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"indiscriminately" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
0
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Paradoxical Tendencies
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
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47
Last week, among friends black and white, among some discussion of protests in Ferguson and the related looting of stores, I invoked the word. It was an admission, in a round of confessions, of something about myself that I didn't like: that I had perceived Michael Brown in that way based on his possible participation in a strong-armed robbery. When Travon Martin was in the news, I was inflamed like many others who wanted George Zimmerman in jail for ****** The outcome of that trial was an injustice, I was utterly certain. Why does this case in Missouri feel different? More importantly, Who is inside me that still wants to rise in defiance of 48 years of learning how to be a better person, a person without prejudices, stereotyping, labeling of others, hurtful language? Where is the hippie girl now? How does she live with this other person? Am I Sterling, Gibson, a hater and spewer of viciousness, a lover of separation and separateness, that I should invite damage to my own relationships with those I love and cherish and respect? What is a **** but a bully, and what is a bully but someone who pushes words around like weapons, spits them out indiscriminately, so that they land on the already bruised heart and set it on fire. Whose heart, besides mine, now sits in smoke and ash, with that word like a brand still sore and permanent, having been spoken aloud?
0
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
****
The gift of giving indiscriminately is a gift we should give indiscriminately There's a secret to a good life and here's the key The path to happiness is generosity Happiness doesn't dilute when you give it away and it constitutes in everything you say You can literally have your cake and eat it depending exactly on how you treat it take it, use it, split it, pass it on every time you do that it will be twice as strong happiness is a virus we need to learn to spread a pandemic of the head A vaccine shot straight to the heart infecting you with a flying start secret to the deeper hidden meaning of living that happiness is caused by indiscriminate giving.
0
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 9:04 AM UTC
The gift of giving indiscriminately
Wrote this eons ago, tonight, once more, spend some human capital, editing... Something to think about as we tuck ourselves in. the young'uns keep on asking me for tips, secrets, to this art, magical poetry gig, as if I had any left unrevealed.   recalled this old'n, from a vintage poetry year, as a suggestion, a stating-starting place, for young poets: do not self-chain, let the words take you where they lead, write them up for the rhyme is waiting, in the heart chest deep down, not on the screen. I read you Goodnight Moon, Falling asleep beside you. <•> People stop rhyming... When first you overcome your fears, And dare to put on paper your tears, Give it up, set yourself free from the shackles, Of thinking a rhyme is a necessity for a Rooting tooting writing of a **** good poem or a barrel of crackles If you feel lost, Want to share the cost, Feel not bossed, By a newbie's need to believe that if it rhymes Everyone will like your poem Just fine And if you get past this stage, And advance to the next page, Do not think that writing down a sentence of Your mind's first up, innermost thoughts, Is something that will make you Less lost, heralded, worthy of a parade, And be blessed with an A   In your Teacher's pet grade book My heart broke. I feel bad. I feel sad Cause my man/woman left me And I hope Someone kicks his or her *** That Ain't No Poem Neither... And if you can't help but complain repeatedly How life ***** and you're feeling blue extremely indiscreetly, Don't make me try on your scribblings intimately indiscriminately, Read a million, even wrote a few myself You think you can write? Then employ a word outside your comfort zone, Go it alone, Write just four sentences that will make The hopeful reader stand up and you, Twice as much, and shout **Hallelujah ******* Work. Poetry is work. Hard work. Don't fret. But, think on it. Let it come easy, then let it rest,. Then spend days editing every comma, And when you love it so much, You are chest busting bursting, Why have you not pressed Send already? Have the sweetest dreams. In the morning, when you but awake, A poem will be aborning in thy mind, And dare I say it, you will find a new freedom In free verse. (I know you will slip in a rhyme or two, I can't help but do it too) G' nite!
0
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
People, Stop Rhyming...(July 2013)
Wrote this eons ago, tonight, once more, spend some human capital, editing... Something to think about as we tuck ourselves in. the young'uns keep on asking me for tips, secrets, to this art, magical poetry gig, as if I had any left unrevealed.   recalled this old'n, from a vintage poetry year, as a suggestion, a stating-starting place, for young poets: do not self-chain, let the words take you where they lead, write them up for the rhyme is waiting, in the heart chest deep down, not on the screen. I read you Goodnight Moon, Falling asleep beside you. <•> People stop rhyming... When first you overcome your fears, And dare to put on paper your tears, Give it up, set yourself free from the shackles, Of thinking a rhyme is a necessity for a Rooting tooting writing of a **** good poem or a barrel of crackles If you feel lost, Want to share the cost, Feel not bossed, By a newbie's need to believe that if it rhymes Everyone will like your poem Just fine And if you get past this stage, And advance to the next page, Do not think that writing down a sentence of Your mind's first up, innermost thoughts, Is something that will make you Less lost, heralded, worthy of a parade, And be blessed with an A   In your Teacher's pet grade book My heart broke. I feel bad. I feel sad Cause my man/woman left me And I hope Someone kicks his or her *** That Ain't No Poem Neither... And if you can't help but complain repeatedly How life ***** and you're feeling blue extremely indiscreetly, Don't make me try on your scribblings intimately indiscriminately, Read a million, even wrote a few myself You think you can write? Then employ a word outside your comfort zone, Go it alone, Write just four sentences that will make The hopeful reader stand up and you, Twice as much, and shout **Hallelujah ******* Work. Poetry is work. Hard work. Don't fret. But, think on it. Let it come easy, then let it rest,. Then spend days editing every comma, And when you love it so much, You are chest busting bursting, Why have you not pressed Send already? Have the sweetest dreams. In the morning, when you but awake, A poem will be aborning in thy mind, And dare I say it, you will find a new freedom In free verse. (I know you will slip in a rhyme or two, I can't help but do it too) G' nite!
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81
Somewhere, there is a labyrinth, where people wander around and around, suffering, Unwilling contestants of a cruel game, where the Winner doesn't live to tell the tale—to claim the prize. It is Wicked and unrelenting. The wardens of this Prison are ruthless, indiscriminately casting their victims into the labyrinth, Just to see what they're made of. Around and around they go, trying to get out of This endless ring of suffering, Trying to regain control of their lives from this Monstrous power. They search to find out where the end is, Around and around, bewildered marionettes, hugging the Walls, as cold as death. But they cannot find the exit to this labyrinth. They cry out and curse this labyrinth Of suffering. They don't want to know what they're made of. They want to stop the agony and the suffering. "Around and around is not the answer to this," They finally cry like hungry animals, "Straight and fast is." And so they go, straight and fast, to break away from the Horrors they're frantically attempting to escape. The Frigid walls, stretching endlessly upward, collapse as they blast through the labyrinth Like siege engines. Around and around their heads, like drunken birds, images of Their lives whirl by. Desperate to put an end to their sweat and suffering, These prisoners blindly race toward the light in the distance. But this Solution does not completely end the suffering. That's not how the labyrinth is. Look around you. What you see is Filled with raging fists, starving mouths, and the Cries of those drowning in their own suffering. This world is a world of Recurring pain, winding around and around like a labyrinth. Look around you and answer me: What is this? This Is The Labyrinth Of Suffering. We all are stuck suffering, flies in a web. We imagine ourselves escaping, hiding this Bleak present under a fabricated future, but the labyrinth does not begin or end. It just is. So around and around we go. Welcome to the labyrinth. Let's see what you're made of.
0
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 9:21 AM UTC
The Labyrinth
Somewhere, there is a labyrinth, where people wander around and around, suffering, Unwilling contestants of a cruel game, where the Winner doesn't live to tell the tale—to claim the prize. It is Wicked and unrelenting. The wardens of this Prison are ruthless, indiscriminately casting their victims into the labyrinth, Just to see what they're made of. Around and around they go, trying to get out of This endless ring of suffering, Trying to regain control of their lives from this Monstrous power. They search to find out where the end is, Around and around, bewildered marionettes, hugging the Walls, as cold as death. But they cannot find the exit to this labyrinth. They cry out and curse this labyrinth Of suffering. They don't want to know what they're made of. They want to stop the agony and the suffering. "Around and around is not the answer to this," They finally cry like hungry animals, "Straight and fast is." And so they go, straight and fast, to break away from the Horrors they're frantically attempting to escape. The Frigid walls, stretching endlessly upward, collapse as they blast through the labyrinth Like siege engines. Around and around their heads, like drunken birds, images of Their lives whirl by. Desperate to put an end to their sweat and suffering, These prisoners blindly race toward the light in the distance. But this Solution does not completely end the suffering. That's not how the labyrinth is. Look around you. What you see is Filled with raging fists, starving mouths, and the Cries of those drowning in their own suffering. This world is a world of Recurring pain, winding around and around like a labyrinth. Look around you and answer me: What is this? This Is The Labyrinth Of Suffering. We all are stuck suffering, flies in a web. We imagine ourselves escaping, hiding this Bleak present under a fabricated future, but the labyrinth does not begin or end. It just is. So around and around we go. Welcome to the labyrinth. Let's see what you're made of.
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39
two Americans and three Indians Came to my house.yesterday. Four of them were men And one of them a woman They were all shedding blood I asked the Americans , “ What Happened to you?” Our fellow White Americans fired at us” Why? “I asked most innocently” They said, ‘we fought indiscrimination Against the blacks and for their equality” I asked the Indians, Why are all bleeding? “The religious fanatics belonging to our Religion fired at us’ .The two Indian men said. A Sikh fanatic shot at me indiscriminately” He was my own body Guard too.” The Indian woman said painfully. Coincidentally all the five came From the two great democracies Democracy means” killing the Great leaders and shedding their blood.” I woke up from the dream But I had the great opportunity Of talking to five noble souls
0
Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 7:35 PM UTC
SACRIFICES IN/FOR DEMOCRACY
When the incendiaries lit the sky A face smiled its divine calligraphy: It was Helen crowned with Troy's debris. Her unmatchable mouth in the roof Of blood moved in speech like the home of love, Hanging its moon of reproof: 'My kiss blots history out. My landslide legend has forgotten A thousand thousand bones rotting; 'Under the guilty sea The ships lie; but accuracy Has been seduced by me.' Her smile sailed indiscriminately Among the squadrons of death majestically And was reflected on the sea. 'The armless Venus carried Pompei's tears Better than the raided years Or the cold dances of chameleon stars.' Then faded. But the rain Like lovers' seeds that fall in vain, Warned me of my sin.
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3.6k
Love In Wartime
I, naive I believed that the break in the clouds Was the end of rain Thought those rays of sun weren't burning I was lying Myself in the grass, Asking if the tulip chutes in Anatolia Were the same sinking green I feel now Where were we? Love for a thousand spaces and bottling them into skins Wanted to touch and know deeply all beautiful things No you're not allowed, they don't want to let you in That way, it's a distant place and means too much to understand The biological and irrational Crazed, sweeps gregarity above and within an aether-- like milky foam upon the waves When I return home from excursions I will be Ipanema The soft locale, unabashed and known to no soul Except empty elevators-- The lowly philosopher-king Maybe then you'll think highly of me Through the mixed feelings Unable to handle Straight through the socket Ring of fire Then and only then will you realize That real life Is more than just a zone or some local Brewery on a Friday night And every other Friday night Ever thereafter-- You'll unlock the box of atomic intention And listen deeply to her on the station "Sade and Other Like Hits" Slowed down for full potential Letting your cochlea stroke themselves off to the tune of the universe And the sound of air moving indiscriminately Will give you All this Somewhere almost fractal, imbibed Decimated repetitively There is a fragment of my voice, Calling "Love, how much I'd love to be. "
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Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 2:22 PM UTC
Odysseus, pt 2
Beyond the lights and glare and joyous cheers Outside the pretty things prepared to tear It glows without joules or generators Without lists and traditional movies between gathered gifts and exhalations mini mall masses travel plans, traffic makes meaning of monotony, trees of woods burning bright before menorahs first light unquantified warmth while tilted from sun unnamed it's ether a summoning drum Before Christ birth or Alleluia sung Close your eyes and see from glance where it comes More precious than 34th street miracles the motivation of cold breeze on leaves The reason for seasons found in unity Where shepherds staff birth red white epitaph Where plants of poison rosy the living When wise men exodus for genesis Seven lights or Nine or just one big star matters not the name or time frame in bloom indiscriminately celebrate the Ohm
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Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
Raga for Christmakwanaka
The knife of life carves indiscriminately without warning said the runts of the pumpkin patch now lined in mourning. A farmer plucked biggest one, cutting vine, as the runts cried a black harvest, Mama being carted off, as she died. Sad black crows circle the day and night sky abreast and stressed as the winds of fate wielded its teeth at the oppressed. A blur of orange is all the crows saw amongst the quivering patch as the farmer tiptoed the pasture wide-eyed on getting his ****** Now at the hour of her death angels play harps of fruition in wake of the wide-eyed farmer's wayward act of abscission. Billows of black smoke followed, taking to the ominous  skies as the incinerator took matters in its own hands as she lies. Then all that was left were the ashes and whispers of the past, a eulogy, as her quivering kin sat in the storybook downcast. Pages cried out, tears filled the chapters of a great pumpkin patch her roots holding each on the vines with love that's hard to match. No day came off, of a jack-o-lantern smiling in a window frame for in this family house cancer snatched mothers life just the same. Logan Robertson 8/4/2018
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Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC
The Knife of Life Carves Indiscriminately
Totalitarian menace refined, tailored pants bleed malignance and fear. What stalks the passage, normally? Tear off my clothes, with subordinate cruelty and tortured fiefdom from the sun invading damp alleyways and musty cement corridors abet you enthroned on that sidewalk stump. I curb, the habit blindly happenstances about yore salty ruins we yodel, indiscriminately.
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Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 2:22 PM UTC
The Hydrant
Deadly pestilence came to distinguished Florence. Spread east to west, roamed sickness without human cure. Divine and human authority disappeared, God’s wrath prohibited remedy and good health. Families emptied, gentlemen fell to corpses. Evil free to **** men indiscriminately, Ignorant doctor’s advice left medicine like filth. Day or night decomposing fortune is death. Sick set aflame in neglecting infinite fire. Disease black with misery, wicked affliction with livid spots. Medicine removed anything. Contact to dead or sick doomed a person sad death. Every part always died. Abandoned all the laws rightful behavior a fallen plight. Faithful shame. Plague is a noble executor’s careless deeds. A woman with no necessity of required morals communicated upon death. Healthy, beautiful, and attractive multitude consumed. Avoid no very past pestilence in the fields. The sick had made servants of the required dwellers.
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Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
Black Death
chin resting on two palms, sprouting totemic archetypes of good-evil. watching this passing away... this double take on: creation/ preservation/destruction. how moved, how unmoved-- can one become? one becomes. scratch to scar the surface, and existence won't wear signs of struggle. though wisdom kills indiscriminately. your thunk betrayed you with a breeze. the latest, of a series of offensive odors.
0
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC
Offensive Odors
In this life We have love We may not have had The passage of time together The years of naivety Youth or freshness of spirit We have not caressed Our younger bodies Enjoyed the sanctity of being as one When our skin was smoother Our touch was softer Our hearts were open to receiving More congenially A time when we may have Chosen indiscriminately This led us down a road that was Perhaps Right for the time Yet now outgrown ~ The model of love We have the maturity of mind Still the tenderness of heart Enjoying the ability to cherish That which the Universe brings us We have more complex bodies That savors the relaxed Appeasing, sensuality of ********** Remaining as a priceless work of art Instead of the rushed; less intense Inexperience youth often brings We have each other in what will be The ultimate love of its kind The last known to us in this lifetime Our twilight years, may come and go But we have love that lives on Forever recorded in history The mistakes of the past rewritten Because now, in this life We truly found ~ The model of love
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May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC
The Model Of Love
Sometime after mid night, it had rained Putting out summer’s sultry heat The sky had its face washed clean And wiped the grime off Earth’s soiled feet The dawn is quietly breaking Night lights still glimmer here and there The blue firmament remains cloudless And cool is the mild blowing air The sleeping town is slowly waking up And at this transitional point I look out into the street To see a sight that shall never disappoint Along the road moves one, ragged and withered His discolored white hair left unkempt With hunch back and drooping shoulders The marks Time has left of the hard years spent Though age has drained his life sap away He has a firm resolve never to beg His frail body supported on a stick Serves as a veritable third leg With his staff, he perseveringly stirs Every heap of abandoned ******* Indiscriminately piled on either side of the road Hunting for trinkets lying hidden in the trash A rag picker with a sack on his back Picking up today’s treasure From yesterday’s discarded trash Things, for him ‘priceless’ beyond measure With complaints none He faces life and its trials Never losing the glitter in his eyes Though a loner in life’s dark isles I ask myself, why every day I routinely look for this man who limps along And I get a quick answer ‘He helps you turn your sobs into a song’
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May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 6:33 AM UTC
A Rag Picker
A dream you told me of: Defusing a time-bomb embedded in the womb of your dead mother. I don’t know if you were smart enough to flip the failsafe Or if you indiscriminately yanked wires out, like your dangerous thoughts. A dream I told you of: at the midpoint of their parents’ anniversaries, by the ruins of every immortalized kingdom, she is wearing her mother’s dress and he is too. “father wanted to castrate or **** me,” he said, conversationally. they have so much in common. they live the tragedy of armchair **** fantasies, tend to ****** their own genitals when lost in thoughts of the obstruction of their desires. (which, really, is pointless because they don’t desire anything besides fondling their own genitals.) Blinded Oedipus does not notice Electra’s concealed ******* dagger. A thousand years between them, yet they’re still children conceived of Mitigated **** and blood sacrifice for the sake of sailing, and Defined by deficit from the beginning; her crippled mind sang to his hollowed eyes. Kinslayers becoming kin, Entranced by the illusions of the other but really Loving only the unmistakable reflections of their own sins.
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May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
The Wedding of Oedipus and Electra
This is not a poem, a poet wrote some white lies about Israel and I want to share the truth that we’re not told by our media’s. Remember, we can disagree about things and still agree about a lot of other things. If you search, you can easily find this information. Most of it comes from Israel media. Israel already had over 10,000 Palestinian prisoners locked up long before the Oct 7 when the genocide begin. Men, women and children in their prisons with no path to freedom. Not to mention the open air prison that the Israeli’s kept the Palestine society trapped in for the past 50 years called Gaza. Committing human rights violation against the indigenous people of the land. The biggest percentage of all the people that were **** on Oct 7th, were killed by Israeli’s killing their own people because they were ordered to follow the Hannibal directive. I suppose you’ve never heard of that, no? Then your news source is limited. Last year in Israel, their high court decided that **** and torture in their prisons, being committed by the Israel army was no longer illegal. Most of their society did not want these prison guards to get in trouble for torturing and ****** the Palestinian prisoners. All those things you claim some unnamed source told you, have already been debunk by many credible sources. Hamas did not do it, Israel rapes, cheats, lies and kills indiscriminately. They own our leaders using AIPAC lobbist who have Trump by the *** (They own Epstein’s library) AIPAC is the reason you believe lies. They own media and congress. Their propaganda rules the networks. And just in the last two years, Israel has started war with Iran, Lebanon and Syria. And of course their genocide happening now to the people of Palestine. I don’t understand how anybody support them. But I’m not a superstitiously impaired Zionist either.
0
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 12:29 PM UTC
The Ugly Truth
This is not a poem, a poet wrote some white lies about Israel and I want to share the truth that we’re not told by our media’s. Remember, we can disagree about things and still agree about a lot of other things. If you search, you can easily find this information. Most of it comes from Israel media. Israel already had over 10,000 Palestinian prisoners locked up long before the Oct 7 when the genocide begin. Men, women and children in their prisons with no path to freedom. Not to mention the open air prison that the Israeli’s kept the Palestine society trapped in for the past 50 years called Gaza. Committing human rights violation against the indigenous people of the land. The biggest percentage of all the people that were **** on Oct 7th, were killed by Israeli’s killing their own people because they were ordered to follow the Hannibal directive. I suppose you’ve never heard of that, no? Then your news source is limited. Last year in Israel, their high court decided that **** and torture in their prisons, being committed by the Israel army was no longer illegal. Most of their society did not want these prison guards to get in trouble for torturing and ****** the Palestinian prisoners. All those things you claim some unnamed source told you, have already been debunk by many credible sources. Hamas did not do it, Israel rapes, cheats, lies and kills indiscriminately. They own our leaders using AIPAC lobbist who have Trump by the *** (They own Epstein’s library) AIPAC is the reason you believe lies. They own media and congress. Their propaganda rules the networks. And just in the last two years, Israel has started war with Iran, Lebanon and Syria. And of course their genocide happening now to the people of Palestine. I don’t understand how anybody support them. But I’m not a superstitiously impaired Zionist either.
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17
Dark death skirts beaches in blood red, as coffee colored swells wash in more carnage to the shores; we are blindly poisoning our waters. Toxic plumes of red tide cover the seas, beaching whales and seals, manatees, and fishes; we indiscriminately **** our sea life. The brisk breeze off the Gulf brings the smell of rotting death that is all around; we are blindly killing ourselves. Our lifeblood, the seas and its inhabitants, slowly slip away; we disrespect nature. Mother earth mourns as we continue to ****** its inhabitants; we are dying.
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Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
RED TIDE
These years are speeding darkly Since the epiphany. You don't get A lot of those. Last night On the beach I laid back to watch The shooting stars; some say The heavenly stars. The Perseids Burned indiscriminately, I counted two. I was starstruck watching The four satelites, In a pre-determined orbital, That would burn as sure as A ghetto. Ogling the dark spaces; Comforted, there's more stars Out there for some other reason. And wham. It happened , always unexpected. It's not because something's not there; It's because it never was, but for Two meteors and four satelites. I saw the light.
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Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 10:06 PM UTC
The Perseids
The news said: "It's entirely likely, in fact, it's more likely, that we are living in a simulation." The circus and the chorus lines are just for the architect's amusement. When the leotards on the high wire fall, he laughs the hardest. Measuring the moon with his hands, does anyone knows its' circumference? "If someone can measure the moon, we are better off." Everyone forgets the fallen artist, and stares at the moon. Some shout indiscriminately. Three engineers create a proof, that creates an equation, that is widely believed for the next 100 years, before proven later to be false. The artist nurses his broken knee. "Can't anyone see I'm suffering?" Everyone stares at the moon.
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Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 12:48 AM UTC
Art is a wire
MY DEAR HUMANIST You are an imperialist He is a terrorist You promote cold war And declare unilaterally real war He does the so called holy war Both of you stretch it too far He kills the people indiscriminately And you discriminately Saddam Hussain and Bin Laden were once your friends Ultimately they became your rivals Saddam was hanged by you But Bin Laden still eludes you You have the riches and power And feel as if you were the law giver UNO and the World Bank bow to your power But the terrorist could demolish your tower You divide and rule the world He terrorizes it with his deed and word Do you know how many people you murdered in the war? None has stopped your inhuman actions so far You make friends with one state The neighbouring country your buffer state You call yourself a great democrat and humanist We know you are an imperialist And worse than a terrorist You never listen to the pacifist
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Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 6:33 AM UTC
MY DEAR HUMANIST
From a quiet tiny stream into a raging torrent as high volumes of rain falls with intent. Onto the grasslands forming artificial lakes lives property and businesses high stakes. Swollen rivers burst their banks flooding homes as the surge of water indiscriminately roams. That heavy rain that never seems to stop pouring down on the streets at speed it comes roaring! Into many properties in its way water is merciless cold and filthy always leaving a trail of mess. Sodden ground unable to absorb man an obstacle flooding becomes soul destroying and cruel! Misery and heartache as the fast wind blows and heavy rain saturates the water flows! The Foureyed Poet.
0
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 11:11 AM UTC
Rainfall!
we see the dying die. i walk down the stairs and give them nothing everyday. as i was walking down 8th ave one afternoon, i was approached by a girl who was about my age. she was screaming indiscriminately "please sir! can you help me?! i have no idea where i am and i don't have enough money for a bus ticket home." i drudged a drunken look up at her i was tired i wanted the bus ticket home and the beautiful new york city girl you sit next to you know the ones they keep up in front but they sit in back she told me she had gotten on the wrong bus and wound up in new york city just by accident that she didn't have any money and her family was worried and needed her back home 8th and 43rd she wined at anyone who passed with a terrified look as if she was to be eaten or sacrificed her story was unconvincing i gave her twenty dollars to get home i truly hope she did but in my heart of hearts i know she spent it on drugs she was a good actress and should get what she deserves after i handed her the bill she asked " oh my god , can i give you a hug!? please?! " she grabbed me tight and was almost crying she was so beautiful in trouble as if i had given her life itself our elders do not understand the affect of there traditions upon the truthful way of life so we sit here and wither victims of just being tired
0
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
broadway
The Last Priest smiled his blessing indiscriminately, bridging, seeding, building a new priesthood beyond borders, across tribes, ignoring gender, discounting class, blind to race, snubbing rank, denying privilege and preferring a new holy nationality for refugees for stateless souls like mine - like ours
0
Oct 5, 2023
Oct 5, 2023 at 5:11 AM UTC
The last priest
Jesus didn't go to Disneyland didn't hold the hand of Mickey Mouse, he was too busy cleaning rooms in the mansion when he should have been cleaning house. I never read in the good book that we shouldn't give a **** we're all children under the Sun except them ******** who are crazier than **** and **** indiscriminately with a gun Infinity is here today, straight or gay no way did Jesus go to Disneyland.
0
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 2:40 AM UTC
Orlando