"intimidation" poems
Perplexed people of a politically polluted land,
Are uncertain of who they truly are.
Sons supporting freedom's fight, fathers seem lost,
Seeking meager gains with no gain in power.
Subjugation and forced order is in play,
Forgotten the episodes of cold blooded ******
Rapes, intimidation and tormented nights,
All ignored, for they are not
our daughters or mothers.
No concern given to our neighbors strife?
Our humanity we sold, for positions in this land.
Strengthened the corrupted power at play,
Full of anarchy and devoid of mercy.
The foibles in name of government and development,
Oh Lord!Fill our fellows hearts
with compassion.
Open their eyes to the inadequacies,
Bring our nation back to consciousness.
©Perveiz Ali
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 8:08 AM UTC
I come from New Orleans where the swingers hook up with the singers, and the boxes have a person inside who speak to you through a thick horizontal slot in the door. You come from Minnesota where the most aggressive sentence is “Hi, how are you” and you’ve attended church every Sunday of your life, even though you don’t really believe in god.
We came to the West to skate with the surfer junkies. But then the harbors got bombed and we moved out East to see the hipsters and the artists beggin on the streets. We went to the South with the racists and bigots were dying for a good show. We moved up North to escape from the 70s, and with the 80s on the rise we figured we’d best stay away.
The 70s were rockin’ with **** and LSD in parks and concerts, and on benches on the streets. The smoke in the air was everywhere, from the slums in Wisconsin to the cities of Dallas. Even the poor were lost in the haze.
When the 80s arrived with Rock ‘n’ Roll and techno beats from windowsills upstairs. The music was groovin’ and the ladies were fine. We saw billboards of our names in neon orange lights. The *** was replaced by coke, and the LSD with ****** singing and swinging with delight in our eyes.
When the AIDS broke out we were sick in our beds listening to Pink Floyd and Elton John, and still we were singing. The 70s got us high while the 80s made us die
We lived through wars in Vietnam, and Korea; we fought back the communists with red ink on our hands. We broke down the door into China and got them to arrive in the present and join the world. Although their chairman sits on a chair of lies he leads them with an angry fist in the air pumping “three cheers for Mao”. “Three cheers for Mao”.
When the Soviets launched themselves to the moon we responded with our money and flashed our shiny new machinery in their faces. We marked our territory and claimed triumphantly that “We’re the best”. And we launched our war nukes and pinned them into intimidation. Then the Cubans sought revenge for the death of the Pigs on their Bay. With rifles in hand we stormed the beach and unearthed Castro and his regime.
With our beds soaked in blood, and our dreams covered with fog, hand in hand we lay. We recalled the dances in the backs of old Cafes where the passwords were as simple as three quick knocks and two slow ones. We remembered the guns that pierced the heavenly chorus for the negros in the south. And we thought about the music of the 70s and the death in the 80s and I thought about you for a minute more.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 4:29 PM UTC
Seek freedom from the anxious mind
For, you have the freedom to choose
Break the shackles of intimidation
Claim your freedom for the sleeping madness
Wake up to a world of freedom, for it’s yours
Freedom for the prejudices and the dogmas
Claim your freedom for the untrusting world
Freedom beckons you from the deepest caverns
Thwart the advances of violence, and seize freedom
Do not pay heed to the abusive words
As your freedom to speak up is jeopardized
The weakest of hearts and minds, resort to violence
And their abode inside is wrecked by loss of freedom
You freedom will come when you walk out
Opening the gates of your heart to freedom
The weak personalities seeks to strangle freedom
To dominate the beautiful souls, as they feel threatened
Assert your freedom; this is becoming a puppet’s world
Always made to act when the strings are pulled
There is a world full of love and freedom waiting for you
You just have to cross the threshold of the murky world
Only you can win your freedom, if you choose to
Seek freedom, and slam the door on the world of captivity
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 5:56 AM UTC
A third down my life
Assuming living till 75 or so
I stood with pride
Waving profusely towards the younger me
Vulnerable age
Anxiously lost
Yet,
I seek for your salvation and comfort
So Brave, Silly and Bold
Even in great fear you step out for the unknown
Applause for your courage
Appreciate your sincerity
Adore your ignorance
Mostly
Being Awkward with yourself
Avoiding intimidation with the world
Used to loath the sight of humans
Endless introductions
Just drained the helpless soul
A third down the road
Accepting new faces
Enjoying small talks
Occasionally misplaced myself as well
Still,
I Am become a statement to hold
At ease with my presence
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
When we are born there are hopes and dreams,
On the path we follow, enemies are made,
Cruelty forced upon us, tearing at our seams
The existence of the world is enveloped in flames, fire and decay.
Everywhere we turn – a wasteland waves,
Isolated, ruined, desolate
Negativity runs deep, tagged metal in their waist bands
The urge to be free, unchained, untagged.
Meadows of green grass and daisies and yellow roses,
towering the shadows, no worries about,
Winter creeps; silently, swiftly, suavely. Now
an ocean of black roses remain in power.
Oh colourful canvas, how beautiful you used to be,
Now you’re smothered in the greyness of despair,
An intimidation of words aggressively written,
And the pain never ends
That desperate wish that someone could care!
This noose I tie is never tied tight enough,
The glistening light shivers a hope for eternal sleep
Such a shame the cut never succeeds
And an only friend has gone
Facebook, MySpace, Twitter;
He made himself the target and ****** in,
He took their advice, took the bullet,
Their words are a complete and utter sin
My, my it was that hilarious! Honestly.
The world corrupt, no social networks,
What a laugh it was; all fits and giggles
The importance never occurred
We- the kids of this generation- know nothing
but how to navigate the internet
Them- the adults of the era- that want the best
ignorant to the life on the information highway
This world is changing,
This world is ending,
This society, will become my newest nightmare
This society, will become your newest warfare
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
Intimidating intimacy
I’ll wait for you to put a ring on my finger,
Not a ****** on your *****
Intimate intimidation
Assertiveness, not aggressiveness, is a quality fit for a
Prince. Your highness,
Dost thou want thy queen?
Seems even marriage has fallen under the blanket of
Fashion over Function.
Wedding rings mean more than wedding vows.
Gone are the days in which marriages fueled society, and
Function before Fashion.
Cheers to the weeping ages of an ill generation.
If only love lasted as long as 14 karat gold.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
Tough girl isn't afraid of much
Tough girl is strong
And brave
Tough girl has mastered the art of apathy
The science of not giving a ****
She is confident
And swift
Tough girl has trained herself not to care
Walks with confidence
Keeps her head up
She is a whirlwind of resilience
Withstanding each disaster
Every hurricane
She refuses to let the world break her down
Her skin
Is a combination of metals
Her smile, a shield
Bone made of iron
She is incapable of corrosion
Her heart always guarded
She is unbreakable
Knows how to put up a fight
And win
She doesn't give in
And no matter how hard people try
To bring her down
She doesn't let them get to her
But I
Am not her
Our resemblance is uncanny
And I have the ability to pretend
To fake a sense of pride long enough to believe it
A concoction of false courage
And intimidation
But she
Is not me
Tough girl is everything I have ever tried to be
Having spent hours practicing blank stares
And learning how to walk
Like the ground below you isn't breaking
Trying to breathe like there isn't a storm building within
Resistance is a skill I have spent forever trying to build
But I am not solid
I am not tough
I am softness that wears rough around the edges
A jacket built of barriers
With barbed wire skin
All of this protection
And I somehow still manage
To frequently break open
I am not a super hero
I can barely save myself
Let alone anyone else
And as much as I wish I was
I am not tough girl
As much as we look alike
As similar as we seem
I am not she
I care too much
Think too deeply
And love too passionately
But I'm starting to realize
That maybe
It's not such a bad thing
Maybe the girl
I've been trying to be all along
Is not as put together as she seems
Those who appear fine
Are often the ones coming apart at the seams
I may not be tough girl
But I can still make believe.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
Gun in one hand, bible in the other.
Is not the word a sword?
Why need for a gun too?
Or is it a justification to ****
The same as a rocket launcher on one shoulder,
and the koran in the other hand.
Or a flag in one hand, and a sword in the other.
The image says justified intimidation.
Fear me, for I have the Authority.
But really, the Authority is only as valid
as there are fools who submit.
And the only true authority is the gun, or sword,
as you certainly know it.
And the flag, or bible, or the koran,
are but for your own conscience.
or cover for your lack thereof.
The bible and the gun:
an oxymoron;
a display of faithlessness,
the defilement of holiness,
a blasphemous act;
affirming the proud fool you are,
that says in its heart, there is no God!
May 7, 2019
May 7, 2019 at 4:51 AM UTC
Fiery soul with emerald eyes,
Listen close to my words and what therein lies
Dear sweet thing with dancing sliver hues
A stormy grey or seeping blue
There's nothing more I need than both of you.
So I'll tell you now, I cannot choose
And my dear lover supports, approves
Soft uncertain smile, now please don't shy
Listen close to my words and what therein lies
As for the large bubbly boy holding my hand
Intimidation is not his plan
I would only love one if I found I can
Instead I want to be you gentleman
So I'll approach this gently then
Long-full boy, wishful sighs
Listen close to my words and what therein lies
Because I love you both and hope you'll love me
I want to write a love song for three
Please listen closed
And do respond, darling
It's for my love of you both I'll sing
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 5:45 PM UTC
**Hey Ranger Rick why don't you add this
one to the YipYap collection too**
You literally unblocked me
so you could add my nonpoem ''really part
3'' to your collection and
then blocked me again...?
Furthermore you say we're the bitter ones...
you're the one that keeps unblocking me
so you can comment on my poems
then blocking me back. Uh, stalking...? much
Didn't I tell you to stay off my page! ?
**Stalker: unwanted or obsessive attention by an individual or group toward another person. Stalking behaviors are related to harassment and intimidation and may include following the victim in person or >monitoring them.<
Cyber-Stalking: Cyberstalking is the use of the Internet or other electronic means to stalk or harass an individual, a group, or an organization. It may include >false accusations,< defamation, slander and libel. It may also include >monitoring, identity theft,<threats, vandalism & solicitation.**
.........................Ranger Rick Your are a Stalker, point blank.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
There's a virulent disease
inside him. It pervades every
where. It invades him. The
toxic cells exist in every nook
and crevice. He starts wondering
whether his soul and body will
suffice and live through the
brutal treatments that await.
Radiotherapy or chemo. A
part of himself could be lost in the
pomposity and elaborateness
of the machines used to do so.
He lies on the bed, surrounded
by the ostensibly loved ones
who mourn now and who hated
him once. He looks back at
his life and feels that getting
back to his healthy, strong self
is a chimera. Days pass and his
bed is his sanctuary. The reports
from the doctors arrive and he is
all but stationary. He finds the
concept of reports funny. They
determine life and death in a
second and after that, life could
be jubilant or miry with hopelessness.
The reports clearly indicate that
"cancer was not detected". He
scoffs at the elaborate medical
language and sits back and
relaxes, concluding his close
call with death and an emotional mess.
Not letting the intimidation and
sinister nature of the diseases get to him.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
right now i'm thinking
about angry older gals
at the supermarket,
i'm thinking: shave the bush,
start a razor "wildfire"...
let's see your neck and your
chin, shave off that beard...
the crazy much older than
your supermarket attendees
are dropping the word
viking while you shop
for whiskey, onions and
tomatoes,
even the security guard is
looking at you funny...
your excuse of:
i became bored of shaving
is not going to work
on these women,
in their late 50s,
making all the talk the talk
and the talk being
small talk and
trebling in: i really just came
in here for a purchase,
i don't have the ***** to
do the small talk...
of course that's always besides
the point...
viking?!
how about a
zimmer frame?
god, small talk kills me,
i don't know how to make a chair out
of it to sit on for much longer than
feel comfortable longer
than 5 minutes on it...
and there's always one of these women
in the supermarket,
she just knows small-talk -
kleinsprechen...
while i know the großsprechen -
alternatively: stille (silence);
but she just insists upon
her solipsisms,
and she does so perfectly,
she talks, and even manages to reply
for me...
at least a monologue of
a madman is less claustrophobic
when you spot a solipsistic woman in
her antics,
at least the madman in his
monologue feeds you not claustrophobia...
given he's so self-engrossed in
imaginative cursor workings...
a madman's monologue never
morphs into a solipsistic claustrophobia
intimidation, notably within the guise
of women...
i'd prefer a madman oblivious to
me in his externalised monologue,
than a woman in a supermarket,
oblivious to her solipsistic take on dialogue
intimidation by restraining the other
in a pseudo-claustrophobia;
that famous echo chamber...
please, throw me into the cushioned
room with a madman, i'd rather hear
his monologue,
than her attempt at
a dialogue in a supermarket!
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
I love...
I hate....
I like....
I loathe....
Two complete opposites on this scale of human emotions
What lies in between
Is it acceptance or tolerance
What better person to ask than one's self
When those shades meld, what color is formed
Love is often the passionate red
While hate is the unapproachable intimidation of black
Is it the same as the mother earth or the same liquid that flow in our arteries
I still don't understand these feelings that I feel for you
I hope that perhaps as I get to know you
My vision clarity will be unblurred
That it will become more vivid as I notice more than monochrome nor the neutrality of angry red
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
Why the journey
to this extreme?
Where all achieved
illusions of self
are pounded down
in to the gravel
where the footsteps
are **** heavy.
Two young scoundrels
stopped and stared
as I walked
past them:
Intimidation tactics.
Who are these people
and what are they
prepared to do,
and for what?
All I know,
is that I am becoming
less and less;
this fear
that drives my creativity
is strangling me.
This is a plea
to an impossible god
as tears run down my face.
I am afraid.
Jan 21, 2010
Jan 21, 2010 at 6:24 AM UTC
I love you isn’t
A fleeting memory of a camping trip.
It isn’t a strings attached contract that is signed out of intimidation or guilt.
It doesn’t last ‘until…’
You disappoint me. You abandon me. I find something better.
nor does it lay within the depths of ‘only ifs’ :
{only if you love me - only if you see me for who I am - only if you bake me an apple pie}
I love you is
Being able to love myself and vulnerably feel safe with who I am- in your eyes
It means you are free to be you, to choose freely for yourself and bring forth any awakening, lesson or consequence with no judgment or close-minded examination.
It shakes loose of any stern expectation or obligation made for you because there is no need for you to size up to any other standard that isn’t You.
I love you means you are and always are enough.
It defines no separation between us; yet at the same time – I can celebrate my love for you without the presence of your face, voice or perfumed scent – you are always with me.
I love you is
My full acceptance for the beautiful, strong & powerful Being that you are –
In each bold and thick fiber.
It is the act of fulfilling my inner-self with such gratification and wholeness
Because it feels so utterly good to love you.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 8:19 AM UTC
Crush
Crushed your soul
Your old wise soul
Made you hopeful
Cheerful
Hopeful
Made you dream
And wonder
And fanticise all you could be
All you could share
Forget imperfections
Forget ******* past mistakes
All we'd have was a future to look forward to
A future that could've been so **** good
If only you'd tried
I gave you all I new how to give
Made myself vulnerable
Feel smaller than I already do
And you, you giant
Made my insecurities skyrocket
Intimidation beyond comprehension
All for the boy I never really thought I had a chance with
The boy who was too good for me
The (imperfect) perfect boy
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
Thunder in the stomp and lightning in the palms
Heavy and dense, the collision is coming on
Strong surges coursing through as the motions expand the mass
Intimidation in the fierce force of augmentation beyond grasp
Remaining in stance against the currents of evil
A Stone in the flow of truth's retrieval
Erosion spreading essence through the seasons of ice and fire
Smoothing into perfection's quest and desire
The master and student mindset sustaining technique's finesse
Following the steps into gathering change best
Replacing hollow space, the nothingness with breath
Then breaking through the base of still chakra's in the chest
Bring substance to the vortex, revolutionary spins
Balanced power, the coagulation over wounds begins
Leaping to light then back like a star to earth
Creating the weight that's needed for foundation and rebirth
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 2:50 PM UTC
In highschool I thought I liked girls
I thought it wasn't right, to even look
that if I tried it would be different, abnormal
I didn't know it was okay
To want to kiss another girl
To touch another girl
That it would be a violation
I wouldn't be liked back
I thought I had to be a certain way
dress a certain way
act a certain way
I didn't wear make up, but also didn't wear masculine clothing
I was just me
I got stares from butch lesbians that were in gangs
I was frightened and alone
"What are you staring at?" if I looked back
Looks based off of intimidation
this wasn't me, this wasn't it
I tried to date men, same ole same ole
video games, boredom,
not having drive
it wasn't interesting, it wasn't making my heart race
going through one motion to another
I tried.
I was told that I was just making it up
That I was pretending
That I was doing it for attention
Fantasizing about female celebrities
if only
I then came out to myself
dated a girl
who wasn't a girl
he was genderqueer
he was trans
and it all began
I was attracted to beyond the gender binary
2 dollar margarita nights
at the gay bar in New York
queers stumbling, fumbling, sweating, dancing
going outside to just
light a cigarette for some pretty girl
connect with eyes
just to talk
just to have a connection
Turns to quick ****** experiences
With a blink of an eye
She kisses me, she wants me
She want's go further
That wasn't me
I don't know you
you don't know my heart
Then I met you
Wrong pronouns at the grocery store
No correction, you know who you are
Questions on identification, even at the gay bar
It's okay, you understand
Under the Christmas lights of my room
in my bed
with your smell left in my sheets
I'm so happy, I'm filled with joy
Tears rushing down my face
I can't believe I'm in love
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
They say I’m darkness
Scowl carved into marble face
Blue veins twisting in wrists
Rainy day eyes
And fingers made for pianos and cigarettes
They say I’m misery
Black clothing on pale skin
Nails filed into knives
Lip caught between teeth
Family vacations in cemeteries
He said I’m not the type of girl people look twice at
Forgettable like a forest fire
Beautiful like a dead baby bird
He was trying to be romantic
They say I’m lonely
Poor girl
Always alone
Smile and join us
We need a charity project
They say I’m pity
Brows perpetually furrowed
Lungs perpetually constricting
Sweaty palms glued to walls
They have the nerve to fee sorry for me
Someone once told me
I looked like a tornado
Ripping through the hallways at school
A natural disaster
Racking up a body count
I wonder how many people I’ve made cry
They say I’m intimidation
This noose around my neck scares them
A fashion statement
With my fangs bared and a stare that can ****
I walk
They say I’m music
The sound of high heels on pavement
A broken string on a violin
An angel that was never taught
How to play the harp
Shattered halo at its feet
They say I’m pain
Menstrual cramps squeezing the life out
Of a thirteen year old girl
Blood on underwear
Blood under fingernails
Blood running down thighs
They say I am blood
A gory mess
Scars like tattoos
Scrapped knees like badges
They say I’m darkness
A shadow
Engulfing the world
They need me
To appreciate the light
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
Constipation, ************
excitation, evaluation
Hold on a minute
HIS Creation
The mind went blank
the body convulsed
no-one knows why
but theories abound
Expectation, demolition,
misinterpretation, damnation,
Wait a second
MY Creation
I did so much
in my chaotic youth
probably nothing to blame
only me and my likes
Infuriation, retaliation,
malediction, apprehension,
stop-look-listen
THEIR Creation
It seems unfair
but why despair
put it in perspective
certainly things could be worse
Demoralization
Intimidation
Expectation
Presumption
Assumption
Palpitation
Aggravation
Ball of confusion
Trepidation
Holy ****
A VIOLENT Creation
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 3:31 PM UTC
White american men with
gold retriever dogs
smoke black hatred,
not recognizing a grey smog.
Scared of black, brown --
all atheists are ill --
but not afraid of greenbacks
or guys named Bill.
Okay.
Here's your day job. Here's your pay, Bob.
America the great.
If terrorists equal Muslim
then Christians equal hate.
You say it's not victimization.
You say it's not a hunt.
You say it's not intimidation,
but sometimes I think you
see people as witches, ****
Christ is the answer, indeed.
Without Him we're all lost
and our souls will never be freed.
Like tears frozen in the frost.
Bibles, crucifixes to fix the diseased mind.
How much does a prayer have to cost
to be genuinely kind?
Chemtrails stain pages
and bleed as curses.
Gay rights to be denied,
according to bible verses.
Nursery rhymes and cult games,
all in the good old King James.
Archaic and inane,
like an alter sheltered brain.
Here's your day job. Here's your pay, Bob.
Use the check to pay
angels and evangelists.
Protect yourself from ideas,
and buy a white picket fence.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC
Its very eyes demand existence
Its complexion is as dark as night
Its mouth oozes with uncertainty
Its presence demands fright
One cannot just stare into its eyes
without losing oneself in the dark
Its words beckons the strong
Then eats them like a shark
With this monster
There is no discrimination
With this monster
There is only intimidation
Its trials are absolute hell
Its games are sadistic
Laying obstacle after obstacle
Until someone goes ballistic
This mysterious monster has but one name
Its occupation is this: an abuser
Its a name that strikes fear in all but the brave
Its name is this: the future
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 10:10 PM UTC
unheard happiness
unwanted anger
underestimated intimidation
unloving lies
undermining images
unfaithful source
unalterable devastation
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 12:19 AM UTC
Along the brittle sandy shoreline fish carcasses, pungent like morning breath and stale milk attract unlikely furry hunters before noon. These unleashed dogs trot slowly. The burden of the sun cracks feverishly upon their sticky, rotted coats. Their tongues roll out helplessly dragging their intimidation down with them like foolish clowns on Sunday morning. On the upper crest of the beach an old woman sits dutifully in her black latched beach chair. Her eyes, beady and gray reflect out into the vast lake. She does not blink. Her cottage, crafted purely of cedar wood comforts like the smell of an old book. On rare occasions athletic fresh water fish pierce through the water’s surface. Flying fish echo their rippled splashes throughout this vacant canvas. But still they are rarely seen or heard. There are hardly any tourists that visit cedar bay. No oiled teenage girls or playful sand kneed toddlers. Once in a while a charcoaled pit circled with empty beer cans lingers in the morning light; its smoggy remains clings tightly to summer clothes that will soon reek of burnt leaves and gasoline. When the time is right, some noble person will try to rehabilitate this stoic landfill, to lift
away stark-lit layers
ill suited for human plea-
sures. It shall rest in piece.
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 2:31 PM UTC