"negotiable" poems
I am not disposable.
That's a fact, it's non-negotiable.
A fact, which right now you smirk at-
but I am not a servant, and
you're certainly not an aristocrat.
I am not expendable.
I wish proper etiquette was injectable,
because that's a vaccine you desperately need.
Caring and truly caring-
you need to learn the difference between those two things.
I am not nonessential.
You think you know me inside and out,
but you don't have the right credentials.
I try to understand your motives,
but your thoughts are cryptic and confidential.
I am not unnecessary.
You make yourself into two faces-
the object of all my affection, and my greatest adversary.
This situation is just a coal mine-
your treating me like I am these things is the canary.
These things are what I am not.
I should be paramount in your life.
Through your own actions you've proven these are all I am to you,
You've unsheathed a backstabbing knife.
I am here to stay.
Though you've nonchalantly tried to toss me away,
you will learn someday,
that I am not disposable.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
I believe most Americans are appalled at the wanton gun violence in America today.
Surely the ****** of young children is revolting to almost everyone and begs for some action.
But what can we DO about it? I mean REALLY.. really.
Republicans want to arm themselves more, while democrats use these events to ******* to gun control fantasies that either cannot pass as law or will be struck down by the courts.
I’d like to propose a real, actionable solution.
We would announce this plan in every high school in America, propagate the offer in every morning announcement until further notice:
Any young man (or woman, let's not be sexist here) who, in their heart of hearts feels sufficiently motivated (kill-crazed) would immediately be sent to Ukraine where they could **** real Russians to their heart’s content.
They would only be trained if they wanted it, only be part of an organized unit if they desired it, they would be armed on arrival or they could bring their own initial arsenal if they had it at hand.
Once they achieved 200 certified Russian kills (this number is negotiable) they would be declared heroes and could either continue their good work or receive some sort of scholarship or cash.
This is just one, practical idea - you, my reader, are free to propose others.
This is not a joke, not sarcasm, irony or parody - let’s actually DO something, shall we?
May 28, 2022
May 28, 2022 at 10:13 AM UTC
No treaty is negotiable with the eager viral assassin.
Doubt the truth of gossip. What's sadder than the unreasonable sucker?
Tribal outcries and worldly conceits are not impenetrable refuges.
May you all be sheltered and safe and may modern alchemy protect you.
May you have what you need and be happy.
We will rise or fall together.
Aug 26, 2021
Aug 26, 2021 at 5:50 PM UTC
wooing/seducing: the where of the first kiss always
~for Robin Carretti, who loved it best~
‘tis true my battlefield tactical brought me
many victories
when that was fool-desired
no chain mail, walled armaments, arms crossing,
all failed
to the single softest siege engine in my possession
and the passing passionately poems read
back ‘n forth, non-negotiable demands,
vicious but viscous
red lines,
day remainders of the contusions of night's angry passions
and the
disputed but muted disparities of both
nothing, no, never broke the spell of:
the first kiss, always upon the neck
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
Time is valuable
Its worth is incalculable
Time is unstoppable
Pausing it is impossible
Time is change
Nothing will ever be the same
Time is limited
Because death is imminent
Time is uncontrollable
The amount we receive is not negotiable
Time is mysterious
Because it is very ambiguous
Time is irrational
Attempting to measure it is unnatural
Time devastates
It will slowly decimate
Time is addicting
Without it, we would not be living
Time is torture
It slowly prepares us for the coroner
So be happy
It will cure the pains that hurt badly
So be unique
Your life does not have to be routine
Take the path that is right for you
Take the path with the best view
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
Forever racing down the highways
of madness in the mind
I scuttle and scare at the engines roar
tossing the needle into overdrive
red bursting at the seams of gravity.
Fully entrenched in the fast lane
I swerve to avoid articulated trucks
filled with layers of reason on why
I should humble myself in this societies
black hole of boundless depravity.
Given the delicious curve of the racetrack
and the one hundred reasons for delectable
togetherness, I shift to a slow rhythmic pulsating finish
savouring every moment I spent in your clockwork
seduction.
Fuelled and fantasy driven I polish
and promote my car with all its grunts and bruises
and speeding tickets, near misses
and conquests as a dangerous drivers
logbook of mysteries and miseries.
This model is old and antique
but oils well and grunts its way to stardom.
Price tag-negotiable!
Author Notes
Is this a anything like a fancy car?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC
I am writing my slogan,
Ploughing through the streets like a trojan
I’m going to march with my people
Go to church, climb it, protest from the steeple
I’m spray painting my face
For the sake of the human race
It is not to be taken lightly
I will not ask politely
The cause is not negotiable
To win, it must be emotional
My intentions are always pure
We know the symptoms, now for the cure
We fly the flags of hope
We’ve walked the slippery slope
We offer our point of view
Now it’s time for something new
Our mission is for change
It is well within our range
Over time it can be done
A change has to come
It’s so obvious to some
But a mystery to others
We all must overcome
And unite as brothers
Tell it to one and all who’ll listen
Pay no attention to any derision
Keep the world schooled in truth
Make the place better for our youth
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
I'm wrapped in
Black lace.
I can see the world around fuzzy lines and
I can breathe almost
Normally and I can hear
Every whisper like a scream.
But when I try to
Talk the words get
Stuck somewhere between
My throat and my lips.
My tongue is scratching
The fabric.
I'm finally used to
It all
So used to it that when I
Wake up in the morning
I don't even fight
The cloth wrapped around me.
I just roll over against
The wall and look far and wide
To all the things I can't see around
The corners of my eyes.
I can't capture
The things I can't see.
I used to want a Polaroid camera
To pocket every little grain of
World around me and now
All I want to see is the
Subtle darkness of my own
Eyelids.
That darkness used to be
Navy blue but now
It's pure black and when I stare at it
Long enough my mind
Superimposes a white filigree
Outline onto it.
Have you ever listened to
Sad music just to give you
The right to feel sad
Even if it was for the wrong reasons?
Four years ago this week
I found myself staring out
Plate glass windows at
Parked cars
The cold air trickling
Up my hoodie sleeves.
Now I'm staring at
Invisible black lace and
A lot of life lived between
The two vistas
Improvement?
Debatable
Maturity?
Non-negotiable.
My great-grandmother's shawl
Is still hanging in the
Back of my closet but I swear
It's wrapped around my face sometimes
And my old hoodie is
Lying on the floor at
The foot of my bed but I swear
I feel it creeping down my arms sometimes.
I never knew my great-grandmother
But I doubt she was a terribly pleasant person
Judging from the rest
Of my family.
Yet I doubt that any of my long-lost
Relatives ever held as tight a
Chokehold on someone as her
Black lace has on me.
I'm slowly dying inside
And when death catches up
With my physiology
I hope they send my body to the
Funeral home and clear out the
Weeds around the pond
Then have a bonfire
Of my notebooks and clothes in the
Back field some unreasonably
Lovely summer evening.
And I hope they burn that
******* black lace with it.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Romance grows from my finger tips,
Shes the one that always second guess,
Baby its non negotiable that - you want me-
I travel far and wide to see your face,
But I'm not ready for the blimpishes,
Baby its no longer a secret knowing - you want me -
I use to dream about the sight of you,
Its slowly fading from my mind,
Baby anyone could determined that - you want me -
We were the duo that was made to fly,
Because its wrong doesn't mean its right,
Baby I don't wanna fight,
You want me,
I was the dream to your wishes,
But ah,
I knew your flaws,
So I didn't mention,
The windows are tented,
Now quit your bitchin'
Its no kidding ever,
I know that -you want me -
mountains are sprouting up
there was no place for us
secrets were poured out
I would sit here with you
head spinning a thousand times
knowing everything will be fine
pictures I took of us
can't deny your feelings for me
•• I was thinking maybe how you felt for us,
I was thinking maybe you could live for us,
I don't know intentions but I'm built on trust,
I was thinking you could really breathe for us,
Fuss•••
∆~ And The most we've done,
Putting roses in guns,
We get high!
Witness it,
Witness it,
And The most we've done,
Putting roses in guns,
We get high!
Witness it,
Witness it. ~∆
*EXCUSE THE FOUL LANGUAGE,
MENTALLY INSANE,
****** ******* WANNA PLAY WITH,
I AM NOT THE ONE TO PLAY WITH,
HIPPY FIRST THEN ASSASSIN,
TURN ROSES INTO TRIGGERS ANYDAY,
IT WOULD HAPPEN IF I FELT LIKE IT,
ANYWAY,
I WILL NOT HESITATE BREAKING DOWN YOUR ARMADA,
ITS NOT ALL LOVY DOVY,
IF YOU **** ME OFF,
I PROMISE,
PUSHING THE GROUP TO NEW HEIGHTS,
MY PRISMS WHERE YOU AT,
WHAT YOU MEAN,
GUESS WE ALL YOU NEED,
MAKING ART FOR YOUR EYES TO FEAST*
mountains are sprouting up
there was no place for us
secrets were poured out
I would sit here with you
I travel far and wide to see your face,
But I'm not ready for the blimpishes,
Baby its no longer a secret knowing - you want me.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
For a moment,
a minute maybe,
an hour,
my head went under
it wasn’t thrashing gasps
or clawing to froth the surface,
just a steady,
non-negotiable weight
that spoke to my ankles
of depths
I tried to keep my eyes up
following the lipped bubble trail
to the howling truth above
but when my head dropped
the blue belows almost soothed
finally, before lungs gave,
tired fingers relented,
worried the knots,
freed the old strokes loose
Sep 30, 2021
Sep 30, 2021 at 1:09 PM UTC
Wanted (read the three day old paper):
yourself, position effective immediately, pay negotiable
Being in the job market for longer than I’d care to admit, I applied.
I could be a yourself.
I hoped I wouldn’t have to sit in a cubicle.
(I knew I could though, if it came right down to it).
I wore Roots sweatpants to the job interview,
It’s quirky, I thought, I am just doing me.
I envisioned my power animal: that vastly underrated emoji
(You know the one; he’s coy as ****
I was also coy as ****
Or as coy as I could ******* feel in pants whose proud purpose was to make their wearer perspire.
I bet NO ONE had thought of this.
Turns out everyone had thought of it.
****
Needless to say, I didn’t get the position; the yourself life wasn’t for me.
So I applied elsewhere.
Somewhere far away from that whole embarrassing sweatpant fiasco.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
Curveballs can be hit,
But dodgeballs are impossible to dodge.
Comparing dodgeball to a summer’s day?
Shakespeare, try again.
Dodgeball, you are synonymous
To a hellfire confined to a perimeter
That destroys everything it touches,
Especially at summer camps.
I walk away from dodgeball alive,
But dead in self-esteem:
Always getting hit,
And any clever maneuver of mine always seems to be a violation
Of game rules.
Dodgeball, you only fuel my aggression.
When I am the only one in play,
And see beyond the half court line
Stronger, more agile and athletic demons
Ready to pelt their confidence against my hope,
My mind defaults to “bad-sport” ideas
And just wants to get the match over with,
Lose or win.
With a POW!
Or even the slightest brush of orb to skin,
I give in
And have to wait until opposing victory cheers melt
Before grudgingly submitting to a pointless rematch
That tortures me, vaccinates me with sulky feelings.
Crying over spilled milk is negotiable,
But I cannot undo the rash from the whiff of a dodgeball
By screaming “That’s so not fair!”
Instead, I force out good sportsmanship,
My eyes wincing, my throat and mind hardening
In the struggle to keep vengeance contained.
If only the interest in dodgeball would cease
And suffocate on the taste of its own humiliation.
Boy, would I ever love to burn some dodgeball rubber.
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC
The rich get it good
oh yes they do ...
they don't send their
boys to die in foreign
wars that are usually
being fought in response
to some pressing $ value
for them & their friends
despite all the lies &
justifications coming
your way,
& they own the tv folks
that you & your buddies
absorb & who tell you of
a world that they wish
you to see & by design
also teaches of how others
are coming for you & you
are best off by voting
for another very rich man
who obviously can best
represent your interests
... quite obviously,
& having fooled you into
believing basic compassion
is communist in nature &
that really its every man
for himself in this vicious
world & that coal is good,
& climate change is cooked
up by the biased intelligentsia,
they can continue their base
pursuits & just keep on raking
it in,
& continually stressing that
anyone from this shining city
on a hill can make it big-time
like Riche Rich ignoring of course
basic facts such as class & race
or where you were born & into
which family of what colored
skin they have again succeeded
in their narrative of oh good
god how wonderful are we!
& lets just a keep on with the
way it is cos there's no alternative
really & any its close to Maoism,
& whilst all this is going on
they manage quite stealthily
in a way but perhaps also in
that great American tradition
of the sly feelgood huckster
they get you all seeing Jesus
through a salesman's eyes
as if Christianity was negotiable
in trade-offs & reservations &
justifications for bigotry, bias,
profit & shallow mercantile just
plain someone else making
a buck of you all,
& rich people get the best of
everything don't they really,
schools, hospitals, retirement
plans, all of which they fool you
into voting to cut, cut, cut,
which leaves you poorer folks
worse off & those rich folks
with just more gold coins to add
to their piles in off-shore accounts,
fancy real estate, & investment
portfolios,
its all pretty simple really,
they pretty much own
your *** & you keep
on a handing it
to them
don't you.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
I desire
The strength of an Olympian
The peace of a Tibetan monk
The will of a rights leader
The innocence of a child
The fearlessness of a stunt man
The dreams of an astronaut
The romance of poet
The wisdom of a sage
The patience of a hunter
The balance of a gymnast
The touch of an artist
And the body of a **** star.
I will do my best for all of these things.
But really, the **** star body is non-negotiable.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC
No age
no age at all
never a justification
a reason to placate us
just an implacable, non-negotiable theft
of love, histories and too much still to be
the solace, a skinflint’s compensation,
is that for a short while you had them
and they had you
and that was life
but that’s as much as you get
to try to make it through
Sep 5, 2021
Sep 5, 2021 at 12:03 PM UTC
There once was a season
for each vintage treasure
spread out on the flea market tables -
items once useful and perhaps a mite cherished.
each with a story to tell.
An Erector set unwrapped in a flurry
on the floor by the Christmas tree -
a bridal quilt for a favored niece
and a hutch from the castle of their dreams.
A clarinet with tarnished keys
rests in a velvet case
whose weekly treks to the music studio
ceased how many decades ago?
A row of antique watches that
used to mark the fleeting hours of
anonymous men and women
sits neatly arranged in a glass top case.
Time advances without mercy
for all that we've left behind
and the flea market speaks eulogies
for our fallen artifacts:
too dated to keep - too dear for the dumpster.
All are for sale now -
(everything is negotiable).
I stroll slowly from aisle to aisle
where shades of my childhood
awaken to merge with the present:
The new Schwinn bicycle
I rode that bright Christmas morning
when the church bells rang
throughout the falling snow.
and there's our wind up victrola
that spun out Sinatra tunes
from the laced covered table in the parlor.
Any of this can be yours for a price
(everything is negotiable)
except for the turning of the wheel.
July, 2015
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
I could no longer persuade myself to endure the pain.
I would drive a knife through my soul until it pierced the coldest edges of my heart so it would never beat again.
In my mind laid inestimable secrets, knowledge that bled from my romantic wounds & It would be selfish to carry this jewel with me to the journey above.
Previously abandoned by the soul I should be with, I felt my essence had been stolen, & as I laid on arctic rose peddles dying I now knew the answer to her repetitive question, "What is Love?"
Love is a gamble, a casino incased by a plethora of overwhelming emotions in which bets are not negotiable, you have to be all in.
You either win treasures you've only witnessed in fantasies or lose all that is you & fall into the darkest corners of your most horrendous nightmares & watch your spirit deplete from within.
Love is going to a restaurant & saying you're not hungry because you only have enough money for her to get every thing she wants to eat.
It's gazing upon God's greatest gift to me, drowning in those chestnut eyes, & to be hungry no more because the sight of her bliss is a taste that indescribably sweet.
Love is sitting and watching Pretty Little Liars when the second round of the NBA playoffs is on with the largest of attitudes & her happiness overwrites your own distaste.
It's not caring who's around, staring into her eyes like seeing my first car for the first time & never wanting to look away, to feel no shame to express my affection and gratitude for her in any place.
Love is a change of currency in which forgiveness becomes more valuable than pride, & sometimes even forgiveness isn't enough to cover the debt. Love truly is a gamble that can leave your pockets, soul, and amorous heart sore.
The absence of love can lead you to desire an absence from life, with knife in hand & tears of aura descending from my eyes I drive the blade through my aching heart & Strange, it hurts no more.
Love is.. -Dash Pinder
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
I am not a number
I am not a cypher.
I am a real live person
Not a hypothetical one.
I am part of a portion
Of the total population
Not an ignorable thing
Only fit for eliminating
If it suits a demographic,
Budgeted body politic;
Something looked upon
As something better gone.
By some venal banker,
Number crunching ******
I matter.
Please remember I’m real
And the turning of the wheel
Might make you a rich man
But your carefully worded plan
Might crush me underneath.
Is this what you bequeath
To the society that bore you?
Is it the proper thing to do?
I am not a figure, a jot.
A squiggle on a page, not
Some negotiable loss
Decided upon by a boss
Who wants a higher bonus
Jettisoning an onus
Foisted on him by liberals.
My problems are not literal,
They are real and due
To be looked through
For a way to be humane
In matters mundane,
And not as profitable.
Don’t be despicable.
I matter.
Please remember I’m real
And the turning of the wheel
Might make you a rich man
But your carefully worded plan
Might crush me underneath.
Is this what you bequeath
To the society that bore you?
Is it the proper thing to do?
Talk to your accountants
And see what the amount is
To do things for fiscal gain
Without causing people pain.
There has to be a way
We can all have our day;
Our place in the sun
Things good for one
That are also good for all
And don’t cause a fall
In the economy and health
For those without wealth.
If the rich lose big gains
They will still eat again,
But the poor just may not
With what little they’ve got.
I matter.
Please remember I’m real
And the turning of the wheel
Might make you a rich man
But your carefully worded plan
Might crush me underneath.
Is this what you bequeath
To the society that bore you?
Is it the proper thing to do?
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
Kneel…
He’d used his Jesus voice again,
And as she explained to Jeweliette afterward,
How could she, a mere menstrual sinner,
Openly defy the lord...
Especially in his well-paid hour of need.
They burst into giggles,
Splashing coffee onto the ground,
Jamming jelly donuts into their mouths,
Adrift on a messy concrete sidewalk,
Surrounded and alone
As a tired world raced from a to b,
Cash rich and co-conspirators,
Young women with sore knees and aching jaws
Gorgeous angels of the sorority,
Smooth and innocent,
Their eyes bright and tarnished halos.
The thing was she liked it.
He had only to speak this one word and
She instantly tasted caramel and could smell the ocean.
When he continued,
Ordering her to put her hands behind her back,
His voice would slip and slide and coil around her,
Confronting her with a quiver,
A shiver, hypnotized,
By the searching tongue of a sun-warmed python,
His tone was soft and hard at the same time.
How do men do that, she wondered,
What was this unique and masculine ability
This way of his
To be non-negotiable and kind and convincing
All at the same time.
It is no wonder they lie so well, she thought,
They’re pinch proud of this inherent skill,
They adore the sound of their own deceit,
And she could not stop herself from licking her lips.
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
Its a place we all know, too **** well
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
John McClane **** sure, excelled
A simple Christmas soiree, ***** and drugs proliferate
Hans crashing the gate, with Red Dawn, to liberate
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
Hans and Co, heading off to hell
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
John McClane **** sure as f*ck, excelled
Six hundred million, in negotiable bearer bonds their prize
Not Brazilians, but Germans, as terrorists, disguised
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
Expensive suits getting ruined, no one got dry cleaning bills
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
Takagi had a walk on part, I hope that, I'm in his will
Counting up the bullets, none left to be spared
Putting Hans on the pavement, Huey Lewis (lookalike) can't be repaired
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
Bearer bonds upon the sidewalk, wish I was there
Nahhhh-ka-tomi Plaza
Pocketing some negotiables, nevermore financial cares
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 8:20 AM UTC
Don't stop me.
Not that I'm unstoppable
It's just improbable,
That you'd stop me.
I'm saving you embarrassment.
Can't you see!?
I'm not just anybody,
I'm that somebody.
The one in the back of your head
The whisper on strangers lips,
I can't be controlled.
You can't contain me.
You've never seen me,
But somehow, you think
You know me!?
You know of me.
I'm shown as a shadow
A broken reflection,
Of what I'm able to be.
I bring change,
I force advancement,
I am the future.
Free me, then
Help me free yourself.
Change is inevitable
Not non-negotiable
So unleash me, and use me
So you can live,
Like you deserve.
Feb 2, 2011
Feb 2, 2011 at 8:41 AM UTC