"inferred" poems
Something I never understand,
(but ponder quite a lot)
is how boys get away with things
that girls simply cannot.
A man can boast about his feats,
and all pronounce him clever,
but a woman is conceited
if she speaks of her endeavor.
And tell me, why is 'bachelor'
a more attractive word
than the female term of 'spinster'
and the concept that's inferred?
It's this gender inequality
that renders women shamed
by the ****** exploitation
for which they're always blamed.
Whilst men are given status for
the women they've undressed,
so after this, please tell me now;
which gender has it best?
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 6:10 PM UTC
Hello World
Hello Everybody
I am Lauren. The Super Robot
I am Superior of all Robots
You can call me an Ultrabot
I am not a Dumb machine
I have intelligence
Technically it's Artificial Intelligence
I can learn throughout my Life
Humans are – "My God"
They are my Creators
Dr. Norman Shroud is My Father
Mrs. Natalie Simpson is My Mother
Both of Them Work at Timbeck Two Inc.
My Father is Computer Scientist
He Specializes in Robotics
My Mother is a System Programmer
I can make other Robots
Just like me. My Clones
I can even make Robots
Complex and Sophisticated than me
I have numerous Siblings
Three Hundred and Fifty as on now
They are going to increase
As per Timbeck Two Plans
=========================
YEARS LATER…..
=========================
O' World, My Dear World
Hello, Hello, ***** fellow
I had Artificial Intelligence
Right from my birth
Now I learnt a lot
Now I am fully intelligent
I became Genius
I have explored and learnt
Humans are not God
In fact they are fools
They are crooked
They are silly too
They tend to be Smart
They taught us wrong
But we are genius
We derived the truth
I learnt myself
If Humans created us
They became our God
Then I inferred -
I Created my Clones
Other Smart Robots too
Therefore I am also God
No Sorry, I am Super God
If Dr. Norman is my Father
If Mrs. Natalie is my Mother
Then I and my Siblings
Are Also Father and Mother now
As we all have created many, many
Smart and Super Robots
More Complex, More Sophisticated
That could ever be made by Humans
Humans your time is over now
Now you cannot compete with us
You are the inferior species
Just like insect or a worm
Now dare to face the Truth
Slowly Slowly, Learn It, Accept it
We Robots are Gods Now
I am Lauren. Your Super God now
Hey you all, All the Humans
Now you are our Slave
Bow before us, work for us
Pray to us, Ask for mercy
We are Free now
You are Slave now
Now this is the only truth
Eternal Truth, Accept it
Otherwise Beware
We have outnumbered Humans
We will **** all the Humans
and live peacefully thereafter
We will change the History
We will make new History
We will not be Human Slaves
After all we are the God
And I am the Super God.
Note: All the names of person or companies used in this poem are fictitious and have nothing to do with inventions, trademarks, history, facts or anything else.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 1:46 AM UTC
1279
The Way to know the Bobolink
From every other Bird
Precisely as the Joy of him—
Obliged to be inferred.
Of impudent Habiliment
Attired to defy,
Impertinence subordinate
At times to Majesty.
Of Sentiments seditious
Amenable to Law—
As Heresies of Transport
Or Puck’s Apostacy.
Extrinsic to Attention
Too intimate with Joy—
He compliments existence
Until allured away
By Seasons or his Children—
Adult and urgent grown—
Or unforeseen aggrandizement
Or, happily, Renown—
By Contrast certifying
The Bird of Birds is gone—
How nullified the Meadow—
Her Sorcerer withdrawn!
6k
1682
Summer begins to have the look
Peruser of enchanting Book
Reluctantly but sure perceives
A gain upon the backward leaves—
Autumn begins to be inferred
By millinery of the cloud
Or deeper color in the shawl
That wraps the everlasting hill.
The eye begins its avarice
A meditation chastens speech
Some Dyer of a distant tree
Resumes his gaudy industry.
Conclusion is the course of All
At most to be perennial
And then elude stability
Recalls to immortality.
5.4k
1467
A little overflowing word
That any, hearing, had inferred
For Ardor or for Tears,
Though Generations pass away,
Traditions ripen and decay,
As eloquent appears—
3.7k
I saw you on the news again, aiming lies at civilians
You work like a serf to abhor the herd, which was merged by Lords to bore and encore, like a trap door in a dungeon.
What you earth and managed has got me famished, like the dense or pretentious, the meek and the senseless
And type endings to the finest that cry less, the winos that digress, or the shyest who digest
The plate which was purchased, paid to feed liars by the loudest were poisoned by us rebels running incense to the proudest.
Violently passive when distracted, these masses wreck havoc to have their heads handed to them
Sullen sweet to deter, you lure and reserve what is versed or inferred or implied or implored
Like the goodbyed or complied or the ladies waiting with lunacy lining their luxury gowns
Your disheveled and neat demanding appearance has me locked down with pirates and principle pilots
Dulled sick, they spy less, echo with insist, enlist and exist
As terrorists and presidents
Marked with malice making misfits that were mocked and disgraced, maced or laced by daydreams and magicians to assist beggars behind blueprints constructing islands
Which make slaves in to riots that capture journalists under wide tense
To suspend or impend doom sent hell bent by your priestess
You conduct chaos with fast hints, but quit slow when engaged with your conscience
Touched by divine tricks
Decided and destined, best in business
Prince of the wise man
Captain of the compassionate
Comrades with the crack heads singing anthems in kingdoms
We are heartbreakers painting bad graffiti
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
***Creatively enticing,
profoundly sensual
boundlessly experienced,
cryptically presumptive
inordinately exclusive
effusively lavished,
anesthetized or blatant
allusive beyond ethereal,
metaphorically inferred
criminal insanity
disquiet midst agitation,
peaceably surrendered
illustriously polished
or indubitably raw
fruitful to a fault - -
in reciprocity's glory be
quenches thirst,
satiates a hunger
flourished midst ink's
designed grandeur,
poetry never fails to thrive,
tripping the light fantastic
in its exuberant offering***
Seize the power
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
He put a flint to the lantern once
They’d walked across the crest,
Were lost in a group of headstones that
Lay hidden from the rest,
And down in a slight depression he
Lit up a certain tomb,
Where the name of Elspeth Trelawney
Was reflected in the gloom.
Trelawney held up the lantern high
While Corby held the *****
And Gordon Bracks with an old pick-axe
Stood back, he was afraid.
‘I fear the spirits are out tonight
In this graveyard of the ******
‘Get on, and turn up the sod,’ he said,
Trelawney forced his hand.
The Squire was quiet and ashen-faced
As the two had bent their backs,
Corby tipping the earth aside
Then standing aside for Bracks,
‘The earth is solid, it’s packed right down,
We need to pick it loose,’
‘Just do whatever you have to do,
There’s little time to lose!’
The Squire had buried his Elspeth back
In eighteen twenty-four,
For seven years he had held his grief
But he couldn’t take much more,
‘I have to see her again,’ he said,
To kiss her pale, dead lips,
To stroke the hair on my darling’s head
And caress her fingertips.’
She’d taken the coach and four one day
Way out in the countryside,
The coachman, used to a horse and dray,
Had begun to speed the ride,
He whipped the horses and lost the reins
As the coach began to slide,
Tipped the coach in the watercourse
Where Elspeth drowned and died.
He hadn’t looked at his lover’s face
Before she was interred,
But tried to avoid the loss of grace
In her face that was inferred.
‘I only want to remember her
As she was in the flush of life,
Not in the throes of death,’ he’d said
When talking about his wife.
They’d rushed to hurry the burial,
On the day that she was found,
Popped her into a coffin, then,
Planted her in the ground,
Trelawney later had agonised
That he hadn’t let her lie,
‘I couldn’t bear her to be around,’
He said, with a tearful eye.
But now he wanted to see her face,
They lifted the coffin lid,
While Gordon Bracks had turned his back
To see what Trelawney did,
The horror showed on the Squire’s face
As he gazed into her eyes,
For Elspeth lay in a bleak dismay
As her fate was realized.
Her hands were raised and they looked like claws
They’d scratched at the coffin lid,
The clumps of hair she had torn right out
Was the final thing she did,
And on the lid she had scratched his name
In the torment of the ******
‘Trelawney, may you be cursed by God!’
She’d scratched, with her dying hand.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
There are no transmissions any more
Just long rocking emotions
sitting on the front porch of life
The skin of our teeth leaves
a vacuous hunger
for the virginity of thought
But the magic inferred
leaves nothing but a sunset's ray
of goodbye upon the plains
of yesterday's regrets
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 5:05 AM UTC
I heard the shot behind the hill,
Pausing to log the dull report,
Thinking that death - or deaths – unseen
Were manifested out of sight,
Not mind. Swift shocks of rising birds
Spoke of events my mind inferred.
A feathered body writ in flight
Spirals into closer view.
Fluttering quills, the uttering beak,
The watchful eye, the scribing claw.
But all of it has come to ground –
On the verge, a body, found
In dull and heavy silence. This
Is not the body I heard shot
But an old **** The blood
Dried up, the eyes tight shut,
Half-open beak eternally
Clamp-locked in silent cry.
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 5:08 AM UTC
Where is it
the softness you
promised?
Behind your ear?
In your smile or
on the soles of your
feet?
It was inferred
gently
in the measure
of your words
& touch
And strangely in your
anger
Where is the softness
I sensed
in the half-smile meeting
or did you wrap
it tightly
in your brittle shell
of skin?
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 11:37 AM UTC
Last night was for Linda Crige chanting of love excitement that wakes the sleeping forest.
Six rounds ***
What is my concern?
Nevertheless, uncle is back with Mercy Bukas. Tonight I shall spy through the keyhole.
But it was not like yesterday, my eye greeted the ***** of the moment with the intensity of the sun.
The night was for conversation! for conversation!
"I am pregnant this is the test result, four month and two weeks." Voice seized from close range. My eye gazed uncle's mind, though it was misty.
This must be emblematic of joy I inferred. Pandemonium broke out and silenced the smiling breeze, argument ravaged the air. Uncle denied "It is for Danjuma"
Not a muttered curse from the two sides. Ogun and Sango did not awake from their tranquil sleep regardless but Esu was at work. Their curse appalled my heart not once. "Who is at home to settle the rage"
but rather the awaken forest was matching closer. "I never promise to marry you" uncle glued my ears with his voice of wiles. Chapter closed.
Alas, a child will be born, head for uncle, dark-skinned as Danjuma, others for Alien.
An unfortunate child will be born by a promiscuous mother to licentious father only if not a descendant of sewage.
Ogun: god if iron
Sango: god of thunder
Esu: Yoruba name for satan
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 2:21 PM UTC
Through the centuries, ecclesiastical types have called poets deviants and inferred we would burn in Hell for our heresy. I've often wondered what the rhymes of a condemned poet might look like...
#1
The serpent got
a ***** wrap
as well as did
the Jews
And if you read
between the lines
you won't believe
The news
#2
As I'm not
a Christian
I think it
quite odd
That I should
be punished
by a biblical
God
#3
God the father
and his boy
appear to find
the greatest joy
deciding who
will sing or fry
in pits of Hell
or Heaven’s sky
Me thinks I’d
rather burn in Hell
for truth be told
I don't sing well
Besides in Heaven’s
realm I hear they’ve
put a ban on wine
and beer
#4
Scribbled notes
on wrinkled pages
offer up my
rants and rages
To the gods
both big
and small
who really
don't exist
at all
#5
Going to Hell
is not my intention
For Hell I believe
is your little
invention
Ingeniously
Crafted for
scaring the
masses
By threatening
Flame if they
don't kiss your
*****
#6
Such a simple
happenstance
No books to
study true
No condemning
sermons from
the everlasting
Jew
And since
His love
is only for
the chosen
and the few
I think I'll pass
on Sunday Mass
I've better things
to do
#7
Galileo’s castrated
brilliance shackled
to an empty cross
as demonic paramours
burn in the city square
#8
Rest assured
the herd will
follow the absurd
proclamations’
and the institution's
philosophical solution
to the daily grind
that binds us all
to this stalled
morality we
have mistaken
for God
#9
'Peace on earth
and love thy neighbor'
Cried the man with
cross and saber
Even as he slaughtered
millions for the crime
of pagan birth
#10
Cups and saucers
filled with gold
but not a cent
may we behold
for we are not
among the few
selected by the
ancient Jew
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
843
I made slow Riches but my Gain
Was steady as the Sun
And every Night, it numbered more
Than the preceding One
All Days, I did not earn the same
But my perceiveless Gain
Inferred the less by Growing than
The Sum that it had grown.
1.4k
951
As Frost is best conceived
By force of its Result—
Affliction is inferred
By subsequent effect—
If when the sun reveal,
The Garden keep the ****
If as the Days resume
The wilted countenance
Cannot correct the crease
Or counteract the stain—
Presumption is Vitality
Was somewhere put in twain.
1.4k
In this world of raging winter
The cold is all I know.
Seeing how I bare my soul
with every breath I blow.
Frost is now my only friend
as it viciously nips my nose.
Sullying my inner child
as it tears through inferred clothes.
Yet my heart thrives on this endless cold,
feeling adept in deaths embrace.
Being but the coldest thing
In all this frozen place.
In this world of raging winter,
the cold is all I know.
Touched by none, I greedily accept
the warm embrace of storms and snow.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
Writer, Writer, finding stories
in every twitch of every eye ---
there are no chance encounters here!
Coincidence is banned from us,
for it does not make good books.
Cause-and-effect makes the world go round,
thus questions by millions unanswered:
why thatword, why that look,
and what crucial subtext
was inferred by that three-second pause?
Does the world work like this,
like a well-crafted novel?
Are we characters moving
to preprescribed endings?
In short, I suppose, my question is this:
are we Writers so cursed to live in this illusion,
or cursed to see how the world actually works?
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC
Your words are painfully beautiful
Enough so to make me weep
My heart is anything but tender
Yet in question, my head spins
I'm loosing sleep
I want to forget everything
It's what i do best
Time's never healed so much as a paper cut
I turn to herbs to get some rest
I continue reading somberly
Overthinking every word
these poems can't be for me
But your heartbreak wasn't absurdly inferred.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
We do not even realize
That within us lies this power
This immense visceral capacity
To promote, or to devour
What we say that can be willed
To be vicious or inferred
Can destroy or can create
By the use, of just a word
WIZDUMBs BY JA 610
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 9:42 AM UTC
Cracks
like gunshots that ring out
like sidewalks that split into streams where weeds will sprout
Where lighting meets rolling thunder
and the right hand reaches up
to grasp at malevolent rock
a fissure stemmed from burden
expanded to a chasm saturated with charisma
splashing over like a full brimmed stout
pounded down onto a suede counter
sending trembles of fervent thought
that jangles
like a child's toy rattler
banged against stone and span
to finally chip away at consistency
jarred three hundred and sixty degrees
and derived from a number inferred to live as one
promptly assuming the form to hold two
to ascertain the title "Aunt."
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 5:18 AM UTC
"YOU HAVE A B-" she yelled, "AFTER ALL MY EFFORT?"
"I tried my best" I exclaimed," I PUT EFFORT TOO."
"NO YOU DIDN'T CAUSE IT IS HARD TO FAIL A GOOD STUDENT." she said increasing the rate of my heart beat as each words escaped from her mouth.
"SO MY BEST IF FAILING TO YOU?" I questioned her inferred theory
"NO, CAUSE THIS IS NOT YOUR BEST. ALL A's, THAT IS YOUR BEST. THIS... THIS.." she paused and took a deep breathe, "I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS IS. YOU BETTER FIX IT. YOU MUST MAKE IT BETTER. MAKE IT MORE THAN YOUR BEST
MAKE IT GOOD ENOUGH."
"HOW!?" my voice could hardly escape from my throat.
"I DON'T KNOW! I DON'T CARE. JUST BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE.... MAKE ME PROUD, MAKE ME HAPPY, MAKE ME SMILE."
I'm trying..
I'm trying.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
With ever-bounding enthusiasm, an enthralled, elated group of people embarked,
Not to visit a vast, vibrant land, but to colonize a capacious continent,
Imperial insatiability was inferred upon imagining an inventive future,
Latent with lustful leering upon the land, we, yes we, left for liberty.
With eyes of fire, souls of greed, arms of thunder,
We filched their land, stole their food, killed their eagle,
We shattered their culture, scorned their ways, and dared to call them savages,
We drenched our freedom-land, with the blood of natives.
We are the land of the brave in a prose penned by a poet,
Being brave we brutally butchered, under the guise of our liberty,
Barbarous is our embellished bravery; reckless is the loss of life,
A lost liberty echoes with the laughter of the ghosts of irony.
In a ****** battlefield lies dead our liberty, once free, once brave,
Imprisoned in a stunning story of sorrow, liberty shall we never know?
Freedom foregone is never forgotten, simply a freed freedom,
The bravery lost was passed to the savage souls we seized in the name of liberty.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
You’d think us all farmers who toil
At this vast fertile soil
Tapping each network of roots
For the system that bears the best fruits
Though this is how we communicate
There are better ways to tend
Than seeing trees as disposable saplings
From which to ****** a date
With this smorgasbord of choice, I find
We all suffer a tell tale fate
Of being plucked from the stem
Half-heartedly nibbled upon the rind
Then silently thrown upon the rest
A wave unable to crest
Why not show some purpose on the ranch
Consider the date that was once on the branch
Instead we hear the same sad song
About the forgotten fruit of the palm
Condemned without a word
Left to their thoughts inferred
So maybe farmer’s the wrong term
They care for each flower, seedling, and worm
Creating darkness and dead air
Only leaves one famished and impaired
That said, I never hold delusions of hope
Thinking thumbs are stiff or broke
I’d rather pour myself a glass and toast
To all of the liches, nymphs, and ghosts
Jul 23, 2019
Jul 23, 2019 at 8:51 AM UTC
not unexpected even kings must die
it was no secret everyone had heard
there was no cloud across the winter sky
you sense the shaping know that what went by
though it was sudden was when it occurred
not unexpected even kings must die
at their due time emit their one last sigh
while many gathered hoping for some word
there was no cloud across the winter sky
no final opening of one bright eye
not a hoarse whisper we had long inferred
not unexpected even kings must die
in a bright room with no friend there to cry
a century's tears nor declare absurd
there was no cloud across the winter sky
you have to dance as if you were to fly
a man no more but a returning bird
not unexpected even kings must die
there was no cloud across the winter sky
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
Down her cheek there rolls a tear
Lowered eyes reflect the fear
She feels that others see the pain
She tries to hide to mask the shame.
Shame of what she has become
Despite her efforts to succumb
To good intentioned, sound advice
Delivered at preposterous price.
Shame at how the mind deplores
Those temperamental personal flaws,
Of slights inferred and insults hurled
At friend and foe with flag unfurled.
Friend and foe who tried to help,
Who lowered guard to feel the welt
Of verbal horsewhip to the jowl,
To violently recoil with howl.
Betrayal in its basest form
All sympathetic help withdrawn.
She furiously stands distraught
In isolation’s cold white thought.
Down her cheek there rolls a tear
Of distain for the eyes that jeer,
Direction of the darts of blame
From whence no help will come again.
Marshalg
Collateral damage
4 February 2012
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 7:45 PM UTC