"manmade" poems
I allow my face to become a jungle.
No longer barren—
or devoid of fuzzy foliage.
The manmade steel that shredded
and sliced the whisker trees
lays abandoned, somewhere
in a porcelain graveyard
rusting and eroding into ash--
slowly becoming one with nature
again.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
Miss mother nature, goddess of earth
your grass masturbates my feet
and the clouds cushion my bedhead –
I am alive
as the plants breathe, I
can watch myself as they watch me.
I am mundane, plain, a concrete building
brutalist and manmade
but their real existence, live vines climb
and make me seem attractive…
Even as I want to be dead,
they kiss me as a husband would his
sleeping wife –
even loving when unaware, forgetting
acknowledgement
being beautiful all alone.
Miss mother nature, goddess of earth
I am alive
no longer manmade in your home.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC
I saw a flower
So miniscule compared to a tower
But it’s beauty so superior
The tower so inferior
Though a piece of art
Created by someone so smart
But a flower wasn’t designed
Nor created by mankind
Instead a natural piece
It’s life only a temporary lease
Nothing is forever
Nor constant, always an unpredictable endeavor
But that’s the beauty
Nature’s easily attainable duty
The want, the need, to continue on
As we look forward towards the next dawn
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
your eyes are not oceans
and you are not a natural disaster
you are manmade and you will topple
and i will be the one to topple you
because you are a literal bag of human ****
and if you think that telling me
that i deserve ****
will impress your fellow man friends,
you had better watch the **** out
because i am coming for you with a taser
and a buzzsaw
your mra t-shirts can't help you now,
****
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
We lied we need change
When all we feel is rage
For the government we create
Who don’t feel shake if the economical price inflate
*
We lied we are happy
When we hide in the bathroom; crying
We lied we are living
When we are striving for surviving
*
We lied we are grown
When we are yet to be birth
We lied we are strong
And here we are; paralysed
*
We lied we are in traffic
When we’re still on our bed dreaming
We lied we are set
When with default setting; we’re breathing
*
We lied we want about-move
From politics of Jong-Un
From government of John Bull
And parliaments filled with masters of Kungfu
*
We lied we are in love
When the only thing we feel is lust
We lied we are loved
When the only feeling we procure is hurt
*
We lied we are loyal
When we lust only after the royal one
We lied we are loyal
And when the ox is gored; we run
*
We lied we are in paradise
When in filthiness we dine
Stuck in a big mess
Living in hell; but not minding our business
*
We lied we are responsible
When at the sight of challenge; we flee
We lied we are smart
Whereas we are trickening; coz at the sight of themisticoles; we flee
*
We lied we are beautiful
When our heart is filled with greed and hate
We lied we are pretty
When the pancaked look on our face is manmade
*
We lied we are the future
Saying we are the leaders of tomorrow
We lied; saying we are injured
Whereas we’re completely trapped in hollow
*
We lied we’re from the hood
So no one else to talk to
Coz our lifestyle is not good
And that leaves us in bad mood
*
We lied we are good
When at the depth of our heart; we’re bad
We lied we are confuse
When we’re stuck and which way? We cant conclude
*
We lied to survive the tide
And from the real part of life; we hide
Tell the truth’ man; be freed inside
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC
Handicap suburban hippies
Cruising like hyenas
Trampoline ******
****** tissues in ashtrays
Natural born riders
Liquid courage makes little peanuts
Alien Nation
Infomercials on mute
Strange thugs and dark markets
Needles and pixie sticks
Under the manmade weather
New types of bullet holes
Slaying the jabberwocky in
The new Transylvania
The Yes monster
Cranium stadium
Swords and roses
Barren space
Insolent minx
Holidays gone bad
Continental drift
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
I live in the land
Of the inbetweeners.
We are what
The French would call,
Bourgeoisie.
What the ghetto calls,
Bougie.
What the successful calls,
Day dreamers,
And what we call,
The future leaders.
I live in
The land of rebels.
The people who fought against their oppressors
Because they know the truth behind
Social Darwinism;
And the fact of the matter is
That no race
Is a superior race
Because "race"
Is a manmade idea
To justify the injust
Ideas of slavery.
The rebels who ran out of chains
Because they weren't
Supposed to be chained down.
The rebels who walked midnight railroads
To escape the clutches
Of the white man's burden.
The rebels who refused to stand
In one spot
When there were plenty of seats available.
The rebels who refused
to bite their tongues and
The rebels who refused to be spoken over
Because they had
A lot of important stuff to say.
The rebels who dreamt outrageous dreams,
So that the complexion
Of your pigment
Was never a deciding factor
In your life.
The rebels who refused
to follow unlawful laws
Because they were
Law abiding citizens
Only when laws were just.
The rebels who challenged what was superiority,
The rebels who changed the course of history forever.
I live in
The land of the outsiders
Who conform the
Preconceived ideas
To fit them
We roll small blunts
of white paper
Filled with the words
of novels and poetry
And blow through those books
Inhaling every letter
And letting it cling to our lungs
Flowing the grammar
Throughout our bodies.
We stand spittin
Absolute value bars
Rapping elongated equations
Of X equals
Y +/- root Z
Divided by root A
Times the quantity of
B - C.
We stick up
Banks filled with
Material and instruction.
Stealing all the information we can take
And try peicing it together
So that more than words
We have knowledge.
We **********
Our brains,
Pleasing its sapiosexual
******* with
Grammar and arithmetic.
I live in the land
Of the inbetweeners.
The people making history
In their everyday lives.
The revolutionaries
Who fight for even
The smallest of issues.
The individuals who stand out
Amongst a crowd of people
That look just like them.
The inbetweeners,
They who refuse
To subjugate themselves
To society,
But will subjugate society
To themselves.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
a river runs through a ghostly town
soaked clay red with the blood of the earth,
the land is marked with tire tracks like an addict's elbow crease
sweating oil and electrical wire,
fields tilled with the claws of a paper beast
sprout telephone poles and generations of debt
amongst indigo coffee beans,
rotting tin roofs striped with rust
creak folklore in the pouring rain,
muddied palms clinging to trust on mala beads
are stung with poisoned ink leaked from shrines golden and winking,
an ornate temple carves god sharp into a clouded sky
its steeple piercing his hands
shards of bone spilling ash onto upturned foreheads,
sun scorches unsuspecting soil and it cries exhaust fumes,
the sputtering song of a motorbike is answered
by the howl of a stray mutt in an alleyway
reverberating pleas to a clenched fist,
an unremitting flame sweeps ruin
across leaf barren trees
wind choking on smoke coughing up skeletons,
and the planet heaves
and the planet heaves
weezing on humanity's delirious daydreams
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
If you ever get close
to the fork in a path,
wander through the tectonics
that diverged the road
in the first place.
Every pixel of your being
is animated. Even the unlit
trap doors leaving pockmarks
on your mind's landscape
possess colors with no name.
Who knew electronic and acoustic
were just estranged family all along?
GENRE is a manmade affectation--
music appreciation for Jingoists.
If they feed you a raindrop,
swallow the entire ocean.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
Five four three two one,
Fire spews,
Flames violently shoot out of the golden boosters,
Cold ice breaking off the shell,
The white noise fills the air,
The ground shakes with panic,
And liftoff,
The manmade seraph lifts into the sky,
The Golden Flame forcing it further up,
We watch not with excited eyes,
But with sad hearts and long faces,
We know,
We know today is the last day this bird will fly,
We have slain an angel,
We have slain American Patriotism,
We have slain ourselves,
The Space Shuttle may just have been a chemical reaction lifting mass into the sky,
But it let us explore,
It let us discover space,
The bitter, beautiful darkness that surrounds and blankets the planet,
And now we have told her she must die,
Regressive politics turning into a malignancy against mankind,
Killing the Human spirit,
Spreading,
Cancerous tumors mark landforms on the map,
Goodbye,
My Dear Space Shuttle,
My technological love,
You always inspired me,
It's my turn now.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 9:19 AM UTC
Boys will be boys, will be men, will destroy
Will take and take what you create
Will shame you if you deviate
Will make the rules they proceed to break
And after every encounter, you're a little more shaken
A little more autonomy from you has been taken
You rack your brain to find the words to demonstrate just how it hurts
Time passes - and the moment is gone
They were staring at your *** and you know it was wrong
You know you don't belong
You are an object for observation
But that's a whole different song
So does it make it any better when you play along?
Are you simply playing victim in a manmade system?
A child of the Fight, how do you extract from that mode?
In a world full of players, you let yourself be taken
How is it that you manage to let the simple words break in?
The glass ceiling is surprisingly sharp
And the burden on your back gets heavier as you approach
The child in the closet didn't make it this far
There's a fine line between honoring your wounds and hiding in the dark
This is the line I walk every day
On one side, victim and healer, I tend to my wounds
The other lives in reality and makes the right moves
But duality is a falsity
Of course one can't be two
And the structure I see in the world I perceive brings out the fight
**** the patriarchy
**** the Right
They're not right
Their vision is just limited
There are so many issues I wish to address
If I cry through the fight, does that make it worth any less?
Does my brokenness somehow discount the rest?
The weight of my burdens change by the day
And yes, victimhood is the easiest way
May I be the last to place blame
This glass house holds no shame
And if you won't throw the stones at the broken and stuck
Pass them around and throw them straight up
Let's all make the ceiling shatter and fall
And watch now as the shards rain down
And this can happen when we're all ready to be active
And act as protagonists in our own play
So **** the patriarchy, but do it in your own time, and in your own way
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
a babe is born in the light of fire
held aloft to the fire in the sky
once again the tribe lives on
new- born
and the womb of women
swollen
the magic and mystery
of manmade fires
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
The city tosses, turns, and finally rises,
Surrendering to daylight and giving itself over
to the bustling movements of its citizens.
At the crosswalk, an old codger in rags holds a panhandling sign,
And nearby a bearded hippy plays guitar.
The sound of beggars, musicians, bored businessmen,
And all the teaming masses drift through back alleys,
And float through the air like the heady perfume of car exhaust.
Each street, each block, each break in the never-ending flow of man’s own personal jungle.
Brings to mind stepping into a whole other world.
Here, in one such strange nexus, a building likened to a castle,
Stares across a narrow stretch of road at an abandoned building,
Cracked broken and peeling, tattooed with graffiti from a hundred vagabond artists.
It conjoins directly to a new building,
the fresh, well maintained walls of which offer striking contrast.
The confused, confounding nature of the true jungle is in this manmade facsimile
More well reflected than anywhere else in the world.
The muggy air rings with life, the heat is stifling,
And for all that it has a strong allure.
This city, and all cities.
For in every corner, at every street, life bleeds from a city.
It grows from the crack like a flowering ****
And in truth,
Is a flower born in the streets of a city, atop the stem of a dandelion
Any less a flower than a rose from the heart in the woodland?
To me, that a flower could be so brazen, so proudly out of place,
Makes it all the more a thing of beauty.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
This is it
This is reality
The color of the leaves in the sun
The feeling of harsh asphalt on bare feet
The light breeze that makes your hair dance
The lack of manmade noise
The repetition of footsteps
Propelling you forward
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 10:06 AM UTC
It happened every moon that
Filled the sky, the transformation
Couldn't be stopped.
I howled in defiance
I howled to cure the moon
I spoke unto the heavens
"Freedom from you"
I walked the places I could not
Have before, birthday suit
Wasn't the suit to show my
Face arrested for sure.
"Washing lines"
"Like a free store"
Socks,
Knickers,
Trousers,
Then last of all a shirt to finish me off,
Knickers you think?? this doesn't happen
All the time, but I find them nice to the touch.
I could feel you clawing upon the flesh
"Needing release"
But this is the moon of plenty now play
Nice, soon it will be your turn.
I sink pints as if water, then I find
Myself licking at the pint of ale,
Looking around,
Quizative,
Stares,
Beard
Upon my face, weren't you shaven when
You entered this place??
Hoooooowwww.
Do I know, I didn't look in the mirror
Before I left home.
"You drunk fella"
Nooooowwww
Right out the door I was politely
Thrown to the curb.
Well at least I tasted it this time,
"Golden nectar"
The animal is approaching
"My moment has pasted"
As I arch in agony,
Some one kicks me,
"Laughs at my pain"
"Would you like to meet my friend"
"He'll take a bite out of you friend"
Kicked upon the face as clothes shred off.
"The wolf is released"
Gone is man, primal form freedom
From that white hell that plagues
Every full moon,
I clamp down upon
Meat,
Marrow,
Bone
Shatters in my fanged grasp,
As my claws rip upon his throat.
I swipe once more as his head detaches
And leaves a frozen look of terror,
Rolling upon the floor.
I am free, I am the beast as I
Pounce upon road and path,
I reach the outskirts of my home
"I look at the manmade filth"
Howling into the night I am wolf,
Cured to be man for when the moon shines
I am that which is cursed I become man.
.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
Knife brandished and dusted
on dirt rubber grout grown
stuck between concrete
slabs in parking lot, stabs
the oak bark and climbing
with hand hold knots and
claw bent cramp
of forearm strain
What if the lake came to life
revealed secrets from the last
era, before manmade channels
and bridges truss and bending
On approach grip loosens
uncovered, looks echo in time
loud, unsure when muffled voices
make it past headphones
while walking through clouds
of regrettable memory
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
Felt so long like Eros sat in prison,
let my blood pale from crimson.
Until you cast your shadow to my sun
made of all sweet smelling things and spirits risen.
Undid my braid
every tangled knot, and auburn strand; one by one.
I could not define safety, until with you I laid
and showed, to my temple, the steel of gun
see now, even fear is manmade
as the legs of fate's circle on run.
Do you know what it is to feel complete
and still sing the lonely song of sailors?
As your darling walks with slow feet
what thoughts of me, will you savor?
Would never need to see another sky: by makers, so long as I could look into your eyes, so blue,
so sweet.
I wish I could say I love you
but I am so new and weak.
So I sit, and stir, and tear up papers;
wait another rosy day for you to speak.
I wish I could say I love you
and you would repeat the words, caught between cheek.
Aug 27, 2021
Aug 27, 2021 at 3:34 AM UTC
The smell of dust lies heavy in the air
like ***** boots in muddy waters.
The pull of the moon is grasping and clinging
as melodious songs drift soft and sweet.
Gently stirring
as lovers heave and sigh in the midnight heat
like pink blossoms on a silk tree.
What is embellished and what is left out
when in the woods we return to reason and faith.
This measure of life is a transcient game, when
an absurd proposition relatively considered reveals
the moist
the wet
the warm
and almost indefinite ethereal imagination of you is appreciated by all.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
My comforts, an illusion;
a man crafted in the mind,
to soften the blow of reality.
His touch, warm and delicate,
fake and fleeting,
leaving my heart twisted sour.
An intimacy, imagined,
hands merged with the air,
a hot fever overwhelming.
I cannot break free,
from this manmade delusion,
as too much of me relies on him.
Sanity shatters under my breath,
without his sweet embrace,
a broken mind created man in an empty space.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
Blind through the heavens I seek
For the star that bears your name
There within my heart I keep
Eternally loves soft flame
For the star that bears your name
Guides me with loves sweet call
Eternally loves soft flame
Does hold me close and enthralled
Guiding me with loves sweet call
To stand by your side as wife
Does hold me close and enthralled
This bond together we call life
To stand beside your side as wife
Brings to me a joy untold
This bond together we call life
Nothing manmade can unfold
Brings to me a joy untold
This family we have raised
Nothing manmade can unfold
That which always does amaze
The family we have raised
There within my heart I keep
That which always does amaze
Blind through the heavens I seek
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 6:51 PM UTC
How many tears does is take to make a river?
It takes a lifetime of depression and desperation for someone to give a ****
It takes a broken home and broken hearts and broken spirits.
It takes a teenager years to get over their parents divorce.
A manmade canyon in the ground of the tears of broken kids and
Despair.
How much blood does it take to start a forest fire?
It takes blades upon blades being dragged against pale skin.
It takes the bandaids used to patch the severed hearts from bleeding.
It takes the whites of eyes turning to red from the cries of help but all you get is ignored.
It takes pain.
Irritation.
Anger.
How much skin does it take to cover a desert?
It takes the skins of buried kids who have laid to rest under 6 feet of soil.
It takes the skins you were born with and cut off because you don’t like the way it looks.
Cell on cell of skin. Every grain of sand in the desert is different like the swirls on our fingertips.
How much breath does it take to start a breeze?
You huff, and puff, and blow this place down but the only thing thats crumbling is your hopes and dreams.
Mother nature doesn’t comfort us at all.
She created the elements of life and death and sadness.
Just in disguise from our own minds.
A trick.
We fell for it.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
There is no them
There is just us
No boogeyman
No vile foe
There is no evil
Save what’s common
In all of us from head to toe
Unbroken cycles of misery
Hatred upon hatred
Piled deep
And we wonder why
It happens
That our cities
End up in heaps
Let’s end the division
And work together
No either/or
But also/and
Let’s reach across
These manmade barriers
And listen to
And understand
We’re not going to solve
Any problems
If we point our fingers
And lay the blame
If you work for peace
And solutions
You drop the labels
And the names
Feb 14, 2010
Feb 14, 2010 at 10:01 AM UTC
The Time For Humanity To Mature Has Not & Would Never Come. Read on - be intrigued.
Now that I believe for a long time after I attained the age of 22 years on 23rd December, 2012.
Many of the spiritual literature pieces are just contradictory to themselves, why would HE let the occurence of any trouble then and hold only the other end of a jittery life helping us cross to the other end safe & fine?
If you would excuse this question saying "HE can never be questioned and HE alone is the destructor & the creator," then it's just a desperate excuse which you hold to considering theism as flawless & unquestionable, me & any similar people as psychos, or perhaps losers.
I don't discourage theism nor do I encourage anybody to share similar thoughts as mine, but I myself don't encourage idling over the concept of the special spiritual unseen power. I agree that some phenomena like love, kindness, greed, lust & hatred can't ever just be scientifically explained in total completeness by just citing some natural laws of nature or physics. But then again why do we often indispensably need that imaginary hand above our heads for protection or more than often have to spend money in praise of the imaginary hand above our heads?
Any mention about theists' escapist nature would be countered by their many statements of the following kind:
o Us theists, we don't escape problems, we just gather courage when we have identified a problem in our lives by remembering the imaginary hand above our heads sheltering us from all troubles and then tackle the problem with enough strength.
o Theism does neither lack anything divinity nor does it lack even anything evil, both of them are manmade concepts, the world was created as a perfect place for the existence of human race.
o Instead of just leaving us all alone in this troublesome world, He has sent few of His men and we can blindly follow them to resolve our own specific troubles with solutions ideated around age-old books written by great men and we don't need anybody to question our faith wherever it is.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
i.
a father doing sit-ups on the uncut lawn of his neighbor.
the father’s two children pushing a broken thing past him.
the shop the children map from the inside. its keeper
who is also the neighbor and knew their mother.
ii.
the grace of a thing could be a frog pushing off.
I am alternately sad in the legs, the body, and the head.
my father regards the misshapen wheel of our manmade
pond- bangs on himself and begins to float.
iii.
small one she wins a rubber thing at a firemen’s ball.
some flying creature her grandfather becomes.
his top teeth tremble like worried pilots in a silent plane
weighted with unknowable freight.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 2:07 AM UTC