"mandated" poems
The stewardship of talent calls attention for everyone to discover their purpose on earth,
knowing we are created with potentials waiting to be maximized.
The stewardship of time calls attention for everyone to maximize their time on earth,
knowing we are mandated to dominate and subdue the earth.
Nothing is found except it is hidden,
every one has a talent.
Nothing is hidden except it is a secret,
every person has a gift.
Nothing is a secret except it is a treasure,
every individual has a potential.
Every one has a secret hidden treasure to be found,
ln them lives unique talents waiting to be discovered;
lf only they can discover their purpose on earth.
Every person has a destined mission to accomplish,
ln them lives voices waiting to be heard;
lf only they can activate their gifts.
Every individual has a solution to provide on earth,
ln them lives great potentials waiting to be maximized;
lf only they can exploit their potentials.
How then can talents be discovered knowing that any talent wasted will be accounted for.
How then can gifts be activated knowing that we are mandated by God to accomplish a purpose on earth.
How then can potentials be maximized knowing that we are created to impact our generation.
Let him that seek to discover and utilize his talents on earth consult God through prayers.
Let him that seek to activate his gifts exploit God's given innate ability to man.
Let him that seek to maximize his potentials on earth search the mind of God through the scriptures.
Is there any reward for discovering and exploiting your talents?
Is there any reward for activating your innate gifts?
Is there any reward for maximizing your God given potentials?
He that discovers and exploits his talents for God will receive the Masters reward.
He that activates his innate gifts will be remembered forever.
He that maximizes his potentials will leave an indelible footstep on earth.
Hope you strive to be persistent and consistent in the stewardship of talent,
knowing that much is required of you.
Endeavour to be faithful and obedient in your stewardship of talent, knowing we all owe God the accountability of our talents.
Ensure you exploit the discovery of your talents,
activate your innate gifts and maximize your potentials effectively.
Strive to discover your purpose on earth,
Seek to activate your talents and gifts; and
Strive to maximize your potentials.
He that discovers and exploits his talents on earth,
will leave an indelible footprint on the sands of time that will be remembered forever.
He that activates his gifts on earth will impact the world and his generation.
He that maximizes his potentials effectively,
will engrave his names in the sands of time and seasons of the sky.
Talent is a Mandate not a Delegate.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
the dutch colony ascended on our shores
replacing traditional african education on culture
with teaching slaves how to pray
we saw the deterioration of black schools
and state-mandated segregated curricula
whites being taught better than blacks
who was only destined for subservient jobs
policies of apartheid birthed the bantu education
and later forced us to learn languages
which was not our native tongue
the youth could no longer be silenced
soweto uprising saw them dying for the cause
we have protested throughout the decades
silenced by the apartheid government
simply ignored
with Mandela’s release we saw liberation, freedom, democracy
and a single education system, we were finally equal
however the legacy of black inferior education left a deep scar
which has still not healed
our parents not able to give us the education they were denied
now students are holding the government accountable
who promised free education for a vote
the movement trending as #feesmustfall
anger expressed by burning premises, striking and rioting
i believe in the cause but who are you really hurting?
why destroy the very universities that you are fighting for?
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
Three days, is what the HR rep said, somewhat sheepishly,
As if she was fully aware that boxing up one’s grief
In a span of a few dozen hours
Is a matter of wishful thinking
And certainly she sympathizes
(Indeed, as she speaks,
She spreads her hands in such a way
As you half expect doves to come forth in full flight)
Empathy being their stock in trade,
But the law and the handbook say three days,
And then you need to have your head
******* back on and looking forward.
Eventually, the mail brings fewer envelopes
Marked with embossed flowers
And subdued and tasteful stamps,
The usual flow of solicitous inquiries,
Pre-stamped and pre-sorted,
Inquiring as to your credit needs,
The condition of your windows and siding,
Resumes apace, and more than once,
In fits of inappropriate black humor and frustration,
You scribble, in bold thick strokes of a marker,
The addressee no longer resides at this location.
You return to nine-to-five,
Though your ghosts keep their own hours,
Stopping by to visit on their own schedule alone,
Prompted by the tiniest of things:
The dog scampering to its feet in a hurry,
As if someone was at the door,
The discovery of a long-unused pitching wedge
Standing expectantly in the back of the closet,
A song from long ago which was beloved
When you lived in the pairing mandated by Noah
Before you entered the shadow world of ones and nones.
Sometimes you give into the giddy madness,
And rise to waltz around the room,
Careening about unsteadily, clumsily
As you have yet to completely master
The difference in weight shift and distribution
That is required of a solo act.
The timing of these visitations
Often disrupts your schedule and sleep patterns,
And you think that perhaps tomorrow you’ll call in.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 10:38 AM UTC
[Fanfare, obviously]
This poem should begin with the call of a bugle,
as is fitting for an ode of Braveheart Macdougal.
Children of Parklands, take heed and be wary,
as I relate now, in verse, a tale cautionary.
Benigna Murdie was a most virtuous lass,
blesséd with promise and a penchant for sass.
To peer pressure she was admirably immune,
and ne'er did she bow to the temptation of goon.
Nary a drop of ***** has e'er passed her lips,
save for politeness and church-mandated sips.
Yet even the mightiest fall-- what a pity!
(harder than I did that night in the city).
So I hope you all glean a moral from this,
and your interpretation does not go too amiss.
But all is self-evident, to quote Descartes,
so allow me to recount this tale from the start.
She hails from a country renown for their piety,
for their pacifist ways and universal sobriety.
The Scottish are known throughout the land
for their temperance of character and lightness of hand.
And our poor Bennigles was no rule-exception,
she subscribed quite wholly to this perception.
A more reserved and reclusive girl you've not seen,
virtually a saint at only nineteen.
Passed out on the couch, liquor was never the root,
only strain from the studying and academic pursuit.
A paradigm of virtue, a pillar of purity,
no “that's-what-she-said's” to compromise maturity.
But that all changed one day touched by fate,
when Rachel realized that hedonism's great.
She took to the streets to revel in her glee,
and legit nothing bad happened cause this isn't tv.
Alas, now I'm drunk and the screen is a-shaking,
perhaps of wine I should halt my partaking.
I cannot continue with this facetious ode,
as we all well know that this is a total load.
But I'll miss you, my Brit, and our shitshow nights,
our Australian exploits and your culinary delights.
Sorry I couldn't finish to detail your demise,
but perhaps I'll conclude after an Australia-reprise.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
I always felt inadequate around her
she tickled a piano like a child
composing a beautiful laughter in the winded chest
of a string instrument with no agenda
these are the times that I’m grateful for huge siblings that see everything
global surveillance
for these chance moments that are only ever recreated
in scripts mandated to what we wish for
reeling in net-fulls of the hopeless that
though have had their hopes tested are unmoved
their hearts caressed and back-rubbed out of
the misery of a reality that is only so if it an be seen on a screen
who’s Eden stands in the clay of a dream
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
so if we
stand still
smell the heat
of an enemy's
bullet through our veins
for once
court outcome
of supplanting views
imbibing another's sweat
casuist's bile
scrawled on prison walls
of savaged confines
they salute
their spiel
with the same
toxic hold
as we concoct
world views
venomous elixir
polymorphous maze
shadow of a sphinx
looms clearer
as steps leading
to torn pages
of feted book
uncover dichotomy
of a self split
so that shooting a child
of shunned genes
amounts to nil
for in but a blink
his uniform
arrives home
to stroke the
golden locks
of his only daughter
playing Chopin
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 5:31 AM UTC
Alabaster Affair
her skin was like a pure driven snow
laid behind the deepest blue eyes
and the brightest ruby red lips
you could not look at her and not
want to kiss those soft velvet lips
want to stare into those eyes
want to touch that skin
feel her run her long fingernail
up the spine of your back
to the back of your neck and chest
the nerve endings all over your body
exploding messages of pleasure
the chance meeting in the park
in an early spring warming sun
flowers beginning to burst with life
trees reaching up with their new leaves
you could not take your eyes off
sitting on the edge of the fountain
spewing a water spray from an angels mouth
two angels together in one slice of time
you waited as long as you could
it was time to return to work from lunch
and you had already run 10 minutes over
you walked past her dreading leaving
she looked up with those big blue eyes
and those ruby red lips began to move
you transfixed not realizing she was speaking
you stopped abruptly trying to clear your mind
but still no sound could be heard
only her big rimmed straw hat of white
the the bluest blue eyes
and reddest red lips
and her white alabaster skin
luckily she recognized the symptoms
and smiling put her hand on your arm
and waited patiently for the blood
to return to your brain
oddly she spoke with an island accent
how could this creature come from the islands
the sun and sand and alabaster
she was a princess mandated to sanctuary
on a holiday with her father
who was on business stop here in Atlanta
she knew no one here and the park
was just across the street from her sky suite
for some reason she felt okay speaking with me
now I was 30 minutes late as I took
a quick peek at my watch
you must go she asked?
Yes but can I show you the city later
Yes she smiled to me
I think I would like that
after getting her room number
I triple skipped, jumped and hopped
back to my office my head still abuzz
I stared into dreamland for the next 4 hours
you gonna stay over my boss yelled to me
I shook my head *** it was 5:05
he yelled you gotta date Rob
yes an affair to attend to I said
an alabaster affair
Gomer LePoet ....
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
As you attempt to pour more political doctrine down my throat
I check the change in my pocket
for
the laxative I‘ll have to buy
from my legal drug dealer
REALLY!?!
Did you not know that your words are;
indigestible,
incorrigible
&
wholly corruptible?
How do you manage
to
politically caress your own eardrums
reach
through your sinuses,
tickling
the lining of your
esophagus
and yet,
make me cough?!
Your response to truth is truly painful,
you feel it in your chest,
your ***** heaves and razes
you have a fit gesticulating policies
flipping birds that won’t fly
It’s too late!
Mr "I went to Oxford so I must have the plan"
Mr Self-Interest man
Mr Ivy-league, Whitehouse, Whitehall...."Cambridge was better",
Mr I can do all things that superman can.
Mr “If we win the elections next year”...
Man
Take your leave,
your term is over,
School is out
&
the old boys no longer love you.
Time!
to
run for
cover,
under the
colour,
of
your favoured
currency umbrella.
But
If you’re African
"it's okay"
you can stay a little while longer
and bequeath the throne
to your brothers', sisters', uncles', sons' junior brother!
Turn it into a dy-nasty
Bring on board;
Kwadjo,
Mary,
Abena,
Kwesi,
Uncle Nepa,
Sista Tism
&
Aunt Ivy.
Ah-Geee!!!
This nonsense is highly unpalatable
I’m past the word puke
my bile sack is empty
because your drunkenness is spreading
&
**y o u’r e
s t i l l
b l o w i n g
m e
f u m e s!**
*Your democracy
has made your Guinea-Pigs
demi crazy,
has captured this poets’ goat
Slaughtered it
&
mandated this verbal frenzy*
Enough!
Of this alcoholic experiment
I’m not drinking anymore,
I’ve cried blood!
and now "my eyes are red"
Looking forward
to being 'tee-totally' sober,
while
U
**c o n t e m p l a t e
t h i s
v e r s e
o f
p o e t i c,
p o l i t i c a l,
M U R D E R.**
© Qwey.ku
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
The Acolytes come marching in and out and in, out again
Minds befuddles, rationalities amissing, fully indoctrinated
Pathetic Dogs of Attrition dressed all in white, all in pain
Compulsive obsessives, neurotics primed and oxygenated
Scrappers at the bottom of the barrel wants unlawful gain
By hook or crook is their recourse, to that they are mandated
From rhetorics long gone and ideologies forged in days of rain
Our intrepid Confused and Acolytes are soundly medicated
Just march to left, left, left, left and we will ease all your pain
Recognize that the enemies are those that think and are educated
They all claim domain at the top, with kudos, status and fame
While you languish in closed barrels, your poor lives truncated
Those Bosses are all there because they are all Masonic inclined
Doctors, lawyers and Professionals paid cash for Degrees granted
They did no work or study, rich Daddies just paid so they claim
All those Entrepreneurs are Robbers who bankraid unarrested
Because the Police are all masonic and help/share in all the gain
The Royals are Top Mafiosas, with International links atested
So Dumb Acolytes Know the truths and fall with the wise in line
We must regain Power and march left, left so we're not left in vain
The republic shall live because it's 21 Century and we wake in time
We take all from the Secret Society and cut off all our iron chains
Begin by taunting, tormenting and harassing that ****** Wayne
The ****** Prince is the African Mafia Chief and Exploiter kingpin
Sing with me everybody
Viva la Revolution, viva la Revolution
We are clever, all in our White uniforms
We march to the left left left with our two left feet
We know our brains have left us but we go left left
Viva la Revolution, Viva la Revolution, Viva la Jinbba.
Hey! jinbba, jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbba
Sing.........
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
If something dramatic should happen to me
And by ill chance my time is now through
How would anyone here at Hello Poetry
Be informed; They would not have a clue
No delusions of grandeur or somehow believe
It would matter to more than a few
But I know that for me there are many I read
And look forward to anything new
If I checked and I see nothing new on their feed
Would be curious what happened to
Know that they hopefully are okay; Possibly
Just got busy like most of us do
Understand, doesn't change in the slightest degree
Could not help in some way; I'm no fool
But don't like to be left in a dark mystery
Take a test but results kept from you
Throughout life there are things in and out we will weave
Separate paths, we walk in our own shoes
Some are mandated, others though we choose to seek
Course was set when the winds of change blew
So no judgments are passed if to write poetry
No more time or you feel you outgrew
Only ask if you could, a small note when you leave
People here maybe care about you
May seem weird in some way or just hard to believe
Someone you never met; Barely knew
You have touched them somehow deep emotionally
Planted seeds are developing roots
There are people who care because they're human beings
And love for each other just proves
They have souls full of goodness and deep empathy
Treat each other how we're supposed to
It together creates a strong society
That's a caring and closely knit group
In this place we express and are totally free
Without fear or the pained ridicule
So sincerest of 'thanks' I deliver to thee
Can't express my complete gratitude
Evey bit of your kindness and commentary
A bright light from your heart shining through
All of you are so special and fully unique
Every message is honest and true
Reaching into your souls; Tear it off as you speak
Is commendably full of virtue
Do not let your voice silence but if you do leave
And decide that you must say 'adieu'
I cherished our time; Whether was long or brief
It was special 'cause shared it with you
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 3:58 AM UTC
When I was fifteen, I took a Health class and got "the talk,"--
(it's not what you're thinking because this is Tennessee).
It started with the boys and girls being separated and
mass-confusion ensued like bees who lost their queen--
(despite being female, I'm still scared of ***** diagrams).
Our speaker's name was Mary, but I think that was faked.
We were fed PG-rated and legally mandated information
about how our bodies are meant for HUSBANDS ONLY--
(joke's on her, half of my diet consists of Taco Tuesday).
Mary guided us through the "exciting changes" of our body
only to declare quite firmly that *** doesn't even feel good"--
(unless you're married, of course, because your holes are holy).
And yet
I was
unconvinced.
And thus began my intrinsic journey of "pearl-hunting."
After all, if it didn't feel good with my hand, I couldn't
imagine what a **** would do for me and, boy oh boy,
that woman was so WRONG **** on that, Mary).
But I digress, because I confess, I never really even
gave my ******** a second thought before I took an
ABSTINENCE CLASS.
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 10:07 PM UTC
At the slightest sign of sadness,
you're offered a chocolate, a tissue, a hug.
And eventually everyone says that
"you're going to be okay,"
and "it gets better."
A few pats on the back and
a mug of warm tea later,
you're expected to smile back and say
"you're right, I'm fine now."
What no one tells you is
that it's okay to cry.
No one says it's okay to admit
that your world is crumbling
and you just need a minute to let it out.
I swear it is, it's always okay to be sad.
Don't listen to their clichéd
"you're too pretty to cry" or
"you're too strong to cry."
Look past their temporary comforts
and their good intentions.
It is always okay to be sad,
there is no shame in shedding tears.
Let the feeling in your heart
envelop you completely and
let yourself sink in your sorrow.
Clench your teeth and your fists, and
let your lungs siphon oxygen to your veins
in between each shuddering breath,
scream all that you hate
into the gaping void in front of you
and let the echoes of your suffering
reverberate and echo through
the gaping hole in your chest
and remember
it's okay.
It's okay.
It's okay to let yourself
into that nothingness,
so long as you come back.
Always come back.
Come out of the bathroom,
come out from under the sheets.
Come out of your self-mandated exile,
come into the open and breathe again.
Let the sunlight clear the darkness,
let the fresh air rejuvenate your lungs.
Remember what it was to be broken
and work to be whole again.
Remember that it's okay to cry.
Just promise me you'll always come back.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
tonight i vow
not to stay up too late
tonight i vow
to eliminate hate
tonight i vow
to self-motivate
to take another step
on the path to being great
to be great at what?
tonight i ask
am i in a rut?
tonight i ask
need a kick in the ****
tonight i ask
but i'm choosing to get better
not a mandated task
they all say
take it step by step
they all say
improve yourself today
they all say
practice makes perfect
but perfection's not my goal
just wanna live the right way
so what's up next?
they all inquire
are you feeling the effects?
they all inquire
can you avoid becoming hexed?
they all inquire
cause apparently life's risky
when you're always climbing higher
so i ask myself tonight
what i'll promise another day
taking into account
their inquiries and what they say
but in the end i won't have been
wrongly led astray
cause when push comes to shove
listen to the "i", not the "they"
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 3:23 PM UTC
Who dictates your fate
The evil of a police state
The people of a police state
Your weapons , your freedom they take
Think I-Robot a mandated curfew
Get in your house now or I will hurt you
You can smell the stench in the air no perfume
We are not machines ..we are men not cattle
The snake will strike do you hear its rattle
The lies is boring me
The potency of this poison I do not need
My weapon from the Holy Spirit the potency of my poetry
Side bar police state
Watch the government release hate
I should get a gun join the N.R.A
Do I really need a gun when in God I have faith
Fire in my heart
The Body and its parts
I am part of Gods police state
And Satan hates when we march
We don't need a bulletproof vest
The Shield of faith protect our chest
In God we trust it reflects in our steps
We have spiritual weapons
Supernatural protection
Angels trained for warfare
True power is from God
No man sits in the Lords chair
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
This trait of happiness is never elusive
It is not peculiar to one person
Because it comes from above
Showered down on all creation alike
The homeless and the one with mansions
All have access
To the throne-room of precious smiles.
As happiness comes from above
We can give it here down below
But it must not stay below
Because then it would die
And then what would become of it?
There would be no one to mourn
Because it would forever abide in the places of the unknown.
But happiness also descends to creation
So now we are endowed on high to create
Mandated to give
Even when we do not see it
The bonds that tie us together
Are formed by this felt warmth which brings us peace
The work we think makes us joyous
Instead makes us feel empty
But the work we avoid as trivial
Is the truest portion that blocks sorrow
So let us rise
And say happiness is not so much someplace else
But it springs from us with open hands to open hearts.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 1:24 PM UTC
I see you walking, seriously, quickly,
You catch my eye or maybe I catch yours
And we know.
That somewhere in the smile we share there is a solution
To the problems we’ve made in our own heads
About what is right, what is proper
How we should conduct ourselves in our love
So that it does not offend the people around us.
We find our solution in ignorance.
The total forgoing of social acceptance
And the ignoring of mandated protocol
When we see each other it’s like we’re hold hands in public.
Like we’re kissing with open mouths our hearts visible
To other people it looks like we are too exposed in our glances.
Like we are heart transplant patients on etherized hospital beds
We are eerily fragile and beautiful at the same time
But only to us who have stronger stomachs
Than the general public who gag at the sight of blood.
We embrace it with a smile
And overlook pale faces who can’t see the
Public displays of affection we can flaunt
By simply looking at one another.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
The days hold America’s rare air
as the election cycle once again ramps up
enough wealth to end poverty
spent daily on advertisements
aimed at convincing the masses
that they can end poverty simply by
being elected –
campaign managers bash statisticians
for expressing pole numbers
not conducive to their bottom line
relying instead on sound bites
and FOX news so-called reporting –
Hundreds of households held for ransom
with “voting” as the only way to avoid
repercussions and retribution
from self-righteous Republicans
wringing their hands, awaiting a win –
mandated munchkins munch on museum merchandise
manufacturing baseless accusations
manipulating the mainstream
always, for more –
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
You hope that university will answer all of life’s questions, but nope.
I don’t know, I.
There was a guy who’d been hanging around outside our residence lately. Too consistently. At first, I thought he was someone’s friend but he’s always alone. He wasn’t doing anything or bothering my roommates, but that asymmetry set off my alarms.
He looked at me once (which I suppose isn’t a crime), I think, it was quick - a blink of sharp curiosity. I mentioned it to Charles who took his picture. The next morning he said the guy’s a legit student who has no criminal record, so maybe I’m all wrong.
Every girl’s encountered a creep or two before. They’re seemingly everywhere, as if mandated by law, like auto insurance. Most girls develop a sixth sense, a creep-dar. Nowadays, creeps have a new name, “incel” ("involuntary celibate") and they’re a recognized, online subculture. Next, they’ll have a coat of arms proclaiming, “We Would if We Could.” It’s as if awkwardness, a normal human foible, has been distilled into something dangerous.
Although the campus looks like a garden or a perfectly manicured ‘stepford’ park, we joke that it’s really a locked-down, patrolled, surveilled compound, with guards, cameras and card-key access to everything. Which, I suppose, is all to the good.
Our creeper wasn’t there Friday, and he wasn’t there today, so maybe he was nothing.
I don’t know, 2.
I was in Sunny’s room. We were going shopping in a few. There was a little pink book on her bed - a diary!! I’d never seen it before and it was open, about three-quarters of the way. She too-casually moved to scoop it up, like the neglected book of a sorcerer.
My GOSSIP-dar Alerted like a class bell. “Hmm” I hummed, head-tilted, then I laughingly lunged for the book.
Sunny’s eyes went wide for 3-billionths of a second and she snapped it up with the speed of a striking cobra, “That’s MINE” she said, rigid with seriousness.
“What’s going ON?!” I asked, but she shoved it into her night table.
Another mystery!
‘Sleeping dogs,’ I thought to myself.
Apr 10, 2023
Apr 10, 2023 at 2:38 PM UTC
it's been a rollercoaster ride.
and the negativity associated with that
is not due to the lows that followed the highs,
the pain in my neck when taking sharp turns,
or the screaming banshee in my ear,
they are instead due to the fact
that i've only ever coasted,
locked in, auto-pilot,
top gun, eyes ahead,
the thrills and the relief,
the exaltation and release,
they were all under control,
of outside forces.
i thought it would be fun,
reached the height that was mandated,
and rose closer to the sun,
than ever thought possible.
in hindsight, i'd rather
recall our jokes about
the awkward sweating faces
of those queued up for hours,
as we lay in the shade enjoying
ice cream,
funnel cake,
eye contact.
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 2:11 PM UTC
**** You, Evangeline
I hated you in the seventh grade
When you were pushed on me at school
And broke my rib,
As I badmouthed you on the monkeyswings.
But quickly I learned
Not from mom or sister
That to be a man is different than
Hollywood and Disneyland
Nothing Loves, Actually; Forever calls—
Very quickly
It seems
That I go from adorable to expendable
Serendipitously,
With a bit of mandated mail
And affairs with Eros’ bureaus of State
Back then I played with chitinous bugs
Baiting them fluffy placentas
of budding trees
And stalked them back to their cave
Before I knew my felonies
But I was a baby,
A child—I never could have known what it means.
But of course I do,
I’ve seen
the running of the bulls
The utterance of men
They are angry and gouge *******
with cold vicegrips around their ******
And are kicked
Mercilessly
Spurned to wrathful affectation
To be murdered in the evening
With rapturous spectation
“But they are bulls!”
Of course they are
"These feelings are only natural!"
No man can equate
With the pleasurable temptations of the state
Not bird or bug or steer or doe
The only Hierarchy permissible
Is of the animals
And of that we hate
I don’t see you woeing
About that steak on your plate.
Or the Glue in the soles of your shoes.
Stroll a bit
Sniff the trees
Whiff the ********
When it’s in the feed
He runs in circles shouting, chanting
“Oye, Oye, Aye Piche Cabrone!”
As the solo mothers cut his lengua
for the starving Ninos
In an apartment complex
off Oxenhoof Lane
Where
Papi got iced
By I.C.E or the like
And the kiddies will never know what it means.
You’ll never know what it means
To be a bull
Muster your might for this—demand with laughter you die
I am an ant in the ever-washed hive
Of sterile kin who have no lives
They give for their queen or infectious despot with wings
Despite all the kindness they've given me,
I am not ready to be meat for the feet.
In every blade of grass I've faith
That no bird or sin will ****** me from my place
And into the sky or the unsatiated mouth of the various
Disunified highs
For now I share the toil and vitriolic
Callous
Jowls of those who hate themselves
More than me
And try to smile and bring food for the queen
But deep inside
I am an ant
And that is all you will ever see.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 1:46 PM UTC
Why oh why have we become so woke
To the point of companies going near broke,
All for the sake of garnering support
From vocal fringes, then quietly rushing to abort.
Is the effort worth the prize
Pandering to an audience that must surely realize
Division is not the path to integration
Empowering voices that just believe in denigration.
Acceptance is rarely mandated or imposed,
It's a result of customs willingly transposed
To reflect a kinder more inclusive world
And in the process eliminating the absurd.
Activism can often be the kernel for steep
Change,
But in the wrong hands is alienating and deranged,
With effects that counter all that would be good
Demeaning the very essence for which they stood.
We the silent throngs just watch and wonder,
What's brought on this wave of mindless thunder,
Strife and upheaval causing nothing but confusion,
Resulting in a world of societal delusion.
Democracy is not another word for anarchy,
Where a vocal few usurp reality for fantasy,
But one of tolerance and communal understanding
To mold a world where actions are outstanding.
Where parent is not set against their child,
Or leaving differing opinions unreconciled,
Where sexuality does not become a sword,
Or Race the blade to cut across the board.
When will politicians and the media say enough,
Accepting that their narrative is huff and gruff,
Full of potholes and dead ends
Turning people into enemies not friends?
Why not allow good sense and wisdom take the stage,
Willing denigrators to turn another page,
Supporting causes that are simply just
Thereby forging a society sure to last.
Apr 27, 2023
Apr 27, 2023 at 2:42 PM UTC
Please release this
Spirit fire burning like **** in a blunt
Blueberry this time
My mind already red
Eyes already red
Her time was far ahead of mine
meaning she saw it far before me
Meet me there
Left obstacles
I fell
Left it wrong
its okay
M.O. Live so long
Can't lie
I won't die
Can't Lie
I can't get fried
The "choppa" was out of my mind
I laughed as you died
As I got shot and fell down and saw you die I laughed
Relate the debate correlates the human mind is strange.
Not dead, just maintained
Getting up and going deranged
Making money on top of your strange
Days are over, the grass is green on all sides, flourished.
Death and rebirth, words again coming, cracking through the skull of the pioneer who meditates on the mandated flow in place.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
**“for when the mind has no solution to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement, the poet’s desperation equals theirs”
The Bus Poet Stop “The Glass Shackles” ^
<|>
~this one for Eliot York, who gave us a great gift - opportunity~
§§§
The mandated city buses are largely denuded of passengers,
so the drivers, peruse the enriched, enforced silenced life of the
streetscape, and as they pass, call-out a fisherman’s plaintive wailing,
“here we are, where are you, do we exist?” Too few nibble “I am!”
Bus Poet Stops, stumbles on an older writ, now seemingly prophetic,
once again, he is back, living in a glass shackled confinement,
his 16th floor perch, besmirched, the mirthless empty outside well matched by the isolation inside him, a new kind of shackling bereft.
For these glass shackles are not new, but different, the glass is poorly blown, cloudy, pockmarked with air bubbles entrapped, useless
for fresh breathing, many containing a question mark, some ask
what, others when/where shelter, all, harsh pleading tones, why me?
“For when the mind has no solution” poet wrote in twenty eighteen,
unaware that this predictive value would return to rent & render mean,
his composure, no longer a savior, now he weeps copiously for thee,
those that he, in prior life, came to save, now too, another faceless face.
no, no!
Your writing saves self, and a thousand more, you infiltrate, penetrate our conjoined quiet, giving name to each of our unsalted tears, no fear poems that make us say, Merry, Merry to us all; God bless us, every one! Bus Poet head-hung, shamed, pained, looks away, mask-covers-gratitude.
Rough and tumbling times, we discount ourselves blameless, but voices
say time for gifting varietals of solace mysterious, this! is your business!
words, instruct to touch, to transport us on a poet’s bus to Delirious,
enable arrival+survival to destiny’s destination, “for all, a good night!”
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 2:08 PM UTC
***Monday, November 11th, 2019
The pain in loss can be a deleterious scourge, undoing all the threads of light embedded in the heart. Who am I to contend with the ethereal tides of the cosmos? A juvenescent soul enrapt mine entity for but a moment, yet, soon thereafter, he was gone. Vanquished by the Winds of Undoing, he may never re-alight upon my soulscape; however, I must go on. Let dreams illumine the fulgent irides you are starry-eyed to see.
I must trust that all things are working out for their highest good. In me are all the answers that I seek; we are our own nexus to transcendence. Will I ever see him again? I am without certainty, but I shall arise triumphantly. Tears may yearn to cascade my countenance, but I will waxeth impregnable apropos of the deluge of sadness.
Who am I? I am the emblematization, the insignia of love. Christ truly abides within each one of us. If I am to truly attain my Apex Monumental, I must undergo tremendous sufferings; therefore, ne’er fathom that suffering is thine undoing, ―tis your making.
Press onward valiant warrior, love shall open every doorway. One day, thine Ultima Thule shall manifest itself before your eyes; moreover, the patriarch you never had shall be found in the Arbiter of Fates above. Never give up young one, for you are aeonically loved. Wisdom, Love, Justice, Power and all the virtues vested in this cosmos shall teem within thine vessel.
Sanctity is perhaps a notion, a theistic & ratiocinatively deific dogma. I fathom it an inordinately exclusive fallacy that maketh one feel holier than his brethren. Was any man or woman foreordained above any other? And if so, were they given not a privilege, but a duty? An anointing means one is set apart for a higher purpose, not a lionizing gasconade.
“He who dares to teach must never cease to learn.” It is true that the erudite has immense gift, but they likewise carry profundity of mandated travail. In each one of us, lie the answers we seek; therefore, we must introspect & retrospect in order to circumspect. We must search and seek, in order to find. Let the one who knocketh, have it revealed unto them, have it opened.
∞(Se’ Lah)∞
Excelsior Forevermore,
Sanders Maurice Foulke III**
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 6:43 PM UTC