"laiden" poems
i can not even write this
because it will be anti
american
unpatriotic
and an
insult to
the land
of freedom
i was born in.
I can not even write this
because I am the first
generation
daughter
child
born in
the land
of freedom.
I can not write this
because my abuela
will tell me that I am
lebanese
cuban
and i was
born in
the land of
freedom.
i can not even write this
because my Tio
who came to
America
at the age of 6
and had “adjustment”
issues will remind me that
I
Am
American.
Tio will tell me that
I
am privileged.
because I was
born in the
land of freedom.
Abuela will remind me
that CUBA is
dead.
Abuie will remind me
to hush about all things
Arabic and Lebanese
because I am
American
born in the
land of freedom.
She reminds to hush
about the black
eyes
that see past
this land to the past
of other places
that whisper
my name.
They remind me
that I am
American and
not a communist
not a terrorist
not a girl who
hears her name
sung in the winds
of other lands
which i have not
wandered.
Abuela reminds me
to not yearn for
white sandy beaches
with waves that break
on a rock laiden wall.
Abuie reminds me
to ignore the need
for hot sand
beneath my feet
and wafting smell
of foreign spices
that are
unknown
to those born
in the land of freedom.
In the land of
freedom?
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:09 AM UTC
on a dark desert highway, hot fart-wind in my hair
with a warm smell of diarrheoa rising up through the air
I was scared of pant-crapping on that starry starry night
my belly heavy and my sphincter groaned in pain
I had to stop for a *****
there she stood in the doorway, the receptionist from hell,
and I was thinking to myself what a ******* smell,
then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
I rushed into the bathroom shrieking, hey,
I need to pump it out.
welcome to the hotel california;
such a lovely toilet;
be careful don't soil it
with an ill-timed **** splatter;
any time of year, it don't ******* matter.
now my bot is oozing brownly, it's got the mercedes bends;
I'd better wash it for the sake of her pretty boy friends
dancing in the courtyard, k-y jelly in their pockets,
some dancing in the **** some in their jockeys.
so I called up the waiter, please bring a bucket of wine;
he said: we haven't had such a ****** here since eighteen forty nine,
and then I got hold of this cute looking guy
who was a ******* great fairy
and he showed me his **** so hairy
probably laiden with a.i.d.s. ....
welcome to the hotel california;
such a lovely toilet;
be careful don't soil it
with an ill-timed **** splatter;
any time of year, it don't ******* matter.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
* I am done crying
and death is my state.
To the fate of hollow cacti I can relate.
Surprising is this,
Since I thought the grim reeper
Would ooze out with the dew of my purging
Like mucus during a cold.
My spirit is a barren desert with nowhere to go.
There,
The Saguaro Cactus have
No choice
But to be rooted in the
Dusty dross of the land in the desert.
Laiden with thorns.
If they shed their tears, they die.*
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
One hundred years of sodden red sand
millions of innocents slain and condemned
brainwash the brute and send him to shoot
no more of a troop than a toy in your hand.
Pull the wool over why we send them to die
dossiers, mandates now malformed and broken.
Those who were 'chosen' to vote for the people
are payed off, promoted by power drunk creatures.
Our bubble of bliss is the last dying hope
of a stranded psychopath on a bone-laiden raft
tarnished by greed signed misdeeds
floating in streams: the blood of the past.
Hear the voice of the people unite against evil
to condemn your crimson fuel wars on the east
and like doctor to monster, quench the 'Vitai Lambarda'
fuelled by the foolish benefitting the ******
Let the embers scorch, settle, and form a new mantle
where ideologies are transparent and righteous
and the poor of the world aren't corporate fighters
'speak up, speak up and veto the game'.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
"Fear nothing but fear itself",
Oh why then this storm within myself?
Is it simply the Great Unknown?
Or my destiny written out in stone?
Had I but a glimpse into tomorrow
Would that perpetuate my griefly sorrow?
Yet I'm losing the present joy
In my "what iffs"mantra -I seem to enjoy
Living within the present moment
Gives you the strength and atonement
Making ones worries fade throug the wind
Finding the courage deep from within
"Fear nothing but fear itself"
Oh how I have laiden my heart to delf!
And ever so gently
Lost sight of blessings a-pleanty
And I find myself without hope-
And I find it difficult to cope,
For I' find whithin myself
( I )
Fear more-than only Fear itself!!
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
To cushion the effects
that life has thrown in your face
To collect in cupboards the memory
of your faceless expression
To televise the news you sent to me
so freely leaving out the best bits
So i could create a world of my own
And the table is laiden with
All the good things money could never buy
Step lightly on the carpet of roses that
I have place for your tender feet to step
oh my there is so much freedom in your smile
I sigh long and hard
not knowing which way you have turned
or which tunnel you are hidding in
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 5:08 AM UTC
Trodden puddles; muddy waters of cattles laiden on the
path of a dry river bed. The surrounding being ever present
of one's land loss. It's love (like many hearts) so bare to the
humid air, under these heated moments. Skins have broken
out, in my rash decisions.
Don't butter me up, to spread the falseness of a left hand.
Though it's right isn't always holding onto doing right.
Shall I tend the field—once after the herd passes? Let no puddle
be open on where you walk.
May 29, 2022
May 29, 2022 at 7:43 AM UTC
Spoken word: the resting tongue laiden on potential thought.
I exclaimed, "I am, a poem," loudly as courage lets the heart
be bold in her voice.
She is love, but often wicked and rough.
A cup you fill of often watered down emotions. Do you focus
onto past or present experiences,—or are experienced in growing
a worthwhile future? I attest to myself of a testimonial; in these
dreams I've perceived.
Do see I firstly before you see just some random guy. I am
bright,—as two suns crashing into each other; that the stars
witnessed in awe. I am spoken word, a poem of endless words.
As you see less of me, so shall I give them more.
__I am, a poem.__
Jun 5, 2022
Jun 5, 2022 at 12:41 PM UTC
we partied in a Chevrolet station wagon
the night we graduated went fast around the devil curves that
uphill gravel laiden course
to the top like we were the best
to the hill west of Rochester
where those acid drop rainfalls fell
into our open eyes
made rainbows kaleidoscopes
out of evergreens and
telephone poles
flashes shone in brief aware
and dreams they spoke out echoing
no one sane was here
found our way safely back
across the street from my house and parked behind the garage where
Hope came up in a tight dress
drunk and quite acting
nervy knowing she had
made all both our heads turn
or all ten of em
and only having one
Chevrolet
the backseat turned down
into almost a bed
we gave the pulsing energy
the flashes a go
a right groovy we
said at the time
one at the time impulse
the stars
the moon
the rocking
Chevrolet
all night
half the next day
I don't think it was
just my
imagination
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 6:02 AM UTC
He noticed the diminishing light
Unafraid He steps into the rushing rapids he wades in beneath the dreary depth
Engulfed heavy laiden he trudges toward the dark torment of the
Everlasting abyss following the skylight and the torch on the hand of the berieved garnishes hope
From within the light of the living
With a spirit of power in the blood
He overcame death emerging victorious
Releasing grace and life everlasting
A new dawn in this mournful age
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 4:57 PM UTC
Upon the brink
Of rock laiden terrain
And where rocks sink
Is the one in pain
Who aches to sail
Away from woe
To turn their tail
Away from home
Mind stained red
But eyes set blue
Held thoughts unsaid
That don't align true
And so for the one
The world is darkened
Wayward to yellow sun
Arcing as gates tend
Crossing the brink
From the high cliffs
lowering to sink
As their spirit lifts
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
I dream of greener Pastures
Of sunkissed flowers
O light and playful air
I dream of greater days
Spent in the sun
Kissed by its sweet rays
I dream of unending happiness
of joy overflowing
Of cups filled to the brim
Sweet necter pouring over
I dream of brighter days
where even the night is illuminated
the monsters stay out of sight
For I stand with overwhelming might
So I smile even as I am bested
And I laugh as my posessions are from me wrested.
Because my dream is my own
in it I can be happy
My muscles go on aching
My heart feels forever laiden
So I dream Of greener pastures
For I may never see them in my waking hour.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 1:49 PM UTC
Slit wrists, stained kisses; the night of young
and dark thoughts to succumb. All at once, was
dreaming so fun, before the nightmare of daily life.
Surpassing the intent of suicide, staring at that
knife in pen. Then again—ink bleeds out onto
the paper's spread. _~the dark thoughts of my head._
Where I'll lie, laiden on a maiden I'd want to kiss,
a girl to call a Miss. And a softer wall to my fist.
Knuckles cracked in two by the bone; the flesh torn
as I'm fighting my demons on my own. _~what's the score?_
__10-0__
Ten of the times I feel like a zero, in the eyes
of imagining myself a comical hero. I'm a villain;
self antagonist in doubting my potential. Eggshell
walking steps from taking a risk. _~a little too careful._
Mediocre—the media oak of it's power to grow
in longevity, endurance. Enduring the worst parts
of me—in a Hell pit swallowing me. The burn marks
of scratching shoulders of the crowd to acknowledge me.
To be called a young Prodigy; _~with great honesty._
But honestly; I'm waiting for things not seasoned
in the time. In the directionless ways of a life with
no signs, or boundary lines I haven't drawn.
Covering a heel to bites of snakes slithering on my lawn.
If I got a loan for a night's success, what would the
world want in return? _~hopefully not my soul._
All my confessions; these deep depressions,
counting out my sins with the fingers of my blessings.
Hoping they aren't lessin, in the world's quick call to
change, is to keep on weaponing. _~wars are all we know._
Even the ones we never fought. We've been taught
how to fight back before the fighting began. Perhaps
we try our best at fighting alone. _~that's the way of
the world._
Jul 25, 2022
Jul 25, 2022 at 3:31 PM UTC
Engraved in the saved slave's heart
Is a mark before marks,
With chains laiden dark
Does weight really matter
When you('ve) never a start
I should feel freedom
Where I see wandered eyes
It's a shame I can see them,
Glares besting ice
The only tools I had I used to build You up
And now that tools I haven't
What tools can I use to build myself
My future, my family, my strength.
It's a blessing to be a free
But I do not get free blessing
Because those that horde it
Savor the chessing
Free?
I am not free.
And you,
You gave me nothing.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
There are bumble bees
In the wires of my mind
Buzzing and *******
Somewhere behind my cerebral cortex
And my hypothalmus
They make my brain go fuzzy
With drops of honey (or is it a sting)
When you kiss me.
All the receptors bloom open like nectar laiden flowers
I can almost see my mind as a forest clearing
In early spring
With pale green stems
And periwinkle flowers and yellow blossoms
This place is precious
And long forgotten
I wish i could show you
Like photo albums in child hood
Its so hard now
To clear my brain on paper
But its getting better.
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 12:32 AM UTC