"moralities" poems
I am somebody
Shot in the Head...
Found the bullets.
Coroner Said.
A child of God struck dead.
Gang related disputing Fools.
Aiming cowardly bullets right at you.
I guess praying prayers just won't do.
There is no safe in these hard knocks realities' Truths.
Our Sista child!
Our mother child!
All the while the bodies pile.
Her body now adds to that 'the shootings aren't as bad as last year' body count.
Can't even stand anywhere in your city NOW?
Something has to truly give.
There's a plague of rigid legalities, relaxed moralities, and political realities stealing the 'safe' from our dying breed.
The Black man withering away in siphoning inequalities.
Doubling unemployment stretches outward like a statistical wild fire....
Our present fact.
There is a genocidal component to these criminal acts.
Copyrighted (C)
Published in the 2018 Edition of the Reconstructed Literary and Visual Journal at Governors State University.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
Consisting of grown, persisting as shown and unknown. Insisting entities, rivalries and sworn enemies! Deformed, forewarned, formed, informed, mourned, performed, reformed and scorned. Dates of great storms! Family tree of hate, horns and thorns. My family tree of gore, horror, more, poor and sore. Perhaps of mishaps galore. Briefly sit
back! I’ll roughly take you back… Heck! Back to a time of attack,
blacks, slacks and whacks. My family tree of practical, tactical, methodical Aztec. Some beckon and reckon in seconds. A family tree of crime, grime and rhyme. A nation of communication, dedication,
dissemination, motivation and procrastination. The splendor of sin
of my corruptive, disruptive kin. They rely more on the color of one’s
skin. My family tree of abuse and misuse that misuses and seduces! Family tree of warfare and welfare legalities, moralities and family-prodigies. Picture this scriptural twist! Some assist on a kiss. I insist
some are idealities in social technicalities. Alcoholics, diabetics,
****** exotic, fantastic, Catholics, eccentric, horrific and poetic. I persist… some gnomes, some roam, some in poems, some with no homes. My family tree of adventuresome, awesome, handsome and troublesome. My family tree of beautiful and bountiful! Some are a
handful some handicap some locally and vocally-rap. Some slap,
gift-wrap and yap! Some are snuggly, pretty, witty or ugly. In my family tree, some crippled, some with pimples, some with freckles
and some that heckle. Some belittle and little, some wrinkled and old. Some are bold and pray to the lord! Some are Frio, meaning cold we
were told. Some I say, are poor with no Amor. Some are here no more, in my family tree of Amor.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
when life is charmed with radiance
all kicking ponies
and summer sticky sweet with instinct
like a head sloped between thighs
moralities privation comes
stirs its ***
a broth of orthodoxy
evoking a cinematic painting
of Christ's crimson howls
for the ache of life
his blood sacrifice construed
as desire from the embrace of lust
sins cursed maniacal
save the genitals of priests
for little children's ****
while
God
the father
stands aloof
as if nothing but helpless black space
the churches history
a coterie of priests
a prancing parade
in black dresses
with rosy *****
Jesus's own little rays of sunshine
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
"Who am I, mother?
Who am I and what do I do?"
–Norman to his mother Norma, "Bates Motel"
And so it goes, a split self - the protagonist defending the darkness as
Bizarre murders satisfy obsessions of a mothers love, taking a
Chefs knife, stabbing victims to death.
Dualistic wars within, a helpless man whose mother taught him of the
"Evils of women," instilling her own moralities of their wickedness.
Fostering the antagonistic personality of his mother
Giving to his incomplete soul a sense of wholeness.
Hidden behind the boy next door innocence, a terrified man
Incarcerated; locked & bolted
Juddering with fear - promising to adhere - set free said to be "cured."
Kleptomania returns; unearthing bodies from their graves, stealing skulls; a comforting souvenir, as
Loving anyone meant destroying them also.
Multiple personalities dominate him
Norman Bates becomes Norma; his mothers persona, crawling into her skin
Originating from their very kiss, kick starting a timeless love affair
Paraphernalia of skins tanned, butchered conquests -keepsakes turned to art & now protecting an un
Quiet mind
Reasons pertaining to mental insanity
Sectioned to institutions
Taxidermy as a young boy fascinated his mind
Urges to **** & fill, feeding euphoric highs, & even
Vertigo.
Women thrilled him; their smell lingered on each garment he kept.
Xenos to himself; who, am I mother?
Youth denied, cried away
Zenith ended; his final resting place behind the bars of Mendona Mental Health Institution, 1984.
© Sia Jane
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
When I was growing up
My mother taught me
That America was a free country
And I could be as free as possible
Then you add in laws
And moralities
And eyes that stare you down
For expressing your opinion
This is not a free country
This is not a free world
If it was
Maybe I wouldn't feel so trapped
Inside my own skin
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
i breathe out & the world is calm. we are standing waves in the sea. i am a long distance, a collection of lip movements, and all associated aches. you were a fleck of snow i barely even saw, and the ensuing onslaught of winter. plans turn around, often; we stick no closer to 'em than our moralities- i knew what i believed, just some other day: i believed i could roll out of the feeling of wakelessness that i'd thought you endowed upon my eyelids. you were prying them open, though, and i was the one at force. "sleep, my fears and doubts", i would call to myself -round midnight- "sleep and you may escape, or somehow come closer to what you're not sure if you seek".
but my plans, moralities and i, all ambiguous at best, changed. i can't pinpoint why. you said "maybe you can smell my dying, from all that way" i said i hoped not, that i could sense you but you just couldn't tell you were flourishing.
in the heat, i would make out daydreams like dialogue, spread sense like contrails: seemingly cohesive monuments to my bearing, left out to dissipate. snowfields on sunlit afternoons. but you, you you you you you, you stay heavy-stuck to the ground through cycling seasons. variation, only nondecreasing patterns in my everyday thought. inconsistence, only meaningful or meaningless. no pain, just ache all the same.
finally, in month's transitions, i found meaning (or its absence) and realised each was a facet of the other. that all facets were tiny jewels, set into the world, puzzle-piece mirrors set just. right., to reflect the gleaming bright pearl inset upon the other side of our tiny universe, each light another stroke of your portraiture, and i found longing: to find the unknown, through all things ordinary.
and you were, at once, more than a question-mark and the statement of my circles through days. you were the taste of waking, without sharp slice of reality. you were a mirror, hung in front of i, also reflecting; and i saw eternity unfold in us each. you were, and are still, peace on the shoreline. and i was, and am still, drowning, but i can make out sand on the horizonline.
so, i'll just keep afloat, if you can do the same.
so, i just won't go changin',
shine brighter with each passing day.
smile.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC
Set aside the formalities
Put behind your brutalities
Forget about the finalities
Throw away all moralities
Come hide from your realities
Forgive me for my irrationalities
I plea not for practicalities
I know of the abnormalities
Do you know of the totalities
Just listen to the modalities
It's becoming a lethality
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
two lives
two moralities
two vices i can’t give up
two bottles
two pound entry
two am and i’m stumbling home
two bodies
two moans
two people trying to feel alive
too broken
too chaotic
too hard to make this choice
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
It's a chase for what you'll never encase
More like hide it away in a box of guilty pleasure
Opened only to shutter at the twisted moralities of others
Yet still you get off to the warping sensation
Fears taken and bent into little pleasure pretzels
Her sickness feeds your addiction for ***** gore
No matter how far you stray you can't help but crave her flavor
It's your panic switch that she cradles
As the lines between whats wrong and right fades equal
With all her red flags soaring you have no other option but surrender
Caught up in her web you'd gladly be devoured
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 12:20 AM UTC
The history of a nation, bended towards the allure of a black dragonfly, a seeping beast that bubbles and brews along the sun baked earth
What a terrifying creature it is, the black devil that infects and corrupts the congregation around
It’s a flammable god, that has the minds of several masses, wishing to make their wells deeper with Midas Gold and African gems
It will burn a hole through the middle of the Earth, it will set itself on fire and aim to take everything organic around it to ashes
For it is a cycle that has begun long ago, instigated by the sins of fathers, and being conjured evermore by the spirits of the past
It will only aim to become a behemoth, that will crush and pillage those that go against it
Rigid moralities become devoted members when they see the banks of The Black Sea, the hearts of men become minds of virus
It will never cease to stop, for the creature can not die, we can not stop what we created.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
The skies were bright and the vegetation so green
Whispers from the grown and infants were heard aloud
The slow breeze submerged with joy blew far and wide
The miseries of man travelled like an uncertain tide
Then it came so calm and mellow at first
The mortals underestimating it's might lived with no fear
It knocked on doors and took the elders and the young with such ease
It grew on them and consumed their souls till they were just bodies left in the cold to freeze
The bravest of men fought like the knights at war
The weak had fallen to the grim reapers arms
The joys were faded and the moralities were torn
Earth was was ****** and left to scorn
It erased the desires of men which burned like the flaming sun
The place they called home turned into their tomb
To those who walked it's hardest road
It thought beauty of life is so far fetched yet so broad
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 2:48 AM UTC
I.
Walking like slow molten-rubble-
Sleeping like acid rain--
Always know when to retreat.
She told me to always know when…
‘that’s how they get killed, you know.’
If you don’t know the proper steps—
1, 2-and. 1,2-and. 4. One-e-and... One-e-and. A.
There should be no pull, shove; strife.
The crawl should be effortless, so seductive
they don’t even realize what’s happened.
Until thoughts flow too easily,
like emotions used to.
Organic; ********
and they don’t even have heartslungskidneys.
Not any longer.
II.
She
was, or seemed to me,
to always be
there. When I felt most in need of that fix.
The itch for darker comforts.
She, as part of her lethal charm,
projected the kind of strength
Meant to be used in battle against
iron moralities.
She spoke of all things
gore and destruction
like she’d been there, like she’d done it all.
I have no doubt she had.
She used these things to her advantage—
As part of her recruitment
of the ones she could mold,
deform really,
into shapes of beast
always so willing to do as she wished.
III.
We used to laugh-
Hm hahuhhu hahhmm-
taught strings plucked mercilessly.
They told us we were a different breed:
there was surely something better about us.
We were going to grow impossibly
We were iron-strong. Never clad.
We were __inforced (no need for the “re.” we never had to be told twice…
Though they always did)
The first time a commander roars,
you are to act. The repetition is for it to really sink in.
Not the steps to take,
But the absolute power this (rounded reddened) man holds
Over you.
Hm hahuhhu hahhmm.
IV.
We stumbled home,
Some missing limbs, other chunks, and others-still others-
missing an entire brotherfatherson.
We expected no forgiveness,
did not pretend to even want it.
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 12:08 PM UTC
Shouldn't be liking you
I'm afraid of your smile, I'm afraid of that look in your eye when you speak to me, I'm even afraid of that look on your face when you walk past me and pretend as if I'm not there, I'm afraid to say it out loud that I'm starting to like you, because I shouldn't...
Your hand shakes turned to hugs and as I held your body close to mine breathing in that beautiful intoxicating aroma impairing my logic, daring my lips to press against yours
When you kissed me when you shouldn't have, the way your heart raced, the way your tongue tastes, mischief and mayhem but it was all we wanted at the time and the outside world had no meaning for us
When you invited me over to visit and the minutes grew to hours and as the hours past the midnight stroke tolling in a new day the seduction deepened
You might as well be named forbidden fruit, and as I gaze at you upon that limb my appetite for desire continues to grow
When all the ethical foundation and moralities cry out warning me that this wrong I still can't help wanting you
You who keeps me up at night with littles fantasies dancing in my head, got me tossing in my bed trying to rush the night into sun rise just for my eyes to be blessed by the sight of you
As I let myself wallow in the thrill of your presence I can't help but think that she's at home waiting for me
She ...who has my heart my loyalty my love
But you have my curiosity my attention and you excite my sensual interests
I am ashamed that this kind of happiness is from such an unlikely source and now that I like you what am i to do, I know I shouldn't but I only want you to like me as much as I like you, could I be asking for too much...
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC
**It is so easy it seems
to look in wrong places
for an understanding of this
most illusive word..
Multiplicity and diversity
seem to demand that we comply
with their evident variety..
Enter our laws prescribing
orderly equality with
success most limited..
Moralities are defined
as good here and not there..
Religions find inequalities
in their prisons of belief..
So...we are waiting it seems
for Equality to speak
with a luminous presence
out of which flows
illuminated diversity
bringing Peace at last
to confused searching
in wrong places...**
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
Stick Man
Sticks and bones
Can write a poem
But words are
Seldom worthy
To explain
A deeper want
Like real beef
Instead of turkey...
To convey
Questionable thoughts
Where moralities
Ever pending
To write it down
And pass it on
Creative ears
Keep bending...
Skull
Bones and sticks
hand to pen
merely words, unspoken
driving down, to the end
not everything, is broken
tortured thoughts
as happiness sought
never simple, or easy
driving down the misery
of doors and feelings
open
....
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
There is a myth
Allied to moonlight
Chased into darkness
Morning rising too soon
Smelling delicate dew
Cupped in newly opened blooms
A million micro worlds
Falling and crawling
Within the vast and yearning
Rolling and turning
Moralities and madness
Beliefs and blasphemies
Who says which is life?
But for myself I doubt
Purity disturbs me and
Righteousness makes me nervous
For all life is truth
Whether in sky or on earth
And in each myth
We live and die
By Phil Roberts
Jun 28, 2017
Jun 28, 2017 at 10:56 AM UTC
This night as I lay upon a smoky stone
Seven lines I say, my mantras own.
Adrift in the sky as my prayers atone,
Im alive here, now in the astral zone.
As fear becomes strength my nemesis fell
Tempting my faith, *** heiress, my grail.
Her face became snake like, her skin turning pale,
A wraith to be slaughtered, lust could not prevail.
With powers of godlike capacity,
I take flight over towers immensity.
Propelling me forward, towards destiny,
My unlimmited source of ecstasy.
Beyond what is light, I could never know
Blinded by fright, moralities throne.
Duality is as simple a god can be shown,
For man is both astral, still birthed from stone.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
Mothers garden adorned with fleshy fruit
Thus I plucked and ****** at the jocund juice
Branches speckled with luscious loot
A taste so sweet, I propose a tantalizing truce
Immortalize me with nourishing nectar
Keep my belly from famished fallicies
No longer a fleshy comestible collector
For godly ambrosia has mended moralities
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
"We n' de ya **
"Teach me my father, grandfathers
where do spirits go?"
Alone, confused, a traitor in trailer park town,
I walk streets camouflaged, headdress down:
I stealthily spy on white mens moralities:
"We n' de ya **
"Teach me my fathers, my grandfathers,
teach me forgive, teach me let go."
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 2:02 AM UTC
Been dimming.
Swimming in the brimming I don't mean.
When ways of convenience and routine fall prey to entropy
communicative moralities convey what will convene
to birth an expectation.
from misinformed and ill-preperation
after crossing over seeking pastures green,
to find im swimming somewhere sneaking in between.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
I told myself I was meant for so much more.
But let's be honest... I knew words spoke louder than actions.
When my actions never made sense.
I'm still laying on the same bed with the same thoughts orbiting my brain.
Pain was my faith,
Pain was my answer to everything.
Pain helped me find the meanings of life,
Or so I thought...
Is this the truest reflection of who I am?
The masked face of my inner moralities escaping through my eyes.
Tied a noose to my limbs.
So I could outgrow this.
But it seems I've fallen short again.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 3:48 AM UTC
Plastered minds breaching
Moralities depleting
Subconscious shrieking
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC
I, the capitalist war machine,
I, the magnificent static,
I, the bomb shelter peace,
I, the twenty four hour news cycle, the rise, the relapse, the detox, the retox, the crucifixion, the rebirth, the disgrace, the continuation of the theme repeating ad nausea towards annihilation,
I, the caged ******
I, the black boy bleeding to death,
I, the rioters in the street,
I, the Wall Street gallows,
I, the old money militia,
I, the yuppie **** appropriating culture from the scraps of endless genocide,
I, the shock value mockeries of conventional moralities dumbed down to be digested,
I, the blood spilled on sacrificial altars on holy ground,
I, the celestial body ignored, passing back and forth endlessly through peripheral visions,
I, the madman howling at the moon for some ******* peace and quiet
I, the pill popping siren choking on adoration,
I, the mass hallucination shared and reshared till it loses all meaning,
I, the Pantheon collapsed,
The downfall broadcast,
The television unplugged and still playing,
I, the crushing realization,
The devastating grip of ruinous apathy,
The movement monetized,
The victory shallow,
I have built this tomb with my own hands,
I have changed the channel one too many times,
I have let this consume me
I am guilty
You are no better
Lie still
Let it consume you
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 2:30 AM UTC
The lack in experience is the lack in understanding.
Surround concept of moralities unto those in which share the same.
To prepare is to be aware, so take heed in discernment.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 3:34 PM UTC