"outlawed" poems
How do I love thee? In a way that's bad,
by which I mean so bad it's almost good.
I need you, and you know it drives me mad.
I want you more than any other could.
And we could write romances, you and me.
I want to hear your Hitchcock movie schtick.
I want your everything. I hope it's free.
I want you in my window, and you're sick.
And yet you know my raving is a sign
I'd rather we were paramours than friends.
You're outlawed from the moment that you're mine
Until the day our bad romancing ends;
I'll love you in a leather-studded bra.
Rah gaga gaga roma ooh la la.
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 17, 2011 at 3:02 AM UTC
In your past, this past
they weren't valued
no one said they were members of the family
what walks on four legs and is furry and cute is only
to last as long as nature intended and then to be disposed of
Veal calves in crates, taken from mothers on the day of their birth
to make more milk for humans, horse slaughter for glue
and foi gras, ducks and geese locked in a vice grip of their cages
metal tubes rammed down their throats and force fed until a liver disease
develops, painful, but given no respite
and served as a delicacy and
fur coats from animals skinned alive right here in America
still when mink farms are outlawed in the Netherlands and
two million dogs and cats skinned in China every year not to mention
other horrors and no one cared or looked their way because they are
only animals, and voiceless and helpless and no one cared to give them
a voice or advocacy
"that's why they're there, for our use, people still say" who profit from an industry
of suffering
And today, there are people who try to give them a voice and there are veterinarians who will try to help you with your member of the family, as he suffers, in his old age
a bag of fluids hangs from my exercise bike, and intermixed with my medications
is the painkiller and anti-nausea pills for my dear old friend
whose pancreas is failing
and father, this is foreign to you
you pretend it is a crime
silence is the only thing connecting us now
I hope you enjoyed your last barrage of unkind words
I think you did. The saddest thing I've learned about people like you
is
you feel better after such an attack, to see me reeling, bleeding on the ground
and you feel better, calmer and purged.
A kind of misbegotten peace settles over you
an exploitive peace from another's tears and pain
And yes, father, there were no agencies to give a voice to children
when you were young
no CPS, to aid my nine year old ***** friend
as a code of silence enveloped her attacker
to protect him, the one who destroyed her
But today there is a small brigade of a modern kind of love
to give a voice, protection, soothing to the ones who can
only suffer at our hands and not protect themselves from
our wrath and exploitation
and it is a better world for that, father
for my furry pancreatic friend and for any other
nine year old **** victims here
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
*Shuffle my thoughts
bridge my emotions
Build a fortress that can't be moved
I'll be the queen of diamonds
You'll be the outlawed joker
Together we'll be the wildest cards and rule the land of poker
Deuces* ✌
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
Oh Bard, wielding a tool mighty and spiky
Mightier than either the sword or rod,
You reign as monarch in fancy’s domain
Sketching life in all variety and mode
Which with pain and strife fraught
Or bright with gaiety and grace
In finer yarn than the gossamer thread
On a fabric of words in befitting verse
You steal away from the noisy crowd
Into the stillness of the cloistered cell
To dwell with Fancy’s mystic charms
Weaving downy dreams at will
You recount forgotten tales of yore
Of ****** battles won and lost,
Of lovers united, amour defiled,
Conjuring memories from abysmal past
You hearken to the moans of lovelorn souls
And sing of beauty in ditties fine
Triggering sparks into flames grow
In umpteen hearts that pine and whine
Babbling with the brook rushing swift,
Racing with the deer loping past,
You wander into mysterious woods
Where flowers, their richest odors cast
Your ears intent on the song of birds
That comes floating from the far off groves
And the whir of cicadas on the bark of trees
Breaking the calm of twilight eves
Alone you saunter the stretching strands,
Watching virulent breakers in fury heave
Often your heart dancing with the tide
And swinging with the rhythm of rising wave
You feast on the gleam of the auburn sun
And the speckled blue of the infinite skies
Watching the day dying in flame
And the night in a diadem of stars vies
All that’s lovesome meets your eyes
And commune to you in profuse delight
Which you turn into rhyme and rhythm
For the whole of mankind to devour and digest
From your harp flow symphonies sweet
Songs of longing, love and lust
Of idyllic happiness, peace and bliss,
Fuelling hearts with vigorous zest
Though outlawed by the great sage of Greece,
Branding the poet, aberrant and a fool
Oft beneath the façade of his wayward thoughts,
Lie heaps of wisdom for the discerning soul.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 6:01 AM UTC
#
"They've outlawed it, you know.."
"Outlawed what, Sweetie"
***"The Unknowable--
that which cannot be defined
or easily explained away..
That which cannot reduced, down
in to something more palatable;
Or maybe diluted-down
in to that which one could drink
..without it bringing some form
of dis- comfort"***
She is looking down;
Woven into her hair.. all things
edelweiss, suddenly begin
their wilt
..and all along the waterway
are those coming towards her
to smother
.
You will hold on, my Beautiful
*(or maybe even turn to face
for the first time, with loaded gun)*
--But Beautiful girl was never meant
to go loaded
*(..And her beloved Rooster Cogburn said
that she's no bigger than a corn nubbin)*
My beautiful girl
locks and loads, anyways--
Because the Mason-jars
she was forced to pour it all in to,
were never made big enough
to contain it.
There's a small stall at the swap-meet..
on Thursday and Saturday mornings,
she rents a space there
Her wares, true liquid Gold..
*(when a jar becomes sold
no hidden-thing will be needed
to sustain it)*
. . . . .
Quiet hearts are never meant
to reveal themselves
Some words (in this world)
were never meant to be spoken
You'll see now, beautiful Angel--
that this Rare-Jeweled heart of yours
is not the only-one,
perpetually Broken
Some gifts, the world
may never be ready for.
Lip-Kissed,
may I be the one
to help get that
un-ready World, ready--
*(so very well fed
yet still;
so very slowly, burning)*
Some beautiful Heartbeats
are so very much worth dying for
***... And I, myself ;
I am turning..***
#
Sep 27, 2023
Sep 27, 2023 at 2:17 PM UTC
YES, the Dead speak to us.
This town belongs to the Dead, to the Dead and to the Wilderness.
Back of the clamps on a fireproof door they hold the papers of the Dead in a house here
And when two living men fall out, when one says the Dead spoke a Yes, and the other says the Dead spoke a No, they go then together to this house.
They loosen the clamps and haul at the hasps and try their keys and curse at the locks and the combination numbers.
For the teeth of the rats are barred and the tongues of the moths are outlawed and the sun and the air of wind is not wanted.
They open a box where a sheet of paper shivers, in a dusty corner shivers with the dry inkdrops of the Dead, the signed names.
Here the ink testifies, here we find the say-so, here we learn the layout, now we know where the cities and farms belong.
Dead white men and dead red men tested each other with shot and knives: they twisted each others' necks: land was yours if you took and kept it.
How are the heads the rain seeps in, the rain-washed knuckles in sod and gumbo?
Where the sheets of paper shiver,
Back of the hasps and handles,
Back of the fireproof clamps,
They read what the fingers scribbled, who the land belongs to now-it is herein provided, it is hereby stipulated-the land and all appurtenances thereto and all deposits of oil and gold and coal and silver, and all pockets and repositories of gravel and diamonds, dung and permanganese, and all clover and bumblebees, all bluegrass, johnny-jump-ups, grassroots, springs of running water or rivers or lakes or high spreading trees or hazel bushes or sumach or thorn-apple branches or high in the air the bird nest with spotted blue eggs shaken in the roaming wind of the treetops-
So it is scrawled here,
"I direct and devise
So and so and such and such,"
And this is the last word.
There is nothing more to it.
In a shanty out in the Wilderness, ghosts of to-morrow sit, waiting to come and go, to do their job.
They will go into the house of the Dead and take the shivering sheets of paper and make a bonfire and dance a deadman's dance over the hissing crisp.
In a slang their own the dancers out of the Wilderness will write a paper for the living to read and sign:
The dead need peace, the dead need sleep, let the dead have peace and sleep, let the papers of the Dead who fix the lives of the Living, let them be a hissing crisp and ashes, let the young men and the young women forever understand we are through and no longer take the say-so of the Dead;
Let the dead have honor from us with our thoughts of them and our thoughts of land and all appurtenances thereto and all deposits of oil and gold and coal and silver, and all pockets and repositories of gravel and diamonds, dung and permanganese, and all clover and bumblebees, all bluegrass, johnny-jump-ups, grassroots, springs of running water or rivers or lakes or high spreading trees or hazel bushes or sumach or thornapple branches or high in the air the bird nest with spotted blue eggs shaken in the roaming wind of the treetops.
2k
From the moment
the tale of her ruin
made itself known,
mankind has
coveted proof
of her existence.
Many a curious hand
has stalked across
the glossy veins of maps
and the cracked vertebrae of books
enclosing information
most pivotal to
her secret whereabouts
and the tragic evanescence
that initiated her exile.
Many a
sailor
explorer
scientist
poet
have perished among
the gnashing jaws of the sea
in their pursuit of
the glory
her exploitation
would surely bring.
In response to such
grievances--
the reality
of losing oneself
in the midst of
searching for what
has already been lost--
imagination--
the belief in magic,
in the seemingly
unbelievable--
was outlawed
within the
human psyche;
now,
they say she is merely
a madman's legend,
a myth concocted by Plato
so as to warn against
the perils of greed.
But never did they consider
that perhaps she did not
want to be found to begin with,
that her seclusion
has always been a necessity
so as not to repeat
the monstrosities of the past--
so she should not resurface
to satiate their earthly desires
only so she can be drowned anew.
{Atlantic}
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 9:11 PM UTC
Tantrums Of Genius
Tantrums Of Genius
Stay away from The - Mart
and it’s shopping cart
with a bad wheel,
Write on paper with
disbanded,forgotten
outlawed cursive,
not staring into
a computer with pop up adds
and trivial social media,
Have Tantrums Of Genius
Sip on a beer
or some wine
and close your eyes
in silence,
listen to the thoughts
twirl in your mind
like a Van Gogh painting,
paying attention to detail
as the thick blue colors
swirl into each other
creating a vibrant sky.
Listen to Mozart
softly inducing stimulation,
master’s calling through
space and time
telling you
of their frustration
in finding anyone
to listen to their message.
Read Ezra Pound
and all the others
the poet’s
who had the knowledge
the insight
to warn you of
a place with no creation,
filled with people
without imagination,
those who never had
Tantrum's Of Genius
Feel the emotion
as you start to pace
the floor,and look
out of a window,
and for the first time
realize that you
are surrounded by beauty
and you have ignored
every flower
and all of the color
that has not been recognized.
Maybe with anger
or with regret
have a
Tantrum Of Genius
As the truth
softly show’s itself
like gazing into
a Dali painting
slowly discovering
what it is you are looking at.
promise yourself
to often have
Tantrums Of Genius.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 1:53 PM UTC
Versifyin'
Isn't dyin',
But man,
It's hard to do.
Words and lines
Sound like cliches,
What once
Was old
Is new..
Familiar phrases
Crowd the pages,
Causing such to do.
Can anyone write
Anything new.
Did I write that;
Overhear a wit?
Read it in the loo?
I'll note it down,
Sit,
Sweat and swap,
Get off the ***
And write it.
I don't purloin
Pretty Woman
Because Roy
Is older than me.
To write Yesterday
Is almost to say,
I've hijacked
Sir McCartney.
Write Daffodils,
And see what thrills
That word brings to you.
We may overuse them,
Unwittingly
Abuse them,
And with some we amuse,
But they're ours,
Put to good use
With me.
The number of chords
Limits the hordes;
Repetition ensues,
The decry is sung:
I've heard that song before.
The great ones of writing
Are cause for citing,
By we and me and you.
Can't contrast love to roses,
Shakespeare's told us;
Can't compare eyes to stars,
Lips to petals:
To say,
Your soft, white skin
Is an ink-black sin.
And Beautiful should not
Be used as such.
If one must use it,
One needs
A thesaurus.
Thee, Thine, and Shall
Have taken their toll;
Like Death,
Be not proud.
Be the chosen one,
You know how.
Words and phrases
Are replete;
Too well known
Not to repeat.
They're in
Our vernacular
To be used by
Any author.
But verbatim
Copying's outlawed.
The copy cops
Finger-print
The frauds.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
~for Pamela Rae~
you cannot amend reality by passing a law.
if we could, then we should have one requiring society to
guarantee a happy childhood.
every **** time I propose to myself a resolution
that I am an ok poet, I stumble on to a poet here
of whom I was unaware, and you were, correctly aware,
that brings a good light into the world,
vowing to throw in the towel,
the I'm ok resolution never passes,
voted down 2 - 1;
Against: Myself, I
In Favor: Me
which necessitates try try again
Einstein's Insanity Theorem fool
proofed.
Exclaim! what a goodly word.
If we ex'd our claims (need, due, want) more,
walking in quiet contemplation,
we could climb on our roof (I can) and proclaim (silently)
glory glory hallelujah and it would not matter to
whom (which diety)
we are
addressing.
Outstanding! what a goodly word.
If I could satisfy the claims against me outstanding,
still unsatisfied, while I am yet among the living,
especially the one that are self-propelled,
that would be
outstanding.
I would rather the simple monetary motived corruption
of a dishonest businessman, than the cowardly silence
of the fools we elect to govern us, and gravely pretend
to know what is good for us. I call this,
My Theory of the Greater Corruption.
Word Salad: making crazy combinations of words,
i.e. eggplant smile, vegetable sunrise etc.
hell, I just can't make any up,
it is
cheap and lazy crafty no craftsmanship, craftwomanship
but very self/satisfying and tasty too, I'm sure,
and authentic 100% b.s.
The apocalypse is always nigh.
Ironically, very true.
Let's keep it that way.
neigh neigh neigh.
I write many more words than I speak;
by a very wide margin;
this pleases me,
by a very wide margin.
complexification
(yes, it is a real word) and
glorification
rhyme because they both end in
shunned.
In heaven, the following are outlawed:
yoga, exercise, dieting, crying; denying and lying.
the latter obviate the former.
glory glory hallelujah and hot ****
>•>
4/18/17 2:43am
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 3:21 AM UTC
It was a normal two scorpion and one rattlesnake day at 112° in Wichita Falls , Texas .
Texas . . . they made Hell out of the good parts of Texas and the rest of the state just went there . Fortunately my parents only went there so my little sister could be born there . We left the great state of Texas and moved to the incestuous state of Alabama .
Where the impossible will always remain the same . And the possible will be banned , outlawed , and perpetuated behind countless barns , toolsheds , and the outhouse known as Montgomery , the State Capitol . Called the Heart of Dixie (it should be called ******* of Dixie and thank God for Mississippi , for they have wrest that title away from us . But we gave it a-hell-a-va-fight .)
We are a multicolored society . We have white (the pressence of all color) and black (the absence of all color). Which is strange now because the black people are called colored and the white people are called all kinds of blacked out names (usually on court documents).
Alabama is proud of it's educational system . We measure one's intelligence by how soon they leave the state for better opportunities . In Alabama an educated person is a four letter word , like *** hole , or worse . Oops !
Let me see now . . . one , two , three , four . . . got to tale off my shoe . . . five , six , seven . . . wait a minute . . . *** hole ? . . . is that one or two words .
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
Tantrums Of Genius
Stay away from The - Mart
and it’s shopping cart
with a bad wheel,
Write on paper with
disbanded,forgotten
outlawed cursive,
not staring into
a computer with pop up adds
and trivial social media,
Have Tantrums Of Genius
Sip on a beer
or some wine
and close your eyes
in silence,
listen to the thoughts
twirl in your mind
like a Van Gogh painting,
paying attention to detail
as the thick blue colors
swirl into each other
creating a vibrant sky.
Listen to Mozart
softly inducing stimulation,
master’s calling through
space and time
telling you
of their frustration
in finding anyone
to listen to their message.
Read Ezra Pound
and all the others
the poet’s
who had the knowledge
the insight
to warn you of
a place with no creation,
filled with people
without imagination,
those who never had
Tantrum's Of Genius
Feel the emotion
as you start to pace
the floor,and look
out of a window,
and for the first time
realize that you
are surrounded by beauty
and you have ignored
every flower
and all of the color
that has not been recognized.
Maybe with anger
or with regret
have a
Tantrum Of Genius
As the truth
softly show’s itself
like gazing into
a Dali painting
slowly discovering
what it is you are looking at.
promise yourself
to often have
Tantrums Of Genius.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 9:38 PM UTC
Until the rain melts
and clouds bump
into the sun,
you can try
and elude me.
Until rabbit ******
is outlawed and
Alice grows up,
you can try and
outwit me.
Until horses
stop galloping
and cheetahs are fat,
you can try and
outrun me.
Until beggers
choose and choosers
beg,
you can try and
turn on me.
Until down is up
and up is down,
you can try and
outreach me.
But I will continue chasing you,
around landmines,
hopping rabbit holes,
and fighting currents,
until you are mine.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
Forbidden,
Outlawed.
Words hidden,
Not allowed.
A thought unspoken,
Is another tally.
Until countless;
Overflowing past secondary boundaries.
Break what has been built up
Over time.
Once released,
Pressure eased.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
Let us now decorate the symbol of life and ensure that the protection from Scandinavian and Turkish witches is confidently displayed at our thresholds whilst snowflakes silently fall.
Are you able to recollect the innocence, where the magic circle of Arctic captivation nurtured the sending of burnt letters through anticipatory chimney flues, deep into the twinkling sky at night?
There is a certain connection to the pattern of Odin - the guide of souls.
In wisdom, I have left savoury and alcoholic sustenance for ancestral spirits between the high places of Ounasvaara and Korkalovaara. So, here it is my sibling energy field of eternal carbon footprints. Once again, the Yule buck and its Old Norse master are soon to descend upon us.
So, although it may have been outlawed in colonial America by Puritans in 1659, we must also acknowledge those infinite prints of cloven hooves in the deep snow of 1038 a.d. in this mid-winter nativity of Cristenmasse.
As we celebrate the harvest of Kekri and consult with Joulupukki on the forest ridge, the symbolic colours of red, green and gold will lavish perceptual and spiritual gifts which are unable to be purchased with material commodities.
As this festival has gradually evolved into an obscene Western construct of politico-economical prowess, we must identify one more thing: Santa is an anagram for Satan.
Is this truly Finnish or Byzantine? Perhaps it is just cosmological ethnography?
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
Cat fight, cat fight
Meow, meow
Cat fight, cat fight
On the prow
Can't hide from the scratches
Can't have them declawed
They fight in batches
The can't be outlawed
Cat fight, cat fight
Meow, meow
Cat fight, cat fight
On the prow
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
I’m a hard-hearted woman;
I’ve seen too much of life.
I’ve seen the conflict, I’ve seen the strife.
I’ve seen the kindergarten
with its bombed-out walls.
And I know that your tax dollars
paid for it all.
Killing people in their homes,
in their hospitals, and schools,
was outlawed by the world
after World War II.
Do you need to question why
it breaks all the rules?
Putting people into camps,
and bulldozing where they lived--
so you can steal their land--
is a crime I can’t forgive.
There has to be one Law
for us all, on this planet.
There is no such thing as justice
if everyone can’t have it.
Your people aren’t special,
and no, they’re not “Chosen.”
They’re grandiose fanatics,
shooting, bombing and
bulldozing.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 11:14 PM UTC
I open the door to let the cool wet air in
outside is raining with angry summer rain
after many days of heat and sun and work
this welling up and bursting is like myself
let us not forget I am a man full of confidence
I have been infected, as so many young men do,
by the itch to run and jump and be a young man
to live as if I cannot live without running free
and to forget death as a trivial and minor matter
the trees thirst for water and the ground shakes
thunder is no worse than my own realizations
it is easy to forget what you cannot do
the biggest obstacles lack definition
they exist in the realm of wordless voids
where feeling is expressed in feeling
and the blade of the finite is outlawed
I ache for and dream of soaring
but understand my lack of wings
the rain is pitter-patter on my porch
whilst my mind plays the bass drum
it is a simple existence that I live, no?
the water quiets now
my phone rings
it’s her
that makes me happy
knowing it’s still her
knowing she still loves me
still reaches out for me
still thinks about me in the twilight hours
still wants to talk and to ask questions
still feels the need to call
the cool air seeps into my room and my muscles ache
I do not wonder why they do and thus calm my mind
the night seems good tonight, what shall it hold for us?
Jun 8, 2011
Jun 8, 2011 at 3:56 PM UTC
~for Vinnie Brown~
even your kindergarten crushes?
what burdens you seek to retain,
the edgy border of delicious and pain
is a raggedy cut line,
as lost lovings, rhymes with duality
Once upon a time,
a middle aged man
left the woman he married,
the one who drained and cruel reigned
over the destruction of his-dreams,
for one accidentally stumbled into,
the love who blurred his edges as well,
between forgotten happiness and
pain so awesome bad when she grew tired
of his life's complications,
she left him,
weeping on the corner of Broadway and 83rd Street
was that 20, 30 years ago?
a memory
from no matters land
but
the physical ache that marred the hearth in the chest for
months and months,
sent him to the doc who smiled sweetly
but gave him, had no, no relief for
busted grownup hearts
with normal EKG's
that remains a treasured affirmation to this day of
life's capacity to love that comes with
an ingrown danger
of never forgetting
did you know the French outlawed the use of the term
Mademoiselle in '12 (Mlle.)?
I loved that salutation,
calling my one true lovers
with the soft feminism of that address
and still do
and you want to recall
kindergarten crushes?
Mister Vinnie
possesses a lovely contradiction,
holding onto
lost lover sickness
that lives on in good love poems
this my new found poet,
is how that he, this aching heart,
fast approaching his shore line for one last return
and final departure
repays a sweet compliment,
from one who complements
anothe man's lovely's insane desire to
never forget any of it
~~~
reading Vinne Brown's poetry
https://hellopoetry.com/vinnie-brown/
and listening to Joni M.
at 3:09AM;
never wise,
but full of hindsight
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 3:19 AM UTC
"I saw what it does to people," you said
with a mixture of disdain and disgust like
you were talking about **** addicts before
and after pictures.
"I hate girlfriends," you said to me after you told me
we weren't going out on Valentines Day because your
ex set you up with someone else and you "have to" go
and who is afraid of Berkeley and all those new idee-ers
The vegan restaurants with rice milk whipped cream
The pleasant outdoor cafes with people learning, studying
the only "Ivy League" public University...
All those things there to open your mind and make you
think differently and you may begin to believe in Global Warming
and even though you don't, those thoughts may haunt you
but I know there are scientists working in labs all over the world trying
to figure out what to do about it ...
Socialism, you are afraid of that too
but what is it when Walmart hands out an application
for public healthcare to all their new hires
since they will never be able to afford their own
and Walmart can't share any money on their behalf
In the Netherlands, mink farms have been outlawed
yet you like to dissect them in your class and
carry around the poor dead skinless creature in
a clear plastic bag around the school
and many of those places prefer to pay the fees
and citations of skinning the animals alive rather than
pay to **** them before skinning
why doesn't that bother you?
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 12:54 PM UTC
Is it true that fallen trees have no sounds?
If so, why do we feel pain when it hits ground?
Millions of years' work is being ruined,
so we can go to buildings learning 2+2
Why do Children of the Earth die so some could have better material?
I look around and all I see are murderers and hypocrites.
I can't help but think I have become the same.
Since when is killing a little girl ever been okay?
Even if you don't like the government is it dandy to **** a representative?
or would it be okay to give this individual the chair?
What about the millions of people crossing the United States border yearly, yet still down talking our country?
Why is it okay to see children smoking and drinking yet not okay for gays to believe in God?
Why has it been so easy to ask these things yet so hard to answer?
It is because our nature our environment has become so corrupt and outlawed that all these things are thought of as normal.
Many men have died in battle protecting the freedoms of this country so why don't we take the time to see that and truly appreciate it?
There is more to 4th of July than just drinking and fireworks.
Take a stand now and Change our environment for the better.
Help the world be a better place.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 5:40 AM UTC
INTRODUCTION
*someone's following you online here,
and you want to know why
Well, here's why...take your pick*
POSSIBILITIES
1)
Oh, I follow you because you look good
and though I never read your poems
I come back often
year after year
to see if you age at all
2)
you don't use your real name
you use a moniker or pseudonym -
and I'm just going by the desperate hope
you are Obama or Putin incognito
and you might give me asylum one day
if I'm outlawed by one or the other
3)
I'm in jail for life
and this is the only way I can stalk anyone
4)
I was hoping you'd reciprocate
and follow me too -
so why the hell don't you, hypocrite!?
5)
I'm your ****** boss in disguise
and I'm at this site keeping track
of how much office time you waste here,
you ****** loafer!
6)
I'm actually your wife
and I got a thing or two to say to you
about all those comments
you've written for the women here
Same old liar here and at home, aren't you?
Just wait till you get home...
7)
Well, I'm a ****** academic
who never gets creative
so I'm collecting all your poems
and I'll publish them in my name
and there'll be praise all round for me
as academic, and poet, and novelist too
(the novels I steal from my students)
8)
you scratch my back
I scratch yours
9)
Why do I follow you? -
but aren't you my mum?
You never taught me
to let go of your apron strings
10)
actually, it was a mistake, see
I was on my smartphone and I went
tap, tap, tap
and my index finger fell on "Follow"
and I'm too darned lazy to set it right...
that's how I ended up following you
11)
My cult tells me
the Messiah is here at this site
so I just follow everyone
in case it happens to be you -
it is you, isn't it?
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
We shall speak, and by speaking loudly and fervently enough, we shall be heard.
We shall be heard, and by being heard, we will be dismissed as the lost denizens of a failing society.
We shall be dismissed, and by being dismissed, we shall not disappear quietly into the night as our forerunners have done.
We shall be branded "Communists" & "Traitors", and in doing so we shall aquire the attentions of those we aim to educate.
We shall not be silenced, and by refusing to be marginalized into a portion of "freaks and outcasts", we shall be known.
We shall not be paid off or coerced into "negotiations", and by maintaining unity, we shall be outlawed.
We shall not accept the scorn of those whose power seems unassailable,
and in so doing, we shall be feared.
We shall not accept platitudes and half measures as answers to our grievances, and in so doing, we will be persecuted.
We shall not accept a world where our worth as human beings is measured by GDP, and in doing so, we will become that which we seek.
We shall not accept that "Some people are better than others", rather,
we KNOW that liberty is born from knowledge.
We shall speak, and by speaking, be heard, and by being heard, we will effect change, and by effecting change, we will be victorious.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC