a vernacular"
Female..."You wouldn't understand your a man"
The other 5 Females... chose to offer no explanation.
Answers:
Male..."I don't know"
Male... "who cares"
Male... "Yeh that's interesting"
Male... Why does it matter"
Male... "Let me think about it"
Male... "Who gives a ****
Male... "What's this about"
Male... "Can I see the results later"
The other 2 males... Chose to offer no explanation.
I personally identify as human; and don't wish to be defined, labeled or marginalised; I also don’t believe that secularism in any measure is healthy or meaningful in an inclusive society.
I question why 29 out of 30 subjects had heard of Misogyny; and just one person had heard of Misandry.
Sexism is not as the dictionary suggested prejudice, stereotyping, or discrimination, typically against women.
Everyone is effected buy prejudice, stereotyping, or discrimination.
The subtleties of which is played out every day.
Feb 5, 2020
Feb 5, 2020 at 11:32 AM UTC
therapy and resistance
how is it that therapy becomes the excess of class war or the oppression thereof?
When the struggle of the individual is made to seem self induced when it is easily and clearly directly a result of the failures and complacence afforded by the majority of the group.
When in a therapeutic environment it is important to distinguish the opportunities of resistance from the experience of trauma.
there has always been individuals who establish groups that are in a realm of desperation.
Understanding how this process has unfolded institutionally is just as valid as treating the individual.
This gives the individual the choice and resources needed to heal.
The healing could look like resistance rather than assuming aspects of class war or oppressive culture to be normal.
Otherwise therapy is nothing but the means to normalize the process of oppression.
The traumatic state needs to be able to decipher its organic existence from that of organized oppression and its institutional cooperation.
the neglect of deciphering or distinguishing these differences causes individuals to make a competition out of trauma. This minimizes certain trauma of individuals and causes the group to have less of an opportunity to resist organized oppression of the institution.
Those that are in the realm of desperation or traumatic state are given no choice but to repress in order to continue being social or a member of the group.
in excess the hierarchies of gender, race and class are reinforced to an almost superhuman level.
To the desperate or traumatic state…
what needs reinforcement is that there are humans just like us who have resisted oppression and caused the normalcy of the group to be more inclusive and aware of the processes associated with organized oppression.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC
“The executioner’s face is always well hidden”
a Bob Dylan lyric
<>
mine own “ex,” in chest encased, silent, with grimacing smile,
happy to be of sir-vice, sent home unhappy, cause his cut,
not quite deep enough
this time,
though nearly succeeded,
but his biz is an-all-or-none inclusive Swifty tour, disillusioned,
he don’t get paid unless he brings my punched ticket to a glorious
sadness conclusion
someone asked (axed in local accent) if I’m nearer my god
having survived despite my best efforts at self destruction,
to which I’m smiling when uttering a “heartfelt prayer” of
Hell No!
cause the channel always been open and either side can initiate when so desired, the gates of love always open,
so wasn’t surprised when playing with my matches,
he went silent, but knew fully well, Mr. G a risk taker,
put his roulette chips on a “basket bet,” (1)
needing a double 00, to collect,
because, shoot, the timing was good…
Me?
ain’t naive enough to hope that a prayerful request
would not be met with a “now you want some intercession?”
and a heavenly sneer, cause we always been perfectly clear,
with each other, ask and you won’t receive, and none of that
what have you done for me lately razzamatazz,
nah, the record impurities gray
and no pencil erasures allowed…
knowing that the executioner will be back’ round someday,
my wounded heart too tempting to pass up twice, and
that’s ok, this old man learned to live with
a not entirely pleasant uncertainty,
*”This old man, he played one,
He played knick-knack on my thumb;
With a knick-knack paddywhack,
Give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.”*
but he didn’t play two, having no kazoo!
Sep 5, 2023
Sep 5, 2023 at 12:24 PM UTC
A cat stalks amongst stalks;
monkeys like old men, fingers unpick
your banana hands, curious and careful.
Too much expression.
Don’t worry, have a curry.
And from a coach window glimpses of a land
where a skeleton boy sleeps or lies dead under palm.
And the red earth chokes.
Follow the waterfall to mango pickle
down river to a jungle boogie rhythm
you ain’t ever heard before.
Cobra skins and coy carp,
the sound of cicadas amasses.
A stand still in traffic, its ‘crush’ hour
its okay to beep even if it will never get you anywhere.
A treasure trove of trinkets, a myriad of jewels.
All you see is money,
all I see is you wanting money.
Dusty rags from sandy bags, the face of
desperation is ugly.
Temples carved into caves
as markets coloured like an artist’s palette.
An elephant’s eyes say more than this poem could.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 3:51 PM UTC
The Universe is our Kamasutra
constellations, red tailed comets
brilliant devas, divine horsemen
prance through the galactic playground
everywhere and in everything
our eyes behold a starry courtship
Romance impregnates the very air
we breathe
billowy breezes caress our bodies
and the sun does not hesitate
to shower us with burning kisses
mysterious lady of the coven night
cools the passions of the day
with dreamy moonlight and
soft melody
Innocent, pristine
we experience, explore and
enjoy the sacred foreplay
blooming in the garden
of our chakras
So vastly turned on
feeling high
expansive
all inclusive
How can we contain the
bliss that courses
through every particle
and atom towards its
ultimate collective
consummation
Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati
locked forever in the throes of Love
“Spirit and Nature dancing together”
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
Belonging to no masters
Bowing to no shiny idol
Formed as crashing waves
Tsunami and the tidal
Freeing enslaved minds
Requiring no police
From simplistic limerick
To powerful treatise
Capable to be inclusive
of every type of mind
From hideously critical
To the wise and kind
Between sanity - insanity
The line delightfully blurs
A home for loony writers
Saboteurs and connoisseurs
Ignore at poetry's peril
This most mediocre rhyme
The more that verse is policed
The less that it will chime
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
Defying the consensus of complacency,
And the enantiomorphic political practicality,
Candidates embrace their vacillating indexicality.
Spouting thrift store self reliance sapientiality,
Telling lores of cultural compatibility.
Hope filled promises of economic suitability,
Aligned with institutional feasibility.
Packaged in over-inclusive catchall empty signifiers
Strewn across all media screens, communal utilitarian plan flyers.
Requesting no need for responsiveness,
For a vote no longer dictates precedence,
In the age of social media endemic presence relevance.
PFL
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 3:40 AM UTC
It consists of this,
all of it and none
I found solace in that
which I could not hold
but only cherish as fond memoirs
of a terrible moment in time
Never full, never empty
it turned into an addiction
derogation of the unwise, with no premise
bawls and shrieks have no place here
this is silent lucidity capsized
hundreds of expressions explaining one thing
one thing that explains it all
Destination: lost
with no means to propel the self
into a promising new day,
pray tell, what will break down the wall
self loathing and misanthropy creates
alone in a crowd, here, but far away
none of it is that important anyway
The smile stealer, grin eater
mood killer, running short of edification
It's never alone; in bed with misery
the smallest things distress
the grandest of thoughts
wanting reprieve, searching escape
as if you could
die and stain pride?
No
Cowardice is lower than this
not worse, just pathetic
but please, ignore my terrible advocacy,
everything is half off today
I'm feeling generous.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
_Circles_—round a trip,
going all around the plains of plain thinking,
A blank mind; empty paper, ****** canvas,
As of the first I'll write: a masterpiece to create.
A shaking pen, a hold of my thoughts and emotions.
Dreams so unreal; feels so prohibited to a natural
thought. So I write them out in words.
Read through it, subtract, dissect,
read through it again; alter, adjust,
As many times, till I'm content with the piece.
But I'm never content; until the next piece,
the next piece, and next pieces after that.
Battling thoughts on whether to share or
archive for a later story. Post for likes, comments,
to please an ego—post for dispraise, inklings,
to better self, and writing capabilities.
_For all-inclusive_
Jul 3, 2022
Jul 3, 2022 at 3:44 PM UTC
I don't see myself on tv
I don't see myself in magazines
I don't see myself in books
I don't see myself in my community
They say I can't love her
They say I can't love him
They say I don't love them
They make jokes
They shun
Confused
Experimenting
Curious
Going through a phase
Trying it out
Not sure of what you want
You'll change your mind
You aren't inclusive
That's what they say to me
It's not true
None of it
Any of it
All of it
My truth
The truth
The only truth
The absolute truth
I can love her
I can love him
I can love them
It doesn't mean I like everyone I see
It means I'm just being me
Bisexual in the past
Bisexual today
Bisexual tomorrow
Bisexual forever
Stop erasing me
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
lucid
reclusive
aint a job in this world
so i do this
i choose it.
abusive
inclusive
lyrics with no music
slowly comin down
from the roof its
abysmal
noctural
medical
spewing from my heart
internal
infernal
eternal.
words to an ancient lullaby
that only i can hear (and i don't know why)
flushes upon
my cheeky cheeks
it feels so queer
when i speak my speak.
hipsters and goblins
spokes from their mouths
i wanna rob them
mob them
sob them
sounds from the ether
i wanna shock them
out.
sell my soul for a dime full of emotions
peddle my heart for a little bit of potions
twist my tongue
and dab my eyes
room full of tears
but i got no cries
land full of ears
but i got no lies
body full of flesh
but i got no tries
elephant
irrelevant
beating my head
for the hell of it
chandelier
another beer
sleep thru the night
wake to the same fear
i don't know you
and you don't know me
there is no us
so there aint no we
just let me live
i'll let you be
i'll stay clear
but there is no free
toes toes
into the sand
wish upon a star
that i conquer this land
hoes hoes
i cannot stand
to nowhere i lead
place out your hand
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 3:13 AM UTC
Accepted clarity
Muddied only
By half-truths
Perceived as real
A contrived conscience
With volume control
Lowered by convenience
And narcissistic survival
The retail outlet
Of self-patted shoulders
Selling in real time
One's own significance
Safety in numbers
A comfort of thought
The inclusive community
Of light
Through fractured prisms
Individuality
Sought in the scope
Of a petri dish
Hopefully,
There be an artisan
Peering through the lens
An expert in restoration
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 7:21 AM UTC
I am tired of building sandcastles; pouring heart and soul into time spent together with the enthusiasm that comes with newfound infatuation. Building relationships like sandcastles, artfully crafted with a mixture of chemistry and compassion to form beautiful and wondrous things alive with imagination with the hope that one day the proper name for it will be that elusive and all-inclusive word "love." I spend that time in a strange mixture of hard work and yet effortless way things fall together, and each castle is as different, unique, and beautiful in its own right as the next. But time spent as Queen with my King companion is shortlived. The tide sweeps in and away, and the castle crumbles and in time there is not a trace of the hallowed halls that once were the home to invested emotion. Sometimes I am left with the nagging doubt whether the castle was ever even there. Sure i remember my hands in the sand, my hand in his hand, the towers in the sky, the look in his eye. But with no evidence, no trace I begin to think it may all have been a lovely and then depressing dream. The sand lays at rest for a time but then it begins again, because I have love to give and love to share and I see the potential in the next prince to build a castle greater than the last, forgetting all about the ruins that have been swept away by that sea. No I'm tired of these sandcastles, as exhilarating and breathtaking as the adventure into architecture is... I think I'm ready for a house made of stone, I want to build a place love can find a solid home.
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
Bob sang about it
Martin dreamed it
John and yoko did too
Jo spoke out
As Europeans we were close
One world one love
Leaders unite
Listen to our past
Make peace top of the pack
Lets not go back
Evolve for unity
Let's get together and be that all inclusive
one world
One love
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 1:45 PM UTC
To many people of the world, Africa is often seen
Through a narrow lens, a filtered screen
As a place of poverty, starvation and disease
Of famine, drought, and misery
But this is only one side of the story
Most people say this out of ignorance, I’m sorry
Africa is a land of great diversity
Of vibrant cultures, of ancient traditions
Of beauty, of art, of peace
Yes, we have our challenges, it's true
But we are a people of strength, of resilience, of hope
From Algeria in the north, where ancient ruins abound
To Zimbabwe in the south, where Victoria Falls resound
Senegal is where the vibrant West African culture comes alive
And in Seychelles, the archipelago's beaches and nature are a perfect vibe
Sierra Leone has the beautiful beaches of Freetown
While Egypt has the Pyramids and other awe-inspiring sculptures
Mauritius is a paradise island, with virg*n beaches and luxury resorts
From the rainforests of the
Congo to the beaches of Cape Town
From Bijilo Forest Park in the Gambia
To the Kragga Kamma Game Reserve in South Africa
From Ghana to Nigeria, who regularly argue over which country
Makes the best Jollof, fufu and afrobeat
But the bond is as close as Arnold Schwarzenegger and guns – big guns
Look at Africa with a broader lens
And behold, you find the flawlessly faultless
The continent of countries, of tribes, of peoples
Each with its own history, its own voice, its own dreams
Its own richness of traditions, the diversity of their languages
And the beauty of their cultures
Let us dismiss the delusions
Of a continent that is backward, primitive, and poor
For Africa is a land of great potential
Of food that is spicy, soulful and sweet
Dance that is enthusiastic, energetic, and expressive
Where the earth is rich with resources untold
In doing so, we will break down the barriers
And create a world that is truly inclusive
For Africa is not a place of darkness
But a place of light, of hope, of opportunity
Africa is not a place of pity
But a place of power and pride
We are the children of a proud continent
Where the sun rises and sets with a sizzling splendor
Making it a place where every day is summer
Mar 27, 2023
Mar 27, 2023 at 12:24 PM UTC
She was gooey like maple syrup
& marshmallow s'mores,
stronger than a mountain lion
protecting her cubs,
wore prescription rose-tinted
sunglasses with GPS,
she'd been around long enough
to see through most of the
flimflam and negativity,
was agile enough to laugh at
her own cheeky caricature,
wouldn't put up with the travesty
'neath debauchery's cunning
still, she wondered as most do,
what was to become of a world
so engrossed in the overthrow
& disparaging mockery of others
she bade her time waiting to grow
older and wiser in hopes
she'd be around long enough
to experience a sunrise view
in universal accordance
before her own last sunset
ultimately bit the dust,
burning in all-inclusive ashes
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
i never understood the concept of
intellectual ************
coming from people with more than three
children.
personally i found it more economic
to sell the theory of relativity
than i cared to see three *****
telling red from blue apart...
the concept of intellectual ************
had me lost...
i could only understand the worth
of ************ intellectually
had i the capacity to breed 3 or more children...
i found that intellectual ************ always
existed in people who had the capacity to breed
Irish families... and did so... without discouragement...
inclusive of some ulterior prompt,
or some Amazonian whim.
or a potato famine.
as paddy always does: move to the whimsical
care for strata.
intellectual ************ only makes sense
if you come from large investment familial circles...
or rabbit libido. who cares?!
none of them will ever build a Coliseum
what's the bother? a pint of Guinness?! why, i can pass
that one modern bother...
i rather ********** intellectually,
than fulfil my biological obligation of a catholic
family... paddy oats.
what do you get when you scratch a potato
long enough?
CHIPS!
squatter mckenzies! limp *****
kilt prone! chequers & cheese!
cheap joke... ha ha... hmm ha:
you got to load up on the romance
to **** off what's never bound to be funny.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 1:06 AM UTC
A precious gem that I once called mine,
Onyx that will never again shine.
Two emeralds never to blink,
Rubies never to speak.
The inclusive blind sedative of a heart,
A heart of gold stopped beating,
Drowned in a sapphire creek.
A silver spirit faded to gray,
I seem to have lost my precious gem today.
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 10:46 PM UTC
Dear Rosie
I wonder, what kind of black woman are you?
Because as we discussed various -isms, you refuted your womanism, you refuted racism, you refuted sexism. You are "Rosie"
Dear Rosie
I want to know where you come from. Who taught you to tear down women that look like you, that came from a black woman's womb just as you did. Where did you learn to silence us in that confused mind of yours where you said our opinions irritate you and are worthless to your education?
Dearest Rosie
Tell me how the oppressed became the oppressor. Because as I look at your dark chocolate skin I am curious what you see when you look in the mirror. A reflection of privileged whiteness? You say oppression does not matter. You asks for facts. Well, statistics show us that people that look like you are dying whether you acknowledge your blackness or not. Women like you are being silenced and underrepresented in the public sphere regardless if you take it for face value. Women like us have lost sons to officers, husbands to cells, brothers to jails.
Dear Rosie
Wake the **** up. Each time you slice our tongues from the black reality that black women may not matter as much as they do in this safe space, each time you preach of your humanist kumbaya resolution that separates us from race gender and sexuality, each time you say our opinions do not matter, they win. The system wins. Because they'll use some token like you to represent our mass majority and say "She agrees with us so all black people do too." I refuse to be represented by a peer that denounces my womanism, my feminism, my black nationalism because it's not white enough for her (black) skin.
Not inclusive enough to a white population that has excluded people like me for centuries. It is not my duty to make some ************ feel comfortable with my blackness ,to relieve them of guilt when they've perpetuated guilt on me because of my blackness.
Dear Rosie.
Don't let them win.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 1:32 AM UTC
When you know
that you will never
have a kiss from them again
it hurts.
No more body touches
that are warm and make you sparkle.
Glittery eyes
that are all red
from purple heaven.
I need it
and can't get it.
I hate him.
This isn't for him
it's my emotions
drizzling down my brain.
But that warmth
it is something else.
It's a nice glass of pulp free
pineapple juice made with love.
So when it was all inclusive
there were shockingly many non-inclusive things.
The same for him,
he could be all inclusive
while being just like the hotel.
His body became a hotel for me,
and now i'm missing a vacation.
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 7:55 PM UTC
calm
d
o
w
n
not everything is about you
not everything is important
and those two aren't mutually inclusive
you are lovely
but your firehair
goes to the inside as well
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 8:57 AM UTC