"operative" poems
Who Am I?
Well,
I must be
that ******
the one
in the black hoodie
***** sweatpants
and an uncombed eye,
that's always wooly
scratchy,
bloodshot
with searching for
my stash spot,
that ******
in your peripherals
that you keep your eye on
because he's
not
in a polo
looking nice,
talking
"well-spoken"
and
not
a threat
to your beautiful
lily-white daughter.
Because I grew up
fixing myself
ramen noodles
and
lifting the welcome mat
after school,
I must also be
that ******
whose father wasn't
in the same house
until he was age 13,
and when I tell you that,
you weren't expecting it
because "you're not a racist."
but
you weren't surprised.
You see,
I must be
that ******
a stand-in
for all other *******
I must be that ******
who represents
all *******
not because you are racist,
but because I'm the only
******
you've met
who doesn't talk like
dis, y'know whatmsayin,
and i talk like
this, do you know what I'm saying?
I must be that ******
In order for you
to feel okay
being around me
I must be that ******
who goes to college
does the right
thing
the white thing
and gets a job
a nice little house,
a nice black wife
with a nice
new england
clear
dialect,
(what I was
trying to get at
earlier
is that ****** dialects,
by their mere intonation,
denote stupidity,
right?)
and doesn't say a word
when his white friends
make ****** jokes
or talk in a ****** dialect
mocking some Aunt Jemima
they heard at Walmart.
But,
I also must be that ******
who doesn't step out of line
and say
"WHY IS IT
THAT IN EVERY SINGLE
ENGLISH CLASS
WE READ
ONLY
TWO
BLACK AUTHORS
A SEMESTER,
AND THAT'S
ENOUGH,
JUST ENOUGH
TO KEEP THE
****** PARENTS
HAPPY."
And If I happen to be a ******
I,
by all means,
must not be that ******
who had a white girlfriend,
and
this girlfriend
after dating
a ******
tried to date a white guy
she liked,
and when she told him
that she had dated,
loved,
and yes,
******
a ******
he had said back:
"I can't believe
you ****** a ******
Then again,
I must be that ******
with the big swinging ****
able to destroy
a white girl's ******
with its pulverizing
power.
And,
please,
If I am going to be a ******
don't be the one
who writes a poem
about
having to be
that ******
because those
kinds of *******
are being
over-sensitive,
those dashiki-wearing-motherfuckers
who think
"Da white man dis."
and "Da white man dat."
Because
I am not one of those *******
descended from the first people on earth,
your brother,
not in the ****** way,
but the familial,
species way.
Why am I even writing
this, ****** isn't a main operative
word anymore.
Search and find ******
and
replace with
"Black Guy." That way it becomes
a joke.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 7:22 AM UTC
Gendering Woman *******
Beautiful, anatomical part // Ugly, anatomical part
Natural, pleasurable // Burdensome, loathsome
Female Symbolic // Femme Symbolic
MALIGNANT HEALTHY
fearful, tearful, wretched // joyful, hopeful, euphoric,
bereft, wept, grieving // embryonic, rapt, relieving
leaving, loss // believing, gain
m a y b e - d e a t h r e - b i r t h
BI-LATERAL
MASTECTOMIES
Operating Theatre
SURGEON ANAESTHETIST
cleaning/ cutting/ knife/ scalpel // doping/ unconscious/ airway
blood / tissue // hypotension
loss/ damage // shock
drains // sinus rhythm
stitches // pain deadening
tight binding // reversal drugs
POST-OPERATIVE
a l i v e a w a k e
draining, bound & stitched draining, bound & stitched
DRAINED
~ UNBOUND
-- UNSTITCHED –
Empty chest Flat Chest
FREEDOM from Disease FREEDOM from Dis-ease
© M.L.Emmett
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
Keep your feet on the ground even though your friends
flatter you. (Movies have pause, friends don’t.)
Traveling this year will bring your life into greater
perspective. (Actions speak nothing, without the motive.)
People enjoy having you around. (Appreciate this.)
Your emotional currents are flowing powerfully now.
(Movies have pause, friends don’t.) Listen to yourself more often -
you are thinking about doing something.
Impossible standards just make life difficult. (Actions speak nothing,
without the motive.) Don’t do it, it won’t help anything.
May you have great luck. You are admired for your
adventurous ways. (Everything has beauty but not everyone sees it.)
Right now there is energy pushing you in a new direction. (Hard words
break no bones, fine words butter no parsnips.)
People in your background will be more co-operative than normal. You
are the master of every situation. Listen to yourself more often.
(When the moment comes, take the top one.)Your emotional currents are flowing powerfully now. (Everything has beauty but not everyone sees it.) Encourage your peers. (For hate is never conquered by hate.)
You will be successful in your work. (Appreciate this.) Use your head,
live in your heart. (Hate is conquered by love.)
Don’t do anything, it won’t help you. When the moment comes take the top one. Soon life will become more interesting.
Mar 16, 2011
Mar 16, 2011 at 2:17 PM UTC
This is not poetry
This simply spoken on earthen tombs
Or was it tomes
Or was that tunes
If it was then it wasn't
Because the past is the future and the present is but a thinned out pancake of a reality
Double bongo tulip termination
Implied with the finger-ly pleasure
Upon my love's blackened buttons
Drunkenness sensibility declining reeling sealing the post-operative convolution of Tarzan's missing breath
Target, TARGET, (target)
Reckless love leapin' side' a train-station tumor
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
Organic Simili Samba
Orchestra Electronica
Writing TV, Watching Music
Reality Distortion Field
It Becomes Like Another World
Giant Gutter from Outer Space
Artificial Intelligence
Intergalactic Existence
-
Open Gates of Ancient Knowledge
Archetypal Architecture
Low Resolution Universe
Dark Pineapples & Chocolate
New Operative Perspective
Unbreakable Circuits of Love
Dance the Spiral Never Ending
And the Colours Made the Earth Sing
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 7:20 AM UTC
hill
ant hill
an ant hill
a perfect ant hill
a perfect ant hill it was
a perfect anthill erected
a perfect ant hill erected at will
by ants and ants and army of disciplined ants.
ants of many kinds, sizes and colors erected an ant hill
the design was grand, nice to look at like a cathedral,functional.
we love the ants for being so versatile,co-operative and creative
Do ants possess minds, ability to think,organize, put decisions in to actions?Or do they just have an instinct,prompted by nature, how do they receive it?Even if we are yet to find out such secrets,many of us are skeptics."All this is like the crawling leaches, inscribing letters on smooth surfaces, inadvertently" they vehemently argue.And there remains the million dollar question,seeking answer:even tiny ants,could make millions of their ilk do amazing things, why oh! why, the most intelligent of living things, at least replicate the feats the community of ants, at a scale, proportionate ?If these disciplined insects, in spite of their small brains could be a great example, why can't human's be like them, behave more responsibly , take charge of their own destiny, construct, not destroy. Every ant hill in silence, asks us many questions, we walk past pretending that we heard nothing, that could disturb our peace.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
She's the girl with the Bambi Eyes
Hidden behind a pair
of heart-shaped sunglasses
The ones I bought her
I like to roll her name
off the tip of my tongue
from the pit
of the fire
of my *****
Great artists steal
She took my heart
and fueled it with temptation
and had me
fullfill her wish lists
with kisses of wishful thinking
if I thought I was going
to get more than pics
Seductive
snapshots
slipping
Something beautiful
in the back of my mind for once
'cause all I see dark
things sometimes
It'd be nice to shed some light
on the situation
like I'm worthy of enlightenment
we are all one narrative
choose your own anima archetype
******
operative
word
plays
my heart like a harp
and makes life seem
more
harmonious
The more she stares me down
with
assisted
spontaneous
combustion
on her mind
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
WHISTLING AND SNIFFING SIMULTANEOUSLY
Whistling and sniffing at the same time
Can’t hold hands or rather get married
United and collaborative in any case
This duo may perhaps land into the life of some person
The kind of man whose who acts,
Performs duties of the shepherd on the flock.
Like his initial master,
He condemns wickedness,
Goes against what is religiously evil,
And exults the righteous.
But he soon he craves for another pair of his robe
For he does accumulate an avalanche of resources,
His eyes are soon blinded.
Would his robe evade being soiled?
Co-operative sniffing and whistling,
Can hatch into temptations to anybody,
Even the half-human, half God
Did he not get tested in the wilderness?
Our big man opens his eyes one day,
Finds himself campaigning and competing for,
Trying to woo for citizens’ keys,
Essentials for serving the people in a wider circle.
Perhaps his whistling guides his path.
Brings him in the companionship of
Other servants of the people.
Any devoted service present in that house really?
Brotherly whistling and sniffing,
May make one’s conscience slither backwards,
Two or more steps into mud.
He is now influential,
A famous societal figure.
His fat salary seconded with some allowances.
Or even thirded with public developmental resources,
Guarantees him total luxury.
Is this not an opportunistic opportunist?
Our Sniffer and whistler is contended,
Complacent with his success.
Jubilant with him servant is his ‘first Master ’
For keeping to the ‘sacred’ scriptures.
The vehicle which carried him straight,
One way to heaven gets crippled,
It can’t manage to hit the road
Like its American, British and Chinese counterparts,
His sincere promise goes unfulfilled
Unmet due to his pretentious pretence.
His ‘second’ Master gets extremely mad.
For loyalty and faithfulness denied.
And furiously plucks him from glory.
Simultaneous whistling and sniffing,
The ‘initial’ heaven can’t simply put up with them.
A wise servant of the masses
A true leader should only whistle at a time,
Sniff at a time.
But not sniffing and whistling simultaneously.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
how Eye make love,
this popped into my head
tho questioning this quest,
what purpose served, unknown...
lacking the infatuation to poetry write,
the mind retreats to the basics,
eye write with no destination,
wondering at the wonderment
of this basic actionable accolade...
sometimes,
be the
operative word,
sometimes
cooperative,
is the operative...
sometimes,
is but a
it just depends
who
is the initiate
and who possesses the initiative...
every story has a different
author, ending...
sometimes slow,
sometimes muy rapido
in foreign tongues
in foreign places,
the only commonality be that
wonderment
eye wish this not to be explanation,
eye wish this to be an explication
of the texts of sensual visionaries,
imagining the helping to happening,
the passageway to and from
where the mind begins,
the body completes its origination
oft I close my Eyes,
listening to hers,
her eye voices directing me,
what will be the course of our
course,
miss no Michelin starred landscapes,
through hers, mine Eyes triumphant...
tour guide excellente
cannot explain
why the temp sometimes
solar flares,
why the temp sometimes
is a glacial expedition,
tongue led,
from toes to eyelids...
always buy tickets for a
round trip flight...
how
is a titillation, begging you to read & expose,
there is no how, only sometimes better,
sometimes different...
why
is a question needs no asking...
when
when the shape of her profiled neck,
reflects shadows of further inquiry,
when her décolletage collects me
as she and her designer intended...
when
she laughs uproariously at my piquant,
suave and debonair one liners,
requiring kissing tickling calming
when
tears spill when reading
a new takeaway poem mine,
needy for a tongue to collect that spillway...
just being friendly appreciative and thanking
where
is when
the how and
the why
intersect
the intemperate weather of
being alone
subtle suggests
auto recollections
now know
the how, when, where and the
why,
my Eyes compose this elegy
of memories of past and present...
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
*"The Business Int'l is a trans-national,
Multi-operative, corporate entity.
With the means to function outside
Normal Gov't bounds
The Business Int'l has become the worldwide leader
On the frontline of:
Genetic & Bio-Engineering!
Space Exploration
And long-range teleportation services!
Our research will better* [human-kind]
*And is the most advanced & comprehensive
Ever imagined.
The Business Int'l values it's loyal customers!
And at the Business Int'l
We take all of your corcerns seriously.
We also offer aid to every worker at any/all of our subsidiaries
Any 4th class employee who feels compelled to:*
[Leave the Facility]
Or
[Propagate sensitive data]
*STOP.
Remain calm. And fasten yourself to nearby set furniture
Until our Registered Physcian can
Follow up with you.
Self-Quarentine is a Business Int'l core policy!
In extreme cases though,
The Business Int'l reminds you to
Be prepared to utilize
Your personalized botulinum capsule
Provided to you during your initiation!
Thank you!*
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 12:25 PM UTC
The oppression of life can be sweltering
For as it is with responsibility
Not all directions are chosen via choice
Nay, sometimes we can feel as slaves
Bound to a way of opposition
Against the natural progression
That would otherwise define happiness
Nature, therefore becomes operative
In the language of experience
As from childhood to adolescence
We are free to live and choose and fail
All-the-while learning from each
What it means to be a unique
Individual from the herd that
Silently stalks its prey
Patiently waiting to strike
With its conformist claws
Coated with such vile poison
That the freedom we once had
Becomes a shuddering hallucination
Quickly fading into the obscure
And routine dance of the day to day
Operations that progresses the opposite
Impression of oppression
The heat is unbearable
Just ask the sweat dripping
Drip...
Drip...
From your forehead
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
I want to eat peaches and cream off your thighs,
Have I ever told you that?
Well, that’s what I want to do.
On a lazy Sunday afternoon,
When we are watching something weird
Before the Channel 5 news
Cruises through, like a liner,
And disturbs the World’s Worst Hurricanes.
I want dribble the cream down
To the tops of your knees
And watch each droplet coat,
Like a new skin,
Milky and new and thick.
Then I’ll reach for my tin opener,
Peach slices, neat, from the nearest Co-Operative
Arranged like humps of a lizard
Once believed to exist.
You'll let me, won't you?
You with your hair,
And your nails
And your laugh.
I want to eat peaches and cream off your thighs,
Have I ever told you that?
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
I dreamt of you last night
In lucid colors. I was operative
When you asked me for a kiss,
I could decide whether to kiss you back or not
And I can't even say that's true in reality
But when I dreamt of you we even had a satisfying talk
We talked in ways that we have not,
Since the bright, bright yellow days
I was truthful, You were truthful
Listening comfortably like the libra you are
"You have a jaw I could write a poem about"
I said to you
"Will you do it please, and give it to me?"
In my head I'm thinking baby you don't know how many poems I have
Dedicated to you
In my little red notebook that symbolizes the red I feel for you
And that's when my dream is gone
Maybe it's my memory that's too strong
The simple thought of you is too straining on the mind
To be relaxed enough for sleep
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 10:45 AM UTC
Hey Yalie, Diurnal Rituals Yield the Best Poetry
A Yalie jogs before dawn, her senses being exercised,
semi-aware there’s layered poetry out there and it must
be retrieved, for the eyes observe the diurnal arousing of the day,
and this too, must be recorded, part of the ordered duties of living, as the skin cells shed sweat droplets and
words of living, parcels of breathing, a diary of notations,
to educate the brain in ways and things that
professors cannot teach…
every sense operative, interactive, sound off neurotic synapses,
are acrackling, as you lay out the day ahead, calendar and
assignment checks, but the senses don’t care
about that
trivial minutiae of living
nope
the words are now coming fast and you hope your best that
you will retain, retrain the memory to savor save, those
combos of images encapsulated in new word combinations,
that are yours alone, unique, proving to no one but
yourself, that education, science et. al. is a seeded embryo &
you the valedictorian of birth commencement ceremony
so put them trainers on,
and by dawning daylight you are awondering,
now becoming a pondering, and the
question never spoke aloud but oft posed,
is this, this is,
this is why I exist,
and
my identity?
***I am an institution in my own right,
in my own write.***
Saturday Nov 4
8:01am
nyc
Nov 4, 2023
Nov 4, 2023 at 8:12 AM UTC
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
i want you to be here when
i’m no longer soft and beautiful.
i want you to stay for when
my voice slips out of itself
and into another, when the crescent moons
of my body turn stubborn and rigid
and my chest is gutted, stitched, sculpted
like marble like artwork like a chiseled
gravestone reading “here lies your golden girl,
basked in till her light changed hues.”
stay until all my cells have been replaced
and i look at you with different eyes,
hold you with different arms.
this body is changing for my today
but staying for your tomorrow.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
She saw the kids on the slide,
each with their own
burden to bear:
burn scars,
post operative
patients,
cancer victims
counting the last days
on their thin fingers,
a kid with an eye gone,
lid sewn.
And she, Anne,
amputee, bad
tempered *****
12 year old,
big bosomed,
fine of remaining limb,
scanning the rest,
seated
in the wheel chair,
Skinny Kid behind,
hands on the handles,
warm breath
on her neck.
She was bored,
sun too bright,
kids too noisy,
nurse fart-arsing
near by,
taking temperatures,
changing wound
bandages, crouched
to see eye to eye,
thighs showing
stocking tops.
Hey, Kid,
she said,
get a peek at that,
indicating the thighs
and stocking tops
on view.
The Kid, thin arms
and legs, short hair,
11 year old, stared,
took in stocking legs,
black, warming,
looked away.
Don't get to see
that every day,
Kid, unless
you're their old man
or fond lover,
Anne said,
grinning ear to ear.
Skinny Kid,
stood, loyal,
whispered into
her neck,
want me to push you
to the beach?
sure, Kid,
get me
from these wounded ones,
these dying doomed,
let me smell
the salt and sea,
let me hear
the sea's song.
So the Kid, pushed
the chair, arms
out stretched,
over lawn,
down path,
she singing,
rude lyrics,
her one remaining leg
rocking
to the chairs' move,
the stump, showing
where her skirt ended,
shook and rocked.
Out the back gate,
onto the path
by the beach,
out of the nurse's sight,
or sound of voice's reach.
She thinking
of the Kid's
loyal touch,
his heaving her
from chair to bed,
the night before,
his thin arms
clutching tight
in case she fell,
the warm bed
embracing,
holding her down,
he standing there,
gazing at her
bare stump
with that innocent
stare.
He thinking,
as he pushed along,
how red
her stump was
the night before,
how the thigh
of her other leg
was white as snow
compared,
going red
as he stared.
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
They say it gets better
but they never tell you when.
Isn't a breakup, after all, the surgical excision
of another whole person from your own?
Doc, gimme something to work with here
no post-op measures of comfort, no chemicals,
how long will these symptoms last?
Which day shall be the worst?
What can I eat?
How do I get to sleep?
Why is there so much vertigo?
I've lost my captain. I've lost my compass.
But forget North-
what way is even up?
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
My artist friend
Grisham John
(you'll hear more of him
and see his works soon enough)
has been working on nudes
(I mean artistically, of course);
and with his co-operative models
he's produced a series of fine nudes
(please, keep a literal mind as you read me)
just the other day
Grisham John decided to have a break
so he told the day's model to dress
and would she make some tea and just talk
he needed to just relax
and they sat in the studio just chatting
but suddenly he heard his wife return
from the shops
and he speed-muttered to his model:
"Quick! Undress before my wife sees us!"
You know, artists do see things differently
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 8:02 AM UTC
Polar opposites.
Compare and contrast this.
Special operative.
The object is to improve your optics to specialize in her weapon diagnostics.
Or does your hard drive fold once this signal hits the note?
Beyond mission control the theory behind your thought is in the poems I wrote...
Behold her whole body turns solid gold she possesses , all knowledge know.
Are we under surveillance?
It doesn't pay for one to be careless..............
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 2:22 AM UTC
I marvel at the world
From a desk in an office in a town
Where I don’t belong.
This is the interim fragility
That I was never fond of.
The wanting for the thing you need
But simply can’t have yet.
Yet, the operative word of my life.
I know certainly with everything
That is inside this mind and this heart and this body
That I will do it.
I will live my way across these plains
Until I reach my destination,
Of which I’m not yet sure.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 1:56 PM UTC
O. Pool raw island or line vineyards
action stripping the shifts in throat lobes
co operative fraction guillotine manual or
glandular matchstick subtracting certain
matching breeds already beneath accidental
mathematics in estrus clothed by fractions
II
Aural syringe laughing lineage captured
glass cultures Where I feel revered by newborn
lands of guilded dementia children from vapor
quartering off portions of soft cornered rockets
off soft dabs of round cornered minaret orders
I fire the buoyant mind with fractioned black butter
III
The hum of fans
the gunboats dealing broadsides
raw meat and bound feet
moon is withered grape
flys gnaw thru our cellophane
intent to devour our brain
The mythical hiss of salted throats
dissolving like fermented aphids
milk amidst the purr of confused
****** onlookers
The Princess of our burlesque
appears with her sun red triplets
Three clairvoyants asleep in their
eggshell bed each with three eyes
one just within the foreheads
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC