"lessers" poems
It's all part of a bigger problem, namely the dollar sign
Our wealth we're given is merely determined by our blood line
The rich sit mighty high in the sky and dine
While the lessers scour for nickels and dimes
They spend all day wondering which car to drive
While we wonder if we have enough food to survive
They crack wise about their expensive wine
While we sit and buff our dishes that can't shine
We all dream of conquering the wall too steep to climb
while the affluent boot steps on those not of their kin
To clean the grime of the needy takes more time
They think an innocent gesture amounts to a crime
They're convinced we brought this on ourselves
and give more to themselves to stack on tall shelves
Unfortunately the wealthy control the people's power
Our greatest empires built by the common man's hours
Yet they are treasured the simple man's eye
The glitz and glamour are merely an illusion, an ally.
No matter how many thick gold bricks,
I am not falling for their dubious tricks
I wish to rid our society from the shackles of the dollar
But the commas add up and debt restrains like a collar
Until we can all break free from corporate's tight chain
They'll stay to drain the remains from our withered veins
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
**My Fists Clench The Throat Of Anger,
My Knuckles Turning A Ghostly White,
They Chuckle At The Sight Of Them,
They Laugh At Their Native Tounge,
They Speak When They Have No Right,
They Break Hearts When They Have No Say,
They Steal Amition With Their Stares,
They Crush Courage With Their Glares,
They Are Nothing More Then Lessers Themselves**
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 8:20 AM UTC
finger-paint yourself a picture
on a canvas destined for nothing more
than late-night
one-night
kisses
arrange fabric on a doll
that was store bought
for perfection
owned by jealousy
mocked by
lessers
stain lips
to never speak
gentle words
train lips
to reside
in perfect pouts
school eyes
in fluttering
slitted
hooded
gestures
arrange toes
into smooth, unbroken shapes
to be molded
in a set of high heels
high ballers
high flyers
being higher on the food chain
only makes you
more likely
to be consumed
and if we are anything
we are
consumers
limited
to materialistic consumption
we dress ourselves up like
a sweetshop-confection
topped with gucci
and laced with victoria's secret
lucidity
it's not hard to see
what we're about
if this is a judgement
of clear intentions
we are the clear
winners
our faces are perfect
optical illusions
standing on an assembly line
waiting for someone to take a shine
to the curve of our hips
lips
chest
there is nothing to confess
our cards are laid
only after
we
are
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
Last night I came onto the hellopoetry site to try to drown out my mom's death rattle in some good poetry. Quite a few people, good decent people who have gathered around me and supported me during this agonizing time and one of those sweet Poets was being verbally and mentally attacked by
LOGHAIN CARV'O
His criticisms were malicious and very hurtful and his taunting her was more than I could bare for a friend. She related the conversation to me and she was really upset. She told me what he said verbatim' It was way uncalled for. And she is not the only one he is doing this to. He's being offensive to the extreme.Calling her a peasant and telling her she couldn't write. And I'll probably catch all kinds of hell for doing it but I paid a "VISIT" to his site and left this comment and I Quote
"Stop picking on ---------You call this a poem. You have some nerve telling her she can't write and you write crap like this. Well 1 out of 82 reads isn't so hot is it. Come on and kick me a few times. I should be easy pickings for you. I dare you ******
Well he responded with and I quote
"It is obvious you do not have artistic vision like I, that or you did not read my poems and just came here in a petty attempt to demoralize I in retaliation to the criticisms I have revealed to most peoples "poetry" I wish to waste no more breath on my lessers. Just remember I when you see my talent spread out across the world. Remember how you showed the Greatest, most renowned and revered artist no support" End Quote.
Loghain carv'o also stated that "The community on this site is rather poor"
He also stated
"This site isn't exactly known for it's Grand Community"
So now I know he doesn't even mind kicking some one who is already down. and i for one would like to know since he doesn't like this site or the Real Poets why stay? If he doesn't like the"GRAND COMMUNITY" why the hell he's still here. If he doesn't like us "lessers' why be among us.
And I didn't even tell you the most malicious comments.
When some one attacks a friend I will respond. That's what friends do.
And Loghain carv'o is proving to be no ones friend. And his
GOD COMPLEX is offensive!
I SERVE ONE GOD ONLY AND IT IS NOT Loghain carv'o!!!
I only have one thing to say to Loghain carv'o and that is and I quote again
My visit to hellopoetry last night to get away for a moment from listening to my mothers death rattle, to read a few poems and find a little Peace for a few moments was ruined by you and your offensive attitude and comments and since i'm already in a living hell right nowI can find you some room here so come enjoy hell with me. Oh but I almost forgot you don't want to consort with us "lessers"
THE MIGHTY SURE DO HAVE A LONG WAY TO FALL LOGHAIN
YOURS SINCERELY
Paula
This is for you friend love Paula
You can dish it out but you sure can't take it!
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
Hut, two, three, four
What do you think you are fighting for?
Four, five, six, seven
Invasion is the path to heaven.
Seven, eight, nine, ten
If it doesn’t work, do it again.
Six, seven, eight, nine
If innocents die too, never mind.
We need to clean things
Wipe lessers out of the place.
They’re a total threat and
Weaken our beloved race.
We don’t have time
For anyone sick or poor
We must go somewhere
And fight unreasonable war.
Helping the weak and sick
Costs too much money to allow.
Besides, there are among us
Suffering rich people right now.
This land owes it all to the rich
So, we must do all we can
To support them with each pitch.
So, hut, two, three, four,
Now you know what we’re fighting for.
Three, four, five, six
Now, none of your liberal tricks.
Five, six, seven, eight.
Don’t question your betters, that’d be great.
Hut, two, three, four
We are who you are fighting for!
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 5:41 PM UTC
City street lights illuminate the depressed streets, filled with the homeless, fiends, and the city folk. Whilst the city folk go along with their life, not thinking a single thought of their “lessers” not considering how their actions affect them.
City streets illuminate yet another person taking their last breath, they thought they didn’t matter, they thought they were a waste of space.
Yet another fiend sticks a needle in their arm, little did they know there was poison in the needle.
Will the city folk ever wake up and see the death around them? Of course they won’t. Because the death of the “lessers” doesn’t affect them. Until it’s one of their relatives, or even them.
The mayor doesn’t pay enough attention to notice, the governor doesn’t care if they live or die.
The President doesn’t care either. We mustn’t look down on the “lessers”, but instead, lift them up. Stop the death, stop the harm, stop the depression.
But of course, that will never happen. They will forever be stuck in a never-ending loop of self-harm, drug abuse, homelessness, and so many other horrible things that nobody should ever have to deal with.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 9:26 PM UTC
Thee Artiste Carvó's "The Odor of Logbrain Crappó"
Lógbrain yóur **** is oh so ASSinine...
It is of course malign...
Yóu are the cón artist of the moronic chimERA...
Yóu are of course a resigned, all inferiór, cón artist that becraps the mind, body and soul, as well as the very nether realms...
óh óh óh.... Lógbrain yóu are lonely while taking care of yóur flock in the fields... óh óh óh...
Yóu ascend the flock...
ascending and mounting the sheep, one by one
Yóu are on top...
on top from behind... yes, óh Yes, Óh YEs, ÓH YES, YES, YESSS...
Óh soiinf osiujh8adabyghueyhiu rnolkm
Touching the heart...
Touching the soul...
Touching the woolly pudenda…
and thus issueth the "I"s, the "óh"s and the ewes from the egómaniacal shepherd ,
Crappó, the manna of the banana I-gód <> the delusion of illusions and confusions of a sick putrid sub-mind...
**** that only yóu and the sheep yóu have so deeply touched can feel it in the end... óh óh óh
Óh Lógbrain Crappó, óh please óh please óh please crap some more fine **** for yóur lessers, if any there be...
with yet another one of yóur masterPIECES in the fields of ewe.
Yes, Crappó, BÓTTÓM feeder, yóu and yóur fine **** are a pain in the *** to all...
This fine piece goes out to the greatest cón artist alive.
*Original ('An Ode To Loghain Carvó') by: Thee Artist aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 4:03 AM UTC
how does it rain?
how does it shimmer and sprinkle- ease the tensions
between skies pressures
and ground lessers
impulse actions
allow trajectory placement
true aim -
exists.
In the quiet flicker of heartbeat syncronizational blip.
only pre-destined by present fates , do we sing , and dance the life samba
whilst ********** the night with our eyes, the moons ripples cascade into waterfall turrents
and sink into sinkhole underbelly of cavernous , decadence
grand caverns , without owners name
natural built caves of crystaline exuberance
bigger than you
bigger than me
just two duckies sitting in an awfully large ponf
*pond
we're nothing but dust motes
yet look at at what we are !
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
my time has come to rise from
bloodstained ashes under an October moon,
the night breeze cooling off our coffee -
You held the railing
Staring into the darkness
I wish, I called sooner I said
with a half-smile I knew that was obvious
Lessers versions of me knew that was true -
like fractals in a broken mirror
like the white hot center of your cigarette
like the soft flesh exposed
I wish I called sooner.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 5:45 PM UTC
Sleeping in the womb of Mother Earth
Life to which the rain and ground gives birth
Indulge in the silent light, soak up the peace treeling
Give to the vastness your fruit and sprout a colossal being
House the flying songs, cover the coy crawling lessers
Make fertile your foundations, surprise the soiled crevices
Contain in your coils each annum, the way of all that breathes
Remain a sturdy statue for each generation's leave
Let your roots grip the heart of the world
On your limbs, dreams and history will be built
Life after life, after day and after night
All that will come, will go and you'll surpass in ageing might
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
Though you lose, thus becoming an intimate as a lover or friend, brother or sister, parent,
you will always lose through attrition or accident.
We know that 9/11’s are attrition and
love is always an accident, because
we reap what we sow, and never choose whom we love.
Attrition is the rain, forming
from pressure within the skies,
high and low temperatures at Armageddon:
yin and yang becoming earth’s tears.
Accident is the rain, vilifying
the evil of being from these two lessers of the skies,
love is sought but never found or found at odd places:
yin and yang becomes earth’s joy.
Thus, rain is a lie, liar, lying, saying
joy and love at the same time.
But love is not from this world. It is
not recognized, but named… “No” to the world’s belligerence.
We know love is expressed by this action, yes…
Thus, it’s not a lie. Love cannot be otherwise
or we would’ve never crucified the Savior
or our true loves for the world…
Love cannot exist naked.
It is always ready to be whipped, strangled, maimed
as Jesus or a twice victimed Iraqui,
the third world or as Salvadore Allende.*
But I love the rain despite my self.
It is within the reach of definitions
but not confirmations. So, love
like rain cannot be held hostage
by human view nor divine postage.
I love as it rains, I rain as I love.
From here, in my prayer, let my love of rain be love.
*Found in Voices of a People’s History of the United States, by Howard Zinn and Anthony Arnove, and the now canonical historical work of the United States by the same Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States: “Watergate had made both the FBI and the CIA look bad---breaking the laws they were sworn to uphold, cooperating with Nixon in his burglary jobs and illegal wiretapping. In 1975, congressional committees in the House [of Representatives] and Senate began investigations of both the FBI and CIA…It was also learned from the investigation that the CIA---with the collusion of a secret Committee of Forty headed by Henry Kissinger—had worked to ”destabilize” the Chilean government headed by Salvadore Allende , a Marxist who had been elected president in one of the rare free elections in Latin America.” (pp.554). For a more balanced view on the complicity of Kissinger and his role in U.S foreign policy, moreover his role in the death of Allende, see or read the acclaimed movie or book: The Trials Henry Kissinger.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
I dream a dream of skill,
I gather pictures of best practice
(methods best enacted off the couch.)
I house,
crisp corners, soaring beams and posts
where gawkers marvel, ‘cos
the high is feeling good. I see
the woods
and watch the owners.
(What good grip they have! enough to claim
what they could never care for-
let the lessers sing their lives!)
I drive a drive
not fast enough for fastness-makers,
flaunting logos, polished chrome,
I drive a loan.
None say it, none will ever hear
these soft confessions to
the “here” I hold right now
in its un-good. I slip
a “should” on, halfway,
dumping it for snacks and cons -
I run for miles
to lose it on the lawn.
And as I break, I pause to
watch a bit to see how not to fail.
I land in jail. The wardens
never speak to me,
the only copy of the key
described in stories, but
they’ve scattered every page.
And every day I fail
to reconstruct it out of naught,
I age.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 12:52 AM UTC
You made me gentle
And passionate calm
Yet you triggered my spark
Like a riot rhyme bomb
My explosion introversion
Through the netherworld of fear
To wag my tail and show my mane
Every time you would appear
And how I longed to feel your touch
And drink from skulls of your oppressors
I would try to save the world instead
Of leveling your lessers
Into servants that appease you
On their knees to even see you
As I breathe you in these poets
And I teach them how to be you
With your rebel goddess wrath
And your diplomatic peace
And a strength no man could equal
And a ride no man could lease
With all that Mother Nature power
In your elemental waves
So adrift in the emotions
Of clandestine sea floor caves
Until you leave ‘em on their way
Seeking out the very best
Until they’re rising in the east
As mythic dragons of the west
A restless, willful reminiscence
Of the past you found me lost in
Learning how to make your enemies
The ones I’m Holocaustin’
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 10:37 AM UTC
its all a sham
lesser people with lesser worth
the little child who hides behind mother's skirt
and sticks out a tongue
in awe and afraid of talent and status
they could never have or reach never attainable
they hide behind skirts poking out tongues
and spewing snorts from ***** noses
and when I rile them good or hit a very raw nerve
the lily-livered drips try to produce responses
that laughably fall off the mark and show even more dullness
the duds and dullards, the pathetic unfulfilled poltroons
the lessers who can't sustain anything real, bright and worthy
The sham talent-less spine-less under-achievers
full of weaknesses and inadequacies
the women all know you are useless
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 4:40 AM UTC
We the Few
stand below the many,
trampled, and beaten, pushed down, and forgotten.
We look up above and ask one thing, with what little pride left,
a tear in our eyes,
why?
Because they hate us? Because they can? Because they choose too? Because...we are few?
No more, not today, nor any more from now!
I say to you, to us! Rally up and throw up the banner, sound the battle-cry!
No more I say, no more! No more shall we have to live just to die!
Today is new, so must we be!
For we are the few, that the many must see!
We'll call up the cry in the name of peace and justice for all,
we shall then see, the righteous as it is, as justice stands blind and tall!
Let the Liberty Bell Ring, for you and me!
Let us, The Proud and Few!, Let us finally be free!
Let me a-test to you, my fellow brothers and sisters, alone no longer we stand!
For together we cry, hear our voices!, together hand-in-hand!
But let us not be hypocritical, to even our oppressors,
for what better are we than them, if we treat them like our lessers?
So rally the troops, raise high the banner, sound the horns all-round,
let each and every voice, sing high and low, the freedom sound.
The tyrants shall fall, given time, and through the trials that'll be,
for we shall make our names known, of the Few...that is We.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
The popular group
They are a distinct chatter loop
Starting new drama each day
Being snotty and say their parents' cash is their pay
Buying expensive things for the hell of it
Riding in the new cars, though just a little bit
Always talking in the halls
To avoid them, kids walk into the walls
The lesser kids are like prey
While they are like a manta ray
Always eating in information to be used
The info helps keep the lessers abused
And keeps the populars amused.
The popular group.
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 6:16 PM UTC