"modernized" poems
I was in love with a Poem:
The poet lured her victims into her wild kingdom of
Word, words, words, that
became the forest of ****** illusion
verses and verses that I never encounter;
In this kingdom I never notice the Sunrise before Sunset
The chanting before the protesters
Lightening before the winds
suddenly brought on by the rain,
That triggers the mighty storms:
The poetics effects of Similes, Hyperbole,
Understatement and personification devices got my attention
Pages after pages,
line of words that opened my eyes,
The mighty pen, a trending poem,
and there I was a loyal reader
With an amazing cup of hot coffee
The poem took me through
this much-modernized tale of
Alice’s rabbit hole adventures
Poems are to be read aloud,
loving making is meant to be private
So is mourning for the dead:
Some things are just meant to be...private
My love for the poem and
my admiration on its poetic views
Is more than human emotions,
than my stimuli of brain ***
I read the poem while sipping my coffee,
Birth, death, politics and religion
*** drugs and empty souls : human emotions,
This much-modernized free verse poetry can causes multiplies *******
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 3:46 PM UTC
I’ll express what I know
To spare you your pride
And allow you to keep your secrets.
Lately, I’ve fallen
And not in the literal sense.
I [pause]
I’ve lost the meaning of life
There is no point for me to continue my journey
I’ve stopped exercising
I’ve stopped walking under the majestic sky
The clouds my safe haven
The blue sky my tranquility
I’ve stopped looking into the golden sunlight
Only for my skin to embrace its warmth
I’ve stopped breathing
Holding my breath, waiting for the beauty to resurface
For what I once saw has vanished
I see poison in the air, so I hold my breath
Hold my breath
As I run out of oxygen, my mind scatters
To how a human is the perfect invention
The perfect tool
For reason, understanding, and unlimited thinking
The movement of man
How angelic
Yet how insignificant
We are but one creation among billions
Our existence is only a hazard
To the perfect environment around us
The majestic sky
The clouds; my safe haven
The golden sunlight
All we have done is turn them to poison
To dust
I see you laugh, as you must think this a joke
Yet I must ask
What have you done
To save the one God that created the beauty and the destruction
Mother Nature herself?
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
Ask...and you shall be given answers
seek...and you'll be told where to look
knock...say, hello?...hello? hellooow?
a voice named siri replies:
"is it me you're looking for?"
i think,
the eyes, the mind, even the heart, need
clear, goggle-like glasses, for 20/20 vision,
to grasp, to discern, be forewarned,
not to be overwhelmed by whatever
data unfolds on the screen
they say, there are contrived solutions,
for life's every complication
search engines are accessible to all
just press specific keys, and, Voila!
surf, play...easy games, easy friends
but, can they really answer all questions?
every human question?.........like,
do elephants really cry? how did it occur
that they have excellent memories?
is Timbuktu modernized now?
are there still surviving cannibals?
will the remaining Bee Gees member,
tell us how to mend a broken heart?
do rosicrucians really possess secret wisdom?
what happened to you and me?
how do i save myself from emotional vampires?
how do i cook pad thai?
...and how do i get you out of my mind?
why does the rooster crow after midnight
how does logarithm work with poetry?
do dogs have souls? do they visit their
masters?....i miss my dogs Misty and Tiny,
...and i miss you...what's wrong with me?
God, why do i even bother to ask?
my goggled eyes are blinded by grief
my goggled mind refuses to forget
this goggled life of mine feels empty
and it has nothing to do with technology...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 23, 2018
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
Chained with shiny metal in our necks , slavery that allows you to express , but its still slavery okay!
Gold chains,diamond rings
Outside similes while inside screams
We allowed slavery in our eyes
We see treasure afraid to blink
People watch while they getting brainwashed , when they get told ,they don't accept it.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
09.01.13
I know the likelihood of me getting asked to prom measures up to the likelihood of anyone actually using the white crayon in the Crayola box. I am going to be the girl that’s not even on any guy’s Plan B.
And that would be totally cool except I’m sad.
I am shaking my head at God and how he totally owes me one.
Prom is supposed to be like, the fairytale moment! I’ve been dreaming of princes and ballrooms and dancing and romance and magic and love… probably since I was conceived. How could you even let the dreamer girl who wanted to be a princess nurture five hundred layers of beautiful only to coat her with thick paint in the shade called “ugly”? (Trivia: That drives boys away.)
So maybe I still made believe I was a princess. But often enough, the mirror reflects the facade, when I’m expecting it to hold my heart. It gets to a point that you just have to let go.
I have theories. I used to despair and say that I was in the wrong storybook. What a life for such a girl. But it happens that romantics don’t have anyone to hold. (Thus the teddy bears, I suppose. Do you know how hard I hug those? I am pathetic.) My second theory, is maybe I’ve been looking from the wrong perspective. Maybe my life isn’t going to be a fairytale in the way I expect. How about a modernized version or something?
It’s becoming obvious that I don’t really have any ideas.
Except for one last.
Maybe there’s a plot twist?
Maybe there’s a plot twist.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 8:01 AM UTC
My love for you isn't just a feeling.
It's a civilization.
It's a group formed in unorganized noise.
A commotion of expression purposely existing
the sole purpose of you.
Living & breathing.
A jumbled language overheard.
Stenciled with each patter of foot.
Every horn honked.
Each lane clogged with the thought of you.
A foundation built from the ground up
in means to explore.
A stone age modernized.
Misinterpreted by the desire of fire.
Protected.
Built upon.
Built into the tallest building, which I call your name.
My love for you is like the plane that flies overhead.
Roaring loud in repetition.
Tedious nooks & crannies.
Places to shop, things to see.
All the things I see when I look into your eyes.
My love for you a province of sorts.
The smell seared in a pan. Best served on a plate for two.
A mix of different pastas, vegetables.
Fried in upbeat cafe, different aromas.
The chit chat different versions of me.
Complimenting the very essence of you.
A new building erected with cranes and steel beams.
Plastered dry wall.
Soon opened for your arrival
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 3:09 PM UTC
I want you to think positive today
Speak up when you have something to say
Stand up and let your voice be heard
Whenever injustice knocks at your door
Don’t be afraid to cry out for mercy
Don’t be afraid to cry so the world may be at your knees
Don’t be afraid to be vocal
Whether foreign or local
Don’t be afraid to challenge the stagnant system
Whether by voice or by the written work
Let our hearts beat as one with the Congo rhythm
Sing out The great reggae legend philosophy
Bob Marley
One Love, One hearts lets get together and feel all right
I and I is a woman of righteousness
Everywhere me step Jah bless
Me radical
Every vagabond has to scatter as the power under which is dwell is internalized
Out of me the almighty specialized and their wicked cult can’t suffice
So open up your eyes
Please do realize
Take away the cobwebs, remove the mask of disguise
And see I prophecy
Paint away the graffiti of one’s mind
Remove the zinc fences and card board boxes
That tries to manipulate
See God
See the devil when he masquerades
Realize his plan
His advocates and be aware
It’s a physical
A spiritual warfare
Soldiers
Put on your armour
Prepare for war
Keep your mind open
Keep it secure
The gateways to your soul
Protect it with spiritual intervention
If you don’t
Illusion
Delusion
Difficult situation
Under the system’s manipulation
Hold an herbal, spiritual meditation
And revolutionized
Modernized this ya mind
Christena AV Williams
Jamaican Radical poet, rap lyricist and Author
Pearls among stones
All rights Reserved.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
He's been through this before
Writer's block
No, not that
But the feeling of it
Applied to life
As a whole
All's dank near the dream
The dream
That which we all have
Dreams of our lives
Dreams of our lies
As we abandon all good and evil
In our search for stability
What we seek
shining nameless
walking out of the world
we chase it
visualize it
black on glowing grey
the green light deferred for a grey one
It walks, then runs.
From these dreams
the witness
turns aside
constantly
throughout his life
the witness runs
the distance grows
the impossibility is perceptible
We know what is happening
We are all witnesses
yet we do not know the solution
so we watch on
the arid climate of our world scorched by our own infallibility
our race
the one we share as inhabitants of this earth
the one drawn as a cartoon image of itself
drawn in its own image
redrawn, modernized
The traveller waits on the shores of our beach
He beckons to the shadows in the distance
He calls out, warmly
like a father to his son
He calls once more
He calls no more
The traveller waits
I wish to call out to the traveller
I wish to exclaim
'disguise not your battered soul'
I wish to comfort
But I cannot
I am in the distance
My limbs will not carry me in that direction
I am in the distance
amongst a flock of martyred guns
in our digital world, a blank text box is a blank page.
we need not think about what we will write
we need not think.
yet we are human.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
There is something about this
House in Hackensack...
It attracts people...like a magnet.
They often gather here, and
They are welcomed any time.
Eyes and souls surround,
Even strangers are drawn to it,
Like bees attracted to the flowers.
Reunions are looked forward to...
Even short chats and visits
For some coffee or wine
Are always welcome.
This house....
It makes people want to come back...
It's not just the food,
Or the help it offers...
The comeliness of the place,
The people that live within...
The noise... ever-present,
The shaking of the stairs, when the boys
Chase, tease each other...
The squabbles, replete with tears...
Cabinets are real heavy,
With weight-y stories to tell...
The bedrooms, so inviting, where jokes
And giggles underneath the covers
Could be heard till late hours of the night...
All gather in the kitchen,
The hub in this house...
Family, friends...even new guests
Do not go to the living room...
They walk straight to the kitchen.
There, where the home scents
Exude warmth,
Fragrant with home-cooking.
The long dining table says it all...
A different kind of music
Plays every time
And invites everyone
To stay for a while and relax...
It beckons each time...
It whispers...
"Go, find your corner...do your thing,
You'll be okay..."
And so, the cozy sun room became
A favorite spot in that house,
Where beautiful poetry bloomed
At any hour during that whole month.
From out front, along the street,
Circling around to the backyard,
Then back inside...
It has now finally dawned on this clouded mind,
What that "something" is...
This house, metamorphosed
From an old, kind of cold Victorian, to a homier,
More comfortable modernized domicile...
Now radiates with love, warmth and kindness,
The energy emitted by the family living within...
The people are the crown and the charm...
They are the smoke coming out of the chimney...
The A U R A of this house, standing proud
Along Catalpa Avenue.........
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
a partial lobotomy of grey matters only to broken mothers of lost soldiers,
pentimento fading a revelation of humanized
modernized sentiment beyond the reaches of fingerless hands;
jagged bangs cut across the face of Burn-Victim Barbie if she were
seven feet tall,
imperfect,
9-dimensional shattered knees.
vote or die downward spiral protecing six-fingered man of mystery:
my name is the youth of America,
you killed my voice,
prepare to suffer in the solitary expression of the empty room.
peanuts for peanuts in a gold star self emporium with
thinking as a feeling sport contested by numerology in all matters moral.
Our very own
Satan as Hamlet,
set in a post-9/11 forgotten Washington,
drowning Ophelia in an ocean of plastic bottles non-recyclable.
meditation of the Om on a springboard of economic dis-stimulus:
up with the people!
in the midnight Vendetta,
too young to learn or sin originally,
masterful drunkenness shrouded in opera scenes from a hat.
fast track to a treble cliff diver
if you ever were my home.
Mar 12, 2011
Mar 12, 2011 at 10:39 PM UTC
A man stands. overlooking two different visions. Two different choices.
On the left he gazed over the glorious modernized utopia. Tall prominent skyscrapers, gleaming in the dazzling pure sunlight. Clinical white rows of spacious suburbia. Unnaturally green gardens of perfectly shaped, perfectly cut square grass accompanying the houses. Polished, scentless people strolled down the un-littered perfection of the linear streets. Enormous great smiles featured on the faces of all. The urban paradise. Biblical, eden in practise, sanctity. Economical bliss. Unpolluted, crime free, social perfection. No inequality, racism, no hatred only love among broters. No depression. The endless rows stretched glorious miles, convenience, supermarkets, brand new glistening, hospitals, all necessity in perfect working order. No unemployment, no political unrest. Every man among equals. Utopia.
On the right hand side, wretched poverty as far as the eye can see. Cramped, overwhelmed shanty towns. Terrified people, dragging themselves through diseased streets. Crippling illness plaguing the antagonized masses. There is no employment here, no glistening new buildings. Only the decaying festering ruins of lifetimes of selfishness. Hatred, jealousy, paranoia, neurotic fluttering harpy’s, harlequins of the night. Plagued minds, plagued bodies. Gargantuan monsters of men rose from the rubble. Demented. Lava flows freely through the crumbling streets. There are no trees here, no vegetation, only blackened earth. Blackened with the ****** despair of man. Only anguish in this land. The black sun burns with hateful rage in the sooty, cloudy toxic sky, the only rain falls as corpses falling from sardine cans to the sky. Burnt out cancerous lungs, filled with sulphurous air from the giant volcano's of dead minds, spewing deadly chemicals into the already uninhabitable environment. The demons of despair stalk this land, endlessly wallowing in there own self-loathing, amongst other vile things.
The decision resting on his shoulders governs life for all men, all men to come. His left side, yearning for paradise, freedom, equality for all, peace, communal gain.
His right side leaning towards narcissistic self gain. Taking the world for himself, watching alone the setting of the poisoned blck sun, poisoned by his greed.
He walked forward, leaving the realms of choice behind him. The future was his to choose.
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
She brought comfort,
The few minutes granted by the press of the snooze button.
The shutter of eye lids reaching the corner of rem.
Choosing instead to sleep rather than face the reality of being away from her.
The hesitation of opening eyes, a morbid reality.
Waking up, coming to the realization that the only perk life has is when your truly unconscious.
Lost in a soft dream. Inhabiting a space somewhere in time that feels like eternity.
An ethereal experience. Filling my lungs in a universe filled with her.
A place containing a medium that dilates pupils behind closed eyes.
Fearing that any moment might be the last.
A unexplainable language, depicted as a snore. The circulation of bliss.
Smiling in a state of sleep.
Interrupted by the sound of an alarm, signifying that our time will be cut short.
Annoyed by the sound of reality blaring it's alarm.
Half opened eyes feeling around to silence the light of a phone.
Modernized alarm. Made convent.
Lost in the sheets.
All made possible by the 10 minute break of the snooze button.
Picking back up were we left off, for 10 long minutes that seem like a lifetime.
All thanks to the press of a snooze button
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 3:18 PM UTC
Over there
toilets are,
essentially,
holes in the ground
decorated and sometimes modernized
and you sit on them
feeling a lot of pressure
on your knees
and it's hard to imagine
that one can **********
in such an uncomfortable position
But it can be done ...
I want to forget ...
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 4:31 PM UTC
*the tree tops are mourning
no more monkeys
the breeze whispers a dirge
no more monkeys
simpson street has gone concrete
and the trees are silently dying
no more air-borne swings and leaps
they've dug up the hill and modernized it
pretentious mansions spell monkey doom
we weep to see the primates gone!*
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 2:16 AM UTC
To be in love.
Her heart was a hill that I climbed with slippery soles.
To be still in the moments of encouragement.
I'd slide down unable to catch my footing.
I acknowledge that I wasn't dressed for the occasion.
Still persisting to climb.
To be in love.
The valley of dream & hope.
I tied my shoes tighter.
My hands filled with grit and grass.
No matter how hard I tried I constantly slid down.
The sky a beautiful mix of orange and blue.
Her love was a sight I longed to see.
The meadow to low to catch the best view.
Everything she has to offer.
I tossed through mud and dirt.
Learning patience in every attempt, the closer I got.
She'd open her arms wide.
And each time I'll fall face first.
Still determined I didn't cease to stop.
I spent a lot of time there.
Lost in a valley of fog.
To afraid to ask for help.
Scared that my secret valley would no longer be my own.
That everything serene.
Everything that I loved would be modernized, torn apart piece by piece.
No matter how many times I slip.
No matter how many times I fall.
I love everything ,
Still persisting to climb.
Learning patience with each step
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
*Steel
In the morning,
even before the sun got up,
you could smell it.
Thick fog
covered everything with dust.
The dust from
tall chimneys
spewing out
the mornings breakfast of ****
It was like this
every minute,
every day,
every year
since the foundry was born.
It was fog-stench;
you breathed it,
you ate it,
you drank it;
it defined you
then spit you out
as lung cancer,
breast cancer,
the Big "C".
And then you were no more.
~~~
I lasted 10 years
til they kicked me out.
10 years,
and then they modernized
until the foundry disappeared
one day in its fog.
Today it covers another city,
in another country
carrying its dusty fog
to identify another people
with its cancer.
Another people who once
had beauty and lives.
~~~
10 years
carrying hand held red lava,
pushing it into molds
fast - sparks flying -
burning skin;
and above this din, words -
"hurry boy,
don't let it freeze."
~~~
There are many of us now,
roaming dust covered streets,
spewed out
like last nights trash,
wondering who we are.
( written under this pen name ~~redzone 2/12/14)
Aztec Warrior
Note: I worked in a steel foundry
for 10 years carrying 100 pound ladles
of molten steel; pouring into sand molds.
It was heavy, hot ad ***** work.
I have many leg burn scars to prove it.
© 2014 redzone*
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
Guri Tower is that really you?
You're standing straighter, shoulders squared
with a new, flashy suit.
Let me wipe my eyes and take another peep,
readjust my trusty big browns,
and try to cut through this rainy blanket one more time.
It can't be. You look more like a billboard than a precipice-
but I can't deny your stature.
Surely you haven't moved without telling me.
I'll be ****** Guri Tower...
My, how you've modernized-
enough to make me clutch my mug of wine and whistle.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
Hyphenate thy walking ground, your thy hunger of slumbered town's, you fenced in doer!!! You rider of wild waves, homogenous to honeycomb's taste of thine hydrogen of implorations!!! Impotent words turn potent to imply further instruction,
Farther corruption comes,
Easier the raindrops flow!
Idle all your masteries to thine miseries,
Your sorceries likely unknown!!
I'm impoverish beyond belief,
Beyond thy receipts of studded diamond jewelry I have found!!!
Manifest questor,
You fancy and plain dresser's,
Arr thou lucratively winning?
Or art thou just beginning to lounge into modernized gain?
Marauders bones turn to sauder,
As Mardi gras is now the countries front page...
Marvel martyr's so penitent to past and present sin!!!
Pensioner's live in penthouse,
While ourn world copes to its end.....
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
These people make me sick
but they are just lovers of the first amendment so I'll let them be
I'm sorry I don't really care about when you rode a horse and felt infinite
That word makes me sick
It's been chained to a ******* truck and dragged on the dirt of the modernized human race
Infinite
********
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
Here's how it goes, the magazines, the tiny jeans,
A continuous circle of hard feelings,
When it's not this, it's that.
Always something nibbling away at my mind.
My skin, it isn't clear today, my hair hangs in a limp mess, my clothes feel too tight,
suffocating my breath. Too pale, too much of anything I'd rather not be.
I'll get out of bed anyways, and face the human I am, but not "supposed" to be.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 8:58 PM UTC
we no longer live in an era of self-sufficiency
everything has been modernized and standardized
all land tucked away into somebody's pockets
all resources taken by unseen suitors
we are thereby forced to co-operate with this system
to shake it's hand and play nice
well aware of the knife it holds behind it's back
but what is the alternative!
there are many propositions, all with their own failings
the answer at the moment, is that there is none
regardless of how off the grid you would like to live
you have to go through the machinations in place
unless you plan to completely isolate and hide
there will be laws to work with
standards to be enforced
zoning issues to tackle
fees to be paid
sigh
are these the choices we've been left?
to hide or to abide by the broken rules?
this "freedom" that we've been give
comes with oh so many wrinkles
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 7:20 AM UTC
With trembling knees and soft-pleading voice,
She spoke to every child she dearly loves,
But no one did listen nor tried to hear
Those agonies she unfortunately had.
And for decades that passed,
She never did really feel so well;
And through the years that follow,
She lived her existence on the fire of hell.
But no one cared, to her dismay—
they even abused her kindness,
that’s why when her temper’s got so full,
she let them suffer in the darkness.
But we’re all naïve and dumb enough,
Don’t even care about her situation,
Wanna know who she is?
Our very own mother nature—
We need to stop what we’re doing,
And try to listen to her voice,
Every modernized thing we have now,
Contributes to her suffering and slow obliteration!
We need to hear her soft-toned voice,
Pleading for some help,
Maybe in the near future,
She’ll taste once again,
the taste of heaven’s state.
Mar 2, 2021
Mar 2, 2021 at 12:35 AM UTC
Faceless workers
in factory far
from US home
work on garments
one after the other.
They labor sewing,
in repetitive fashion
day in, day out,
as I put garment on
in distant land.
I slip self into cloth
not thinking
someone worked
as I take for granted piece I hold.
A simple garment of
underwear, bra
fit well sewn with
face and nameless hands.
Thank you factory worker
who made it possible
to walk in store
and purchase wares.
Thanks for working
in slave-like factories
for my comfort
in modernized world.
Thank you faceless ones,
for moving in your life
to benefit me while corporations
fill their pockets.
I am grateful,
as my sun shines in West.
And I, wear undergarments
never to be seen.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 1:11 PM UTC
It works, all day long and all night
It's a modernized slave
In it veins full of oil and has never a fight
It's a AI robot, it surfing always on the same wave
It took my place
Now I'm here with out work
I feel like a peace of waste
this AI thing is a lirk
It doesn't need a wage
It dosen't need to pay it rent
It only needs to charge and an oil exchange
It dosen't need to bent
It just follows his programmed way
It does the job without complaining
It runs all night and day
It dosen't need time for a job training
It takes us all of the jobs
So we human beings get to feel worthless
It works more or less with no stops
It brings us the hoplesness
The day will come, the KI will programmes it self
The day will come, where we are lost
The day will come, that we can't do anything by ourself
The day will come, we pay the cost
Aug 25, 2024
Aug 25, 2024 at 9:16 AM UTC