"infringe" poems
Command or conform,
You don't have a choice,
For that's the way of the world.
Lead the pack
Or be the pack;
Your mind laying dormant and furled.
You'll be governed by strict rules,
But no, think for yourself:
Do the good, fight the evil,
Put your life on a shelf.
For when people say follow your dreams,
They don't really mean follow
It's a masquerade for *co-align with us
Or we'll leave you dry and hollow*
If you lead,
You're honourable, worthy,
But only for a while;
For if you infringe the decisions of the pack,
They'll watch your ousting with a smile.
But that is the law of the land,
The way the world works.
If you follow, you're weak
But if you lead, it hurts.
> a.t.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
does it make you primed
does it make you cry
does it make you feel inside
and the corpses rise
do you want to believe
cant you see the tide
filled with doubts seed
does it make you lie
does it make you cringe
can you ever confide
is it time to infringe
whats truth and a lie
for I don't know
what reality is
what to believe
time and space it self
if nothing else
does it make you primed
did I make you bleed
does it make you feel inside
do you want to beilve
cant you see the tide
don't cover your eyes
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
Demand the climate obeys orders.
seek vengeance on the scientists if it declines.
turn over the redwoods to the firing squad
for taking a stand.
shake a fist at the sky till it blushes.
request the clams to clam up till you're done talking.
hide the fish in the sea
because everyone needs one.
Expect the mule to make up its mind.
tempt the desert with some water.
torture the water with some desert.
attack the salt flats for being too dry.
file a complaint against the rattlesnakes
for causing such a ruckus.
question the cactus till they give up their values.
Force the leaves to show their true colors.
slaughter the weeds 'cause they don't belong here.
silence the wind till it agrees to stop singing.
moon the moon for serving moonshine.
sentence squirrels to a life without acorns.
terrorize the trees to do your ***** work.
Infringe on the kumquat's rights.
bury the berries, uproot the roots,
ravage the cabbage, spoil the soil.
arrange the oranges to reflect the sun.
lecture the watermelons on how
you scalped more natives than anyone.
declare war on the avocados to prove your point.
Nag the children to bear the weight on their shoulders.
rifle through the planets to find what you want.
crack open a book and read a poem
that defines this all as the
End.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 11:41 AM UTC
*A Poeme from ye Penne of
ye right learned Professor Peter Buttocke
collected by hysse Pupille Edna*
There is an ancient Shittah in my Garden, eldritch and right dun in alle Aspect
Wherein dwelleth a loude and noisome Ouzel, ye like of which I have ne'er yet seen
Under thysse our goode Goddes fayre Welkin up in ye Skye above us alle.
This foule and unwholesome Beeste, with trespassynge shote-like ****** Effusiones
Hath performed ye veritable Antithesis of kindly horticultural Edulcoration
For whiche Sinne I shall emasculate ye Brute, so God may grant me Pow'r.
Sudating at ye Nostrilles I advance, my trustie Stang at ye ever-ready,
And I prepare to eject it from yon Pollard, having previous shattered
Alle its horryd Frangibles with one brave bolde frampold Blowe.
Thwacke! A last Piffero-reminiscent Warble escapeth loude from its fowle coronoid Appendage;
Right severe Damage and harsh fatal Ruine of Nature irreversible have I caused
To ye shaggie shamelesse little avian Runte, whereon Goddes smile hath ne'er dawned.
Thus descendeth it to the Faeces-bedecked Herdwick, and I titubate triumph'lly o'er its conticent Corpse.
And were there yet a duodenary Set of ye Frass-Depositors, I would not give a Demi-Testrel for their Survyvall
Should they e'er again infringe the sacred Privacie whych ye ancient Shittah enjoyeth in my Garden.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 6:37 AM UTC
He sat alone looked blank and stared
Unaware that someone cared
I watched him look at people go by
Then a teardrop fell from his eye
I wondered then
What I should do
I was also a stranger he never knew
Didn't want to infringe upon his space
But he looked up and stared me in the face
I smiled at him
Kindness in my eyes
He then smiled back
To my surprise
I asked if he'd like to join me then
No longer a stranger
He's now my freind
An opportunity by chance
Arose just by a tender glance
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
(Sword)
This
is
the
Sword of Hope.
Slaying
all who
infringe
& stand
against
peoples
dreams.
I will
wield
It.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
#Assertiveness: standing up
for your own rights;
Don't infringe upon or ignore
anyone else's rights, though
It is not aggressiveness
Start with an "I" statement;
It should be descriptive, not
evaluative or condemnatory#
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 9:20 AM UTC
Sometimes life loves to spite
And sends those we love
Far away and out of sight
Making them hard to think of
We measure distance by inch
We measure time by the minute
But friendship it won't infringe
Because love isn't easy to forget
It isn't something we measure
Love is what we always keep
A feeling we forever treasure
In our souls, ingrained deep
Distance may cause heart ache
But our bond it shall never break
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 2:15 PM UTC
You sometimes make me feel like a megalomaniac. Is that bad?
Are these feelings that I'm feeling what's expected to be had?
You infringe my mind in such circuitous ferment.
It's a proclivity, these thoughts
Yet such propensity is irrevocable.
An inscrutable contraband reverberating in a sedulous manner grasping tender hands.
Perhaps it's not transient, but equitable.
Not scathing, but salutary.
Well there's only one way to ascertain.
That is simply to acculturate.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
Laying prone next to death which may or may not be my neighbor; knowing that nothing I remember will save me; knowledge, useless knowledge, a required accompaniment to my carefully selected claret smiling with assurance as I infringe upon their right to object to the depths of my retort.
A wrinkled sheet ignored but useful in its random spread across my torso draws the sweat from my pores as I save the planet from my presence while the restlessness of unmerciful insomnia instills a quiet uselessness to my thoughts which I egocentrically assume will yield prose worthy of public display.
As the knowing is swallowed whole, as the last hardened cheese ******* on a plate, it becomes relevant to believe in anything unproven as further observed phenomena is no more or less a sequel to a play yet to be understood by genius or idiocy whose consciousness rival one another in their need to be loved by a suffering mother.
The bullet crosses the boundary between dream and threat into an assumed position of relevance in every step I take towards a repetitive life filtered only by the need for a decision; unhappy with or without; each the same yet held aloft by the delusion of a chance encounter with a heart I will use but never protect.
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 10:06 AM UTC
In my dreams...
I ride barebacked on a white stallion,
Across the plains
I behold with vigilance
Where desert meets azure, sand meets sky.
There is no pollution; no smoke stacks
To **** and penetrate,
To change blue to violated gray.
The heavens are pure.
I ride barebacked on a white stallion,
By peaceful streams,
Along mountain ridges,
Where nature and I have communion,
There is no war, no rumors of war,
To depress and intimidate,
To make life insensible.
The world is harmonious.
I ride barebacked on a white stallion,
Among the wild horses;
They are my brothers.
Eagles and hawks fly together.
There is no hunter, no pursuer,
To **** and capture,
To infringe upon freedom.
The Earth is free.
I ride barebacked upon a white stallion,
Within my mind,
Into feigned sunsets,
Where Utopia is real to me.
There is no unreason, no absurdity,
To bewilder and unsettle,
To eradicate my certainty.
The dreams are real.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Mamma left the sheets unfolded and the bed stained
A key hole full of answers
For a more than lonely little girl
She foresaw the night, with swelling eyes
It was going to be a long one; she could feel it from the inside out
The outside in held only numbness, though
She waited with wandering thoughts, wondering why
Blackened reservoir mindset
In a world where color was elusive to her now
She forces a smile to remember a time where there were rainbows
***** dishes piling the sink, forming a brick wall between her reality and the life outside
The life that she craved to live
A craving deeper and more intrusive on her soul
Than the last shot fired in a war
As night falls, so does the pit in her stomach
That familiarity of evil beckoning her in
She waits, and waits, and waits
The voice calls, as it has so many times before
The tone is subtle this time, so maybe he’ll be kind
Tears trickle slowly down her check with each expectant step
No time to run
Light footsteps of tiny feet glide across the floor
She is devastated to make acquaintance with her maker
With every glance, she’s reminded that she’s a part of him
But tonight they’re closer than kin
Push, push, ****** and infringe on her flesh
Devilish eyes burning their way through her life, one jolt at a time
Restless, helpless, confined and forgotten
The screams inside her head deafen the world outside
But she dares not open her mouth
For a single sound would radiate like an alarm
And no one is supposed to know what’s behind the white walls
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
I was offered ****** once,
in a city now mine,
as I watched two men,
infringe on one's mind.
It created an unusual partnership, and
both men were mad, but
both have experienced
what few can say have.
"No, thank you."
I said, with a bit of a stutter,
to the (obviously) terrible
and perilious offer.
Curiousity still ensnared me a
little
inside,
and I wonder if I'll say
yes,
or maybe,
next time.
I would not say yes,
if my body was young,
but when I am withered,
why not just once?
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
Hey there hott stuff why don't ya bust
out that saxophone and play some serious
New Orleans Blues while I drink a beer and
try to calm the **** down before I start crankin
out some seriously ungodly **** that I'm possibly
going to regret in the morning.
And then it hits me that I'm having a
Bukowski moment and maybe
even channeling the spirit of that St. Paul
of new age seekers and left out hippies
shooting up in broke down cars while
holding some sort've seance for he, Jim Morrison.
Or it could've just been a convenient excuse
to get a sad lonely hipster high and
**** her brains out since she was looking
for something that mattered and happened
to find your crooked *** and a **** begrimed needle.
So don't ask me why I take concepts half baked
such as just go with the flow and all things
go according to the will of the universe
and rub my perfectly shaped **** all over them
since 9 out of 10 it's an excuse for terrible
**** that people do to each other in the name of
great grandpa experience for experience's sake.
I'll laugh in the face of people who ***** platitudes
and I'll teach their cats to **** on their
newspapers in the morning just for the
pure naked mischief of it.
There are so many lives out there in the big blue
world full of so many hopes and dreams and
loves and hates and memories and futures
that no one, any where, has the right or the authority
to infringe upon for any reason especially
that golden calf of fearful worship
the supposed Great Scapegoat of the Greater Good.
So come along with me and my people,
we who do not bow, we who do not submit,
we who wake up in the morning filled with
a burning insatiable need to take our world
by the PMC encrusted ***** and make something new.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
My seed was planted.
My home was growing,
I couldn’t believe what life had shown me
Love,
I have witnessed blessings from above,
But none were they as appreciated as love
I love my wife,
With her shape taken directly from her mother,
Earth, he skin ton resembled the most nurturing soil,
Each curve flowing into the next
With such precision a machine could only attempt to mimic.
Her eyes could tell no lies,
Pools of brown that turned my world upside down.
And my children,
Young and in love,
With life, just as I had taught them.
They turned to the land every time they needed a friend,
After all they knew where I conceived them,
The stars in their eyes, so beautiful, people would orbit,
Their gravity was unmolested,
They were children of the wind
I could do little to stop, them.
Nothing could take this lion off his throne.
My mane was long and strong.
No beast would dare infringe upon my family.
Nor man.
But white devil never known my land,
Never known my children,
Never known my people.
As I protect my pride,
I watch,
I watch the lands, ravaged.
I watch,
I watch my people, locked and chained
I watch,
I watch my family, crying from pain
I watch sun lose its shine.
The animals lose time,
Our gold does not glitter anymore,
Our blood has spilled
Disbanding the throne.
Now,
After we left our mother at home,
In shackles,
We bow our weeping heads,
Hoping for a morsel,
Her children need to be fed.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 4:31 PM UTC
i do not make a noise as around you i creep
the shadows merely bend around my body
the floorboards, never do they creak
i carry with me no sense of aplomb
nor any importance
only a bombastic fool would suggest his own value
or declare himself aware
this world allows for no consciousness
the monotony of sights and sounds clouds my mind
i am nothing
i am nobody
it is not nice to meet you
for you see, to you young callow beings
the earth is not welcoming
i exhort every eager eyed child to maintain that smile
it will last only a short while
excuse me, i do not intend to infringe on your hopeful gathering
an interloper to many occasions, i apologize for bringing my truth
i see you are all getting much too old
to discuss these possibilities, it is futile to say the least
much too old, much too fast
no one alone can conquer the beast, hiding within each memory
but this is no matter to you
expressing your indifference is the epitome of your downfall
when your shallow hearts inveigh against your fragile minds
you become willing to sacrifice others in vain attempts to regain control
the authority we relinquished long ago
you surmise that what you do is right
yet you mumble apologies
your words like drivel from parted lips
i only sigh
i apologize for my lie
believe me i am a liar
yet i do mean what i say
i am not nobody
i am reality
this is your wake up call
good morning
good day
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
there are two ways of love, this is how you learn the second:
you. are not. alone.
the first way of love is all you:
you, when you learned how to make others laugh.
you, the girl who brings tissues and doesn't say a word.
you, the girl who promises you will never see me cry, and keeps it.
you, because you take 4 trains over 2, to get your friend home safe.
you, developing a mask to hide your damage, so you hurt no one else.
that's how you break - exhausted, at your limit, and alone
except - you're not.
the second way of love is more, them:
the way they catch you, somehow, when you fall.
how you stop flinching away from physical contact,
because you're used to it, now, because now it's - safe.
all the many, many, I'm here(s), that take you by surprise.
how you infringe upon their space, and they welcome you in.
the first time anyone tells you to let me know when you get home and
the second. and the third. because people don't - didn't - care about you.
learning to love on a broken heart
means you expect everything to shatter in front of you.
means you're always paranoid, and always terrified.
means you always know to expect the worse.
but the second way of love,
is the sort of way that gives back.
makes you remember that thing called hope.
teaches you how to say I love you, in the first place.
teaches you, it goes both ways, teaches you, you. are not. alone.
(makes you believe it.)*
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 7:18 AM UTC
Take me not away on the wind and the rain.
Let only golden air infringe my skirts.
Catch me not , nor beat me with unholy wind alone.
Keep my lonely feet locked tight to the floor.
Until that wind can beat me no more.
Pray let my back be kissed only by sunshine.
Let the gale forces soon blow away the rain.
My sun,
Is it too soon to plead that once again you stand in majesty.
To fire fill my brain.
Hate the feel of sodden feet.
Can't bear the sound,
The chilling wind.
My ancient abode is cracked.
Can hear her walls a cracking.
It disturbs me as I try to think.
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 9:12 AM UTC
Suppose it was known at the first moment,
When you called on me to be your transition,
When you, through me, enabled yourself to punish men both past and present,
Vulnerable in me alone, left to liberate your power,
That grace would sever our connection.
I consented,
I am no victim.
Through you I've seen paradise through strength,
In you, I carried my hidden reserve.
I let you hold all that I know, and can be,
So that I could remain choiceless, and meek, in the average eyes of the world.
I gave to you. Love poured from me like a decanter small,
and made of magic,
And you simply drank!
You drank and drank to my spirit's inspiration.
It was unconscious greed, a taker's spirit forged from a foreign place,
One where mercy and love, where civility, honor, and thoughtfulness,
Never dared to infringe on the impulse to survive,
But it did inspire me.
Such basic and consistent placement of self first in the face of all that works to will one toward the world's masquerade of sacrifice,
Was as astonishing to me as the freak, the genius, the new constellation,
And I still struggle to understand what your experience of the world is like,
Without the indefatigable tug of duty pulling at your pulsing heart.
I reached my limit.
And this discovery of imposition has warranted me my own selfish wills,
I will not soon mistake them for the fancies of another.
But I will say that there is grace in you,
As you travel, composed of want alone,
Healing those you hurt just enough to clear and clean the path you fashion,
And I'll idealize you because you never humanized yourself to me.
Or wanted my humanity.
Our service to each other like points that hold along the sky.
I affix my eyes on your cold and constant light.
And discover a direction.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
1
Because I don't know
I ask
2
Because I don't know enough
I don't comment
3
Because things are never constant
I acquire flexibility and adaptability
4
Because I know my territoriality
I don't infringe on my neighbour's rights
5
Because I can't please everybody
I don't fear rejection or disapproval
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 3:59 AM UTC
They refer to us as street pigeons, city birds and believe it or not, sometimes even refer to us as flying rats.
The general consensus, we are an unacceptable lot, filth and vermin.
We are thirty strong. We survive day-to-day. Sitting upon the phone lines of this Rugee Vista neighborhood.
Sunny, is our fearless leader. She is a skilled glider, a fast thinker and not to be taken lightly.
Sunny is a mixed breed. Part Show Racer, part Birmingham Tumbler. She’s a warrior that knows the Importance of being resourceful.
Generally speaking, we are a peaceful group, But have been known to attack other birds that infringe upon our territory.
You probably don’t know that Pigeons are an intelligent bunch. We’ve passed the mirror test for self recognition lol… And we are expert navigators.
We are constantly foraging To keep our bodies, minds and youth strong. We mate for Life And we share the responsibility of rearing our young.
So the next time you see us hanging out in the neighborhood, we hope your thoughts will be pleasant ones.
Meantime, we will be rummaging the back alleyways, garbage cans and city parks for food to support ourselves and keep the city clean.
We'll leave you with this qoute that Nelson Mandela once said.
WE ARE THE KINGS OF RUGEE VISTA
“No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”
Oct 26, 2020
Oct 26, 2020 at 2:45 PM UTC
Hello again.
It's me. The one who could never
forget
and let go,
and I just wanna know
why you didn't... need me too
like how I. needed you.
Why couldn't I ever be
the moon
to your sun and stars?
The Bonnie
to your Clyde?
The one who could look. in your eyes,
listen. to your vibes,
and never infringe
on the contract of a soul.
Hello again.
I just wanted to know
why you wouldn't let me
love a deeper love
the way warriors love. hidden mysteries
of the night
Like a bird with broken wings,
I can no longer take flight.
All this time
I just wanted to fight
for love,
but the fights. no longer belong
to me.
Hello again
Where are we now?
Has my mind forged havoc,
or did the chaos
come hand and hand?
I cannot find the land
I once new.
Is it okay
that I can never
forget
about you?
Hello again.
Stepping away
to retrace. the broken memories
picture frames of broken glass
that feet failed
to not
step over
or around
You asked me to not wear shoes,
but where are we now?
Hello again.
I came back to
jog your memory,
but I think you've already forgotten
the way my arms looked
when they
bled for you,
or the way my eyes cried out with fear
when you told me that. I could never
belong here,
that I remember
the torture.
when I said
that you
were not
a monster.
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 6:36 PM UTC
The U.S. is circling the drain
the foreseeable future is all pain
founding values trampled down
leaders think they wear a crown
History erased without fail
all of them should go to jail
cops attacked for being one
looters rewarded, cannot stun
Because you might infringe their rights
even though they burn their city at night
illegals favored all of the time
criminals, when they crossed the line
The media lies as it creates
the evening news to suit its taste
the President rules through pen and phone
congress, just watches, leaves him alone
The Taxpayers though are under attack
most of their paycheck is taken back
to fund the ones who do not work
and secret projects in the murk
Around and around the drain we go
the final flush comes, but when we do not know
where the dreaded tube may lead
it is likely all will bleed
In the turmoil of the new
let’s hope it’s better than the stew
that we are in currently boiling in now
but some will take a solemn vow
To return the constitution to its place
and hopefully we win the race.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC