"misdirected" poems
Mr. handsome stranger
He’s coming after
Desperate like a last request
Frantic delusional lunatic
Unhinged fragile losing what’s left
Self serving sadomasochistic
Easy on the eyes but doesn’t quite fit in
Playing it cool in social situations
His intelligent banter he claims as his own
With somewhat smart comebacks he practiced at home
Trying so hard that the sweat beads down
Onto his stressed wrinkled furrowed brow
the stories he skillfully misdirected
Carefully darting unwanted questions
Mr. Indiscreet can’t blow his cover
Disarm the girl of his unrealistic dreams
How quite average and normal he can be
Mr. Stalker walks over to the Girl
works up the courage and talks to her
Strikes up a witty conversation
With his movie star smile and education
Using the words that he pre rehearsed
Says all the right things and compliments her
Looking past his rather peculiar behavior
And when politely asked gives up her number
He rings her up the very next day
With a romantic scenic picnic date
Under the shade of a lush green tree
Upon a blanket with wine and cheese
Playing the part of the handsome boyfriend
Gains her full trust and faith in him
Joking in a effort to make her laugh
To put her at ease and follow his plan
Jealous of her ex boyfriends
Knowing their names and full address
And when he drops her off at home
Tracks and follows her every move
Knows all her weekly kept routines
Threatens and blackmails all her friends
Studies everyday mundane errands
Unaware of his decent into madness
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 8:28 AM UTC
As the days grow cooler now,
I start to face the question, How?
It’s been so long that I can’t hear your voice,
But as the day draws near I'm left with little choice.
To tell you now just how it was,
That you took my heart and then hit pause.
You never knew and I don’t blame you for that,
But in misdirected anger I still hissed and spat.
On that day - so late in November,
The sights the smells - your smile I still remember.
Merry and Jovial we relaxed by the pool,
The evening breeze welcomingly cool.
As the sun set and the sky filled with stars,
I started to feel like I was heading for Mars.
The feeling was alien overwhelming me so,
A feeling of love …
I couldn't let that show!
And I’d never let it go!
It tore at my heart and split me in two,
Surely this could not have been all because of you?
It’s closer now the time we’ll meet again,
I know it won’t be easy - a meeting of pain.
I have my plans and I'm sure you have yours,
But I'm not going to force open those doors.
I’ll tell you my truth on the hold that you had,
It was not a craze or in passing a Fad.
It was what it was but I want to move on,
But that’s now not to say that I want you gone.
Understanding and Acceptance is part of us all,
It’s just how you cradle the rise and the fall.
It was never your fault it was me through and through,
I should have just come out and said it to you.
I loved him then and would have given my all,
But time and again I stood up just to fall.
I’ll never forget you I don’t think that I could,
But moving on is something I should.
I'm not looking for feet sweeping kisses and a lifetime together,
I just want you to know my life isn't over.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 3:23 AM UTC
Lions do sleep
On the opinion
Of sheep
Act as though
Unaffected
But deep in their
Slumber
They do solemnly
Wonder
If those words
Are too,
Unexpected
For sheep are
Wise
Of a Lion's true
Pride
The doubt that resides from
Within
The lion
The lamb
They've given
A ****
Only to be
Misdirected
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 10:36 AM UTC
Land of the free
words fed intravenuously
like opiates into opened veins
until the lies they tell us become truth
Propaganda filled drips
drown out the screams of the innocent
killed by fear and misdirected hatred
and soldiers fighting "wars" on terror
How then does the aggressor become hero?
while handing out oppression labelled as democracy
liberty comes encased in the shell of a bullet
and if you resist.........freedom
comes quicker than you wish*
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
****
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
*If you shut out the windows of the heart
Pall of gloom will engulf every corner
Forever searching with weakened vision
Whom shall you rely on to find a path?
You are bereft of any companion
As you allow none to enter your seclusion
Denying the soul of light, withering away
Gradually pushing you into oblivion
As all your sense are misdirected in gloom
Even your shadow will be forgotten
If you wish to live in eternal state of darkness*
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
Prepubescent voices
crawl back and forth
A squeaking, scratching chorus of topics
unbeknownst to the speaker
Meaningless sounds produced just to be heard
Drowned out by the unfortunately undeafening silence
of headphones plugged into nothing
Misdirected words, hidden insults, skewed meanings
Subtle bullying pretends to be older and wiser
when it is terrified of new things
Gay, **** emo, **** laughter
Because the body is hilarious
Crowded faces: authority is buried under the splotchy noise
Enter swear here _ _ _ _ _ _ _.
Because ****** is an address
And “You have no friends” is just kidding
“Go **** yourself” is love
Outward rudeness to the man who puts himself though it daily
An example for the even less learned
7-year-old cursing
Because ******* means nothing to them
or anyone else.
Sit down because there are seats
Look in my eyes, taken back immediately
stupidity realized in a golden split second of mortification
Split second passes now with more phantom confidence
One by one skip, saunter, slither down three steps
Yellow noise recedes not fast enough
Obnoxious created by too much television
And its weird to be gay, and gay to be weird
Unacceptable open windows to normality
Jack my swag
Kindly,
Will you please shut the f* * * up.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 10:10 PM UTC
Hell shimmies when I am blunted ;
When I take a knock to the senses
When I am skinless,
singing stings
and misdirected by pain
If I had trained better
I'd be deep sea
Sussing distant messages
Operating with slight tremors, vocals and movement
and only when correct...
I'd be home
I'd be instrument
Not an act
Not a pet to society
No mood fool ;
flaked,
flooded
and littered
Rapped at by experiences
Attack reacting
An embarrassment
Watching my own pattern spooling
the same sums
and spoiling with repetition
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
You are blue
Your companionship has long since gone away
Your words come slowly if ever
Your interjections have no meaning
Your passion is a doused flame
Your decisions are unfair
You are bronze
Your shine is lackluster
Your potential is untapped
Your enthusiasm is misdirected
You are rust
Your intellect is a-waste
Your trust is broken
Your mind is now clouded
You are brown
Your ear is unsharpened
You coughs are unnatural
Your friendship is valued even yet
You are orange
Your ethic is admirable
Your company is comical
Your life is my soaps
You are yellow
Your face is but fair
Your skin has blemishes
Your actions not so demure – but yet
You are red
Your actions are fuel for my fire
Your intentions are good but the crafted hands left wanting
You are Violet
Your pain was great
Your color is of love
Your solid perseverance is for me
You are White
Your brilliance outshines mine
Your patience burns as fast as light
Your opinion flares as bright as magnesium
Black is not found
Deep down I have looked
But came back wanting
Is that naïve?
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
Feeling claustrophobic doing emotional aerobics,
can’t breath so I take a breath and breath in,
and if you can’t be with the one you love,
then love the one you can be with,
time is precious,
can’t waste it,
even though I’m at this terminal,
feeling like a rebel that’s complacent,
typing on these keys,
like they could make a difference,
met Jay-Z and respect Alicia keys,
but this New York State of Mind is indignant,
feels like the world is ending,
feels like no one cares,
feeling like no one feels things,
feels like feeling don’t matter any more,
anyways,
you know what they say,
one moment you feel like you’re on top of the world,
the next moment that feeling goes away,
we’ve got pandemics,
we’ve got floods and fires,
we’ve got a worldwide lockdown,
we’ve got misdirected desires,
we’ve got not a lot left to believe in,
see people I know in the street,
and feel like,
I’ve got nothing to say to them,
dead inside,
still sparked and alive,
still I log on just to turn off,
but I’m not grabbed by anything online,
nothing is exciting,
nope nothing at all,
so I try to drown out my anxieties,
with orange juice and alcohol,
wishing I knew which directions to go in,
wishing I knew if life was real or not,
it’s 2020 it feels like that doesn’t mean anything,
feels like we got way but somehow we are still caught,
here in this moment,
with no one except ourselves,
what do you do if ignorance is bliss,
but knowledge is wealth,
which to choose,
the choice is up to you,
I can’t give you any advice,
because I don’t even know what’s true,
though I do know one thing,
when I take a breath and breath it’s,
if you can’t be with the one you love,
then love the one you can be with….
Jul 13, 2020
Jul 13, 2020 at 12:59 PM UTC
It's All About Perception
No one can understand you, because you're not your typical run of the mill
it's all due to your philosophy, a mind that thinks but a tongue that sits still
years quickly pass you by, finding yourself alone and in a world of your own
as you learn the value of pen and paper, finding refuge in a place unknown
Like being trapped in a bubble, peering out upon the world as a screen
watching everyone going about their business, while you remain unseen
transfixed on your reality you close your eyes, wishing it were but a dream
unable to fathom the depths of emotions, waiting to take you to the extreme
The reality of who you are can no longer be ignored, facing each day from anew
accepting the fact that you have no control, from others, forced to take your cue
this world is all about rising above, as it starts at the very moment of conception
it follows us throughout life, as we learn the rules, mastering the art of deception
The external images you portray, a needed smokescreen, to maintain the perception
your moves are well planned, the primary focus of your attention, without exception
failing to have considered the matter, you realize you haven't made the connection
your insecurities have misdirected your behavior, demanding the world's affection
There's no denying this fact; life is nothing more than a continuous act of deception
while the true level of your mastery of it, your ability to advance without aggression
at the end of the journey, despite what we went through, it might come as a surprise
realizing that happiness was always there, only hidden from us by our own disguise
Why continue living the life of lies, playing the games people play, there is yet hope
break the bonds of self-deception, because this vanity has really become your dope
be who you really are, a genuine beauty to behold, and in you will someone admire
your hidden love now freed, surrendered to someone true, to build that endless fire
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
On chain they did put me,
tied up to the burglary protector,
handcuffed and battered.
Tortured and meant to be broken.
Poisoned but survived.
Marked for assassination,
and shot twice,
bullets flying around,
resilient and unflinching,
was ready to confront them.
Dead or alive I must choose one.
Must find a way out of this mess,
to escape was on my mind,
but how do I get out of here without
jeopardizing the lives of my family.
Courage summoned I revert to plan B,
the art of fighting without fighting.
Intelligence and wisdom must come into play.
Must outwit them to survive.
Cunning and craftiness must be used,
the uncanny ways of the spirit is amazing.
Become like water,
be flexible,
Yielding but still immovable.
Stealth in action but remain like the firefly.
Understanding their intent
and misdirected anger,
their aggression towards me was contained.
Tranquilized and overpowered,
their capture became imminent for
i am more than a conquerer,
for the greater one lives in me.
Today I stand here to testify of that victory against
the intruders and assassins with a grateful heart.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:26 AM UTC
****** means "sheath".
Oh, how tiresomely sexist,
this utility.
**** is a sharp word,
but it will only ***** you
if you so insist.
And ********** means
"to stand in for the Goddess" --
both Mother and *****
Fertility cults
of Babylon hailed Ishtar,
the young Sophia.
In Sumerian times
they did call Her Inanna,
who shed Her jewels.
Solomon the Wise
did wed Her in his temple,
and wrote Her a Song.
At Her temple gates
await the harlots, smiling:
yours for but a coin.
Sacred silver thrown,
a rite of passage. Some wait.
Some wait longer still.
Wisdom works through them.
The hierodules of Heaven
beckon, honeysweet.
"Come to the temple,
let us dance the timeless dance,
my Lord Dumuzi!"
Rosy cheeks and lips,
shamelessness in Her power.
Passion at its peak.
Too **** for words.
Men feared Her and wrought cages,
misdirected blame.
Mary, the chaste one,
is an abomination.
Half, and the lesser.
A neutered Mother
with a ****** for swords,
a scabbard for men.
The Grail was stolen
from between Her holy thighs.
Paul was such a ****
A **** who feared Her,
Mystery of Death and Blood.
Much more than a sheath.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
I awoke alone,
after a horrid dream.
I turned to your face
to feel something comforting.
In the spot that graced your silhouette
were sheets weighted with regret.
My misdirected inflection
coupled with the misconception,
that 1+1=1 not 2 you see,
when the correct formula
is 1+1≥3
Fact is I lied.
When I pronounced "love"
with greater strength than "as long"
Fact is I lied.
When i said unconditional.
It is the beauty in song.
My regret lies in lack of earlier cognition.
This is not the first time this has happened.
Which means I never learned a lesson
inferring to my lack of a mission
or understanding,
in a man's mind muddled.
I took the position
of sitting down in the struggle.
My body fatigued, eyes bloodshot and wary
I refused to see your definition
of affection realized in the lines of the abstract.
Fact is I lied.
When I said forever;
Knowing I am temporary.
Fact is I lied.
I never finished my sentence.
A more complete thought is "one of many"
The complete truth is my love was uniform.
Designed to let any woman fill the mold.
I lacked passion.
Which gives direction in a sandstorm.
I gave up my attempts to understand why water is wet.
Returned to my dreadful fantasy
wherein my heart would contort and deform.
As I told the truth to you
in a Scarlett and Rhett fashion;
We caressed in a snowstorm.
The message cut deeper than I could ever myself.
Fact is I lied.
When I said I would be fine,smiled
and drank in the last light you would reflect.
Fact is I lied.
When I said it was me
It was the both of us I wished to confect.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
Infectious laugh,
Untamable anger,
Excitable stories,
Well-hidden anxiety.
Misdirected blame,
Unwarranted shame.
Blue eyes.
Brown hair, red hints; I wish I could have seen it with sun tints.
Smiling...
After work.
In the middle of the night.
In the mornings.
Saturday afternoons.
Rushed calls or
A day’s worth of together.
Nightmares as dreams,
Nights without sleep.
Coffee, drugs, caffeine.
Scars.
Hopelessness.
Grief.
Aspirations.
Full of life.
Childlike heart. Easily torn, but never taken apart.
An eye for nature’s beauty.
An eye for art.
One for me, occasionally.
Insecurity. Arrogance.
Compassion. Detachment.
Weak yet enduring.
Unmoving yet learning.
Intoxicating.
Aggravating.
A liar struggling to lie.
A suicide debating to die.
Lustful gaze.
Manipulative ways.
Who were you
And why couldn’t you stay?
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
Stuck in my head like music,
like lyrics that flow and move
and have meaning.
Like lines from a movie, that
voice is so clear.
over and over in loops,
cartwheeling between my
hemispheres, until,
bleary-eyed,
I rise before the sun, not
exhausted
but
excited!
Wanting more; hungering after it.
Surely it will come;
Surely I can appease my anticipation with some fanciful dream
or maybe the passing of time
will help to curb the realized enthusiasm.
But when poetry flows so
freely and necessarily from
my pen, such energy
cannot be destroyed, so much as
misdirected.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
I'm at my wit's end.
Fed up, burned out,
sick and tired.
Racing through alcohol fueled depression
because I'm not free, to be me.
Judged, criticized, crucified
held to the expectations
of other people's self-serving morality.
I'm a cog in a machine,
rolled under the wheels,
of a small business owner's
capitalist pipe dream.
I'm a pawn in a game
of war of money of politics.
Mislead, misdirected.
mission critical prime directive.
It's a story as old as "civilization"
all of this dehumanization.
Turning me into something
that serves you better.
I'm warning people
to stay away from me
because I see through their ****
and its ******** on ******** on ******** on ********
I'm warning people
I can't take much more
because every human being
is an ******* and a *****
Because we put these labels
on being truthful and free.
Because someone put a label on you
and now you put one on me.
Because someone taught you
its okay, to be
ignorant and mean.
And now I, have become
indignant and belligerent
which is just one step away
from being just like you.
But how do I move away?
Do I pack up the truck
and literally move away?
to where?
Are people somehow better somewhere?
Or do I just get as far away
as I can from them, from you?
Living off the grid
makes it hard to get laid.
Living off the land
makes it hard to get paid.
And you've been raised
to be a slave,
a wage parasite
on a dying host.
You want more than to survive.
You want to thrive.
You want to live forever
but will die of cancer or suicide.
The baby jesus inside me
has its face smashed into a tv screen.
The buddha inside me
is tired of taking the blame.
If every step kills a bug
and every bite kills a plant
and every breath kills a microbe
and every death of a dictator kills a universe of bacteria
then the only right action is inaction
and every action is inherently wrong.
Morality is a psychosomatic symptom
and our system is inherently flawed.
I try to escape and it seems like there's no way.
There's no light at the end of the tunnel,
and no traction on the corpses of the fallen.
There's a dream of hermitage, and the sadness that follows.
There is sadness in every corner bar and every heartbeat.
Sadness in every wilted limb and worried brow.
Sadness in every frustrated plea for release.
Sadness in the teardrops of the creation.
Sadness tumbling down like shards of glass
from the millions of dreams
broken by the machine.
Constant grinding.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
Yong Marx, yet to die, jumped
out of an air-conditioned car, a
journey Berlin to Bombay as the
Dream merchant of Utopia
metamorphosed him into a subhuman
white bearded national bourgeoisie.
The third world girl who was climbing a
tree without Motorcycle-
Diaries hung to her clothe looked
like an Engelian mistake possibly
not from Cuba, Zambia or Bolivia,
certainly not a Soviet artefact.
Alienation, self-affirmation and all
unlike modes of production confused
his surplus brain. The dichotomy
of imaginings and reality with the
girl proven anti-thesis kafkaesqued
him an added ****** struggle.
A shift in his struggle with a smile
on her lips gave a hint of welcome to her
Animal Farm. He did get inside.
The moulded furniture, preoccupied sickle
and the lacking exploitation
left him a disappointing proletariat grin.
She opened her mouth, blue words
did not discharge. Neither the mid wife
nor the revolution pumped her conscience.
He got up, disappointed, alarmed,
cursed the chap who misdirected
to a class-less renewed pattern.
“Comrade” she said shaking his hands,
the blood did stir for a moment but
the fight less slant , **** suits and
her distant reality pained the rationalist.
The amusingly alienated young Marx
jumped into his car and left for utopia.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 10:41 AM UTC
rock smashes scissors
break our swords
Scissors cut paper
tear up our poetry
paper covers rock.
shielded by policy
we have our voices.
all rock, all scissor, all paper.
all spock, all lizard
we do not play games, we Speak.
We throw spock hands like Gang signs
spit parsel tongue at pride haters
we write love letters to revolution
We cut red tape with our long fuzes
Hit rock bottom, more bass in our
Voices than god knows what to do with
So we tell him exactlly where it should go.
Rock Paper Scissors Lizard Spock
They hold their pens like scissors
carving history books into erasure poems
We would swing our pens like swords.
But no leader we trust has been elected yet.
We would have a leader to guide us
But snakeoil salesmen plague our trenches.
There would be no snakeoil salesmen if
we had a stable government
We would have a stable government
but the stability was sharpied out of our history books.
And To history, loud voices sound
like the fires of god.
And are we not the voices with more bass then God knows what to do with.
without words on the wind,
There is no flame
so aren't we fire.
We all have tealights waiting in cold oven hearts.
stone hearths begging for Ignition
eager for bootleg promises of warmth
The orange rhetoric of our future
no warmer than tinders logo.
or a video recording of a fireplace
flickering on a flatscreen at best buy.
We are distracted constantly.
misdirected by Houses of paper cards
origami swans we don't dare unfold
Staying ignorant of the tire track liner inside.
origami swans are so much more beautiful
when they have secrets, right?
I have a matchstick
watch me strike it lit
flare this paper swan into a pheonix.
And hold it in my fist.
there will be fire.
and it will not be a metaphor
But It will be a revolution
And it will be a pheonix
and the pheonix WILL be a metaphor
The Rabbi at Temple Beth El
said when a mans consumed by gods fire
it is a severance from faith, a spiritual death.
what have we done
if not lost faith in our government?
Been consumed by the fires of god.
and why not tattoo pheonix feathers
on our backs?
at least this death gave us warmth.
a home in the world's ashes.
I stared at the dragons fire that stormed towards me
thanked it for the oppurtunity
to walk out of this world
holding dragons eggs
Like Daneris Tygareon
and they will be real dragons.
incubated by REAL fire
despite this crumbling cataclysm
you call a great america.
Spock handed Lizards larger and louder
with all the rocks
paper and scissors they need
to set the world on fire.
To Finally see something beautiful be born.
A Home that keeps them warm.
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 12:53 AM UTC
1
Marion Island, 2011 and 2008
The fur seal courts the king penguin
runs after it,
as if the penguin were a desirable female seal
and then fails
(it’s just not possible physically;
and hey, the girl says NO!)
and then tears the bird to bits
and eats it
(if you can't ***** it
you eat it)
maybe that fur seal is a loser
chased out by other dominant seals
all female seals taken for the season
and so tries in desperation
to gain entry into a penguin
2
like other losers
many life-forms do it, it seems
insects, spiders, worms, frogs
birds and fish – they just do it…
chaotic with testosterone,
exiled from female receptacles
where you pour in *****
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 5:47 AM UTC
bounce,
soaring up and down and
bounce,
soaring misdirected
thud.
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 2:53 AM UTC
the tangibility of fallibility
is met between the coincidence
and insatiability of adversity,
the blissfulness of satisfaction
is met between the constant refraction
and abstraction of our instability,
distancing perceptions bound by
our misinterpreted misconceptions ,
take the contradictions of our minds
and use them as receipted expectations,
blinded by darkness for illumination
idyllically thriving on the absence of starvation
but the the realism of disdained relation put us
in a position of contempt fixation,
placement of a pedestal beneath my feet
misdirected direction towards a forked defeat,
a way to pain and a way to pleasure,
the destination of each concluded at cloudy weather,
atmospheric conditions leave injunctions towards
the ****** functions to deviate and meditate
the conflicted constant of mind and heart
and diverge from its obliged obligation from the start,
a denouncement expected right from inception
brought afloat a constant instance of introspection,
intrinsic emotions distorted at a love’s devotion
sparks a metaphysical claim towards a complex notion
of companionship and intensified intimacy;
an expectant of reciprocated sympathy
but when in reality, the thought of apathy
lies not within the partner,
but within me
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 8:56 PM UTC