"outsource" poems
I. Prologue
Splash words across: images on canvas.
Before Abraham was, I am:
the cubist of poets. Mangled and tangled;
Here thoughts emerge, in reverent perspectives.
The real world: how many dimensions,
depends on who you ask; Monotone
in my unidimensions. Filter. Baritone.
Coffee-brown is the best colour around.
II. Love
Here we sit by two-arms distance. To north,
to south. Facing opposing poles.
There is an attraction.
Here are images from the industrial world
gone post-industrial. Broken commodes.
Outsource your misery here. The sky can afford
a hole from on here. As long as
there's none in my shoe.
Sometimes, I roll over in waves.
Sometimes, you wave over.
Questions still hidden in the corners.
III. Peace
All that's passed remains flickering
green like the wireless router
silently at nights: recover, play it over.
Flush it all up. Splash it all around. Cubism.
Art nouveau. Portmanteau. Now fruck the world.
Neon shades rippling through the smoke
riding out dancing to metal clang;
Crazy laughter like that of an empty skull:
smoke the pipe, brother,
spread the peace around. 2013, stupid.
Idealism died in 1967. And many times since.
Repeats always a farce.
IV. Spirit
Only one man died for the poor.
Who called the dead to life.
All other stories are about barons and hedgehats:
while the millions were ground over
to oil the world. While they roiled the world.
How the poor die under the heels
of those that claim to love that man?
Disagree? Drone. Agree? The throne.
Yes, we can, brother, we can defeat this
****** corruption. Brother,
be not corrupt.
V. Prospect
A sigh of disapproval, soft in sleep.
I come and lie, back to your back,
waiting for love to seep over.
Yes, we can, brother, we can overcome
bigotry vile. Brother,
say not, mine, the only way ever.
Happy lovers day. Shout out aloud,
peans more to the meek women's rights.
Forget not, there's some in your sights.
Two arms' distance is about the right in the day.
There are two faces seen in this bubble,
formed at the mouth of the tooth paste tube.
Peace to the world, every morning after.
Every little home by home.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
**Inspired by Meg Cranston's Artist for President
(http://www.uniteddivas.com/megcranston/megpresident.html)**
We assert that there is a youth culture that is different and separate from all other cultures and that our culture is governed by principles which the aged population finds peculiar or offensive.
We are tired of being labeled.
We are tired of being segmented.
We are tired of hearing old people talk about us.
We are tired of being the respondents to your 20 city questionnaire.
We are done with being ignored.
We are sick of 1980s spandex.
We are sick of your Top 40 hits on a compact disc.
We are sick of your rom-coms and big budget fantasy sci-fi sequels.
We are sick of 60 billion ad messages being hurled from satellites in outer space.
We are done with being disappointed.
We demand the right to change everything.
We demand the right to create our own words.
We demand the right to define what is cool in the morning.
We demand the right to re-define what is cool in the evening.
We are done with being told to follow.
We reserve the right to be elitist.
We reserve the right to choose our heroes.
We reserve the right to create jobs that never existed before.
We reserve the right to outsource, open-source and crowdsource everything and all.
We are done with your rigid ways.
We condemn the wars that you started.
We condemn the poverty and hunger you created.
We condemn your irresponsibility in ignoring our dying planet.
We condemn the forces of greed that keeps an honest man from climbing the income brackets.
We will fix the mess you left behind.
This is for school kids
This is for college students
This is for young professionals
This is for the young artist who shares his creations on DeviantArt
This is for the young blogger who dreams of being a travel journalist
This is for the podcaster who is on her way to become a successful RJ
This is for the YouTube user who dreams of her own television show and feature film
This is for the photography enthusiast who spends his pocket money on a Flickr Pro Account
This is for the opinionated Twitter-for-Blackberry addict destined to become a Twitter celebrity. (Even we don’t know what that means!)
This is for the coding guru who gifts his geek friend a mobile gaming app based on Dungeons & Dragons for his birthday. Yes that is cool...for now.
This is youth culture
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 2:24 PM UTC
Heart pounding nonstop
Feeling I ran sixteen miles
Can't seem to decifrate
Where your affection lies
Querying who am I
Long term silence prevails
Things are better off left unsaid
We used to share friendship
Now there's nothing left
Wondering where will you travel
After all this ravel
Observe along your space
Recall your whereabouts
Back when you were just
A young teenager
You had company,
Someone who cared
That feminine corpse,
Would outsource every fiber of her soul
To see you whole
Sadly you saw her as
Another to add list of friends role
Meanwhile her heart beat off adrenaline
And nothing more
Retaining secrecy,
Devoted to destiny,
I'll exit knowing there's nothing else to do,
But to patiently wait for a propitious finale.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 12:18 PM UTC
If one is prepared to believe the Bible
rather than prosperity gospel
from Church & Mamon Inc.
then it's plain to perceive
that the mark of the beast
could cost one's place in God's Kingdom
so do please explain Mr Megachurch Mogul
why your bottom line reflects money
rather than shares in the Kingdom of Heaven
Do you intend to outsource the mark ?
so business can continue as usual ...
will you partner with the bank
of the beast who's about due
Must Yeshua bring out His whip again ?
before you take Him at His Word
and stop misapplying His tithing law
like cursed, charismatic pharisees
that keep the despairing
in ******* and tickle ears
with falsehoods rather than help them
trim their lamps and get ready
for the wedding feast of the Lamb
Seems the great 'falling away' referred to
in 2Thes2v3 in truth is not rapture after all
but failing churches built on sand
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 2:03 AM UTC
what are we doing in afghanistan? iraq? is there good reasons to risk lose so many brave people’s lives? why since 1980’s do we outsource our jobs? what were we doing in vietnam? some shrewd people are making lots of money but why are we american people allowing it? what does this say about us? why do we give away lose best parts of ourselves? masochism? self-hatred or low self esteem? indifference? self-righteous ignorance? what? why can't we be good honorable country who make great stuff and aren't bossy? i don't understand what can we do to make peaceful harmonious planet?
Mar 15, 2010
Mar 15, 2010 at 9:53 PM UTC
Let me write of the unknown
of the things we don't know
and have never been shown.
Like the string theory
do you agree?
If this space was put in place by invisible hand
and stars made to shine
by something divine
Why tie them up in a potage of science?
Where the sea meets its earth and where rainbows give birth
makes no difference to me.
It's enough that I see that it's so.
Where do Angels tread and
where can the bread of heaven be found?
These questions I ask as I bask in reflections
of someone's midsections in the
operating rooms where I peer hard to see
and ask again
'Is this the makings of me'
A universe without an end
e-mails that we never send.
These pending posts play host to me.
In one of ten million galaxies
It seems quite odd to make a rod and beat ourself
with what we do not know.
Whether the plan is to grow so big and become the giants we never were
or to be so bright that we outstrip and outsource our own dying light
and gain.
Is all the same to me I do not care.
It is enough to know that I am here and out there
somewhere
a table is set
A game is played and I will get
what I deserve.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 8:02 AM UTC
I'll make a hymn,
A hymn to my sadness,
Prose is my laziest instrument,
To outsource loneliness,
To let melancholy,
That in some point it had its nest on me,
I'll leave my inconformity,
My frustation,
My deepest feeling of denial,
Against all the injustice around me,
Neither by spitting it,
Cursing it,
Or changing it,
Becomes fair.
Where every man or woman has no value,
Where every object becomes value,
Welcome everyone,
To reality,
Where neither being a human could have more value than trash,
Where every objection is opposed by economic power,
Where every opportunity is shorn of those who do not have power,
Low self-esteem,
Constant comparison,
Self-destruction,
Our most solid principles in society,
Where suicidal instinct is a viable way,
While confrontation is brave and impossible,
Where all are dwarfed by those who take opportunities,
Beacuse most of them have opportunities at hand,
Freezing loneliness,
Takes over this city,
Where who gets laid more times,
Is the one who lives better.
Welcome to our society,
Where everything is declining,
Where the future is in the East and even in the north,
Where hope dwells expectation,
Which brings us to want what belongs to others,
To destroy ourselves only for not being enough,
Depend on the covers of social acceptance,
Just to be someone,
Where death,
It is a privilege and a prize at the same time,
For those who know that today,
Our society is the most perfect one,
For the generation born with it,
But not for our future or past.
Souls intertwine and become a new life,
They return to this soiety so different,
But they do not feel the change so sudden and incoherent,
Since the beginning of such children will feel,
But growing they will know,
That society will reject them,
They become marginalized at the same cycle,
Where mad people,
Dreamers,
Gentlemen,
Free thinkers,
The differents,
Will be placed on the corner table,
Where they are to fill leftovers,
Society just give them.
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 9:58 PM UTC
Oh how I stand for what I believe,
Oh how I falter to my knees.
Only these still timeless trees
Understand what it means to see.
Oh how we amble through the forests
With our high hopes and our torches.
These whispers and these forces
Through this grapevine could outsource us.
I have seen the magnified soul
and I no longer need to be whole.
But will I love forever more?
Or will the torch burn out before
My simple supposed perfections
Recollect their misconception.
They'll take back what was theirs,
and trade their souls for prayers.
How minds shift past what shows innate fear
And strive to be safe from retrospective tears.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
if sleep is the cousin of death
why does it seem so infinitely appealing?
crimes of passion committed against the moon
when searching in the wrong realm
there is an urge to outsource your remaining affections
scars will never get through to you
how things are or what they were
my scars will never see through you as i want them to
with the sun comes heat
with the moon comes cold
unity of opposites
causes stagnation
infiltration of the human condition
knives with dull blades
save me
but do not help me
ever
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 5:51 AM UTC
That's how it is lately.
Not getting any time off.
Grabbing each elusive line.
Searching out the exact word.
Images swamping my head,
so many and so fast that
soon I'll need an image sifter.
Barely time to eat.
Sleep at a premium.
Exercise neglected.
Shack becoming a sty.
Cat neglected and angry.
Never get outside anymore.
I love it, but
can I outsource any of this?
~mce
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
usually,
i'd choose a corner,
in the corner of the room;
where there is peace
& a sense of my own truth.
-
casually,
i'd avoid menial encounters
that seemingly
do more harm than good.
-
i'd certainly rather wei,
a certain flow of my own way,
to be called only if i can be of an assistant
to growth.
-
intimidation is reserved for those in competition,
separate,
seeking assurance
& outsource validation.
-
i am neither competing,
i am only separate in idea
& validation has gained a deeper sense of meaning.
Aug 2, 2021
Aug 2, 2021 at 10:08 PM UTC
If you could do anything.
I'd catch you plucking at the twilight.
Dipping you contour brush in nebulae, you'd paint your eyeline with a skyline... You'd bejewel your accessories with quasars spinning in quartz's and supernova sapphires and... your eyes would shine with star light...
If you could do anything, You'd sequin your extremities with snowflakes. Pattern your skin with the shine from the sunrise and you'd refract yourself into the world around you. You'd dye you hair like the northern lights... Stand still in squalls just so you could emulate its animated shimmer. Against the back drop of the night you'd glimmer. But that wouldn't be enough... You'd go to any length drown your frame in beauty.
If you could do anything, You'd steal the sensation of rain drops disturbing roof tops and overdose on an feeling of shelter from the storm. All attempts to subdue your high would met with scorn. You'd break off the part of you that caused concern. You'd burn the
service receipts of ever shoulder you'd had to cry on. You'd outsource your own insecurity. Any obscurity to your character would be shot dead on discovery. You'd invade your own humanity and pillage it of difficulty.
If you could do anything you'd bargain with calendar just for a couple more days to avoid doing something. You'd fashion your words into hurdles and litter the ground with more and more reasons to fall. You'd talk yourself out breathing because the threat of suffocation is less intimidating than the thought of persisting.
You are swallowed by your own ideals. You're drowning in the hope that you can live like a statue, staying ever beautiful as time crumbles away at your stone. You're begging for someone to save you from yourself.
If I could do anything. I'd pay you a token of gratitude for every imperfection you're still convinced I don't treasure. I'd write sick notes to your anxieties to inform them that you need time to get better, and in that time we'd strategize. Make a battle plans for a better life and show you how to fight.
This is your battle, Not mine. But it hurts to see you struggle, hurts to watch heartache eat away at your smile. Hurts to watch demons blow raspberries in the reflection of every tear drop.
It hurts to ask if you're okay...
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 6:38 AM UTC
My robotic self gazes
travels vast spaces
sampling other worlds
In and out my mind weaves
- out into the cosmos then back
- back inside its bony shell
Like a snail my mechanical outsource probes
and then crawls along the crust of the Earth
- looking for distraction from my puny self.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
Happiness is an inside job
Or so I've heard
It's so easy to get swept away with the surrounds
Like a leaf in autumn
It's an inside job because
The surrounds are broken
Better keep ourselves wrapped
Else we'll get cut
Happiness is an inside job
But it doesn't hurt to outsource it either
Happiness is an inside job
But sometimes it may come freely, externally
And who am I to say no.
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 5:15 PM UTC
They can’t see it, all that we do.
Its because of that, they just start to assume.
Truly, we do more than they could ever believe.
However, its in a way that they refuse to perceive.
They’ve called our generation lazy, crazy is that thought.
But our reactions are adaptive so its hardly our fault.
Our generation, we didn’t create this mess.
We’re working on a way to clean up in order to aliveate our stress.
Think about it, we get criticized but what have we done.
As a majority, the problems around today were created when we were young.
Those in charge, are from the past generations.
Then they have the nerve to blame us for problems like inflation.
Accountability is a trait, that people refuse to embrace.
They hate how we act, as we try to survive when they created the place.
We live in a world, that our parents made , as theirs did before.
To hear there arguments against us is a reason to be sore.
We have more college graduates now, than ever in the past.
Grab that statement, and this is where we’ll get started.
They ask why we can’t find work after school, when they created the job market.
They outsource work, to save more in their pockets .
So now I will inform you, there’s power in knowledge.
We’re probably the smartest generation, because of what we’ve had to go through.
Technological advances, disease, war and the world changes so soon.
They can’t see it, yet they say our generation is doomed.
But why do they get to lay claim on the demise of our platoon ?
Truth, it’s because their generation has created the lies, take the lesson.
When we call out government policy, they call us crazy just to mention.
but isn’t it hypocritical, when we were raised to always ask questions?
And the answers, well they won’t give us a minute or even an hour
So they hide the truth, so they can maintain power.
That generation, they don’t like our ideas.
So we’re continued to be oppressed, so they can’t confront their fears.
Stubbornness because they just don’t understand.
If one can’t evolve with time, it’ll be the extinction of man.
They always say, back when, the times were a lot more grand.
But it seems they grew up, without even thinking of a plan.
This plan, is one for the future, food for the thought,
Because this hell that’s been manifested, is where we’ve been brought.
Things were better then or so you claim,
For your parents were smart and they paved the way.
Us, we’re a new generation of minds,
We’ve moved forward, in hopes to leave you behind on the times.
A revolution is coming, and I say that proudly
At they end of the day, make sure you don’t start it without me.
All we want, is a chance to yet again make the pastures green.
If history repeats, like the wind blows on trees,
Its just going to be another thing
They Can’t See.
-Glenn Gonzales
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC