"inculcated" poems
#*Familial the ties siblings we are
Brought up with love care discipline and protection
Values inculcated deep
Respect and love we all each other
Hold it strong in the heart
Hurt we can never bring to each other
Stand together in testing times forever
Raising high the baton of love today
Passing it on to the generation next
To relay it in the timeless tomorrow*#
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 7:19 AM UTC
the artistry in you
snapping bubbles
through your hair
resting feather
the coop
the hibernation
every bit of your work
a statement of
beast and sacrifice
sweet mother
holy sister
undying scientist
like windows
like soil
in which life grows
good earth
good prairie
miles and miles of you
swaying in the wind
inculcated within me
this immortal passion
to watch you sprout life
to watch you work
to watch you love
a blissful void
a simple kiss
a wonderful purple
this incomprehensible galaxy
makes sense
when I see your eyes
scanning billions of blades
of grass
when I witness the tortuous
beauty
of your smile
when I hear you
read your poetry
it’s the gift of nature
unprecedented
unexpected
un-censored
unlike anything I’ve ever
experienced
your love
Jessica
your love
is ineffable
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 11:31 PM UTC
I fell in love with a black gay man,
and I knew he was gay...
I didn’t know he was black.
You see, there are people who teach you how to think for yourself,
and there are people who teach you how to think like them.
That was my problem.
Those people taught me how to think like them,
so I went through high school thinking that white men were better than black men.
Every time a black guy approached me,
I made it clear from the beginning that I didn’t want anything beyond friendship.
And that’s how I met Reginald.
The first black man I fell in love with.
And I know I’m saying now that he is black,
but even so, I couldn’t see the blackness in him.
He was the white boy people talked so much about.
He was the dream boy of any living girl,
but he was locked in a black body that those same people didn’t understand.
The first time,
I saw a black man—
a man who wanted more than friendship with me,
but who wouldn’t.
In the end, we became friends—
and very good ones.
That issue of black men not being part of my heart went to hell
when I started getting to know Reginald better.
I started to love him.
For the love—
but above all, for how they had taught me to think—
I started to see him as a white man:
of high rank,
with a good family,
and a magnificent sense of humor.
But then, I found out that my beloved Reginald was gay.
Ironic, right?
The only black man I had ever fallen in love with—
and it turns out he is gay.
Still, I couldn’t keep myself away from him.
I started doing everything I could so that we were always together,
hoping that he would start to feel something for me...
He didn’t.
And I don’t blame him.
How was I able to notice his passion toward men
but not remember that he was a black man?
How couldn’t I notice that I fell in love with a black man?
Then I realized—
the same people who had put such an idea in my mind
were black people.
People who had decided to surrender to white people
and insisted on thinking like them.
But they decided that.
They inculcated that in me.
The day Reginald died at the hands of my brother,
I noticed his blackness again.
And no,
it wasn’t because I had lost the love I felt for him—
but because it was my brother who taught me to think like him...
who taught me to think like whites.
I lost the love of my life
because of my black brother’s decision
to think in the same way white people do.
Maybe I was the one who should have died
at the hands of Reginald’s sister,
because he saw me as a white man too
the night we,
thanks to a drunken stupor,
decided to be one—
consumed in mutual pleasure,
without taking into account the consequences.
How will I explain the death of his father
to my son who is coming?
Should I tell him his father died because he was a black man?
Or that his father died because I saw him as a white man?
Should I blame my parents
for teaching my brother to think like a white man?
Or should I blame myself for paying attention to him?
Now I don’t know who I fell in love with...
And I really think I never will.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC
Can't the rain, hear our pain-
To shower again,
When meet the lovers insane?
And drain the strain,
Inculcated by their brains?
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 4:10 AM UTC
how benevolent
our government has been
supporting immigrants
with the taxpayer's
generous Welfare scheme
yet a percentage
of these immigrants
use the taxpayer's money
for dubious means
they travel abroad to places
where radicalism is indoctrinated
and the message
they are inculcated with
is one of killing
they fly back into our country
with their minds
full of slogans
and deadly propaganda
one of these persons
could be in any of our cities or towns
freely walking the streets
a radicalized individual
maybe known to us
he or she planning a terrorist attack
inside our continent
our taxpayer dollars
exploited for ill intent
our government has gathered intelligence
on these persons
of radical bent
their Welfare payments
are to be cut off
which shall choke off
their horrific lament
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
~for the inestimable and yet,
so oft underestimated,
Lori Jones McCaffery ~
*"That was beautiful and I lived it with you." ^
tell-me, tell-me,
he whispers so only ***** can hear:
is there anything more,
a simple poet could ask for,
but an admission of someone revealing that
your words,
inculcated, enwrapped, flowered within,
then carried them to you,
and you to them?
to sit beside me, on my unpillowed weathered throne,
and imagine them imagining through eyes that read, shared
your overflowing joyous insights of the outside domain,
your sadness glorious at the end of a summer
where you rediscovered, un~purposed,
a mindfulness,
from the early morning sun beams stinging you alive
that together ***** the air from lungs exhaling,
and this very breathe
is the synapse of an actual consummation,
transmigrating, transmuting, transforming
a kindred soul
to kin
how glorious!
no, there is nothing greater,
but to ask:
my dear,
can you feel, taste my salted tears, Lori,
as I kiss each of your hands for becoming/making/cresting & creating
a bond of us?
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 10:10 AM UTC
at curiosity’s urging
he found haven in haiku
a safe place where people listened
without judging
a thread to test truth’s waters
and tell his story
a 5-7-5 sequence as larynx
giving voice to childhood horrors
beaten regularly with a rubber garden hose
that left no outward evidence
bleeding so badly
he lost a kidney
too terrified to tell the doctor
with his father standing right there
it was a secret kept in the family
her verbal belittlement inculcated
“you should have never been born”
“we can’t afford you”
when he brought home all A’s
they said, “your classes were too easy”
his older brother mercilessly joined the chorus
and the torture
with parental approval
still, his eyes saw beauty
they saw river rocks as hippos
submerged in a backyard creek
they watched in awe at the flight of owls and hawks
swooping down on their prey
they described a “sapphire lake”
“so blue it was almost black”
“a jewel in the belly of the Sierras”
they captured trees and blades of grass
and fallen giants in petrified forests
they found a wife who loved him anyway
despite alcoholic binges and blackouts
his poems told of years of loneliness she erased
they spoke of her as sole reason for sobriety
he found peace in poetry
and used the internet to vent his wise *** ways
at times he even spoke of his family
as if they were decent
but every November remembered
his birth month dredging up the past
he wrote of whispering demons haunting his heart
and scars on the soul that never heal
I can’t imagine his pain
or sense of normalcy
they killed this kid when he was little
but it took him four decades to die
last Friday my friend took his own life
he called me a gentleman and a scholar
and formally thanked me
for encouraging his writing
he defended me in the face of trolls
even though we never met in person
I hope he knows how much we all cared
and I hope there’s a heaven
where he can rest in peace
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 3:43 PM UTC
frigid homeless shivering
on Bank of America’s
front porch step
propped up by
oligarchic investors and
solipsistic one-percenters
and we pass by
in apathetic
self-absorption
we are brainless
enraptured by smartphones
while the State bombs
our neighbors
mutilating children
sowing seeds of terror
with every abuse of power
we convince ourselves
that there's an afterlife
and raze Earth
as we raise hell
the only home
we’re guaranteed
infinite growth in
a finite world
consuming joylessly
inculcated
inane and
vain beyond
all measure
we’ve ravaged the planet
we will all die
alone
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
(((( broken record ))))
..........it usually depends...........
.......on prevailing circumstances.......
The fragility, or inconsistency of excuses
Can't just ignore the gravity of a situation
Some behaviors....need immediate attention
Could also be....the dominant mood of the day
The five girls say, it's not the day's.........but mine
However they look at it, or feel about it....they obey
Right values must be inculcated in their growing minds
Words have to be repeated....clarified.....and emphasized
Advice given by kinsfolk, must be heard.............and I smile,
As I ignore their pouting lips...unnecessary frowns....snorting.
Can't ever be their Wonder Woman....to keep them from falling,
So, with a loud or modulated voice...I say my piece over and over
Like a record gone awry....playing off and on.....every now and then.
Got to be broken at times
Got to play my music
As often as needed.
Sally
Copyright May 7, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 11:10 PM UTC
first light is cavernous,
ochre vivification for
the ruffled goose-down
sage squares
'neath which i seek
refuge in feign dreams,
pores peeled, wakeful,
like a deep-roving shark,
sedate half the brain
and keep vigil, open
every thirty minutes
to secure myself --
perpendicular,
swaddled,
taut.
there are fundamental rituals
with which we are inculcated
in the households of our heralds,
our inheritance -- idiosyncrasies.
"the day begins when the bed is made."
i devoted nine nights
to avoiding nuestro cama.
i spent six siestas
preferring the loch ness futon
and three on the threshold
to the bathroom
because i couldn't always
bring myself back to face it.
now, just like mother says,
i make the bed upon first light
and la cama rests in a tight corner
on a frame piled high with pillows
like i'm filling up space
i keep my books cushioned
and my homework has become
a permanent fixture, sprawling,
embedded
i've remade my queen's cot
207 times in the last
18 days and regardless,
can't say i've started my day.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
I long for the reign of the visual (her first look of the day)
The pitter patter stampede on my conscience
quickly softened with a touch; such is the cotton effect
of her flesh:::
still she isn't here
vile is the curse of distance
the struggle to be close to her::
**the want knows
what it's like to be beatified in accession**
ingratiated in proximity
inculcated by a smile
**when inches feel like miles
continents should be easy**
still I panhandle for a word
dumpster-dive for images
Forever searching for you, a salve of perfection, frozen in time
There is an arrogance in the required syllables needed to describe her grace
cdh
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 11:25 PM UTC
fortifications of strength
were built around the queen's palace
she'd been assailed
by betraying hearts
her turrets
were inculcated
with stone and cement
for the queen
had known of men
in the past
who'd extolled
their unwavering virtues
to her soul
ne'er again
would her palace
be so brutalized
by men
whose motives
were to victimize
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
She looked at the ultrasound image,
scared and speechless.
Her pessimistic husband inculcated her with words,
useless words.
Her ideas of the family she envisioned cracked like glass.
While internal tears drowned her, she began reminiscing the past.
As the doctor spoke, she heard nothing but
the hopes and dreams she created in her head.
Unsure and filled with anxiety,
she was filled with dread.
The one moment she always awaited,
left her feeling very deflated.
"W- what is that ?" She stuttered, pointing at the image.
The doctor cleared his throat.
"What is that ?!" She screamed, becoming agitated.
"Not even science can explain that." he said.
The being inside her was far from human,
with its two heads and black eyes
peering at her through the image.
"It's not human and I am so sorry." the doctor sympathized.
Her husband, enraged at the whole situation marched out of the room
and slammed the door.
All hell broke loose after she cut her stomach open
and released the creature into town.
Paranoia and pain tormented the town
for months till the creature was captured
by a once nameless entity.
This is the entity parents warned their children against
but this entity became an angel and a saviour.
Over time, this nameless entity was named fear
and sometimes, fear helps us overcome our
greatest nightmares.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
In fantasy fallacies
Covetous malice is
Greediest deities'
Vanity palaces
Callous regarding
The weary and meek
The ostensible shepherds
Just wolves among sheep
Counting each of their
Unanswered prayers
Before sleep
Yet despair doesn't seem
To preclude
Pleasant dreams
Nor to render naivity scenes
To demean
What of logic and reason
Should clearly evince
They abandoned us long ago,
Haven't cared since
And their whereabouts
Unbeknownst
Mystery ways
Inexplicable how
They free will us
As slaves
The obsequious miscreant
False prophet faith
Inculcated in cults
Of a non-personality
Spreading its virulent
Indigent malady
Bow and prostrate yourselves
On your knees
Cowardly
Why fear what hasn't appeared
In the flesh
To be real
Why exalt higher powers
Except how you feel
Leaves me reeling,
Unraveling
Traveling
Gone again
Out to let go
And expose
Gods
As frauds of men
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 1:35 PM UTC
Mother
I whisper into the shadowy niche I am crouched in
I look at my naked body in the mirror
My naked face
I see my Mother in those creases of my face that are vestiges of my pain.
I am not like my Mother
I try to convince myself
I am the opposite of my Mother in every way,
But it was her doing
It was she who reared me to be who I am.
It was she who inculcated all of the fear and doubt in me.
How could I love her?
But how could I sever the sacred mother daughter bond?
The favorable memories
Will be impressed on my psyche for a lifetime.
The traumatic memories
Are stored in my physical body
My body retracting when it perceives a resemblance of the threat
That killed my childhood.
Death is for second chances
So Mother
I'll meet you in Heaven
And let's not hold back our love
Through the effusive outpouring of love onto each other
We shall be redeemed.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
WHEN YOU REALLY LOVE.
If you are fond of someone, you will find
that all her deeds can flirt your loving heart.
You watch her fingers when she weaves some work
and want to press her weaving to your chest.
You love her words and wish to kiss her lips
the purest kiss that makes you fly to height.
Her words are inculcated in your soul
as they endow all your celestial might.
When she just looks at you, she makes you feel
the soft and charming eyes are calling you
to save that look which gives a loving wave
that cools your heart like roses by the dew.
You love to catch her hand when in the street.
It sends a spark that gives your heart a move.
You feel the worth of life and why man hopes
to live so long if life can give such love.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
____________________________________
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 11:50 AM UTC
I have always been fascinated by the way women eat...how they savour every bite...take in all the flavours...be it a chocolate or a cake or an ice-cream or a flavoured yogurt...every spoonful/bite matters to them...i'm not saying that guys don't enjoy their food...but at times we eat like we've gotta a time limit...just somehow gulping it down like crazy!!! I must admit that i've inculcated this trait of women in my eating habit and i'm certainly enjoying it much more. I realize now that foodgasm isn't a myth!!!
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC
The glistening palm trees cast a Cimmerian shade, stretching far across. Odd was how the dark wavering imprint was perceivable in the tenebrosity of the night. The moon, smothered by the viscous clouds, was unable to fulfill its illuminating role. The wind sang for the nightingales perched on the trees an entrancing sorrowful hymn, a disconsolate requiem, meant solely to succor. All in vain. Such are the innerworkings of a soul tainted by grief and vehement rage. He would ask for forgiveness, but only if he knew how, and even if he did, who would he ask. Once the soul has been blotted, it hardly ever finds its way back to its purity. The same wretched purity that inculcated the need for self-imposed harm. 'Tis true men will desire oblivion rather than not desire at all. He knew all this since the earliest drop of ichor was divulged on his account. Then it streamed, like a river with the steadiest of currents. His hands were, for the first time, sanctified as they soaked the blood. If only he knew how to foster the fire, leaving the trees incinerated, while forsaking the land of all shadow except that of the nightingales fleeing.
Oct 11, 2020
Oct 11, 2020 at 1:22 PM UTC
The things I should have said in the past,
I didn't know how to say.
The things I want to say right now,
Constantly eat away
At inculcated inhibitions, which
Stifle apt expression
Out of the fear of uttering
A possible indiscretion.
The things I couldn't see in the past
I "see" much better now,
Such as the deep and powerful connections
Of the where and why and how.
Although there is a current diminishing
Of youthful visual acuity,
One doesn't need perfect vision
To penetrate ambiguity.
The things my ears could hear in the past
No longer sound the same.
Listening with the ears of experience
Completely changes the game.
To see with the ears and to hear with the eyes--
What a challenging perspective!--
Instead of being stuck in a pattern
That's sadly ineffective.
The things I knew so well in the past
I know right now even better.
Strict adherence to worn-out ideas
Proves to be a fetter.
If knowing is truly becoming, that means
The immeasurable range of our knowing
Is tied to our experiences and is
A direct result of growing.
George Bernard Shaw said youth
Is wasted on the young.
But maybe it's better for us to consider
Our youth as merely a rung
On the amazing ladder of life that we
Haven't ascended for naught.
We're lucky we've made it as far as we have;
The alternative's an unpleasant thought.
Knowing what I know and seeing what I see,
I'm forced to speak my mind,
Lest my silence be misconstrued
As agreement, which I find
Would contradict what I have learned
And what experience reveals.
Moreover, I can't justify
Abandoning my ideals.
- by Bob B
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC