"orphanages" poems
most nights
i'm only loving you
in fragments,
i'm only loving
you in death
i wander your
mind like a child in
search of it's mother,
but you were
orphanages
not loving homes
only drugs can
compare to
the feeling of
disillusion
i had when i was
with you.
i love you,
i crave
you
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
Handbags
Fetish for handbags...
The last time I counted
Almost 100 of them
Variety of brand names
LV, Gucci, Hermes, coach, Burberry, Jimmy Choo, Marc Jacobs, Fendi
Ohhh.... you just name them..
Some were bought
Some were given on special events
Proud of the collection, love them all
But closet is full..
Keeping some in the store..
Collecting dust , waiting time to rot
Why not sell them?
Donate the profit to charity, orphanages, old folks etc..
Handbags too many...
Can save lives of many...
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
so you call yourself pro-life
okay, I guess I can pretend to respect that
which then means that you must also
respect the fact that I am very loudly pro-choice
and thanks to science
I know that a bundle of cells
and a living child are not the same thing
because an actual fetus is not fully formed
until the third trimester
and by fully formed I mean that it is
for all intents and purpose alive
but before that
there is nothing but a group of cells
there is no brain
no heart
not even pearly pink fingernails
so now what, huh?
you’re probably going to keep protesting
Planned Parenthood and harassing the people
that work there, right?
because all that Planned Parenthood does
is condone the vicious and inhumane ******
of defenseless, unborn children, right?
right?
either way, you don’t care about the child
once they’re born
all that you care about is making a woman
and other individuals who have a ******
carry this thing that is literally feeding off of them
and why should a child be brought into this world
if the circumstances through which it was
conceived are non-consensual?
because, if you really did care
if you really were “pro-life”
then you would care about the child
after it is born
or better yet
you could turn your attention and time and money
and anger to all the millions of orphans living
in the US
ya know, the living children?
with no homes?
with no parents?
packed like sardines in orphanages?
what about them?
do they not matter because they are not a group
of cells, and therefore not defenseless?
and therefore they do not matter?
because,
if you only care about that bundle of cells
and because some states actually make women
and those with uteruses
have funerals for the aborted “child”
then by default whenever a man
masturbates and then **********
shouldn’t he be made to have a separate
funeral for each of the thousands of children
that he just killed?
because one of them could have cured cancer, ******
and tell me
when I was still menstruating
should I have said “amen”
over all the potential children that bled out
of my body and into the pad
and the sides of my boxers?
should I have
said “grace” over all the
little pad mummies that I threw away?
should I have cried when I flushed
the ****** toilet paper?
because,
since I have a ******
how dare I want and feel as if I should
be owed control over my own body, right?
how dare I believe that
each and every woman
biological and otherwise
have a say in what they do with their body
how dare I be pro-choice, right?
well, let me knock you down
a few pegs with this closing statement:
if you only care about the “child” when it is
just a group of cells that doesn’t feel a **** thing
and couldn’t care less about it
once it is born
and homeless
or an orphan
or queer
then you are not “pro-life”
what you are
is an *******
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 10:12 PM UTC
A pedal kicker walks forwards
A pedal kicker doesn't think a lot.
A pedal kicker tears at his courage cage.
A pedal kicker doesn't care about you.
A pedal kicker makes mistakes.
A pedal kicker doesn't give a ****
A pedal kicker doesn't always get things done.
A pedal kicker has a fleeting mind.
A pedal kicker aims too high.
A pedal kicker supplies orphanages.
A pedal kicker eats small people.
A pedal kicker eats themselves.
A pedal kicker eats food.
A pedal kicker doesn't have to pretend.
A pedal kicker gets things done too fast.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
I saw a beautiful soul today,
Masked had he been,
His face, nobody had seen...
He had a heart that did beat for all,
He had a mind, that did think about good for all,
He had a set of hands, that did work for humanity,
He had a wallet, that did open - only for charity,
He took no name, he took no fame,
He kept helping people,
And wanted everyone to do the same,
He worked for orphanages, old age homes,
He worked for hospitals,
And not for running his own family,
What a man, of hospitality!
What a beauty he bad been!
Masked had he been,
His face nobody had seen...
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 8:56 PM UTC
I inhaled sparks
Because sparks are love.
And bonfires are
Orphanages for sparks.
And a burning fire
Sometimes sends sparks my way.
I inhaled sparks
From a bonfire that
Had been lit by a Giant.
He asked
"Are you cold?"
And knelt down with two
Sticks between his hands
Even though I was quite not cold.
He went to work
With two sticks
That turned into vapid flame
And the sparks
Jumped from the fire
Like kids running away from home.
I walked to the fire pit and
Caught the sparks with my hands.
Held them up to my face like a cup of coffee
And with one swift breath
I inhaled sparks.
And oh God,
It wasn't enough.
They needed to be rekindled.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 6:32 PM UTC
He was known as the roof top poet
He was good, but he wouldn’t show it.
He wrote about everything on the streets
While listening to the Latin beat.
His upbringing inspired him
To write about crime and sin.
He wrote about street drugs everywhere
And ***** needles that they would share.
He played the conga and bongos too
This is what he had learned to do.
There was not a topic that he would not touch
For he loved life much to much.
He wrote about robberies, muggings
And ****** prostitution, gambling
Corruption and all the rest
His talent for street writing made him the best.
But there was a soft side to him
That people did not know
And where ever children needed him
He would go.
He was a volunteer in the children s hospital
And the orphanages too, which was
Something that nobody knew.
He would give them love, affection, and laughter
Wealth or fame he wasn’t after.
He gave them the key elements for the
Children to survive, HOPE, LOVE, FAITH
With hope in their hearts and faith in GOD
There was nothing that they could not do.
If to themselves they would be true.
Now if we could be such as HE
The world would be better for the children you see.
HOPE IS THE KEY TO SET YOURSELF FREE
louis rams :
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
He was known as the roof top poet
He was good , but he wouldn’t show it.
He wrote about everything on the streets
While listening to the Latin beat.
His upbringing inspired him
To write about crime and sin.
He wrote about street drugs everywhere
And ***** needles that they would share.
He played the conga and bongos too
This is what he had learned to do.
There was not a topic that he would not touch
For he loved life much to much.
He wrote about robberies, muggings
And ****** , prostitution, gambling
Corruption and all the rest
His talent for street writing made him the best.
But there was a soft side to him
That people did not know
And where ever children needed him
He would go.
He was a volunteer in the children s hospital
And the orphanages too, which was
Something that nobody knew.
He would give them love, affection, and laughter
Wealth or fame he wasn’t after.
He gave them the key elements for the
Children to survive, HOPE, LOVE, FAITH
With hope in their hearts and faith in GOD
There was nothing that they could not do.
If to themselves they would be true.
Now if we could be such as HE
The world would be better for the children you see.
HOPE IS THE KEY TO SET YOURSELF FREE
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 2:18 PM UTC
Paint a picture for me -
Brush strokes in elephant blood
of corrupted soil and
toxic waterways,
sunless air hanging over
bombed-out orphanages -
But create with these elements
An image positive
In tone and direction
Framed by youthful vision -
Paint for me a picture
of possibilities -
Convince me there is a way out...
- fr
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC
Restless wandering through the voidless night.
Time is spent watching my dreams go down.
The morning trifles the mirage of normalcy.
I sip coffee with chamomile crumbs floating at the top.
Herbs upon herbs, accidents and orphanages.
Out the window the high school sits cold and waiting for the not awake yet.
The busses rumble the emptines.
It doesn't scare the birds.
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 10:37 AM UTC
I am scared for my Life and
Our Oath will keep both of us
Safe till I build orphanages,
old people's homes and
till our songs gets Grammies, B.E.Tz and
a special place on the internet!
I decree
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 9:41 AM UTC
Oh, my god
This poem!
Whenever I try to make her stand on the reality line
She flutters like Marilyn Monroe’s dress in the imaginations of men
I tell her to keep herself on one meaning
But she defies me
While wearing the interpretation mask
And when she tries to describe the battlefield
She is looking for the effects of kisses
On the collars of the soldiers who are tied down in their trenches
With fear and hopelessness
But if they were to be blown up
And their bodies were every where
Her words would be meaningless
For she hiding behind symbolism
She can’t sense the children’s horror from the bombs
And their attempts to huddle against the remnants of destroyed walls
Her cheeks do not hurt
Like mothers’ cheeks dried of their hot tears poured while waiting for deferred letters from their absent sons
She does not take the risk of thinking
So, she can’t believe any truth
She does not pay attention to my damaged life
Which has been crushed by the harsh machine of days
She is trying to make her words beautiful
So, she sprinkles rose water on an erupting volcano
She is too comfortable with death and even praises him
She is summarizing all this loss, darkness, combustion, destruction, chemical weapons. black banners, coffins, skinning , deprivation, orphanages, curfews, warning, sirens, barbed wire, tanks, thrumming of planes, explosions. ****** blood shed on the side walk, death, ashes, displacement, emptiness, charred bodies, mass graves, coffins, body traps, yelling, sadness, anger, hunger, thirst, vigilance, slapping …. etc.
She summarizes all of this in one ward
War
While I am, the poet stand in the middle
Watching my body jump from death to death
For nothing
Just to let the poem come
But after all this trouble
She only comes imperfectly
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
for almost two and a half hours
we talked
mostly he talked
and i listened
but i could listen
to him all day
and never be bored
i could listen
to his stories
with undivided attention.
school
soccer
coffee
family
friends
childhood
church
funerals
weddings
honeymoon
adoption
orphanages
relationships
heaven
maybe some day
you’ll discover my secret
maybe some day
you’ll smile in agreement;
until some day
i’ll be patiently waiting.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 3:40 PM UTC
we come
To your town
(Hungry)
! ? !
.~~
I mean :
...We know what we are being trained to do ...
to gun them down !
;:
( all them hungry kids )
///
THATS OUR WORLD YOU KNOW
THE ONE THAT WE ARE CERTAINLY
TOO POWERLESS TO CHANGE
WE SAY CONSTANTLY
KNOWING WE ARE FULL
OF ****
BUT WE SAY IT ANYWAY BECAUSE WE ARE SCARED
))
By the fires and campfire
Creating false stories to become false memories
To become a false religion about a false god
We sit and watch pure and total DOOM encircle the whole planet
and polute the whole universe
And befoul the very heart of the creation
And we accept it all so passively
But crying all the while
))
Me
I think we should all probably reconsider what should be our
Plans for a tomorrow
That is today seen as a begger limping in
With an an absolutely confused
Look on his face
!!!!
I really feel it's the HOUR
When the true and natural unity of
WE THE PEOPLE
assert the simple truth of love
And our unique sovereignty
As the PROTECTORS OF THE UNIVERSE
and the GUARDIANS OF ALL CHILDREN
instead on being the ones
Standing here before them
As they stagger
From the orphanages
And approach
The rich man's horde
::
Standing there
Ready to gun them down
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 2:23 AM UTC
I turn off the lights at orphanages
just to hear the sound of them cry
because trust me, trust me, even a ******* stray deserves to die
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
The moments fade
Like that of many seasons
Leaving appalling memories
And few fake reasons
Just to comfort ones self
And spreading the warmth of smiles
Never letting anyone guess
The walk you take alone in miles
Tho shattered into infinite pieces
Still keeping your frame strong
Waking up everyday like dead
From within, you know you're not wrong
Days spent at work
And free time at the park
While watching the fictional routines of norms
You sit there till dark
You begin to love your solitude
And avoid congestion and loud
Away from the puppeteer world
Into your own little happy crowd
Where you have smiles, kindness
Warmth, and selfless gratitude
The place where the unfortunate children are
You encourage them with positive attitude
With little presents for God's earthly angels
You can't get enough of their cheerful giggles
Left in orphanages and other caring homes
My friends are these, my little smeagols
©sim
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 11:57 PM UTC
*indeed my misery is counter-,
an archaeological intuitiveness.*
you read a story about ****
you read a story about Apollo 17...
you read a story about the first
female commander at Sandhurst....
you read about Czech orphanages' abuse...
you read, and you read,
what a strange anaesthetic you experience...
in your seclusion, you are indeed
a cosmonaut by then...
drinking and reading this **** is like injecting ******
you begin to shut down,
to learn to become numb.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
'An inquiry examining institutional *** abuse in Australia has heard 7% of the nation's Catholic priests allegedly abused children between 1950 and 2010.'
Can the bricks from all the churches
create orphanages,
can the cloth from all the robes
warm the freezing,
can the wine from all the altars
cheer the helpless,
can the jewels from all the crosses
fund the starving,
can the gold from all the goblets
ease the suffering,
can the wood from all the pulpits
house the homeless,
can the glass from all the windows
frame the darkness,
can the bones from all the priests
fertilize the fields,
can the pain from all the suffering
be acknowledged,
can the tears from all the children
be as witness,
can the crimes of all the clergy
be always remembered,
can the church in all its guilt
be just obliterated.
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 3:36 PM UTC
It rained
It rained down on me
– and it wouldn’t stop!
The torrent of vicious blows just wouldn’t stop
They beat me
They beat me
They beat me
They wouldn’t stop
I was a boy…I was a child
Why wouldn’t they stop?
Mother!
Father!
Why have you abandoned me?
This is not what it says
This is not a home
This is my nightmare.
©Joe Wilson – Just a boy…2014
Life could be harsh in orphanages in the nineteen-fifties.
I’m ever grateful that I only heard of this and didn't experience it myself.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
let's be more stubborn is my recent motto
let's love myself more, even if it's tough, especially when it's tough
to do that, let's start being more honest with myself, right?
i am going to lie to myself actually.
i am going to stand on my own side and defend my own feelings.
you? you are a joke to me!
you can defend yourself and justify yourself.
you believe you did the right thing?
good! good? good good!!
i also believe that i did the right thing so ***** you.
====
such a simple childish conversation, why did it take me so long to realize how powerful this is?
if I am not on my side, then who will be on my side? why do i always have to view it like others do?
why was i taught that i was bad if i hurt others' feelings??
what if they hurt my feelings?? is that right, then?
i am not sorry.
i do not want to feel a second's worth of guilt or hurt over it.
you hurt me and i hurt you back. you deserved it.
stop trying to take advantage of the fact that i am nice and desperate for people.
no one is really that important to each other.
not even lovers last!
divorces are ever-growing. no one wants to actually stay married. even john mulaney and his wife broke up. :(
parents can **** too!
orphanages keep growing in population, child abuse is rampant globally.
who says friendship lasts forever?
talk to all the middle schoolers and adults who have fallen out with multiple people over their short and long lives.
i call ********
i was just taught to be a ******* doormat.
Oct 29, 2021
Oct 29, 2021 at 1:54 AM UTC
but
Ya gotta stop dying
• •
In the town
Girls with painted faces
No young men hanging around
///
Tears
Gullies of misdirection
She stumbles and falls down
///
The return
All dreams are broken
orphanages are everywhere
///
Anger and grief
The fires Raging
We **** ourselves out of shame
///
Little frozen images
Promises of loveliness
Betrayed
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC