"likelihood" poems
On whether technology has influenced the seeming rise in mental health issues: The concept of technology as separate than Nature is impossible to pin down, but to say that a lifetime of social pressures, advertising, television, and processed and genetically altered foodstuffs would not affect what the brain is used to, and what is was designed to do, is a non sequitur. Certainly an entirely separate set of influences also had negative consequences in the brains' of pre-man, but these were not of his own making, as he still lived in an organic environment, and therefore wasn't a part of the "feedback loop" we have going on with humans becoming the products of a man-made environment (one of the only things that sets us apart from most the animal kingdom). Either way, whatever you're doing you're getting better at it, so with the increase in time spent on the web and watching TV we are increasingly better at watching other people - being passive, non-accountable, constantly comparative and self-obsessed, impotent in light of the mass of information constantly flooding towards you - which the brain was not originally intended for. This seems obvious. So the fact that some people have things like crippling anxiety and OCD, or develop anti-social disorders and the like, seems like a logical result produced by a system (the brain) presented with new and inorganic conditions. On top of that, being a non-douche is naturally and evolutionarily based because it increases the likelihood that others will want to chilll'n'stuff and help you when you need it, but when transposed onto a crowded, fast-paced modernity it twists into something like flattery and competition to appear the most altruistic.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 11:45 AM UTC
You, the essence of my heart,
can win me & lose me in one moment,
carefree confidence descending into fear of failure...
an alarming look at the likelihood of loss.
My soul has risen to the immediacy of my mouth
where a touch of your tongue can draw it into your own
or your heedless words send it reeling back
into the dark recesses,
where it hides from the fierce light...
tormented by the longing for another touch.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 11:19 PM UTC
THEY will have the final word.
Believe what the PARTY says is true.
Even Facecrime gives you away,
For BIG BROTHER is watching you.
Honesty? Bah, such nonsense!
Loyalty is what must sell.
State-spread rumors incite the mob
In your bleak, dystopian hell.
Reject evidence of eyes and ears.
That's what THEY say. Watch how hate
Turns the unquestioning supporter
Against the enemies of the state.
The Goodthinkful, unaware
How language affects their thoughts and behavior,
Show how ignorance is strength
And lavish praise upon their savior.
Manipulating public opinion,
THEY know well-spread lies will last,
For that's how THEY'LL control the future,
And that's how THEY control the past.
Doublethink is what THEY call it:
The clever art of reality control.
Ignorance is strength, THEY tell you.
Controlled insanity is THEIR goal.
The more powerful THEY become,
The less THEY prove to be your friend.
It's NOT about what's good for the people.
Power is NOT a means but an end.
War is declared on language and memory.
Inconvenient facts are rejected.
Science is reviled, and THEY
Discredit people once respected.
Doublespeak narrows the range of thought.
By caving in you might survive.
Two and two make four, but sometimes
THEY'LL say that two and two make five.
Opinions are not tolerated.
Protective stupidity: that's THEIR plan.
You think THEY can't control your thoughts,
But, oh, THEY can. THEY really can.
Do you look at your screen, or does
Your screen look at you? Or Both?
Do you know how much THEY know
Or if THEY know you've kept your oath?
Who's the next to be vaporized?
Who's the next to become an unperson?
As long as THEY control your "thinking,"
Everything can only worsen.
If only to awaken from the nightmare
Where truth becomes a likelihood
And we retain humanity!
Wouldn't that be "doubleplusgood"?
-by Bob B (8-30-18)
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
One is seemingly more impressed
by the less endowed or blessed
when somewhat incapacitated
and borderline inebriated;
the monstrous unconscious
disregards the likelihood
of fathomless undergarments
in other dubious departments.
Disregard the random blotches
or the involuntary discharges
instead revel in model tonsils
and almond shaped parcels
the comets of multi-notches
like a strange attraction
for disheveled carpets.
The blossoms of toxins
a libation ensemble
almost near horizontal
each movement a bent nozzle
like a prehistoric Narwhal
dancing like a jackhammer
with the elegance of a cement mixer
a broken leaking fissure
seeping vapid glamour
and indecipherable grammar.
The paraphrased clichés
and communiques of praise
like lost prophets put on display
caught in the ricochet of overplay
making an exit with the grace
of a stumbling ballet
down a poorly-lit
nightclub passageway.
Ultimately this can only lead to
the face-plant moment-of-tomorrow
the flooded memory of the-night-before
feeling utterly spent
hungover and hollow
with ill conceived consent.
The: Oh. My. God!
The: ***** is still here,
what do I say?
Hoping inexorably
they would just get up
and silently fade away.
Beer Goggles:
remember to drink sensibly,
or run the risk of
nasty STD's
or unwanted pregnancy
or breathless infidelity
or reckless insincerity
or if you're really lucky,
just another
session in therapy.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
Aesthetician stares deeply into the center of a tulip
tears stream as we cry
but the earth doesn’t
ethereal spectors flow about religion
Washington did live in
a racecar, palindrome
*** Wisdom!
Meowth! I haven’t since the 90’s had a soul
estaban caresses his lover
his wife prepares
a pineapple
tapeworms infest
****** inside of a colonic protestant
whipped into shapely curves once withheld
by the likelihood ferrari
Pro-lifers are only just a fad or fling
cloudy like the soft color of pink
union between man and *****
Nicole smith I hope you go to
h
e
l
l
Awesome is he with a fatty
slimeball
foil wrapped burger
SASQUATCH GONE WORLDWIDE
Santeria love making ends with regret! Nay, Disgust!
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
09.01.13
I know the likelihood of me getting asked to prom measures up to the likelihood of anyone actually using the white crayon in the Crayola box. I am going to be the girl that’s not even on any guy’s Plan B.
And that would be totally cool except I’m sad.
I am shaking my head at God and how he totally owes me one.
Prom is supposed to be like, the fairytale moment! I’ve been dreaming of princes and ballrooms and dancing and romance and magic and love… probably since I was conceived. How could you even let the dreamer girl who wanted to be a princess nurture five hundred layers of beautiful only to coat her with thick paint in the shade called “ugly”? (Trivia: That drives boys away.)
So maybe I still made believe I was a princess. But often enough, the mirror reflects the facade, when I’m expecting it to hold my heart. It gets to a point that you just have to let go.
I have theories. I used to despair and say that I was in the wrong storybook. What a life for such a girl. But it happens that romantics don’t have anyone to hold. (Thus the teddy bears, I suppose. Do you know how hard I hug those? I am pathetic.) My second theory, is maybe I’ve been looking from the wrong perspective. Maybe my life isn’t going to be a fairytale in the way I expect. How about a modernized version or something?
It’s becoming obvious that I don’t really have any ideas.
Except for one last.
Maybe there’s a plot twist?
Maybe there’s a plot twist.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 8:01 AM UTC
She's a star-charged satellite
see how she orbits her restricted space.
Uncountable revolutions so precise
her ambition could burn a toe-sized hole in the boards.
She never misses the point,
if she did, her trajectory would send her way off course
toppling supporting roles,
crashing into the wings to a ruffle of tutus,
unfurling her celebrated petals from a tangle of tulle.
But imagined misfortune will not befall her,
she's perfection to the point of exhaustion
and the likelihood of crashing is a million curtain-calls away.
Her performance is flawless
and the only impact will be on her enraptured audience.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2011
Sep 14, 2011
Sep 14, 2011 at 12:50 PM UTC
There is a bullet in a box of crayons with really strange names like Parkland Perrywinkle, Sandy Hook Sanguine, and Great Mills Green in a place where children play Russian Roulette with their school supplies when they reach in to grab one and they’ve been learning about probability this week Forrest Gump will tell them you never know if you’re going to finish the lesson or turn into a statistic my sister likes to create mosaics by putting a hairdryer to crayons melting cascades of wax down a blank page sometimes she reaches in and it’s the one lead crayon at the top of the page and it’s only one color that seeps down into the crevices of the cafeteria’s tile floor that proceeds to wash away the Proud Honor Roll Parent stickers washes away the Proud Honor Roll Parent stickers I see another child reach into the box and I write another word problem I write another word problem: “Zoey reaches into a box of crayons. What is the likelihood she will not get to hang her drawing up on her kitchen refrigerator? What is the likelihood her funeral photo will hang there instead?” Draw students’ attention to the key word “likelihood.” Tell students This word shows that the question is asking whether or not you will live to tell your parents how your day at school was. and I wonder when school desks will take the shape of caskets in a place where both screams of laughter and screams of terror
are permitted
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 1:02 PM UTC
If you need dark to see light
then you had never seen the light
If you need the grotesque to see beauty
then in all likelihood you're the grotesque one
If you need death's sting to feel alive
then you're already dead for life's contemptuous of death
If absence makes heart fonder
then death's eternal separation
compels love unto life resurrected
Mar 23, 2022
Mar 23, 2022 at 10:46 PM UTC
Jordan gave me rose quartz prayer beads. Freddy picked me up and spun me around.
I kissed the beads and kissed my hand and blew it to the stars, over and over again.
Thank you universe, for the kind hearted people you have dropped into my existence.
Thank you universe, for the good music, the good **** good wine, and good company.
Thank you, for the smiles, the laughs, the cigarettes, the numbers given out on backs of receipts.
Thank you for the swing sets, the campfires, the coffee and tea, the cars we drive around in.
Thank you for emotions.
Thank you for the feeling I get when someone kisses my forehead,
the feeling when someone compliments my smile,
the feeling when I notice the moon for the first time that evening.
Thank you, for the moon, the stars, the clouds, and the autumn breeze.
Thank you for the sounds, the crickets, the leaves rustling, the clinking glasses,
and the sound of small kisses.
Thank you for the snort I get when I laugh to hard.
Thank you for the bass, the guitar, the drums.
Thank you for the shouts, the soft spoken, the loud, and the whispers.
Thank you for the doors, the staircases, and the windows.
Thank you for everything that ever was, is, and will be.
Thank you for the indefiniteness of the now.
Thank you for everything.
I once read in a book, that the likelihood of our proteins folding just so to make us what we are is comparable to that of a twister rolling through a junkyard and assembling a jumbo jet.
This is something I like to remind myself daily.
It is so miraculous that we are here today to experience everything and everyone around us, and be able to document and share it.
I hope one day someone can look at my photographs and writings and feel these immense and overwhelming emotions that I feel in these moments.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC
Potential,
as opposed to the actual,
is just that:
an almost tangible force
of what could be.
Simply capable
of becoming or being-
the expression of possibility.
It goes hand-in-hand
with sometimes soaring
(and often heartbreaking) hope;
shares company
with expectation.
Waiting and wondering
to determine the likelihood
of something to develop.
Potential is promising
but never a promise
and in some cases
it is even a lie.
For there is no disappointment
deeper than having
a front row seat
to stand-by
and watch
potential be
ignored,
defeated,
and
quietly
dissolve
and
die.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
The witch that came (the withered hag)
To wash the steps with pail and rag,
Was once the beauty Abishag,
The picture pride of Hollywood.
Too many fall from great and good
For you to doubt the likelihood.
Die early and avoid the fate.
Or if predestined to die late,
Make up your mind to die in state.
Make the whole stock exchange your own!
If need be occupy a throne,
Where nobody can call you crone.
Some have relied on what they knew;
Others on simply being true.
What worked for them might work for you.
No memory of having starred
Atones for later disregard,
Or keeps the end from being hard.
Better to go down dignified
With boughten friendship at your side
Than none at all. Provide, provide!
1.7k
Shakespeare, I'm writing you an emo poem.
Tyler cuts his wrists and plays piano 'cause he's so depressed.
You can tell it's not an exorcism though, since you can hear his lisp.
I don't play piano anymore (the ivories no longer tickle my fancy)
and I never really cut,
unless you count the symmetry,
or lack of it;
besides, I've always had a father.
Do you believe in demons, bard?
I'm not familiar enough with your works to know;
English didn't interest me much beyond the grammar.
Maybe that's a possession in itself, or an obsession at least,
since I don't think I could do the Devil justice--
and I'm none to bring light from darkness.
Do golden glittered gowns prove earnings or entitlement?
A different wealth perhaps, the philosopher kings of old (Do you know of those? I can't imagine otherwise, such a trove of inspiration).
I would not hold it against you if you didn't;
your productions sold for pennies,
and in the very least you were a man (or so the rumor goes).
All facades aside, I would inquire about purpose.
Were you satisfied with life? Were you not?
Did you desire a longer lease?
Would you say I should?
My outward walls are painted very gaily,
gayer than yours in all likelihood, or my boyfriend would say as much.
(I can't speak for the fashion of the times.)
Yet when I suffer loss, it seems absolute, one end and the other.
Do you approve of modern day's catharsis?
I expect a proper follow-up.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
He. Never until this night have I been stirred.
The elaborate starlight throws a reflection
On the dark stream,
Till all the eddies gleam;
And thereupon there comes that scream
From terrified, invisible beast or bird:
Image of poignant recollection.
She. An image of my heart that is smitten through
Out of all likelihood, or reason,
And when at last,
Youth's bitterness being past,
I had thought that all my days were cast
Amid most lovely places; smitten as though
It had not learned its lesson.
He. Why have you laid your hands upon my eyes?
What can have suddenly alarmed you
Whereon 'twere best
My eyes should never rest?
What is there but the slowly fading west,
The river imaging the flashing skies,
All that to this moment charmed you?
She. A Sweetheart from another life floats there
As though she had been forced to linger
From vague distress
Or arrogant loveliness,
Merely to loosen out a tress
Among the starry eddies of her hair
Upon the paleness of a finger.
He. But why should you grow suddenly afraid
And start - I at your shoulder -
Imagining
That any night could bring
An image up, or anything
Even to eyes that beauty had driven mad,
But images to make me fonder?
She. Now She has thrown her arms above her head;
Whether she threw them up to flout me,
Or but to find,
Now that no fingers bind,
That her hair streams upon the wind,
I do not know, that know I am afraid
Of the hovering thing night brought me.
1.6k
two MTA
workers play invisible baseball across platforms at Union Square
the runs in my tights mimic the skyscrapers
whose marks I see across the black sky from the rear
window while he ***** me in the backseat of his Audi
an alley in Brooklyn,
the threat of a subway slasher,
the likelihood of getting lost,
but the questioning by tourists for direction
if I say “I am one of you”, it
discredits my memories here:
[pumpkins on 34th in July
kisses in bathtubs in Meatpacking
top of the Whitney]
but I am not (yet) one of you:
impatient drivers,
L train riders,
rainbow bagel obsessers
I still feel a hand grip my throat when walking down 5th
and throw my bones off the Chelsea Pier
before I spend 11 hours wondering why I haven’t yet committed myself to you.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
If I hedge thus a drooling wager and cash in
on my thrice-foiled cravings for her overdue bites
(plus a guilt-free laugh at his expense), I can
use minced steps to sidle around too-lively
trunks, and avoid the need to heed thugs
barking mad from within their crevice-laid traps.
How those bug-eyed brutes'll clamor and claw at me
to discard this protective wrap, clued in by my rep
of never bending willfully to anybody
but her. "Come on, shed! Get, uh, new set of scales,
for you we will — promise!" is how she'd stammer,
roughly translating their not-so-twee chatter,
if she were there. Rather, in that lavishly apt way
she has, she'll be away picking suitable pelts
to adorn her newly uncovered, quite public shame
while fending off an advancing clod, who won't go
easily, but who does go on ad nauseam with
a penchant for naming every ******* thing
that haps vitally across his cocky path. Beyond
a simple relish of mischief, I'm doing this (mostly)
for her benefit. How could a persimmon
be forbidden, as if he had permission to make
such bargains? He's dismissed it as an ungainly fruit,
and mocked its likelihood to "lava thy lips"
with an orange pulp, but in that chance smattering lies
the matter to inflame my soul. I'll feed her
the pudding-fresh flesh, and strip it down
to its delectably small seeds. In their splitting
I'll glean the silvery utensils to spill
a man's wholly worthless future. Let's tuck in.
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 4:31 PM UTC
I might not walk the walk
But I can talk the talk
And the words I release may not speak to the masses
But I don't care
Because that's how I like my vowels to taste
When I let them escape my lips.
And the stars you place in your jean pocket
Will die waiting for a chance to return
To more appealing skies
But you will rocket off and take their place
As long as it isn't permanent
Because nothing you do is.
Clouds are my constant
The only variable is what they bring
Clarity or just another storm
It's not for me to decided
But I will speculate
On the likelihood
Of a happily-ever-after's existence
Because as far as I can tell
The Big Bad Wolf didn't die that day
And The Ugly Step Sisters are out to get me
And my prince is no where to be found
So I guess its time to step up
And save myself from my dragons
And I will take its scales and craft you a bowl
To remind you of every tear you weren't there to catch
And every smile you let fade
And this moment is unlike any other that will ever happen
Because I made my decision to ignore
Being ignored.
I'll clap dust out of the clothes
I always hoped you would return for
But always knew you would rather buy more
Lookalikes can't fill the spot
Kicked into you by a dead sunflower
And I can try to repair you
But all I have is a role of tape and some string
I used to tie our friendship into colors
But couldn't avoid the fading of my blues.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 8:50 PM UTC
if i write a million billion zillion words a day
will some sound nice?
will they work out right?
will my mind create a masterpiece some night?
or will brilliance elude me
like camoflauged prey?
can greatness be chanced upon
or do i have to beg for it?
do i have to pray?
can statistical likelihood produce
from sheer quantitative mass
some lyrical combination
to surpass mere mediocrity
rise straight to first class?
or do i gotta go back and ask
the teachers and mentors
i left in the past?
i took off too fast
ignored their words and advice
bout how to think
how to write
how to talk
how to act
how to not be enticed
by distractions in life
how to not roll the dice
when the odds are too stacked
how to work **** hard
to stay on track
how to make smart goals
if you're itching to rise
by hitchin your ride
to the business of guys
and girls with vision
that's what i was taught
what i heard
what i learned
what i forgot (then recalled)
what i once spurned
to spark my downfall
but i have returned
and rediscovered myself
remembered the others
who raised me
who made me
my parents
my brothers
all those who inspired
all those who required
daily sacrifice
to feed the fire
to push me higher
to bring on success
to make me my best
which proves to the rest
if you don't perspire
chance don't mean ****
now we gotta admit
we all need an assist
but if you want greatness
you gotta work for it
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 12:25 PM UTC
A night of drum beating,
maraca shaking and guitar strumming,
who would've thought
that a moment sought
could unveil thousands of possibilities.
The odds in our favor,
without cards on the table,
unstable as it is,
a hope through the night exploded
like jenga blocks stumbled.
With a much wanted polaroid,
comes the 'see you again' likelihood
but take it slow, take it slow;
enjoy the night and each other's sight,
put emotions on hold, don't let it show.
A few selfie and some jokes thrown,
we've explored the streets like its our own;
realized something have grown
yet we say goodbye --
the words we spilled like a mourn.
I can't say its inevitable but free falling unto you is just highly probable.
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 11:11 AM UTC
"the sacred geometry of chance,
the hidden law
of a probable outcome"^
*so many days,
composing years of a book
of empty days
unlined with lines,
white on white pages,
subtitled
no joyous fear
of the
life changing chance taking
wrenching a thing past,
mostly forgot,
except for periodic
ache stabbing
you can't recall
the choices
that you didn't take
that got you here,
nowhere
the road split,
highway and river path,
always chose
incorrectly,
now
so past the younger days
question the lack,
no courage flaw,
what does it matter
anymore,
safe until death,
death having arrived
early on
always bore right,
when left was
the soul
go go
the chance right
un un taken
wanted needed accidents,
trip wires,
incendiary kisses
that rebirth
you one more time,
over over to
alive confirm
but fears of
breaking pain,
made you a broken man
the angles of life
obtuse,
the planes of life
flat fuzzy,
irregular, smudged,
flatlined
days drone by silent,
not a single word
out loud uttered,
three hundred and sixty degrees,
volume measured and
zero summed value
every normal distribution
has a tail,
some fat, some skinny
even this lonely man
has a tale
where the
improbable
is the most unlikely
day of likelihood
his days
were numbered,
they were,
each one had a number...
that day arrived,
calendar unremarked and unremarkable,
when
the hidden law of a probable outcome
saved,
the sacred geometry of chance
was rightly computed,
his number chosen
don't know this man personal,
heard the story from a mate,
third mate third
so third hand,
cause the other two were busy
one, holding her hand
and the other occupado
writing this poem
-----------------------
*A lyric from "Shape Of My Heart," as sung by Sting
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
i sit in a boat
and im so far from shore i have forgotten which direction the horizon follows me
i am so far from home the word sounds foreign and construed as an apology
i am so out of reach the seagulls will never dive deep enough
or swoop shallow and barely disturb the oceans sequence of tides and rhythms
to pick me up
i sit in a boat
the waves steady flow acts as a clock to keep me sane
it rocks me
it rocks my boat
back and forth in its tick tock motion
the fact that i haven't seen any fish glide by
and wrap themselves in the warmth of the crystals dancing on the top of the water
creates a feeling more violently lonely in the pit of my stomach
than the fact that i sit in a boat all alone
i sit in a boat
in the middle of the ocean
in the middle of nowhere
its easy to comprehend that there is nothing above me
the sky is a blank sheet of paper
the horizon falls all around me an encompasses me
looking up makes me lose time with the waves
its harder to comprehend the likelihood of nothing below me
when i fall in the water
and when i wave my arms towards the diamonds above me
when i blow air though my nose
and keep my eyes shut tight
when the water begins to get cold around my feet
towards my chest and on my shoulders
when the light green water that has comforted me like a mother
that has taught me like a father
the waves that have kept me in sane like a teacher
disintegrates into a dark murky black
so quickly i have no time to notice
where the pressure is too loud to hear any lessons
where the touch is so ice cold every hug feels like a constrictive hand around my throat
i sit in a boat
its easy to understand i am alone up above
no one calls dinnertime
no waves rock me to sleep
no birds call their mates
no bugs fall in and out of their reflections
its harder to fathom that
under the peak of the water
under the tired lazy strokes
i look intently and see nothing
i look intently and all i see is how
in an ocean that stretches forever
and falls off of the horizon
i was alone before i realized it
i was alone when the sun reached down
and bounced off of its blue playground
i was alone when it comforted me and i was alone when it choked me
all i have ever been
is completely alone
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
11:57.
I realised time is a fetish of mine; the likelihood is that you'll have more to give.
11:58.
It's a jewel more precious and rare than anything that ever touched our lives; but we seem to forget how deadly it is.
11:59.
And we're inhabiting each moment with wordful waste; a person loses their time st every tick of the clockwork time instrument.
00:00
And I've lost mine.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 8:03 PM UTC
The probability of life itself is unpredictable
For I can’t extract your mind or heart to decode
Likelihood of possibilities in measurable quotient
For I can’t retract a past gone by to encode
Continuums of even chances and certainty
The toss of the toasted dime, the weigh of sides
Slashed slide all smashed and thrown in mines
Fallibilism of my indefinable opinionated delicacies
Attenuations of what life is attacks and strangles my neck
Global troubles of war, bombs, hunger, anger
Illogical connotations of overlapping determinism
I burrow like a termite in a convex rising molehill
Terminated in contrasted stations as we convene
Gripping hands to grasp our existence in life
I wonder about the whole of it, I think of it somedays
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
Why Reentry? some may ask
A waste of time, a too big task?
They committed a crime, let be what will be.
Lock them up and throw away the key?
It’s not that easy as you will see
Because they eventually get out and neighbor you and me.
The deck has been shuffled and we don’t always choose our card
Some of these inmates weren’t raised, they grew up, and life was extremely hard.
Some call it dumb choices, others youthful
indiscretion
Some were forced into these positions by the
culture of oppression.
Now, there’s no place for pity, but many of the
stories are untold
With firm and consistent direction, we can see new lives unfold.
Some have never had a checking account or paid a legitimate bill
These are basic everyday functions that each of us can help instill.
It’s the ones that want the assistance to get back on their feet
Those are the ones that we prepare to identify their needs and meet.
That’s what reentry is… preparing them for another chance
To try and make better choices, and in life have a better stance.
None of us are angels; some could’ve actually caught a case
One more dumb decision could have landed OUR butts right in their place.
Can you imagine life without a job, no way to pay a bill?
Can you imagine no money for medicine if you child or spouse was ill?
Unable to get a car to take you from place to place
Unable to pride fully look another man
directly in his face.
This “second prison” hinders them as a result of their crime
This second prison should not exist once they’ve done their time.
Their families and children need them, it’s hard enough out there
These fathers should be taking care of their family’s welfare.
Children raised without a dad are at high risk to offend and fail
By helping their fathers do better we help the children stay out of jail.
Care and custody is what we’re tasked to do
The examples that we all set is what they will look too.
We can’t do it all by ourselves, resources are what we need
Volunteers and community resources help US help them to succeed.
We have to make them better then when they first came in
For some it’s a fresh start for their improved life to begin.
With hundreds of thousands of inmate releasing year by year
Reentry increases readiness thus reducing public fear.
So inmate is their title for now, but one day they will be out again
We can increase the likelihood that they do not reoffend.
Let’s rally behind reentry efforts, we have much to give
Let’s help secure our own safety and the way that we ALL live.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
i.
as we get bigger
our handwriting gets
smaller
ii.
stars are bigger than
the sky itself
but their light forces
the past into the present
and forces our wishes
into the past
iii.
there are so many
women out there with
my name but
this increases the likelihood
that you've said it
out loud
and identified me
with sound as i have
you
sound travels slower
than light but we are never
alone
iv.
she showed me your
picture with some words
square tight around it
and two dates in the caption
and said
nothing is ever worth this
until i wanted to reach
into the earth just to
cover your ears
v.
the dementors couldn't
distinguish between crouch
and his mother because
this illness doesn't discriminate
so i don't know why
people do
vi.
you and even
i
are lowercase letters
today
with no punctuation
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC