"opting" poems
“Being a farmer is like being a priest;
you take a vow of poverty
and make a pact with the Lord
that no typhoon will come
and destroy your crops.”
In the rise of sedentary human civilization,
The nation’s agriculture
Became the key expansion.
Its history dates back thousands of years,
With its development,
Has been driven and defined –
By different climates, cultures, and technologies.
The Filipino farmers:
Are they now a dying breed?
Numbers of small farms has dwindled,
With workers opting for city life.
But this trend could exacerbate food insecurity!
Yes, in an import-dependent country –
Already struggling to meet current food demand.
In the face of growing losses,
And from volatile weather,
To new-fangled farming tech,
Limited education makes them less receptive.
What took such toll on the agricultural sector?
Maybe the farmer themselves,
The investors, the buyers – maybe.
Now, it’s due to the government policies,
Our programs are good, yet so weak.
There’s excessive reliance on agricultural imports,
And corruption on the upper level.
Compounding the problem
Is a younger generation –
Largely, leaving rural areas nationwide,
And depleting the pool of potential agricultural workers.
They say it’s too late to do something;
But the mind-set of the younger generation
Still we can change
And make farming appealing once again.
(9/8/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
The eyes should be on the target only after opting the goal
"Be Like Cheetah"
-ARAVIND BHARGAVA
"Cheetah getting famished sets the ambition to chase a Deer,
Doesn't stop until the purpose is clear,
Doesn't gets confused by seeing an animal in the middle,
Achieves the goal and makes the deer to *******
You are the Cheetah and deer is the goal,
Other goals are animals in a whole,
Concentrate only on the purpose you have chosen,
Make the goal for you to be frozen.
Frame the aspiration by yourselves you had,
Detach negative from mind which is bad,
Attention only on the ambition you designated,
Do not lose confidence even if you are underestimated,
Add courage, trust, and determination to your mind,
Do not cease until everything is fined.
Be like a cheetah, contrive goals
And be successful in life"
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
Last night I had an Indian,
And today I have the runs,
It struck me in an instant,
Now unable to sit on my buns
I told them I want a dopiaza,
With some chicken tikka on the side,
Now my pants are brown and moist,
From society I'll have to hide
I'm stranded inside my bathroom,
Fearing even the shortest walk,
Knowing if I pass a person outside,
About my stench they'll start to talk
I advise you stay clear of this cuisine,
For the sake of all your hineys,
I know that next time I venture out,
I'll be opting for a Chinese.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
I met this girl not too long ago
bit what I loved about her most was the gold in her soul
She wasn't a church girl, she did have a past
but I didn't care because her future was where my mind was at
So she went back home but we did stay in touch
we laughed and joked, but over time I developed a crush
it wasn't based in lust, not love but somewhere in between
it seemed like it was perfect, at least to me
so I got my nerve up, and told her how I felt
how I would try to give her the moon and stars and the asteroids as a belt
She said she was glad I confessed to her my feelings
but she was talking to someone else, I was hurt but figured I could keep on dealing
Then one day her and the other break up
I played crying shoulder again because I knew they couldn't make up
can't you see I wanted your heart and not what's between your legs
so I held on and rocked with her, opting to wait it out again,
I told her I still had feelings for her, and that I was going to be happy either way
she wasn't waiting on anybody I could understand that, but crying shoulder I'd no longer play,
so I stopped talking to her, and aimed to cut her off
but I miss her.. I think I'm going soft.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
You swell some strain on me,
You, middle kingdom!
Eradicating small detachments,
Of both sailors and marines.
They were ranked on islets and reefs,
With an integer of nine –
There in the island next to me,
I’m sure, you know who Spratly is.
Always wanting such detachment
To be eradicated by your own;
Now stationed
On a World War II era landing ship.
Your toy-ships came near me,
With 9-kilometer of the LST.
“It’s there illegally,”
How adamant that be!
I’ve tipped you off already,
Surely will I stand firm!
Then, you’ve countered me on! –
Opting for the ******** of more skyscrapers;
Those that are on stilts;
Now nearby two Reefs & a Bank? –
Nearby my darling Palawan Island!
“There is no room at all,”
For the negotiation on some point,
You’ve declared.
Oh, here’s my friend, U.S.
Left us with course of action to try;
Everyone calm down,
Be less provocative.
For often, he flies over;
Probing some stuffs.
You are the biggest offender, my friend;
In this dispute, you show no sign of slowing;
Or backing, down.
But hey, I won’t give up!
(9/9/13)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
.
•look far...
to the horizon•as the sun
dips into the ocean •most magnific-
ent display of colours • radiance in yell-
ows and captivating ambers•majestic specta-
cle that will dwindle within minutes•no words
could match such beauty that deals in infinites •
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~ *si nk ing unse~en beyo nd the thr eshold• the mi ~ghty ~~
~ ~ s un grows red der•~night sky cree ps in, with th e ~
~~ ~moon smilin g bold• ad opting her ~stan ce as the ~ ~
~~ ~ gua rdi~an hereaf ter• entour age~ of s tars ~
~ ***** le with s peckle s of g old • ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ b~idding farewell t o ~ ~ ~
~ ~t he su ~n's* ~ ~~~
~ ~~ ~ ~ ~
~~ ~ ~ ~ ~
ruling sceptre•
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
Memory comes quickly and goes faster still.
Childhood blurs and bends from the action
to nostalgia to nothing to a surprise visit
and ultimately, back to nothing.
It's never formal, opting out of knocking
before entering with muddy sneakers
and corn-butter-dribbled chin.
The hues of a late, summer afternoon
filled with fireflies and barbecue smell
connect the doorbell circuit
and make itself at home
before ears or legs can bid welcome.
Smile and greet one another breathless
only to depart at a moment's notice
as if the nomad suddenly realized
that no crop or solace remains.
So distinctly different
than that of a severed relationship,
which typically takes its bitter, sweet time.
For months, that fracture can stay and continue asking
for another Earl Grey and bowlful of discontent,
adding in spurts of lonely self-conversation
every several, silence-ridden hours.
Eventually, ever so carefully and quietly,
it tip-toes away with lip-marked cup and peacoat
at the moment when you've unwillingly returned
from the kitchen to fill pained guest's requests
but the only thing that remains
are indents in the leather armrests
and moisture gone cold.
Flashed across mind's eye and on its way.
The hollow fills itself endlessly with present
and distantly connects with past to find
that neither can be here while the other exists.
Start again and re-ember remembering,
drifted away on a silent plane
of glazed eyes and wide smile.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 10:42 PM UTC
I met Sally on the hill with a nickel bag of ******
She didn't pay me in money.
Instead, information and a little persuasion made the baggie leave my right back pack pocket
***“Dollars could never have made sense of it anyway
We throw pennies away opting for the opulence that big bills entail
Retail will never amount to the amount I've blown on blow”***
Or so she said behind Louis Vuitton shades shielding eyes half dead
A ****** with a monkey on her back fed by a steady stream of opiates
***“I open this line of communication so you can see we lack foundation and stability and yet
We're trying to build a sand castle with all the powder we can possibly get
And if we're forced to forfeit that fortress, we snort more, still trying to forget”*** and with that she placed her sunglasses on top of her head
I stood back with my back pack and I finally understood
Why drugs will make you richer than working ever could
They bag a gram put it on the scale and tell you what it weighs
But they don't tell you how unnoticeable it is when your life slips away
We sell the dream, we sell the aesthetics
The drugs, the parties, the scene with guest lists
Invincibility
Pretty lights.
Fun. All a lie.
I almost fell on my face walking down the hill, staring into those blue eyes over my shoulder all the while.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC
The Sun is growing distant
The Earth is turning in her bed
Waking up in an instant
With her nightgown
White in the cold
Opting to sleep it through
And dream herself up, green
And breathe proximity, serene
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 2:59 PM UTC
Evenings a lovable sensitive thang.
Opting to pass usual good morning greetings as some sang.
Skipping morning bits.. rushing into the afternoon.
She welcomed the mid day
Knowing with it a smile was on the way.
She allowed early evening to greet letting things bloom.
Working away late evenings as sleepy eyes rang.
Conversations a quick cute head nodding overhang.
Good nights are like lullabies of verbal hugs sangs.
Wasted evenings are snatching from beneath feet taken for granted rugs.
All to start another night in shimmering thoughtful plights.
Tugging away ribbons in flights.
Meaningful minds quietly dreamin.
As others may be secretly scheming.
Attentions paid to faded good morning hello's.
With hollow tones from yesterdays grading zero's.
Wash rinse and repeating..
Behaviors seems to be overwhelming.
Creativity craves new feelings.
Rare moments seems to be fleeting.
Evenings are acceptable, noondays are welcoming,
as are the rushing of mornings.
selinasharday rosePoet s.a.m 2019-5-1
May 3, 2021
May 3, 2021 at 8:28 AM UTC
For eons untold I have watched you rise and fall. Build empires and break them. Cure diseases and be ailed by them. I have watched you commune in many religious ways… watched you slaughter for your faith. Now that the darkness has dawned, finally I have come, soaring towards you.
As the farmer brings his harvest home, the librarian pores over long forgotten a tome, whilst the piper flutes a final tone. Echoes from my insides a most peculiar and maddening drone.
Too long soils you have stained with blood, bygone your time of breeding. Your cancerous race, your viral existence… Put out of its misery soon enough.
I soar, adorned in shrouds of doom and gloom, my wings blowing frigid winds and blotting out the moon. Unseen horror, hidden in the darkest nooks of your feeble minds. The stalking predator that lurks near the sheep pen. Crypt born from the graven mounds of a long stained and rotten memory. Ancient pillars carved for me, worshiping us.
No atonement can there be for the existence of human sin. Only to rend and tear your fleshy vessels. In a nuclear chaos confounded to the self-made oblivion, the blindfold to not see, the unutterable horror that is me…
Flee…
If it makes you feel safe and sanctified. You will feel my leering gaze and gaping maw wherever you may hide. Sleep will creep upon you somehow.
Like in times of old, there are some stories they left untold. To prevent further damnation and total extinction, the worship of the gods of all creation. Floating in a sea most nebulous, blackened and foul, adrift outside of the play garden of time and space, there live things without a face.
The piping of mad flutes a harbinger of my coming, a blazing star to wipe the slate clean. Not even a faint echo will remain.
Go out while you can… Walk hand in hand into extinction as brothers and sister, opting out of a raw deal. The last midnight for the human race…
A cancerous vile growth that only thrives for our amusement…
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 7:52 PM UTC
the previous listener, who did so faintly and in a manner foreign to me, sat reasonably as I do now, or perhaps lain starry and jaded on some soft lawn riddled with the paused movements of those who watched, clouded with distraction, the life of a sweet nothing drown in descent from above as they cheered and screamed for it, for that meaningless treasure tainted by the vanity of their own desire, ignorant of the listener, of her own treasure then forming, as something warm and enduring in the seat of her chest, something to brood, to analyze, to cherish for a length, at great odds with the fleet and trivia that so dominated the struct of their noire.
but the listener had none of this, gulfed from the shaking and pressing, shielded the same from its symbol and write, opting to push for those few golden moments most certainly approaching her as the rest wraithed past, softly and shyly granting the scarcest and most shamefully starved of treelines, roadways and ballparks and wire staff, knowing but keeping that the few she would most deeply and fondly remember would be just these.
and so the listener and her lover stood past, sweeping over the artificial earths with little concern, not pausing or skipping for a moment to witness the wonder in the world around them and to soak up some indefinable fraction of its infinite offerings. from lain block to patch grass they strode, searching for their one moment, for that which so surely stood staunch and unmoving at some near point in their passage, but which always seemed to elude them, to taunt and hang and cackle in the face of their steadily growing contempt.
and then, as the crowd deserted their peaks for the safe and steady and trough, allowing those moments of elation to slip from them with ease, the listener let likewise all that was precious to her from her grasp, and fell into a similar place, one of deserted lows and recollections of the brightness that lay behind, of those very moments that felt their way independently into her heart and her soul, and left her love beside her, forever looking up into the dark.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Bitter or better
It’s my choice you see
I’ve been bitter so long
But where’d that get me
It didn’t make me happy
I have to confess
So I’m trying to be better
I’m doing my best
Bitter or better
Is a matter of choice
And I’ve made mine
So I’m raising my voice
Bitter always left me
With eyes that were moist
So I’m opting for better
As an alternate choice
Bitter or better
Take it from me
You can choose which one
You wanna be
Maybe you can’t forget
But can you forgive
Because being bitter
Just ain’t no way to live
Bitter or better
Is a matter of choice
And I’ve made mine
So I’m raising my voice
Bitter always left me
With eyes that were moist
So I’m opting for better
As an alternate choice
Bitter or better
Are alternate states
Bitter can have you carrying weights
Better wins hands down in debates
And it doesn’t require as many crates
Bitter or better
Is a matter of choice
And I’ve made mine
So I’m raising my voice
Bitter always left me
With eyes that were moist
So I’m opting for better
As an alternate choice
Bitter or better
As the case might be
Which one do you choose
You know about me
It’s your decision
So which it will be
Is it gonna be the devil
Or the deep blue sea
Bitter or better
Is a matter of choice
And I’ve made mine
So I’m raising my voice
Bitter always left me
With eyes that were moist
So I’m opting for better
As an alternate choice
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 6:05 AM UTC
Time was you could turn on the radio
And the first song you heard would contain
A message to you directly from God
He'd tell you what was happening in your life
Sometimes He'd tell you what to do about it
Always a surprise, good to hear from Him
But not always what you'd want to hear
A lot of it depended upon the radio station you chose
These days fewer people listen to the radio
Opting for streaming music or perhaps internet or satellite radio
The last two sometimes seem to work in a pinch
But it's just not the same, I don't know why
Yahweh just seems to like good old fashioned terrestrial radio
Probably makes His voice clearer on the AM band than FM
Not that He doesn't respect progress
He's got a nostalgic streak in him, that's all
And some really poor people can only afford a cheap AM radio
So there you go
Practically any song can drip with profound meaning
If you use the radio like a Ouija board
Try it sometime
It could change your life
Even for the better
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
Stick and stones can Braked your bones
But words will tear your soal into tiny pieces
Maybe not all at once
But little by little
Slice by slice
The wounds will heal
But the wounds of the soal takes more the just time
And if those wounds don't heal
U die, not physically you can't be that Lucky
, no I can't be that lucky
When your soul bleeds it bleeds hope
Hope of change, hope of man kind, and hope that you are not the words, that people call you.
My soul has ran dried befor,
Sliced way to many time
And me with no confidence to stich it back up
I was to the point of opting out,
Saying **** it.
I was tired of being called a freek tired of being told that I am less
That my life ment nouthing
Then I started to bleave it
That the world would be better with out me
And hell it would of been
I did not contribute to this world
Never made a change
I was so **** close
Blood flowing down my wrist
My mettifulical soul
Looking like my wrist
And obviously I lived
But you don't get over that kind of **** alone
It doesn't despair
It builds
U need a rope to get out of that rapid
You know what mine was.....
Words
The same thing that sliced my soal
That night I dreamed
That I was a writer
That my words did more good than the words of the outhers did harm
Not just for me but for others like me
Despair oozing out of them
Hatred coating there mind
That the only thing keeping them alive
Was the fact they cut across the tracks and not along
The next day I wrote
I wrote stories and poems
Letting my worries of the fuecher draw hope from the page and into me
Letting me clime out of my self pity
Without drugs
Without other people (the way I do everything)
And I lived
Not like I was, day by day
No I was finally alive I wanted to live
Not just because its what was expected
But I wanted this, I wanted my dream
I wanted to save not just my life
But some one else
To tell them
Yea words can beat you down, drag you to your grave, dig u a 9foot grave and berry you
But they can also brang you back to life, more alive than before.
Words can give you some thing that you felt you never had
Love, and love is what repair the wounds of your soul,
Show you that you have a reason to live,
No matter if those words are internal or external
They can heal you, and free you from the world that I once feared
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
Daybreak some mouths open to eat
And some open to host only flies.
Some mouths open to gossip or speak
Falsehood, vulgarity and evil or lies.
Some mouths open only to do both
Yet they accomplish nothing from it.
Some open to display a bad tooth
And emit an odor that smells like ****
Some mouths open but say nothing
Coherent and productive and actual,
Yet will go poking in nearly everything
Saying something that isn't factual.
Daybreak, some mouths stay closed
Opting to be neutral and say the truth.
These mouths may be mute and bored,
The price of gold these mouths are worth.
©IvanBrooksPoetry
3/9/2018
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 2:06 AM UTC
When it comes down to it
At the elemental level
Of this reality
There’s me and there’s you
The anti-me
Perfectly symmetrical, but anti-
Me
Linked so closely
Yet
Ill-fated to be
Upon collision
Destined for annihilation
Leaving only traces
Of the energy that bound us
From opposite sides of the charge
Of the mystery
Yet this, here, you and I, we
Matter
Separated by the fundamental differences
In our nature
Still, both, tethered
To the laws of physicality
The laws of motion that are woven
Into the fabric
Of this galaxy
This universe
That sees us
That sees you
Unversed in the ways of being part of someone’s world
A rare but precious sight
And me,
Beyond any particular probability
Afraid of what could be
Of the decimation that would ensue
Upon our union,
Opting out of the us, the me and you,
Instead to be
The anti
You
Oct 13, 2021
Oct 13, 2021 at 4:49 PM UTC
Armed with knowledge
of any given set of rules,
One inherits great Power:
arbitration of One's own
Be well-versed
enough to be able to subverse
any and all obstacles, however adverse,
and, moreover, to be able to transverse
thyself (and, by extension, thy universe!)
perchance edified by some means of verse,
(but not necessarily: bask in the diverse!)
during this sacred and fleeting saga of the converse
called Life: denied, defamed, and defiled by perverse
and attenuated souls; true cowards: unwilling to traverse
their own inner darkness, rather opting for the reverse:
to turn themselves schismatically and indefinitely averse
to the divine, ineffable, and limitless inverse:
So this plea, please:
Just be you,
let them be them.
Let me be me,
and let her be her.
Let him be him,
just let us be us.
Just let us.
Lettuce.
*("Why he talkin' 'bout lettuce now, mommy?"
"I guess he just think he funny, the fool!")*
Look, point is:
You are you and I am not,
and I'm okay with that.
I am I and you are not,
and I'm okay with that.
I hope you feel the same.
If not, by me it's coo',
yet I jus' gotta say:
I pity the foo'.
Bask in the holy beauty of this Life
while you still have the chance.
Truly, Solace awaits those who are willing to face this unchangeable aspect of this Life:
Diversity is the nature of this Universe;
the Void is One is Two are Three are the Ten Thousand
(et cetera, blah blah blah)
Get over it and strive for balance.
Maintain balance.
Create it.
Be it.
Be able to lose balance and find it again and again and again...
Be it.
Be you.
I'll be me.
I'll try, at least.
I hope you do, too.
I mean, I hope you try to be you,
not that you try to be me..
'cause that's for me to do.. not you. that's..
oh jesus, here we go!
Foremost,
One must harmonize with One's own Godself.
Nary another
can or will do that for you,
nor shall ye for any other.
So, whatsayeth thou:
let's just try
and we'll see just what we can do.
I'm optimistic,
albeit a sign of weakness in such a needlessly vampyristic world.
Please,
heed my verse
should ye be so apt,
or, rather:
inclined!
Thank you for reading.
Blessings upon thy Path.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
constant waves crash under the surface, the skin, absorbing cynical ballads sung by the echoes of these inhabitants. Relief derives from punishment, self-nourishment, set the stage for these unfortunate events. There has been no consent, no arrangement. my voice has been silenced by the choices I've secured. breathless and brittle i can hear the bones cracking and open doors slamming, this horizon dissolving into a thin gray line. Confined to this cage of regret and regression thrusts underneath my fingernails, leaving bread for bail, opting for a quiet place. My own eyes are lost in these melancholy faces surrounding the destruction like a venue of vultures. My head is so clear, and so transparent. Denying instincts and escape have left this chaos unsettled and evident; naked for prey. Sunken souls longing for destruction. Anticipating a rainy day. Molded my chemistry to fit inside what they want of me, circles in squares, what do we really have but empty packaging. And emptiness has no place of residence. Wildfires stemming from my fingertips as every single substance i caress turns to ash. Blackened. steps that have no depth. Roads that have no end. I am spiraling on an axis that does not tilt the right way and my hair is blowing in the wind. Goosebumps raising on my skin. I am alive. I am distant. I am left behind. In the wrong frame of mind. Unrestrained. A dose to withdrawal with a shot of champagne. Ten seconds, i'm falling into intersecting highways. Blankness. Resurrecting a flicker, caught beneath dark circles sheltering my iris. An accomplice in the wounded charade, a collapsing lung makes no sound in this crowded space. Abandoning idolized conclusions raising passions like battered children, from broken gates we let the truth escape and the oxygen conformed with it. Counterfeit. Dreams, although sleepless haunt every breath inhaled leaving malignant now speechless. Disease in every bite we eat. I leave it upon the ones who envision cloudless. My sight has mislead me, which has brought me to this wreckage. Dependence in noxious fumes gripping on to this disaster. Was it really the truth we were after. After the truth we wrote new rules, confused for apparent reasons. Our time is evolving and deteriorating with the seasons.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC
Gabrielle Union wore a gorgeous fall look in New York City while promoting her show, Being Mary Jane, on Tuesday.
The 42-year-old looked like a vision in her fitted white Sophia Kah dress with crimson lace overlay, as she was spotted leaving Live With Kelly and Michael.
The short-sleeved frock featured intricate detailing on the upper portion, while the bottom half was all white.
The skintight dress, which showed off the Think Like a Man star's amazing body, fit her like a glove.
The pop of color from the wine-colored lace added a bold touch to an otherwise minimal look.
The Bring It On actress kept the bold vibes going by choosing shiny gold heels, which added a new dimension to the look.
She added gold rings to compliment her similarly hued strappy heels with gray polished nails.
The Being Mary Jane star wore her shoulder length dark hair loose and wavy.
Opting for a more vampy makeup look, the starlet wore smokey eye shadow, glossy red lips and rosy cheeks.
During her appearance on the morning show, the She's All That actress wore a more understated look, rocking gray slacks, a black top and bright pink heels as she spoke to Michael Strahan and guest host Ciara, who filled in for Kelly Ripa.
The brunette is married to NBA star Dwayne Wade, who plays for the Miami Heat. The couple first met in 2009 and married in August 2014.
Her husband has three sons: 13-year-old Zaire Blessing Dwayne, eight-year-old Zion Malachi Airamis and two-year-old Xavier Zechariah, from previous relationships.
The 33-year-old athlete also raises his 13-year-old nephew Dahveon.
On her show, she plays the character Mary Jane Paul, an on-camera reporter who has to juggle work, love and family.
The third season of Being Mary Jane premieres on October 20th on BET.
The starlet is also currently filming The Lion Guard, an animated TV series where she voices the character of Nala, set to premiere on the Disney Channel in 2016. She recently wrapped The Lion Guard: Return of the Roar TV movie, which premieres this November.
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/sexy-formal-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 2:18 AM UTC
It was the running Roman Legionary,
Who hid from troops his own,
And spoke of evil men did do,
For it was why he ran alone.
It was the serf, an ex-soldier,
Who spoke against the sword;
Yet for these words which he did speak,
He earned the sword as his reward.
It was the humbled noble Lord,
Who wrote from tower's tall;
Against all endless border wars,
As it caused good men to fall.
It was the musketman in red,
Who stepped-on out of line;
Opting not to die so still,
As he said, "This life is mine."
It was the trenched machine-gunner,
Who chose his targets quick,
And wished for more than anything,
To cease this endless click.
It was the Spaniard,
Who fought Spain,
And knew the truth was dark;
Yet fought-back fists of fascist pride,
His mission now, to leave a mark.
It was the Frenchman,
Chased by fright,
Who scrambled for the shore;
Escaping from his bled homeland,
He died of bombs in Britain's war.
It was the prisoner of Korea's gore,
Who sat down with the Reds;
Speaking in appeasing awe,
He saved his severed head.
It was the man in Vietnam,
Who was forced the cross the sea;
To fight a war he wasn't for,
Against his will, he stood as free.
It was the Roman,
And the serf;
It was the noble Lord.
It was the musketman in red,
And the dead Spaniard,
Who fought for freedom,
Spoke for peace,
And dreamed to see with their own eyes,
The human mind, taught to be wise,
And cease these endless lies;
To end the "me's" and "mores" and "my's,"
And to remove mans dark disguise.
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 7:43 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Bitter or better
It’s my choice you see
I’ve been bitter so long
But where’d that get me
It didn’t make me happy
I have to confess
So I’m trying to be better
I’m doing my best
Bitter or better
Is a matter of choice
And I’ve made mine
So I’m raising my voice
Bitter always left me
With eyes that were moist
So I’m opting for better
As an alternate choice
Bitter or better
Take it from me
You can choose which one
You wanna be
Maybe you can’t forget
But can you forgive
Because being bitter
Ain't no way to live
Bitter or better
Is a matter of choice
And I’ve made mine
So I’m raising my voice
Bitter always left me
With eyes that were moist
So I’m opting for better
As an alternate choice
Bitter or better
Are alternate states
Bitter can have you carrying weights
Better wins hands down in debates
And it doesn’t require as many crates
Bitter or better
Is a matter of choice
And I’ve made mine
So I’m raising my voice
Bitter always left me
With eyes that were moist
So I’m opting for better
As an alternate choice
Bitter or better
As the case might be
Which one do you choose
You know about me
It’s your decision
So which it will be
Is it gonna be the devil
Or the deep blue sea
Bitter or better
Is a matter of choice
And I’ve made mine
So I’m raising my voice
Bitter always left me
With eyes that were moist
So I’m opting for better
As an alternate choice
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
many girls i know like men that glean
like sky-scrapers, brilliant in their hard lines
that rise up from the ash in a fit of man made glory.
somehow, i bypassed this lust for babel opting for flesh
teeming with genesis like the forest behind my cabin.
its heartbeats of life with in death pound beside me
as i lie in bed with the light off and the blinds open
looking at poplars like they're the pillars of Hercules
crudely inscribed with the letters ne plus ultra.
i thought he was in the spirit of lake of the woods
but his roots do not flourish here, they scour for soil
and water finding only dry sand. so at what point
did i stop ghosting the natural curve of the road
engulfed by the yellow of my favourite blouse
reflecting back in the blacks of his eyes like lighthouses
or twin Brittle Bushes from the Sonoran. he is nothing
but an African desert where children absorb warnings
like liberal skin, oblivious to the natural radiance in desolation
and everything that i will eventually let go
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
The lot of us strangers trying too hard to stay aloof in a narrow corridor plagued by awful trendy folk music blaring out of unseen speakers and I shrouded in silence wore it a pseudo-epidermal layer taut force field writing this poem so to be a little more pretentious than most by opting not to check social media and the selfie I posted this morning not sure how many likes it's gotten since an hour ago but I'm not going to check yet Everyone here looks so miserable and it's barely 8 AM the Kate Gosselins and Ben Afflecks grab their coffee like a servant grabs the King's goblet to test for poison there's this mumble of a thank you seeping out of frozen lips and half opened eyelids harnessing dull hazy eyes and they drudge back to their hybrid cars with their five dollar savior and amble down the gaping highway that consumes their soul and all the while shoulders never touch and eyes never meet and we stand idly in the waiting room watching the alchemists conjure up our poison thinking about our selfies and how much we hate ourselves and our lives but honestly I just wanted my first pumpkin spice latte of the season celebrating the first cool day of the year in my denim jacket I resurrected with glee out of the elated closet in the middle of September so I say Beware you miserable cretins you obligatory acolytes of the virulent elixir one day you'll wake up and no amount of coffee will purify this cesspool you've lain yourself into like a regretful baptism you didn't believe in.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
What I wish to be exists not.
To have
Years of sorrow and grief forgot,
But oh, oh no;
That suffering will long remain.
It will riddle my mind;
Labyrinthine confines --
All alone, always,
Unfathomably far from every shore,
From what I once adored.
This is emptiness:
This is the void of being.
I will wake up with that knot
Still In my stomach,
Lying awake for hours,
Hardly moving,
Immobile,
Still, so still,
Clenching for comfort and warmth and care,
But it simply won't be there,
And it very well may never return.
That flame of the few
That I once knew,
So pure and so true,
Has withered into an ember,
And it's so far away, this I know.
I would rather go ahead and die,
Some times,
I think,
Than live a life of mediocrity;
Of predictability.
Yet I'm also dying to find any source of light
In this abyss,
Or an escape.
But I can't find one.
I'm having so much trouble simply existing.
I was not cut out for this world,
I can tell you that for certain.
Oh, with such certainty.
I cannot handle the pain of everything around me,
Of proxy wars and vast slums.
Of paved forests and rigged economies.
It is far too much for me to ignore...
Far, far, far too much,
This is for certain.
With such certainty.
So is opting out the way to go?
It's getting to where I'd do anything
To not exist as I presently am,
And to not exist where I presently am:
In this desperate mind inside a dying world.
I just want to be okay with living.
But I absolutely mean this when I say it:
All of the pain in the world,
All of the inequality,
Stratification,
Corruption,
Tragedy,
Genocide,
I feel it. I feel all of it...
It pulls and drags me
Into some unknown depth,
Some infinite chasm,
Where no light has ever been,
Where no light will ever be,
And where I am not sure
If I will ever leave.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC