"innovators" poems
What you can’t tell by looking at me…
is that i wish you could see what i see
but because you don’t you go ahead and without thinking twice,
you point the finger of judgement at me
and through your eyes you think of me as a criminal, illegal, poor
you don’t even question what is deeper inside besides the color of my skin
I wish you could see how much this hurts me
because maybe this isn’t your fault
that you were brought up to see corruption, drugs, violence
but listen to me, and trust me that there is another world out there
one story, one you have yet to hear
and i hope you find some way to appreciate it
until you feel the pain from our struggle
to make you think any different.
make you think I am not less than you
There are so many things you cannot see
this is my culture, soy hispana y orgullosa
and these are my people
my people, who are more than you think they are
for they are doctors, innovators, mathematicians, even scientists
you see, there are many things you have not seen, this is only the beginning
My people struggle for strength
nunca te dejes vencer, porque el triunfo puede estar de la esquina as my mother tells me
because pride is what keeps our will to fight going
it is what makes us want to make a change, una cambio
change your perception from rapists, homeless and corrupt
to normal everyday people
….
i hope one day you are able to see past the color of my skin
and to accept what is there
to know that we are not criminals, or crazed animals than what you set us out to be
no, we are more than that
we are human beings… just like you
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
Farce!
False!
Fantasy maybe. Even still,
It’s far from fact.
Fiction!
I've seen more accurate depictions
Of Love
In abstract pictures.
At least it’s fierce colors
Show so form of passion
Fashion!
Artistic? It can be
But this is trendy
It'll fade as a
Fad!
True art is timeless
Truth? It can be
But this is candy
Not fruit
This is pop
Not soul
Technically it’s music
Because of it’s movement
But this needed no muse
Only tech
No chords
Piano or vocal
Only vocoder!
Inhumane, alien maybe.
But even the Vulcan
Shows some form of fire
Folktale!
Fog!
The misleading smoke
Shows no water
In the vicinity
Only industry
The only esteem
In this engine
Is steam
Gas.
The closest thing
To nothing
Fodder!
Deflowered. Devoured
By self-expression
Selfish innovators imitating life
Forgetting to live it.
****
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
Tell the truth about the way we loved.
Savagely
Fervidly
Passionately
Wildy
We burned down the walls of our own bedroom
We gave the stars a show
The shore something to grab hold of...
We were endless
Brilliant in our together
Innovators in our type of beautiful.
We inspired...
Men to love women whose mind's were worth
kneeling for,
And women who loved men with respect worth
submitting to...
Tell them how we loved
Tell them
Their was love
in the way our feet moved
in relation to the other
The way our eyes danced through
all of these people
Till their was something worth settling on...
For me it was you...
For you it will forever be me...
I will tell them...
because sometimes the things that burn
the brightest tend to leave one breathless...
In a world so self contained...
We could not burn down these walls for our beautiful...
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
Raise your hand if
your confidence is reaching its limit
Well let me tell you,
don't dare believe it for a minute
A poet stands at the center
of circles of illusions
Sparked by the fire within
and burnin' institutions
They write about the current state
as far as they can see it,
as well as personal doubts
claimin' that they can feel it
Don't hand your savings over,
'cause now you pay it forward,
but life won't pay you back,
So what you say to that?
*"I say we're bein' controlled
by such an evil system;
a metal contract was forced
on lost and bleedin' victims."
"I don't agree with you, man.
We're where we need to be.
With very little control,
we risk to eat for free!"
We risk to eat for free?
"Food's a commodity!
And with overpopulation,
I say this honestly!"
"Don't mean to interrupt;
your notion of depravity
appears dumbfounded and
far from grounded by gravity."
"I say this world belongs
to kings and innovators;
hope of the people is thrown
to the incinerator."
"We're seeking liberators
mightier than the sword.
We work to buy them a pen -
weapons we can afford."
"And when their eyes are wide open
I think that writers see
the world not for what it is,
rather what it could be."
"Yeah! They're talkin' for us metaphorically,
imaginin' utopias for you and me,
questions answered rhetorically."*
The world is yours
and no one else's,
so live to give it more time
through love and being selfless.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
Barack Obama, first US President of African origin.
Langston Hughes, earliest innovators of then-new literary jazz
poetry.
Angela Davis, African American political activist, and author
Coretta Scott King, author, activist, and civil rights leader
Katherine Johnson, African-American mathematician
Anita Baker, African American singer-songwriter
Muhammed Ali, African American professional boxer and activist
Erykah Badu, African American singer-songwriter activist
Rosa Parks, the mother of the freedom movement and civil rights
Ida B Wells, African-American journalist and feminist
Colin Powell, statesman and retired four-star general in US Army
Al Sharpton, civil rights activist and Baptist minister
Nelson Mandela, South African anti-apartheid revolutionary
political leader
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
Under the unforgiving summer sun, their small, winged bodies hover from one flowering plant to another, working tirelessly in the sweltering heat as we laze in the shade...
Their work is endless, the product harvested in minutes. Smoked into a stupor while we steal their treasures, and if some of them die, so be it...
Melissa, Queen of Bees,
revered before by human royalty and great innovators,
Melissa, Queen of Bees,
who connects life and death,
whose children killed the demon Arunasura in India,
and were prophets to the gods in Greece and Rome.
Melissa, Queen of Bees,
her bees fell from the sun in Egypt,
aided the first living man in Uganda,
and created man from the back of a mantis in the Kalahari Desert.
Melissa, Queen of Bees,
her children are the origin of magic in Eastern Europe,
a source of fertility and a connection to nature in North America,
and fierce, terrifying warriors in the South.
Melissa, Queen of Bees,
the Great Mother,
the root of being,
the bridge to the afterlife,
we owe her children our lives,
the least we can do is spare them their's.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 12:56 PM UTC
Anigh, is the darkling of the effrontery eagle, effaced, replaced; it's worship towards the devil. Gallons of blood, used as cover, ash and mud; defiling of ****** mother's. Gallizing men drowned in sweetness of drunkened friends. Gamins created by cankered loot, oil fills the pockets; diamonds make slaves to. Gangrels run kingdom's from their ancestral hand-me-downs, gaolers imprison innocents, whilst thy rulers throw ****** for babes at compounds. Innovators; mocking God's name. Mixing men with robotics, keeping the pure obscured, locking animals in a cage. Inorbing creation with cameras as eyes, like rats they scurry, hide; when the truth is knocking. Like a drunkard; This circular hell shalt rock as a ship, many planet's art approaching, none help shalt thou get.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry
©prophetic poetry.
Word meanings:
Anigh: near.
Darkling: growing darkness.
effrontery: shameless.
Eagle: the united states.
Effaced: erased, forgotten.
Gallizing: add water plus sugar to make stronger wine from grape juice.
Gamins: neglected boy left to the streets.
Gangrel: vagrant, loose built person.
Gaoler: jailer.
Whilst:while.
Thy:your.
Inorb: encircle, surround.
Circular hell: earth.
Art:are.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 1:49 PM UTC
I dream of lovers
*who fascinate me to no end,
veering the course of their affection
from something they understand exists,
to something they fear to understand
I dream of* hearts
*yearning for their better halves,
as they seep deeper into the chasms
that engulf their intimacy within
I dream of* sinners
*who wish to speak of sin;
rather the innocence of deviance
and its naiveté when it comes
to matters of the heart
I dream of* writers
*who bleed from their pens
as they wholeheartedly express their emotions
and aspire to quell the heartache
that they endure every day
I dream of* innovators
*who wish to present upon their peers
the next invention selected
to represent the advent of a better tomorrow
I dream of tears.
I dream of* tears....
*Why? What sorcery forces one
to shed so many
that they leak past
the prisms of known consciousness
and into the peaceful slumber
that comforts aching minds?*
I apologize.
*Now you know of the dread, sorrow,
and sheer wonder that comes
when I dream of earthly elements
begging for peace.
I dream because I am a coward.
I apologize for* dreaming.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 6:50 PM UTC
Some say that giving us freedom was a mistake
Whites, cameras, action!
Blacks are discriminated for a “whiter” satisfaction
We’re in the media, and we pretend it doesn’t hurt
But you have to admit it kinda sticks when the black guy dies first
How much positivity is connected to us on television
African American innovators still get no recognition
Instead follow that Kobe, or Tiger into the eye of media slander
That’s because even if it’s negative attention we choose to accept it
We run with it, have fun with it
Quite frankly, we should be done with it
There’s a reason why we as black people have such negative reception
When the results of our conflicts usually end with transgression
How often do you see
A black man on T.V.
Without a gun, drugs, or a crime scene he must flee
That’s not what I want our people to be identified with
But that’s not going to change until we stop accepting it
We aren’t unified as a people
Half of us recognize and sound up the movement
While the other half is content with only the other half doin’ it
Until we are unified as a whole no change will be made
We know this
Some of us just choose to stay the same
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 5:57 AM UTC
young, so full of youth,
filled to the brim with
*** and desire and the
quest for flesh,
we are living the lives they
write about
we the young, so full of
uncontained emotion, so
happy to be alive and yet
not even realizing it, we
talk of suicide but never
believe it exists
we are perfect in our
decided ignorance of
our imperfections
(it gives us strength like
nobody knows)
-
spreading across the globe,
to China, Europe, and the
Southern Lands, our disease
is no plague
to the youth of the enslaved
places, to the poor countries,
and those shackled in the old
traditions:
we give to you our itch,
our burn, our aching and
hurting that drives us to
go out and do what needs
to be done
we give to you a reason
to make things better
(just as we give ourselves)
we are the reason
the earth still spins
we are the drive
behind every new
empire
we are the innovators
and the diviners
the makers of tools
and seekers of
riches
the creators of gods
and the gods
themselves
we, so young, so full
of energy and zeal and
lust, we the ones who
create and destroy, we
who so thoughtlessly
hurtle the human race
forward
we take ourselves to bed
each night, not wondering
with whom we sleep or
where we will awake;
knowing only that adventure
is worth having in itself.
that the morning is our treasure
and the new day is more fulfilling
than any golden trinket in the
tombs of the old kings
this we sleep with, smiling,
dreaming of the wild chances
we are challenged to tame
-
so young, so full of youth,
filled to the brim with ***
and desire and the thirst for
a definition in this grey and
blotted world
we awake each day
and drearily attack our
lives
we the pioneers, the philosophers,
and historians
humanity cannot live without us
(and I mean to say they have no
choice)
Jun 24, 2011
Jun 24, 2011 at 9:48 AM UTC
Concise, smooth
... in the mind's motor
Change the gears
... in the mind's motor.
Smooth transition
Up & Down
Forward & Reverse
The clutch
is not the crutch
the crucifix logo
on the bonnet
covering the forehead.
Pain on the dashboard
Diviners, decals or designators
Inflictors, innovators or inflexions
Pain on the Dashboard
Ignition, perception, cognition
waits for the turn key
in the soft tissue starter motor.
Turning indicators
flicker flash
amber red
there is no green.
Headlamps a dull glow
in the white hot agony
of the parking lot.
Robyn Youl.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
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Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
I’m from black umbrellas, and two piece pant suits
From ***** snow, and cars, and trains
From lying on a Persian rug
That smells like Starbucks in the morning and leather at night
I’m from sparkly gum on sidewalks, buttercup taxis
Lion King on Broadway, ballets, beautiful
From the land of street vendors, with 2 for $5 and best you’ll ever see
From the noises at night that rocked me to sleep
I’m from summer waterskiing and jellyfish stings
From revenge battles with a barbeque skewer
From Tom’s grilled cheese cut diagonally like I like it
And floury cakes that turned the whole kitchen white
I’m from pesky deer ticks tucked behind my ear
Because I lied too long beside the lavender bushes
I’m from the old weeping willow that cried every day
That cried harder than me the day we left
I’m from those random memories that make me smile
The bunny I never got because I couldn’t water tomatoes
The duo stroller we had because I didn’t walk fast enough for my mom. The Bus Stop café every day because mom doesn’t cook in the morning
I’m from the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps
Born and raised in a heterogeneous blend of innovators
I’m from the fleeting recollections that make up my past
The metropolitan palace of memories that houses my childhood
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC
Cry out to the Fathers,
the Innovators,
and the Sinners!
The Creators of a modern day catastrophe,
and the Saviors of a nation once free.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
I think I have come up with a solution
to the dilemma I described in another recent poem.
It is a path I always knew was available to me
but I did not know how to start upon it.
I am happy that it has remained open.
What is knowledge if it is not acted upon?
I will now reveal my most painful thought,
the burden I have been ******** about,
because we need to do something about it.
not just sit idly by as it destroys everything we know.
My secret is a spoiler.
The spoiler.
The ultimate spoiler.
The end of the universe.
"the heat death of the universe"
google it, and see.
This is really hard for me, saying this,
especially knowing that someone really cool may read it
and suffer as I have.
Please don't let it get you down.
although, I'm sure you won't.
But I have written so much already
and I haven't given what the title has promised.
The Solution is to construct a foundation
upon which future generations
of scientists,
inventors,
innovators,
and all of humankind
can build upon
so as to not only avert this terrible disaster
but to delve ever deeper into the vast reality we are born to
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC
There is something incredibly comforting
and incredibly American
about sending a man to the moon
the science and math
the innovators and hard working
pull yourself up by your boot straps
Americans
named John and Bob
who come home after a long day
have a beer
and sit on their porch in a suburb
Something desolate and empty about the moon
alone and quite, completely silent
and the unknown
the fear that those up in space must have felt
how did they feel when they kissed their families goodbye
not knowing if they were going to see them again
uncertainty uncertainty uncertainty
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
"Go write a poem."
They tell me to pour my emotions out of the conversation,
and into a container they can silently curse and admire.
I'll gladly oblige their feeble minds
because after all, I'm only writing a poem.
"Go write a poem."
They tell me with a smile as if it should sting
because they believe poetry is fruitless and less fulfilling
than the insults they try to shoot like arrows
but why is it that they always seem to miss the mark?
"Go write a poem."
They are just so much better than the silence they receive,
they say, "It is what it is, so go do what you do and make art out of it,"
my brain explodes with the roars of lions, sirens, wrecking ***** marching bands,
because poets understand that it never just is what it is.
"Go write a poem."
Because we poets are angsty souls who cannot express
thoughts with words out loud- and stand up for ourselves,
we lack tact and function beyond writ and stage,
but what they fail to realize that a poet is never just a poet.
We are the creators of their entertainment (Shakespeare)
We are the innovators that fuel the beginnings of artistic thought (Rilke)
We are the warriors that fight for their civil rights (Angelou)
We are the martyrs that immortalize originality (Wilde)
We are the ones who make those powerful statements that those folks love to quote and label their photos with-
so the next time they tell me
"Go write a poem."
I'll make sure they hear the explosion.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
That was my pen, before.
Lapped up every last drop of ink hungrily
And spewed them all out in just the right
Shape, the right amount, for the right meaning,
Blowing life into its royal blue color recipe
To craft breathing alphabets that animated
Into words that I remember
Were mischievous, but adorable babies:
They used to talk, walk, play, cry and sleep;
Oh, they used to live on their vast white landscape,
Reviving my memories with their
Own connotation- my innovators.
But my pen is a teenager: unpredictable and moody,
It now creates stubborn, sterile letters that just want to besiege
The tip, clog right there and not drop out.
Even if I ****** it awake now, my pen would just puke some
Little droplets shaped like letters that would
Blot the paper ugly, or, the words would exit deformed, like
Their genes had gotten affected by a nuclear bomb.
Oh, what have I done to enrage you, my love?
Did I over-feed you, or under-appreciate you
That your self-esteem decided to turn upon me,
Or become so dependent on you that my mind has dulled
Its imaginations far too dry now,
For you to shape them well?
My verses now wilt and die,
New lands in the paper just get wasted, alarming me
For land is a limited resource in my house, the earth.
But land is not the ultimate problem,
For there are a thousand landscapes I could pull out of my imagination;
Only if my pen would love me once more
And reproduce my ink faithfully,
I could be a writer again.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 6:11 AM UTC
The sheep minded
Elevate ignorance
To celebrate
Their own mundaneness
Claim this enslavement
Is natural
That the moral
Shun the strays
Who walk in
Diverging ways
Cling to status symbols
And fashion trends
Their mind bends
To fit their servile situation
Praising the nation
Instead of humanity
Consumers not real creators
Products not innovators
Digesting stupidity
And spitting the same
Uniformed madness
Right back at me
And that is why
I love working nights
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
Success, they say, is measured
In grades and academic scores
A test of mental fortitude
A sign of future doors
But what of those whose talents
Don't lie in books and tests?
Whose passions and ambitions
Can't be gauged by scantrons best?
What of the artists and dreamers
Whose gifts cannot be boxed?
The innovators and leaders
Whose brilliance can't be coaxed?
What of those who struggle
With the rigors of academia?
Whose strengths lie outside the classroom
In fields beyond the syllabus?
Success cannot be defined
By a single metric or score
For greatness takes many forms
And talent comes in many more
So let us not confine ourselves
To academic pursuits alone
For success is what we make it
And true greatness has no known.
Apr 27, 2023
Apr 27, 2023 at 1:09 PM UTC
Some people wake up every morning
Fill their mug with strong black coffee
And commute to work
At work they slave away for the dollar
That never seems to truly satisfy
The hungry greed growing within them
They once were children
Who said they would be
firemen,
teachers,
artists,
pirates,
astronauts,
authors,
innovators and world-changers
When they grew up
On Fridays after work
Sometimes these people
Go out for a drink
After a few beers
One of them opens up to the fellow
coworker they are sitting next to:
"Oh," they'd say
"I have dreams of sailing away
I can't wait for the day
That I am able to break free from
the monotony and mediocrity
and pursue my purpose,
and my dreams"
"What noble ambitions you have"
The fellow coworker will respond
"But what are your plans to make this so?"
The dreamer will answer
"I don't know
All I do know is
That most people
Stay stuck in conformity
And then there are some who
follow their dreams."
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 1:34 AM UTC
If there's anything I've learned in the past year, it's that Normal people don't change. Normal people don't change. But then there's Abnormal people. The movers, the thinkers, the innovators, the shifters. They, unlike Normal people, see what they can become and change their lives firsthand. Normal people don't. They wallow and swallow, playing the victim to Life. False positivity crushes the Normal mind. Isn't it wonderful, being Abnormal?
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 12:22 PM UTC
Watch out for the agenda
And the political crew
Lets just say they represent
SATANS Zoo
Wake up because we ******* galore
To many youngin' hittin' floor
Minds gone society gone
Guns is blown
Another body in the funeral home
They say color dont matter ?
But all i see is red
Once the flesh is cut we emotionally shattered
the world is bruised n battered
See the picture i lainted better
Than Van Gogh
But too many innovators entice
To the dough
O yea watch back cuz they quick to glue
Stick minorities to crimes
Thats not related to you
So cool demons surrounding n houndin'
Me how could this be?
If this is a holy society?
Popes are molesters churches are imitators
Of God how odd is that ?
Pack a gat in my 82 cadillac
Big grill spinnin smalls wheels vogues appeal
O so real
Ya know cant play a fake cant shake
The pain i hear the thunder clouds of pain
It's too.much of us livin' in vain
Now what im seyin' the strain
Its like that now
peep the game
like that now
get the humps up out ya back
yea i still embrace the gat
cuz the city ******
so i gotta get witty nitty in the gritty
i seen a starvin babe leechin'
on his mommas *******
but she half dead babe cryin'
look into her eyes and
you can tell she was a ******
**** how could this be
its my society
givin' drugs to the community
cant escape the rain
or the pain
just a little **** on my brain
coca leafs to puff on
henney and the boones farm
dont sway from the good
stay close to the hood
even though we got good times n bad times
kickin' dope rhymes
no punchlines
just sayin' whats on my mind
i wish i could bless the world
really doe
not have to front a show
just get some dough
that boy jesus
lived thirty three in a half years
aint neva have a job
just twelves homies
rollin' through the breeze
rocks cryin' water turns into red wine and
miracles happen in mysterious ways
still hopin' for better days
radiate my soul
chillin' unda the sun beam rays
feel me????
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 2:47 AM UTC
i have found myself in a club. not established out of intent, but the tugs of the earth and its circumstance have strung us together. we found ourselves, brows beaded with sweat and hands bloodied and calloused. we did not mean to form, but we were meant to. to meet each other’s exhausted eyes, glazed over with indifference from the constant prejudice of cards dealt, and no words were spoken. none were needed. we met each other’s eyes and we knew that finally we had found someone.
we are the conquerers of the forgotten. we are the collectors of broken glass and innovators of redemption. we are artists of absurdity. failure is face all to familiar. but we are not bitter. failure is the reminder of the ultimate goal.
this was not of intent, but what beautiful people.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC