"molders" poems
Woman are the most dangerous people on the planet. And yes, I said people. Not some flimsy model you see in a magazine not some girl playing with dolls I mean Woman. A person. A living creature set upon this Earth to manage somehow the messes that men make up. A person whose entire being is creating and giving life, who without we would almost virtually go extinct.
See the thing Men don't realize is that whilst in the figurative kitchen, the woman is (I'd hope) planning on some way to **** him. Because there's a fine line between asking somebody to get you something in the case that you're lazy, and degrading who they are to the point that you think their sole purpose is breathing for your ****** needs.
As much as I hate to admit it and that it disgusts me in a way, I came from my mother. If you think about it we were all pushed about of a birth canal, put forth in the light. Screaming because holy **** it's cold where am I what am I who are you? A woman whom you'll end up calling mom has put you into the world and she could have taken you out before you were fully formed. Babies are clay ready to be molded only we aren't supposed to be the molders, we just help shape it.
See the reason that I want to be a woman is that I feel uncomfortable in my own skin, I feel guilty being a man. I am guilty for what man has done what man continues to do. Sexism goes both ways but you cannot tell me it doesn't lean towards her than it does him. If I were a woman I would be powerful. I would be **** Even if I wasn't **** at all I would rock that skirt harder than I do my skinny jeans. I would laugh with my girlfriends I would wear makeup and not wear makeup and be what guys like to call a ***** cause I don't want to blow them. Blow yourself **** head.
What I cannot change is the fact that I am a guy. I say guy things and do "guy" things. I smoke **** with my guy friends and sometimes let out a remark I hate myself later for saying. I think more about ******* than I do about what's happening in our government, but don't let that make you think that I won't stand against my male friends for woman. That I'll let them give me **** for wanting to wear a skirt or a woman's shirt. That they can get off with calling my friend a **** cause she sleeps with the same amount of men that my guy friend does woman. I know I'm not the best example of feminism in men but at least I'm trying to be something different than the same old sexist thread.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC
Gazing west,
we forget the North at our peril.
Frost giants die
for lack of attention
Bifrost molders in grimy skies
and the wild hunt
goes hungry again
Yggdrasil is dying.
As omens go,
this is not a good one.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 2:33 PM UTC
Here, on the flatlands
I was put in my place.
formed and pressed
into their neat and presumably safe little box.
It's all they knew.
It is so hard to think of them as once children themselves,
formed and pressed.
Formed from a different time, with different conformists.
There are no manuals when we are born,
you get leftover instructions from previous pipe fitters.
Agrarian raised, like grain fed beef.
Complete with the fears and habits of bygone generations.
I leave one bite of each item on my plate,
with just enough drink to wash it all down.
I have done that as long as I can remember.
I want the whole candy bar, rather than just a bite.
Pressed and formed my Father saves.
He saves twist ties from bread bags.
He saves old welcome mats, and garage door openers.
He buys in bulk, and has two deep freezers full.
Full of freezer burn, tasteless, barely nutritious,
neatly formed and pressed portions of frozen in time Salisbury steak.
It is as if he himself would like to be frozen in time.
He is a depressionite child.
In the basement there is an old dresser that he found at a yard sale.
He painted it a hideous green,
but it has a formed and pressed neat white little doily on top.
In the top drawer there are various expired drugstore items,
some dating as far back as 35 years ago.
"You never know when you might need something in there."
Expired aspirin that has broken down into powder and smells of vinegar.
Vicks Vaporub, in the pretty blue glass jar, that is dried up and orderless.
All brand new and have never been opened.
Formed and pressed neatly in their little containers.
I watch these molders of my life slowly pass away,
becoming neatly formed and packed into their aging corner of the world,
neatly formed and packed into a stereotypical old folks home.
Forgotten, in the way, slow, aching.
Soon all they will have will be memories.
Soon all they will need will be memories.
Neatly formed and packed in their aging minds.
And then, like a comet that has shuttled through space
for thousands of years, millions of years,
they will burn out and fade into dust.
And their whole lives
will be neatly formed and packed
away,
in a trunk
in the attic,
to be opened like a time capsule,
at a later date.
the result of a week with my 94 yr old Parents
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 4:32 AM UTC
Were they thinking
That you can get some good news about this one
is
A blossom
a blossom
intrinsically linked to
tree roots trunks - petals -
with or without you?
Were you
You
Remembered
Passing your past
Where the - within'you
becomes more difficult than the one you can see
Wraped gently around
Aroused
Whenever you're ready for I
Am not sure about glances
Why or how or when
Could've found and lost impossibility
To bond deeper than thou
Fa~Do
Cream
Sounds
Beautifully lurking around
Any corner of this honey dew
Dripping on every
Sweet corner of this
Earth ~ molasess and maple
Pancakes ~ perfectly
Aligning
With another
Sunrise
Seemen home toasted
Creamy Cheese
Wee
Bee's
Busy
Pollen
How To Bow Properly?
To awareness~ To automatically repaired
Spell checker's wicked authority
Abundant celebration
As passing days
Crowning
Drowning
Feasting
Days
Crafting
Themself
Into
The last invisible
Youthful
Appearance of the darkling
Fireflies Beaming
Devotion
I
To stars up above ~
Many times un~authorised
Molders of our dreams;
Sky high and heavens
White blue sync with
Ebony and Ivory
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
An old fairy-tale book molders silently
in a cardboard box, in my airless attic.
A coat of dust has stolen its grandeur,
the pages are dog-eared from generations
of small, sticky fingers.
Inside, a castle succumbs
to ten years of neglect.
The knights slip into apathy,
leave their armor unpolished,
and start to ponder
a change of career.
An empty-headed princess
languishes in her tower
among yellowed love letters,
with no hope of the rescue
promised to her
in twenty pages or less.
There isn't anyone left
to fight the dragons, nobody wants
to believe in them anymore.
The children averted their eyes,
and slowly built up
each palisade guarding
the magic left in their heads.
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 10:09 AM UTC
I'm beautiful
Exuding soul
Protruding bold
Diluting cold
Until I fold
Once beauty is sold
Biting remarks
Made by sharks
Create sparks
Where it was dark
Displaying pain that is stark
As part of my character ark
They mug me
Until I'm ugly
Then suddenly
They're done with me
It must be some disease
Of a numbing freeze
From stunning thieves
Taking what I believe
They're not impressed
When I'm undressed
So I'm the stressed
I must confess
From this test
Of who's best
And who's less
A blue guess
That brews pests
This hall of fame
Dismal game
Is to blame
For the shame
In our brain
And our name
Fanning flames
Of social stains
I'm a coyote battling
With lonely howling
Until phonies scowling
Are all that powers me
Through what had been
Through what grew
I see you
Through the views
That light my fuse
It's you I choose
Flatter my vanity
To guard my sanity
Conjuring the man in me
More so than I planned to be
But became apparently
Through ****** gratification
You give social validation
You send a pal elation
That causes salivation
Until the callous nation
Invades my phallus station
Text me
I'm ****
To protect me
From the injecting
Inspecting
Dissecting
Directory
Next to me
That begs to see
The beggars seethe
Don't destroy my body image
With your haughty grimace
Applauding penance
An ungodly menace
You've become
Like Tim Gunn
A judgemental one
That fabricates fun
By blocking the sun
Incoherent
Interference
In the clearance
Of my appearance
Not knowing nearness
Outside your austere fence
You flippantly
Didn't see
The death of me
Or the mess I bleed
When my chest can't breathe
While you're blessed to breed
With a superior steed
The eye of the beholder
Is behind their shoulder
That keeps getting colder
From insurgent soldiers
Throwing boulders
Becoming molders
Of the boaters
With no motors
Who float through life
And drown in misery
From societal strife
Of subjective mysteries
To act on the behest of me
Say that you've met me
Say that you've let me
Enter you gently
To a centrifuge ending
For relationships pending
With perceptions tending
To be needlessly upending
By comparisons impending
No matter what they're intending
There's no way they can mend me
When my social rank bends me
To be something pretending
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 5:31 PM UTC
A son of Adam born anew,
Arrives into a joyous hopeful stage,
Everything set in colors of blue,
Two becomes three on a brand new page,
A son of Adam as he grows,
Has certain traditions to uphold,
None of which he yet knows,
But soon everything will unfold,
A son of Adam as he gets older,
Must bring his molders glory and gold,
To be the brave unrelenting soldier,
To be a savior and above all bold,
Now when a daughter of Eve is born,
The molders have such different hopes,
The loss of a possible son they mourn,
Then soon they begin pulling her ropes,
A daughter of Eve for generations past,
Is a puppet to her family's whims and woes,
Not a rival to the son, she is an outcast,
Never allowed to be bold or oppose,
A daughter of Eve must become a mill,
And produce until she has procured a son,
That is her destiny to fulfill,
Otherwise, society will quietly shun,
A daughter of Eve can perhaps teach,
A son of Adam she has produced,
How not to become traditions leech,
And break the circle of abuse.
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 9:26 AM UTC
There's a monarch, a power
more forceful than I.
More than Kings or God's,
causing distress to die.
The molders, the shape-shifters
the lessons taught on
to us mere mortals
until we have gone.
They break us, they bend us,
they make us true.
They make tears flow
until we're anew.
We call this a dream,
how they make us see
clearly, perspective,
in all there is to be.
Lines and allusions,
masks in the dark.
Teaching us lessons,
a bite worse then bark.
They can take us on roads
we never meant to take,
and bring us back home again,
before we are to wake.
But one thing is for certain,
about these dreams of mine,
they're going to build me up,
and they're going to make me shine.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 2:36 AM UTC
My pupils weren't properly opening and closing
This is a start of something awful
My pupils noticed me dozing
I can not say I'm hopeful
I can't feel my organs
Or if I can, they're rotting
I can feel in closing gorgons
Spraying me with stone ink
I feel my stomach sinking
On the brink of ***** thinking
How rarely I've been blinking
And the feeling slowly sinks in
It's been five blinks
My rotten heart now stinks
I've only blinked five times
But many years have passed
Of me being alive
I'm in the kitchen with my daughter
Watching cartoons with slaughter
Filling in the memory folders
Trying to fit her in the right molders
Five blinks were fun
But now she's gone
Some five more now
And death seems to crown
Me as the new king of fraun
The sky turns grey
Now I can't stay
Five blinks again
I can't maintain
Five more my hair is grey
Five more my soul's sent astray
Five more and no delay
Everything rots and can not stay.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 7:09 AM UTC