"interferences" poems - Hello Poetry

“What can a poem do?” —————————- ***”A poem is a not a tourniquet when you’re bleeding. It’s not water when you’re thirsty or food when you’re hungry. A poem can’t protect you from an airstrike, or from abduction, or from hate. It’s hard to write when our words feel like they’re not enough—they can’t do the real, tangible work of saving lives, or making people safer.”*** (see (1) Maggie Smith) <~> as is my wont, I write, as is my Natted~inhabited, retiring to the local watering holes of Cerebrum & Cerebellum, them regular haunts, where all requests are mailed, processed, satisfied & marked; ‘return & render to the sender, who’s on a cerebral ****** and that request? ‘give me the words’ (2) those ‘to do’ words, floaters, direct to top of list, those ‘can do’ words, that can effect the affect, spare the despair, realize the fungible, concretize cures, soften hard waters, giving a worsening worn life fabric a curated baby blanket feel, a 4-ply human tissue of ‘words that tell me everything’ (2) salve solution verbs that bounty-wipe spills in entirety, vacuum up spillage spoiling of 17 days of terrible nouns, uncovered-unknown rages caused by inflicting prepositions released a hatred rising, safety rebury it deeper, drug & destruct the sleeper agents, and let me start over again with ‘telling me everything by saying nothing’ (2) the pausal silence, the quieted spaces tween the heartbeats, where ‘reflection,’ the noun, and its world of alternations, reflection, the noun, look inwards, but shining outward, this, this! is where the poem goes to do! enervating & arresting its contradictory powers rock you into wild docility, possessive and submissive, contradictory interferences, smoothing the roughness, closing the gaps it opens, healing the caused truthful cuts, with words that tell you everything and nothing, open the holes, filling the gaps, that is what a poem do, in and by the manner it is spoken… <~> “Sometimes a poem is the stone you carry in your pocket—the one you rub when you’re worried. Let’s fill our pockets with poems.” (see (1) Maggie Smith)

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Oct 24, 2023

Oct 24, 2023 at 10:10 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

“What can a poem do?”

“What can a poem do?” —————————- ***”A poem is a not a tourniquet when you’re bleeding. It’s not water when you’re thirsty or food when you’re hungry. A poem can’t protect you from an airstrike, or from abduction, or from hate. It’s hard to write when our words feel like they’re not enough—they can’t do the real, tangible work of saving lives, or making people safer.”*** (see (1) Maggie Smith) <~> as is my wont, I write, as is my Natted~inhabited, retiring to the local watering holes of Cerebrum & Cerebellum, them regular haunts, where all requests are mailed, processed, satisfied & marked; ‘return & render to the sender, who’s on a cerebral ****** and that request? ‘give me the words’ (2) those ‘to do’ words, floaters, direct to top of list, those ‘can do’ words, that can effect the affect, spare the despair, realize the fungible, concretize cures, soften hard waters, giving a worsening worn life fabric a curated baby blanket feel, a 4-ply human tissue of ‘words that tell me everything’ (2) salve solution verbs that bounty-wipe spills in entirety, vacuum up spillage spoiling of 17 days of terrible nouns, uncovered-unknown rages caused by inflicting prepositions released a hatred rising, safety rebury it deeper, drug & destruct the sleeper agents, and let me start over again with ‘telling me everything by saying nothing’ (2) the pausal silence, the quieted spaces tween the heartbeats, where ‘reflection,’ the noun, and its world of alternations, reflection, the noun, look inwards, but shining outward, this, this! is where the poem goes to do! enervating & arresting its contradictory powers rock you into wild docility, possessive and submissive, contradictory interferences, smoothing the roughness, closing the gaps it opens, healing the caused truthful cuts, with words that tell you everything and nothing, open the holes, filling the gaps, that is what a poem do, in and by the manner it is spoken… <~> “Sometimes a poem is the stone you carry in your pocket—the one you rub when you’re worried. Let’s fill our pockets with poems.” (see (1) Maggie Smith)

65

The African mother Has genes like no other Can create eyes with greens Browns or blue Skin with Tenebrae Or lighter in hue The African Mother Created every color We see We all come from The fertile crescent So why are we so incessant To worry about the melanin In our skin Iridescent or incandescent Our descent from relative location to the equator Has become the subject of debate or hate But why can't we relate That our fate Should never differentiate Based on differences From interferences of light Regardless of the color of our skin we should have the same plight But I am privileged because I am white I am not an apologist Just a social anthropologist Who acknowledges that its not right We are all made of matter And atoms Or come from Adam and Eve However, you perceive But we deceive each other To believe that we are different Inherently and there needs to be a disparity Of how we treat one another But you are my brother And I am your sister Though my skin is alabaster And begins to blister in the sun I will fight this battle With you by my side Allied as one Until we hold the same opportunity There can be no unity So we fight this war For equality Once more Know that I am your friend Not your enemy And I'll defend you Never condemn you My brethren

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Aug 15, 2017

Aug 15, 2017 at 2:33 PM UTC

Phoenicianbride

The African mother

The African mother Has genes like no other Can create eyes with greens Browns or blue Skin with Tenebrae Or lighter in hue The African Mother Created every color We see We all come from The fertile crescent So why are we so incessant To worry about the melanin In our skin Iridescent or incandescent Our descent from relative location to the equator Has become the subject of debate or hate But why can't we relate That our fate Should never differentiate Based on differences From interferences of light Regardless of the color of our skin we should have the same plight But I am privileged because I am white I am not an apologist Just a social anthropologist Who acknowledges that its not right We are all made of matter And atoms Or come from Adam and Eve However, you perceive But we deceive each other To believe that we are different Inherently and there needs to be a disparity Of how we treat one another But you are my brother And I am your sister Though my skin is alabaster And begins to blister in the sun I will fight this battle With you by my side Allied as one Until we hold the same opportunity There can be no unity So we fight this war For equality Once more Know that I am your friend Not your enemy And I'll defend you Never condemn you My brethren

52

I have the same questions to my insignificant life I allow myself to ask them knowing they'll cut like a knife Will they ever be answered? I have so much doubt most are the same questions circling on a roundabout These many cunning questions are usually about those things that often confuse me and keep me questioning Frequently they're ponderings about things that 'just are' many travel dangerously deep the distance, too far Apparently I'm not grounded enough my Chakra tells me so I drift off into fantasy a world I'm not supposed to go I need this precious place to ponder many things I like to fantasise it's like having wonderful wings To think about those questions and the interferences in my life wondering 'outside my bubble' a space, like the dead of night I can question my many thoughts and my own troubled debates or about my already written future Do I trust too much in fate? Who knows about these questions they're as close as an annoying friend I'll continue to spend my time questioning until my days come to a questionable end

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Apr 16, 2014

Apr 16, 2014 at 2:22 AM UTC

LouiseMcKay

Questions

I have the same questions to my insignificant life I allow myself to ask them knowing they'll cut like a knife Will they ever be answered? I have so much doubt most are the same questions circling on a roundabout These many cunning questions are usually about those things that often confuse me and keep me questioning Frequently they're ponderings about things that 'just are' many travel dangerously deep the distance, too far Apparently I'm not grounded enough my Chakra tells me so I drift off into fantasy a world I'm not supposed to go I need this precious place to ponder many things I like to fantasise it's like having wonderful wings To think about those questions and the interferences in my life wondering 'outside my bubble' a space, like the dead of night I can question my many thoughts and my own troubled debates or about my already written future Do I trust too much in fate? Who knows about these questions they're as close as an annoying friend I'll continue to spend my time questioning until my days come to a questionable end

36

I cry at the simplest things what is it that moves you my soul has too long been tethered to a never-ending battle what is it that moves you do birds feel the weight of the world when they are taking off? do they feel it being lifted when they are soaring? how long have you wanted to soar? my whole life don't look at me like that it intimidates me i stay transfixed can't move she throws stones he looks at me she takes a break he takes over sit. listen. i do as i'm told. she comes back. my teddy bear. my darling. my dear. she comes back. my hands are out of order my thighs quiver but they know nothing more than longing. she comes back. she stares. she gazes. quick quick put on a show quit it quick quitter quaking in fear ffffffffffurrowing her brow show me tender carry me slowly softly over the threshold one, two, nineteen. counting for too long is maddening but he stays calm and focused on his goal no interruptions no interferences she gets emotional he pushes down his ******* he looks at me she looks at me there is an understanding there is chaos there is peace

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Jul 26, 2013

Jul 26, 2013 at 4:14 AM UTC

deana-luna

a peaceful chaos

I cry at the simplest things what is it that moves you my soul has too long been tethered to a never-ending battle what is it that moves you do birds feel the weight of the world when they are taking off? do they feel it being lifted when they are soaring? how long have you wanted to soar? my whole life don't look at me like that it intimidates me i stay transfixed can't move she throws stones he looks at me she takes a break he takes over sit. listen. i do as i'm told. she comes back. my teddy bear. my darling. my dear. she comes back. my hands are out of order my thighs quiver but they know nothing more than longing. she comes back. she stares. she gazes. quick quick put on a show quit it quick quitter quaking in fear ffffffffffurrowing her brow show me tender carry me slowly softly over the threshold one, two, nineteen. counting for too long is maddening but he stays calm and focused on his goal no interruptions no interferences she gets emotional he pushes down his ******* he looks at me she looks at me there is an understanding there is chaos there is peace

41

Is in the eye of the beholder But it is only half true From what I was taught in school Beauty is both subjective and objective The media though Is manipulative People's preferences, distorted by its interferences Oh boy, why are we such idiots Having tons of insecurities I know it's not your fault Because the media's definition of beauty Have left us here to rot But **** them Because the truth is You don't need their acknowledgement Nor their judgement Conforming to meaningless norms Are the doings of fools Simply be real, my dear. I am telling you the truth Or maybe it's just me what I'm trying to do Accept, appreciate And love the real me Not the facade that you see

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Apr 26, 2017

Apr 26, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC

justsomeone

Beauty

Is in the eye of the beholder But it is only half true From what I was taught in school Beauty is both subjective and objective The media though Is manipulative People's preferences, distorted by its interferences Oh boy, why are we such idiots Having tons of insecurities I know it's not your fault Because the media's definition of beauty Have left us here to rot But **** them Because the truth is You don't need their acknowledgement Nor their judgement Conforming to meaningless norms Are the doings of fools Simply be real, my dear. I am telling you the truth Or maybe it's just me what I'm trying to do Accept, appreciate And love the real me Not the facade that you see

26

the gods and their stories where as under neath the reality flows a swirling un mass of possibilities everything lies beneath everything else there is sometime interferences between the separate actualities this reality, that reality, hardy har har har the same questions would exist Poe wrote of glory and grandeur of the antiques they were a bunch of misfits

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Oct 11, 2013

Oct 11, 2013 at 9:05 AM UTC

jimmy-tee

rambling has its charms

the gods and their stories where as under neath the reality flows a swirling un mass of possibilities everything lies beneath everything else there is sometime interferences between the separate actualities this reality, that reality, hardy har har har the same questions would exist Poe wrote of glory and grandeur of the antiques they were a bunch of misfits

10

I had been on my way to work as usual I am the seven to three shift A shift where you see the modern slaves masters The visionary of the Donald J Trump’s disasters I saw a title of a poem today, "The Bullet Was a Girl". Now my title might be "The Bullets Are The Russian that led to Obamacare assassin That led to the suspects Russian interferences of Human rights abuses: The Russian might build the wall Now that would be a vision no one saw coming,

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Mar 24, 2017

Mar 24, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC

darknbeautiful-1

This Might Be The Vision No One Saw Coming

I had been on my way to work as usual I am the seven to three shift A shift where you see the modern slaves masters The visionary of the Donald J Trump’s disasters I saw a title of a poem today, "The Bullet Was a Girl". Now my title might be "The Bullets Are The Russian that led to Obamacare assassin That led to the suspects Russian interferences of Human rights abuses: The Russian might build the wall Now that would be a vision no one saw coming,

13

Achieving your dreams, Isn't an easy task, Like escaping a labyrinth, It will take time and all that. It would seem impossible, Seeing how long it would take Don't underestimate it, Don't think it'll be a piece of cake. So just study hard, Don't give up on it, This journey isn't over yet, Not until you say it is. If people pull you down, Just rise right back up. Show them you're not weak, Declare to them your intent. Hold on to your conceit, An idea you could use, Used to attain your dream, Which could only done by you. Laugh at your problems, It's okay to run away. It's normal to make mistakes, There will be another day. Walking around in circles, Just calm down and relax, You'll think so much better, So just mellow out. After all the interferences, All the troubles you have faced, Even now that it's the end, You feel kind of dazed. The star in your hand, Is the dream you have seized, The flower crown on your head, Is the effort you've released.

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Nov 12, 2016

Nov 12, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC

feliz-g

Dream, Achieve, Succeed

Achieving your dreams, Isn't an easy task, Like escaping a labyrinth, It will take time and all that. It would seem impossible, Seeing how long it would take Don't underestimate it, Don't think it'll be a piece of cake. So just study hard, Don't give up on it, This journey isn't over yet, Not until you say it is. If people pull you down, Just rise right back up. Show them you're not weak, Declare to them your intent. Hold on to your conceit, An idea you could use, Used to attain your dream, Which could only done by you. Laugh at your problems, It's okay to run away. It's normal to make mistakes, There will be another day. Walking around in circles, Just calm down and relax, You'll think so much better, So just mellow out. After all the interferences, All the troubles you have faced, Even now that it's the end, You feel kind of dazed. The star in your hand, Is the dream you have seized, The flower crown on your head, Is the effort you've released.

36

by Ryan P. Kinney We fought, we thought. We lived, we loved. Anger/stupidity Cold numb void Unthinking, emotionless machine I thought about you And it made me cry You wear a blissful grin Like angels falling My ancient wall of flowers I see it in the darkness of your eyes You got high on my experiences Took my stories into your body You loved it Her shriek of terror, screaming I’m worthless How could I do this to her? The tears stream The blood flows from my **** Diluted with stale coffee and ****** cigarettes The heartbreaks, the beatings, The suicidal thoughts I made you paranoid, cynical, and distrusting I wished you could be near me I cursed the world, I wished everything could be wonderful No interferences A cold gruesome memory I don’t deserve her Skin still embedded in glass I see my twisted reflection The monster I’ve become I sealed my fate Inside life's last chapter, a book so elegantly bound No matter how you try to purge You’ll never be rid of this poison The world blinds, confuses, and muffles My heart is often bound and gagged So much like you I went out to the bridge Clutching my Bible Never even opened it And a letter from you, Plunged into the river, Still crying No one was there No angels to care Just die… We lied

0

Dec 19, 2015

Dec 19, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC

ryan-p-kinney

Caterpillar

by Ryan P. Kinney We fought, we thought. We lived, we loved. Anger/stupidity Cold numb void Unthinking, emotionless machine I thought about you And it made me cry You wear a blissful grin Like angels falling My ancient wall of flowers I see it in the darkness of your eyes You got high on my experiences Took my stories into your body You loved it Her shriek of terror, screaming I’m worthless How could I do this to her? The tears stream The blood flows from my **** Diluted with stale coffee and ****** cigarettes The heartbreaks, the beatings, The suicidal thoughts I made you paranoid, cynical, and distrusting I wished you could be near me I cursed the world, I wished everything could be wonderful No interferences A cold gruesome memory I don’t deserve her Skin still embedded in glass I see my twisted reflection The monster I’ve become I sealed my fate Inside life's last chapter, a book so elegantly bound No matter how you try to purge You’ll never be rid of this poison The world blinds, confuses, and muffles My heart is often bound and gagged So much like you I went out to the bridge Clutching my Bible Never even opened it And a letter from you, Plunged into the river, Still crying No one was there No angels to care Just die… We lied

52

She spoke to me in poetry The only way to communicate with my heart directly without interferences.

0

Oct 3, 2014

Oct 3, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC

swetank-modi

The Best Way

She spoke to me in poetry The only way to communicate with my heart directly without interferences.

2

I live to fulfill promises, my mission is to unite tranquility with destiny. Looking back at the times, where the past had it’s occasional interferences with my present and I looked at my future as a curse. My presence, your presence, unconditional love, it is more rewarding than any material gift on earth. My time will be used to construct and protect. Filling my scrapbook with endless memories, instead of living a life of misery. My home is wherever your heart can live in love and be free.

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Dec 16, 2021

Dec 16, 2021 at 9:01 AM UTC

Descovia

Living By Love

I live to fulfill promises, my mission is to unite tranquility with destiny. Looking back at the times, where the past had it’s occasional interferences with my present and I looked at my future as a curse. My presence, your presence, unconditional love, it is more rewarding than any material gift on earth. My time will be used to construct and protect. Filling my scrapbook with endless memories, instead of living a life of misery. My home is wherever your heart can live in love and be free.

4

Strange, strange that this small country intimidate the power that be in America. But notice not those of hostile countries with ruling leaders. A country that simply request respect. A country that many companies in America would love to invest. Oh, the politicians that be level off comments. But won't address the situations that lead them to be against our power. Than again chances are this region holds clues to our messy interferences in the sixties. What? We meant to be good. Remember we was close to their fifties leaders. A hidden haven for our best known gangsters. Then things changed.

0

Jul 1, 2017

Jul 1, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC

jeffrey-conyers

The World of Cuba

Strange, strange that this small country intimidate the power that be in America. But notice not those of hostile countries with ruling leaders. A country that simply request respect. A country that many companies in America would love to invest. Oh, the politicians that be level off comments. But won't address the situations that lead them to be against our power. Than again chances are this region holds clues to our messy interferences in the sixties. What? We meant to be good. Remember we was close to their fifties leaders. A hidden haven for our best known gangsters. Then things changed.

12

Inperceivable problems of the past, Countless current conversions, Manifold future interferences, And then there’s you... Complications, dilemmas, disputes, Contradictions, counters, and refutes, Authenticity diminishes and dilutes, The truth, the principle, and it’s proof, And then there’s you... Complicated comments and concepts, Simply a disturbance, a diversion, From my feeble-minded intellect, But now I am thinking, What good comes of the smarts in a man, If I am on one side, I look towards the other, And then there’s you... Separate from me... Separate from my problems... I take no action... I say I don’t need help... I turn away... I look back once more... Your hand is on my shoulder... And you remind me... We are in this together... Forever and Always...

0

Apr 9, 2019

Apr 9, 2019 at 6:53 PM UTC

sketcheroo

Day 6

Inperceivable problems of the past, Countless current conversions, Manifold future interferences, And then there’s you... Complications, dilemmas, disputes, Contradictions, counters, and refutes, Authenticity diminishes and dilutes, The truth, the principle, and it’s proof, And then there’s you... Complicated comments and concepts, Simply a disturbance, a diversion, From my feeble-minded intellect, But now I am thinking, What good comes of the smarts in a man, If I am on one side, I look towards the other, And then there’s you... Separate from me... Separate from my problems... I take no action... I say I don’t need help... I turn away... I look back once more... Your hand is on my shoulder... And you remind me... We are in this together... Forever and Always...

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