"manifestos" poems
There's more
wine
in the glass than
ink
in the
pen.
A truly conflicted
narcissist
upon
obscured
reflection.
Beauty.
Skin deep?
I'll carve
manifestos
in
flesh
when the wells run
dry.
Trace each
scar
with
shaking
fingertips and
blind
eyes.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
99 cent wars, rooftops, Gibraltar Screaming "god bless the fabulous" Christs;
In the eyes of years
Man is king only over that which breathes,
So let's throw hugs in the air,
sit on flowers and vanish to Cook stones on the hips of Cleopatra
with all of December's left footed children
For through the cried ***** tears of furry German banana caskets,
Eternity awaits
In the failures of our greatest triumphs,
So let's dance
After all, Psychological Wednesday societies
Are only good for curing Xbox manifestos and Tuesday sanities
And if we died one day,
it sure won't be yesterday.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
So,
now they want a debate after
they got us in this hell of a state.
The knock on the door,
'Labour does more'.
'Preserve the Conservative, go with the flow',
The Greens don't you know want the whole ****** country to grow,
biodiversity?
are there no limits to what we can be?.
Well,
you can all **** orf
take your policies and shove 'em
I've made up my mind to grind up manifestos
plant them in pots and see what grows from them.
Probably tulips or grey men
Nothing will change whoever gets in
whoever's first past the trough they all stop to
dip in,
they're all of the same, using us by
confusing us by using a different name.
But I'll wait and then see on the BBC
Who's going to be the new 'pope',
whoever it is
there's no hope,
I'll still be poor.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
This season we're going all out
And I mean ballistic
We ain't pulling no punches
Taking out all the stops
Were gonna go mad
Talk,talk ,talk
Go, go go!
I'm talking about road trips to nowhere
Bar hoping like alcoholic amphibians
Bus rides to The Big City
Cliff jumping
Hold our breaths as the fireworks launch themselves into the summer evening sky and explode
As we dance and sing of wonderful things
Debouched ***
Experimenting with sense derangement
Study the spiritual teaching from the far east
Make the suburbans myths that will never fade
Roller coaster calamities
Visit strip clubs under the unfinished highway
Lay back on a crowded beach and float in the ocean
Hike in the wilderness up a torrent mountain
And when we reach the top we'll howl at the moon in the starry midnight air
We will write compelling manifestos of freedom
And we will not sleep
We will grow stronger, wiser
And when fall comes we will be new
We'll be alive
We will have known what it means to live
Live
Live
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
My country Nigeria,
Am a citizen by birth,
That’s the Criteria,
A blessed nation on the earth,
Driven by atrocities as bacteria,
A place I was proud to call home,
Am a negros and Nigeria is my home,
But she’s going down the pan,
Causing mortality in my clan.
Due to manifestos,
We commercialize with hoes.
It started with our independence,
We thought love would take
Prominence,
But rather war, corruption and coups,
And Tribalism feed on us
My plea goes to the world power,
Our corruption is taller than any tower,
Our leader convince us that colonization
Was necessary,
Seems we we have cross that boundary.
Please colonize us again,
Because decolonization has no gain,
Remove all these leaders,
The made us cry aloud to mothers.
I admit we weren’t ripe,
We just wanted to be free,
Like the smoke from papa’s pipe,
Please colonize us! At least
Of these situations we shall be free!
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 10:24 AM UTC
Kites float to the troposphere
Ozone stability unchained
Orator's manifestos have failed us
Latent content fools men
H-A-A-R-P
Distraction from The Real
Fractured and failing systems, **** off
Manufactured citizens
Gods of emergence survive
Jaded culture-heads walk to death
Faithful science suffocates
Juxtaposed on the annals of reason
Oceans reach the mountaintop, our last safe haven.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 3:34 PM UTC
Snaking through the cities roads into highways
that connect people from all suburbs
to a central spinal cord of lanes that
take you up and away from slum to slum.
The upmarket stores are full of bright lights
and little else that is elegant
its a cosmetic upbringing, mirage that
rises over the city's mist and clogs up the minds
magic as it swerves and rustles up the
the energies of other super cities
where commerce and hard labour have
equally sculpted a life of crime and distance.
Watch out for the airport which swings
in between the mountain of rubble
and municipal mania and parthenium ****
what finds every possible nook and cranny
to manifest itself. The politicians mumble and jumble
their way through manifestos and gimmicks
that endorse themselves as saviours of greed.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
there is a glacier
partially concealed
melting from a climactic
climate shift revealing a
reality congealed by revolt
rebels burdened with
a philosophy that
elevates humanity
insisting we will not grovel
before a vain messiah
espousing erroneous
iterations of ideology
will the human race permit
the iceberg to dissolve
as vapid reformist
rhetoric inundates our
political consciousness with
pragmatic progressivism
or will we rise in resistance
with the radicals
fists clenched in protest and
hands outstretched to one
another rather than
lifted high in praise to a savior as we
witness the glacier solidify once more
as CO2 perforates our atmosphere
with heady highs and noxious toxins
will we succumb like dumbfounded
addicts intoxicated by inoculation
consuming the opiated semantics
of charismatic personas or will we
challenge the corrupt
with our wits about us
facing the sobering corporate
corporeality with the pride
of lions facing a den of thieves
abandon the chosen champion
of the vanguard party
we stand hand-in-hand
7 billion
sisters and brothers
in an anthemic chorus of
solidarity that shakes the
bastions of the enthroned
with the resounding shouts of
perseverance in our
non-compliant defiance
our manifestos are written
in the blood sweat and tears
we've shed for this
dream deferred
and we will not be the
silent majority anymore
the masque of anarchy
is ours to share
will we wear its visage
or will hell freeze over
before we choose
freedom
over happiness
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 8:00 AM UTC
May the road rise up to meet you
As you travel on THE WAY
May the music in your heart
Untangle the worries of your day
May old dreams be tossed
Upon that pyre of strife
And personal manifestos of peace
Ascend to take on life
And when the night closes in
Anxiety and bliss compete
Remember growth is hard my friend
Some truths come incomplete
In the meantime:
May you step easy o’er the rocks
That appear on The Way to defy
Keep in mind your destination
To reach that far-rimmed sky
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC
there's those certain tales
which are older than any city
never ending, always growing
and every generation
has a brave few
who wish to give parts of themselves
to that thriving monstrosity.
each tale
gracefully
bluntly
violently
mockingly
holds the elements of humanity
and are laced with honest expressions.
each tale outliving their authors
and nobody can remember
their names or faces
it's a seductive habit
**** and cool
edgy and real
intelligent and spiritual
all encompassing
a suicide mission
we all have our own blood on our lips
and we use it
to leave messages
cries for help
damnations and manifestos
or maybe just
a silly little poem
we just don't want to be forgotten
we just want to be
a never ending tale
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 7:47 PM UTC
I never considered myself one for the books,
A pen felt clumsy in my hands,
Something too delicate to touch,
You introduced me to my first romance,
Tales of rivers and sweet words of Hughes,
Pages were my optics, my eyes danced in the light,
Nights turned into highways of jazz and beat poet longings,
Kerouac and Ginsberg whispering into my ear
of corrupted ivy manifestos,
Maya told me to sing, I did.
My love for her still echoes in her passing,
Set sail to the open waters where Neruda lies,
sonnet 17 afloat upon the tides,
You knew my addiction before I ever got high on the ink,
Drifting across the sentences in the midnight hours,
A prayer in thanks of what you gave to me
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
If you can keep your feet upon the flat ground
And draw the line at frivolous ideals
And tell yourself this downhill train can turn round
With just a bit more fat to grease the wheels
If you can reduce all the pressing questions
To a straight coin toss between blue and red
If you can close your ears to all suggestions
That there might be a wider choice instead
If you can vote the way your parents voted
If you can leave debating to the press
And disregard each novel concept floated
While wondering how we got in this mess
If you believe the latest polling numbers
Regardless of the leanings of their source
If you believe that while this nation slumbers
It somehow still can hold to the best course
If manifestos leave you feeling hazy
If your first thought is what's in this for me
If anyone who disagrees is crazy
And not just someone who thinks differently
If you would rather come to a decision
Based on the outfits of the leaders' wives
If anyone with hope, ideals or vision
Is just a naive fool to be despised
And if when you are at the polling station
You'll squash down any doubts that you possess
If you can put your needs above the nation
And never give a thought to its distress
If you can steel yourself against reflection
And, promised real change, if you hold your nerve
You'll vote like all the rest at the election
And, what's more, get the leaders you deserve.
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 12:35 AM UTC
Dry tears accumulate
On the corners of my sleepless eyes
As my thoughts circulate
In my brains
Like old sweaters in washing machines.
My spirit is knocking on the doors of my mind,
Peeking through windows
Trying to get a signal,
Trying to do something
Screaming
“What the hell are you doing!?You’re going to **** us!”
It’s raining,
Inside me it’s raining;
Droplets of infuriated thoughts
And angry manifestos
Declaring that I’m unpleased with this world,
Unpleased of how it’s too small for my dreams,
Too tight for my overflowing self
And too narrow for my vision.
I’m a social claustrophobic,
Desperately attempting to get out of my social class
That is made out of four walls
Hate, prejudice, fear, and socio-economic dictionaries
That are set to define human beings.
I’m a lost pilgrim;
My compass is lying somewhere
In between the sand castles
Our father’s built for us
In this country on the shore;
In this country that drowns
Every time the moon decides to push away the water to its surface,
That clenches,
To the air that’s given to it
Split seconds after the moon changes its mind.
I can see the sunset;
But when the mind is not clear
One can never find clarity in a cloudless sky,
I can smell all kinds of spring,
But the scent reminds me of what I’m missing
Rather than what I am to find;
I’m busking in a starless sky,
I’m rotating around my words
Trying to avoid the meanings
Jumping over my reflections
Only thinking of one thing
“How the hell do we get out of this labyrinth?”
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
Where do you worship when you've
been exuded
from the fire escapes of every building
that you've ever been blessed inside,
when all the holy skin
you've been revering night after night
comes to a shuddering end
like a life line slipping
out of chafed fingers? Sirens wail
wantonly during the peak of the moon's
reign, and
is it an ambulance or
a body that will salvage you in
your most vulnerable
hour, after
you finish playing the part of the secret anti-hero
and have nothing left to give
but platonic ecstasy? Cheap
lighters
are littered behind your departure
like footprints, but
the useless
manifestos you preach behind every moan
won't ever be forsaken
in your trail of dust and suggestions
of abeyant arson,
because you're just living how
you were born to endure: like a star, burning,
burning, and far away.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
I see the mechanical men that peddle the illusion of wheels which drive down to the crankshaft,staffed by robbers and thieves that steal into the day putting a tax on the way you would speak,
and I peek in through the keyhole of Whitehall, dragging the chain and the ball that is tied to my leg,and sooner or later I will beg for some leeway from the mandarins but they'll say,
'Go away little man,we are the mechanical men in the doing of things and we'll bring blood and thunder,put you down 'til you go under,don't bother us now',
I have bowed to their power and ****** on their shoes,I choose not to be used by the ones who abuse the privilege of rank and position.
Please tell me that this is not true,
that the election of robots to Westminster is actually down to me and to people like you, and we get what we vote for,the
***** dealing,wheeling out manifestos,posing for papers,oil cans for arseholes and bolts for their braces,automatic voices,you've got so many more choices than this shower of ****
do your bit,a bit of research,search online, easy most of the time,vote for them and you'll vote for anyone,vote for anyone but,
the mechanical men have replicated in them and all is lost,we are screwed,might as well use the suicide pill.
I will.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 4:15 PM UTC
those in the tribe of “that is enough for a 40 and a bag of chips” like to self diagnose, self medicate, and self love/hate
they spend 3 dollars and 75 cents at least three times a week on medicinal purposes only. most often, 3 dollars and 75 cents is not enough. so they diagnose that they can spend up to, but no more than, 6 dollars and something cents on healing yesterday’s wounds and on stitching up tomorrow’s possible cuts
those in the tribe of “i wont live to be that old” enjoy loud music, avoiding sleep, and looking angry
they wake up dizzy because last night’s dose was a little strong, it will feebly run it’s course through the veins it learned to call home for a few more hours. they hang on because in no time, tonight’s dose will warm their blood again
those in the tribe of “i don’t need your pity” like to question authority, read manifestos, and tattoo nighttime cityscapes.
they, sometimes, live so fast that they forget to remember. on early morning occasions, they find puzzle pieces they forgot to throw in the closet and they remember who they were, are, and want to be. it is during these “it is 4 o’clock in the morning, why are you calling me” moments that they remember who to love and what to hate. for some, this is progress. for others, this is another 3 dollars and 75 cents.
the tribes meet as often as possible. sharing a couple dollars, 75 cents, and some loose lint, they gather the right doses needed to obliterate the demons. although only temporary, the fix holds long enough to help heal, release, and erase.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 3:56 AM UTC
Incompetent, corrupt and on the make,
You know all politicians are the same
You know this public service thing's a fake,
A cover for one more expenses claim.
Don't read their manifestos (they're all lies)
Don't go to meetings: stay in, watch TV
I'll tell you just which aspects to despise
You can't trust politicians. Just trust me.
And if on polling day you hold the line
You'll send a powerful message, do you see?
The lowest voter turnout of all time:
Vote by neglect – that's true democracy.
I'll make the choice for you, so don't be sad -
I am the Editor, and I approved this ad.
Apr 25, 2010
Apr 25, 2010 at 12:27 PM UTC
Eyes wide open,
mind tightly shut,
we play victims to the postman
slotting news and letters
where little light filters through,
only as he sees fit.
Grotesque, gross manufacturers
spewing out page after page after page
of page three scandals -
of rich brats waxing lyrical,
American hip-hop DUIs,
fat cats cat-fighting.
Media
breast-feeds her gullible men
and milks the misfortunes.
We are part of the orchestra -
synchronised puppets looking to our
Master
to tell us
how
to read the notes.
Outside
there are flimsy flyers
advertising freedom
that have morphed into paper-planes,
but are impenetrable of ignorant masses,
flitting around the heads of the blind -
like cartoon characters after
being beaten up by
fists.
It is injustice.
Peel the scales from your eyes
and open the flood-gates, let forth the criticism!
Ask why an American singer's ten minute jail sentence
is more important than an Afghan girl's sentencing to be gang-raped.
Ask who the ten percent of the South African population are that receive sixty percent of our gross national income and how to alter that socio-economic gap.
Ask what is to become of learners who pass with thirty percent and if that is even possible when books aren't being delivered to schools.
Ask where one can find manifestos instead of accusations from each political party.
Do not let them dictate
your truths as
CAPITALISED LETTERS
with no urgency.
Do not let them confine
your insight to the ink on a page.
We are worth more than glossy sensationalism.
We are worthy of urgent honesty, transparency and enlightenment -
herein lies true freedom.
The liberation of the mind.
The uncoiling fist of a freedom fighter revealing the truth held within.
Amandla awethu.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
The Magician, gifted deadbeat, listless designer of immortal destiny, tragic comedian of the purest order, locked and buried, chained to the weight of indecision,
Ordained by cancerous night, canonized in the manifestations of nightmare heart withdrawals, ascending the cigarette strewn steps to lost versions of heaven,
Eternal kindred lovers in mourning, trace the chemical pathways to a neural shutdown disaster, martyrs imprisoned by their own mission statements, murdered by the cosmic truths exposed in tape recorded suicide manifestos, played backwards for empty auditoriums in a requiem for their apathy
Endowed with brilliant catastrophe, with the wand double edged with creation balanced to destruction, with infinite purpose,
The Magician breaks as he parallels the Fall,
the all consuming detachment,
the disconnected realities viewed from shattered lenses,
From distilled terror, from magnificent prose, from the ashen pillars of kingdom rotted, gutted, broken
Holy and lost, wisdom wasted,
As a mother's rage moves 1000 eyes and 1000 hands to some unclear end that I doubt I will be around to see
The Magician smokes his way to an early grave
While flowers grow over the memorials of those unmoved
I'm not sure what any of this means or why it should matter
But listen
There is a story here, if you will have it
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
politics = soiled
toilet paper
best flushed
and forgotten
parties, manifestos,
attack ads, slogans,
talking points, blather
don't put your faith
in other people's ****
robots stand in line
to vote imagining
they have a choice
same old arguments
among ghosts
only lonely resistance
is fit for a human
the silent blow
against the masters
even when it
makes no difference
especially then
~mce
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
A loud cheer from a huge crowd
Anxiously waiting for their idol
listen to words of promise
An aspiring Future leader
Charismatic and strong
Loved by many hated by many
Singing his manifestos
Some agrees some are doubtful
Music to the ears... real sweet..
If only he did not sugar coat everything
He might have won....
There goes one charismatic leader
All talks but no action....
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 12:07 PM UTC
glass half empty or half full?
why do we even ask at all?
all this thinking takes its toll
on our society of analysis
anti-action and paralysis
it really is a dangerous thing
overphilosophizing i mean
we've fallen victim to the allure
of thinking that we can cure
anyone anything and or any problem
with enough thinking tinkering and or solving
but truly there's really got to be
more to cure the modern malady
of paradoxes and dichotomies
and meta-epistemologies
we've come too far for us to merely be
just because i think we think
if i can really only see
what's standing right in front of me
once it's gone to the periphery
then i'm positive that we'll all have been
over inacting and underachieving
for far far too long
we think too much and do too little
it's not like it's a test or a riddle
we write creeds and manifestos
but there's no credence manifested
if we don't give precedence
not to kings queens or presidents
but to becoming a society-
a people who won't go quietly
whose thoughts and bright ideas
suddenly begin to coalesce
into lives being lived
to the absolute fullest
we need something more
we need a paradigm shift
made from something much more sure
than a philosopher's two cents
but if we don't act now
if we procrastinate and wait
our dreams will just be dreams
and tomorrow will be too late
so then-
if you don't mind
instead of stopping just to analyze and think
i think i'll take that half of a glass
and maybe take a drink
Oct 6, 2017
Oct 6, 2017 at 7:07 PM UTC
Encyclopedic mainframes
Lap-top heads
Power-boxes for multitudinous outlets, plugs, chargers
Conduits manipulating
Fiber-optic arteries
Artificial energy
ZAP
Pale lights
Computers aglow in dark cloistered bedrooms
Powered pacemakers stalling at microwaves
Electrocuted blood - cookied fantasies
Ads proclaiming everything free!
Pharmaceutical elixirs for limpness, lumpiness, loneliness
Snake-oil for suffering
Nigerian kings, Syrian refugees
*********** clever memes, whimsical gifs, shocking news, witty banter
Socio-politic-religous-diatribes
Spewing on every thread
Existential *****
Aroma-less cuisines
Vacuumed vacations
Youtubed communions
Suicide selfies.
Crucifixdrones - pedolandia
Jdate.POF.AshleyMadison.Match. Eharmony.SpeedDate.OKcupid
CG. Missed encounters...
Serial killers,
Pixalated ******* vein-throbbed **** shots, cardboard gloryholes
Instagramed I
Inviolate I
Internet I
I I I
No sweaty arm pits, cottage cheese, gray nose hairs or belly fat
Computer [ScreenShot]
While behind, posters hang: The Doors, Tupac, NIN, The Smiths, Hendrix, Joy Division, Nirvana
HandshapedHeart.
2D souls
Text-dating
144 word manifestos
#revolutions
Archetype emoticons
Doodled centaurs
Caged in matrices
Transcendental notes
Need a hit
Of internet smack
A line, a pinch, a drag
A like, a comment, a kudos
A reply, a thumbs up, a share, a poke
One measly view
Baby, come on, give me a fix
Just one
Notification: ding-beep-buzzzz
I want to dissolve like alka-seltzer in tap water
Otherwise I'm a used-up toothpaste tube
Sitting in a dank medicine cabinet
If not, I am
A stick-figure created from matches
Drowning in a drum of gasoline
Not buried beneath pregnant soil
No. dumped into blue recycling bins.
[Ctrl +Alt+Delete]
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
*philosophy: and yes, we all believed in the insane asylum in the first place... at least the theists are suicidal... the atheists are hanging-on, mundane boors... listening to atheists is like listening to someone trying to erradicate the thesaurus... like someone trying to sharpen a staff... atheism is case of: stoppage of synonyms... because no philosophy book i've read invokes grammatical words, i.e. nouns, verbs... no argument in this direction is cool... the *** knows Tai Chi... i'm just waiting for a ******* to say it's Chinese!*
and beyond the counter to worship,
the atheistic argument
is bound to a lot of talk and thought...
when atheism does do much away with
prayer...
then secularism does...
let's just say: acknowledge the idiot...
either pray... or think or talk
and subsequently acknowledge
that sort of ultimatum...
i can't agree on either pathos...
pray... or talk...
find enough Goebbels, and you'll
find enough like-minded manifestos
of Englishmen...
and esp. Jews attired as
such... cos you weren't gangraped enough.
if you were a friend of a friend... and a friend that
said: biology... via the pharaoh's gambit...
you still wouldn't
consecrate their friendship over a steak,
but you would.
atheists don't have an argument,
they still abide to arguing his existence,
by thinking about him, or talking about him,
prayer seems the most lazy escapism
to the caged compensated comparison,
given we're all caged...
and escapist... and bound to escapism...
you construct the pyramids!
you do!
a bunch of quasi intellectuals!
plainly stated: brick on brick!
you lay it down: down to: a word on word!
i can have an argument...
but i can't be even bothered to keep it...
it just gets boring after a while,
and given that i'm not keeping the argument
for a way to shove food down my mouth...
i just think atheism exists because
we have transcended so many natural obstacles...
personally? i'd rather hear a tsunami quake
than hear an atheist talk...
and that's because so few of us will have
the actual argument in this stratosphere...
since most of us will probably rather the thrill
of a tornado... than a **** on our daily commute...
even the Frankenstein monster will be more
attractive in experience than the roudabout of an atheist...
women are least likely to champion atheism...
might be a quest for feeling...
with all the pathology...
rather than that other quest for feeling:
apathy...
and that's really, truly, manly.
can we simply prescribe one label: i think?
no... evidently we need many more labels.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 11:46 PM UTC
The film plays through a cigarette haze,
spliced souls flicker on the silver screen,
noir shapes moving through the mist,
dark shadows and beating hearts,
soon the story starts to unfurl,
plots thicken through startled eyes,
rehearsed actions and missing words,
electrification through a Gothic grin,
tears fall on the words of a script
undulations of what we once were,
the movie closes to a final score
torn manifestos as the credits roll.
Finis
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC