"pacified" poems
Challenges and competition notified.
Every step codified.
Tears and sweat pacified.
Achievements and advancement glorified.
Regression and depression terrified.
Muscles and struggle verified.
Foes and conspirators mortified.
Plans of progress and purpose sanctified.
Grace and the Goodness of God testified.
Sweet pleasures of life.
Trials, Torment and Torture.
Eulogies and Elegies of visible characters.
Promising and decisive.
No conflicts, No dilemma.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
This isn't Rome
I'm standing still because of statutes
Stone grill: I a carved marble statue
not a muscle dares,
Near frozen by the fear,
let it go I hear
over shoulder: perfect pass
if I get shot over a penalty
Is it clear?
my arms are arms?
a load chopper; in his shades,
do those aviators make me even darker?
(if I studied aviation I could take off I can hover, I can…)
Wait.
he's moving closer,
every hair strand an antenna,
I can feel him,
The smell of disdain on his glare,
stained blood on his hands,
another brother,
my brother
Guiltier with every pace so
-- show your hands,
foot mixed with concrete
I take this order serious,
my motions are motive
and mistaken for resist,
Wait.
Is it his stare or am I ******
(Why did I decide to go my friends wouldn't believe this…)
limitations to the thoughts;
am I arrested or caught?
I'm cold on the surface,
Erode so slow is my sediment evidence,
A blue god so I'm pacified,
I'm hesitant,
he calls and I say that I'm innocent,
I'm witnessing
the transitioning from eruption to ocean
-- volcanic
Blue Medusa,
can you only sculpt destruction?
(I'm not 3 dimensional, I'm real and I matter, I'm real and I matter)
I'm real,
But I shatter,
Gravel if determined that I'm rude so I can't breath,
Gravel if My license plate removed I don't leave,
I don't speak,
I don't flee,
I'm not free,
I believe,
That this happen to my mothers, mother
mothers' brother,
Brother from another was granite
and granted he's valuable
but only in a home
-- of course
I'm quartz in the making
A corpse still shaking
Cause a wallet was mistaken
Or I.D. was misplaced
So, I'm on the rocks
since the bar says that I'm a criminal,
velvet rope divider marks my life
and a vigil,
a wake,
or a hashtag,
you choose,
glass house,
Cold Stone’s,
rocky road,
Medusa licks his finger tips
same finger which
petrified me in the first place,
Reminded I'm in Rome
as I'm standing there motionless
a statue for display
or a trophy for the kitchen,
this art is not for sale
there will be no shipping,
With solidarity
through our solidification,
It won't matter if I look back,
I Matter and I’m Black.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 10:56 AM UTC
As the sun sets
and melts -
a deep orange -
into the blue vastness
yet another
weary day
dies
and a void
creeps into me
and fills
my heart.
I think of home :
I think of you
and
the sky
blushes a faint red.
The birds
are home-bound
restless to be ensconced
in the warmth
of their nests,
the turbulent sea
has come to a stand-still
with her pacified waters
resting lightly
against the
broad, brown chest of the shore.
The traffic
trudges at a
snail's pace
as hordes of vehicles
bang on to the road
with an
air of urgency
that gets
more pronounced
with the
incessant honking
as the city
rushes back home
and my dear heart
returns to the
heaviness and hope
that accompany
my wait
for you
for home....
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
So as fate would have it they would have it they would take us from our borders
They brought us in as slaves so that we could toil for the hoarders
They put chains on our wrists til we rose our fists
No longer would this pain make our children slit their wrists
Times have changed but some things stayed the same
Some walk around unaware that they’re just wearing a different chain
We became the entertainers, we became the “ballers”
While our slavemasters became the businessman, still the shot callers
Just a monkey with a ball, On the rise it seems, but still we fall
What more can we be?
Can our eyes still see?
Cause when I look at my people in the eyes
I see souls that are satisfied
I see souls that have been pacified
Dreams once in the air but now on the ground
Look around my people, see who wears the crown
Cause our people continue to die and no one makes a sound
Can you say their names?
Can you feel the pains?
Can you feel the agony of a hundred thousand black souls lost for America’s gain?
Will you stand and fight?
Cause a Black America United oh what a sight!
Imagine the might! That we would wield?
With a fire in our hearts that could bend steel
Only then could our 200 year old wounds heal
Only then could we appeal and be apart of this nation under God.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC
Through awful lies,
Though truth hides;
Eye sees all
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
Did you see them take the green fields
one by one, now line by line on hills in echelon?
Still, holding ground held holy by their sons;
no longer marching to the smoke and drum.
Where bugler called the day to final rest,
now silence grows like lichen on the stones.
For those who gave their all at our behest,
our memories alone will not atone.
Do you see the fires burning at a distance,
and more hallowed ground broken day by day?
Each new stone laid a fading reminiscence;
each new boquet soon fading into gray.
What better way to honor sacrifice
than to pause and speak their names aloud.
Until the gods of war are pacified;
until our flag no longer serves as shroud.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 7:28 AM UTC
The warbling calls
of the peace and the calm
seem pacified and subdued
far from the ears of man
The shattered cries
of the cacophony and the chaos
too loud and incessant
close to the thoughts of youth
With blood spilled,
splashed over years
of adversity and trial,
we stand tired and stained
waiting for everyone
-else-
to change
To see the world through
a peaceful gaze
is to see the world in beauty
A beauty that is not often attained.
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 5:39 PM UTC
(think Mexican Hat Dance:)
How tall? How tall? How tall?
Will Donald Trump build the wall?
The wall! The wall! The wall!
Will Mexico pay for it at all?
How high? How high? How high?
How high will they have to jump
To clear the wall and prove to us all
That they’ve pacified Donald Trump
(bump, bump)
To clear the wall and prove to us all
That they’ve pacified Donald Trump?
When you’re talking about immigration,
Whether merit based or chain migration,
According to Trump proclamation,
“Illegals, jump over the wall”!!
(NOT AT ALL!!)
How tall? How tall? How tall?
Can Donald Trump build the wall
When not a single Democrat
Is willing to fund it at all?
How long? How long? How long?
How long do we have to wait
To end this shutdown?
When they sit their butts down
To end this gridlock stalemate!!
Consider the workers who are not getting paid;
That is the part we most hate!!
To achieve our homeland protection,
Not just winning the 2020 election,
The Pelosi and Schumer connection
Should grant funding to give Trump OUR wall!!
Give Pelosi and Schumer
A kick in the bloomers
If they continue to stall!!
Written 1/15/19 by Marcus Well
(day 25 of the US Government Partial Shutdown)
(Who the hell is Marcus Well? Those that know, please don’t tell)
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 5:07 PM UTC
Hands on my throat always crushing me down, putting me out, and turning me on
I don't know how you got here but won't you stay and laugh dear
Know one needs to know what we do when we're alone
She don't even miss you and he will never know
Intoxicatingly delicious, so much so it's suspicious
How can you taste so good when the flavor's all wrong
Not sure what I'm doing but I promise I won't stay long
Pin me, choke me, bruise me colorful until I'm pacified
Scream until your throat bleeds every time your heart beats
Necromancy not love, just enough to pretend we're alive
Our fingertips glow in red hot brands leaving us hissing
Cut open from sharp tongues clashing and kissing
Leave through the window never the door
Or you might knock again and ask me for more
Feb 5, 2022
Feb 5, 2022 at 11:15 PM UTC
*She's there, suddenly noticed, woman from the dream
Above the dance floor, red hair fire falling down around a moonlight face
All others blur in the sea of bodies and burn on the sidelines of tunnel vision as the freckles of stars
Cerulean eyes vacuum the dark within a frame that illuminates and
I'm struck, suddenly pulling a name from ether*
Julia,
I whisper
Gunshot
rings, three drinks in
reach to the rib to feel dress wear for which metal was traded
Gunshot
bartender dead
one stray bullet punctured his head burst through the back and then popped
a fifth of Jameson.
Kick
Punch
Elbow
Motion slicing and justified
Neck
Snap
Disarm
Violent crash when pacified
Autonomy engage,
Bang, bang
Enrage
She
A
Knife
Gunshot
nine times in row
nine suited men dropped still in tow, two more take employees' door
Gunshot
following fast
upstair sprint with empty clip, K.O. with strong arm hefty throw
She leaves safe with escort
Up one more flight to the rooftop
This isn't the first time Julia's run away
This is the first time she's been chased by wanting legs
Who otherwise stood still on the platform watching a present face
Depart when maybe just maybe there was a chance in three words, sure
In three words
Violent crash in memory
Autonomy engage,
Retrace the pain
and follow
dream
A
l
i
g
h
t
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 9:23 AM UTC
~
Painting a picture of porcupines playing
Pincushions out in the field
Purple and pink for this playful perception
Plans of their purpose revealed
Painful endeavors of pacified pranksters
Presenting a pie at their place
Pecan or pumpkin, pickle, pineapple
Pieces are smeared on their face
Putting the paint on some powder puff paper
Pleasure in each stroke is plied
Pausing to peer at the porcupines playing
Prancing in pansies they hide
Puzzling problems with pretzels and peanuts
Posturing people to prove
Pistachio perfume in prime presentation
Preaches that peaches will move
Polishing pastels on pre-printed pages
Prized the possessions we seek
Paisley the plumes of a peacocks posterior
Portraits now come take a peek
Pampering piccolos play the piano
Pure as a pelican’s prayer
Picking a parcel of plum flavored pudding
Poetic prose fills the air
Pleats in my pants shout in proud proclamation
Puddle my pores they perspire
Poodles on playgrounds prevent prosecution
Plotting my hearts pure desire
Passion precedes every past tense of parting
Piled with a presence so true
Painting a picture while purposely dreaming
Promising my love to you
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
Your interest is piqued
By we the people,
The prosperous poor.
Pacified by things
As simple as passion,
We push,
Pull,
And punch
Our way to the peak.
You're puzzled
By our paedarchy
Where the puerile rule
For they are the prudent.
We are the prosperous poor,
The pauperized children,
Packing our hearts
With dreams of progress
And thoughts of prodigies.
Poor by birth,
Prosperous by personality,
We are the prosperous poor.
We, the children of poverty
Who have been pure only in heart
Will proceed
To prove that the poor
Are prosperous at heart.
The prosperous poor
Are only prosperous
Because they have felt the pain
Of the poor.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
he looks upon every
disturbing part of me
with faith,
as if I were never dangerous; forever delicate...
when we stare into
one another, the thousand
ghosts of everything
I am ashamed of become pacified...
Aug 6, 2021
Aug 6, 2021 at 11:27 AM UTC
Looking out of the window;
a ribbon of duck-egg-blue sky,
fringed by the sun's late light,
is sandwiched by grey cumulus.
It frames Sycamore tree tops,
red tiled pyramids with their expectant aerials
pointing West, littering clean lines.
It is a mute view;
serried bins wait for the mornings collection,
cars sit dumb, curbed,
their daily commute completed.
Two starlings flit, silent,
and in the far distance a high contrail is picked out
in gold as a thread in blue silk.
For five years this view remains changeably the same;
unspoilt by the entropy of new perspectives.
This is the summer of un-broadcast malcontents,
pacified in Brazilian spectacle. Days simmer here and there.
Soap operas filter through,
made to massage the message
of consume and discard, of holidays and pistons.
And in the mornings, that never come,
we abandon the cars that cannot diverge
from work-honed routes,
taking to the air from Sycamores as Starlings.
June 2014
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
As the light made islands on the water,
ethereal bubbles frozen with warmth,
tucking tired beaks beneath wings, pigeons saunter,
into sleep, on tesselated petals, going forth.
That summer aura which sparks from you and thrums
moving dials to a sanguine solstace in me.
Hitting cold skin, the blood rush is autumn;
cathartic capillary trees with loose fingers and red leaves
and in these veins speeds my guttural london estuaries,
to syncopate their tide beats with yours.
Those mediterranean wine filled arteries
will encompass my imperfections to pearls.
From my idealist sonnets hearts you come
fixed on air, a changeable paint that can't run.
Like newborn fern fronds you unfolded your words
cut with castanet syllables peppered in.
Sentences ushered on as pacified herds
breathed out plumes, rippled fire, wind-thinned.
I then learned a beauty untamed, is a beauty rare.
Those eyes indeed are coffee dewdrops pierced by sun.
Those lips are pronounced like unbroken waves that tear,
on the cusp of unspoken words braced for freedom.
Core bright, i see the rose through the street's ornaments.
From the slight rise of your nose to those angular cheekbones,
further a picture of stunning complex arrangement;
identity of locked cogs, in you, are the pieces of home.
Islands on the canal of time; forever moments un-faded.
We aren't seen in a new light without becoming more illuminated.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
11:54
Still not awake
This corpse is pleading merces
But is yet to be given
I can hear these bones crackle
At every jolt, every spasm
They keep me asleep
These lullabies
This desolate throat
Delivers none but drought
Painful, but bearable still
These swollen eyes have never before
Felt this oppressed
How I wish they knew rest
This blade, above all
Transcends the screaming sting
***** pang*
These throes that tingle
Stay silent til the morn says so
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
..
….
…...
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barometric tendrils
psuedo-random and hybrid sets
growing like ivy in the clutches of time
such a
chocking
but actualising
grasp
..huh? what?
oh yes! sorry, sorry
come in, come in,
..you know,
I too, once, like how you are now,
was here too
so
very
very
present.
Aha! Oh yes!
Permit me a mock stifled cry of ostentatious self derision,
'hee hee hee'
aaaaaahhh..
I really was pitiful back then.
seeing you there now, I feel oh so whimsical and overcome
with
ahem
sorry.
..dank and musty cellars,
hashish and a can of beans.
(baked, not fried, -we were really naive enough to believe that?- )
had it all back then though, didn't we?
By which I mean we had nothing,
but the conviction
that obligation was something that actually meant something
rather than a Cryptocurrency in a Ponzi scheme,
(with a slice of lemon)
confidence intervals stockpiled in the stocks of confidence men.
Derivative markets
oh, so very much so
so very
derivative
idiomatic
and *******
asinine.
..Still, it does harken to its era, doesn't it?
'detached and disposable.'
toothpicks
limbs
ideals
all that
goodness!
I was supposed to be offering advice, wasn't I?
Interpolate up some mediated conjecture.
But the kids can look after themselves just fine, can't they?
So our fiscal policy seems to think;
'I wager we shear up the youth
to buy shares in implementing youth wages.'
sorry, I guess it's an antiquated complaint,
“think of the children!” , they say?
Can't they see,
the whole **** market's aimed at the proto-teens??
we do it all for them the little snots.
laissez faire welfare
hedge or double down?
A shrubbery?
Or a bacon butty with bread as ****** chicken and cheese?
(I just vomited in my mouth a little,
(how pastiche))
See, and people ask why I’m trapped in the past;
the future's got me car sick.
and honestly
we're just brimming with history
(the scourge of post-modernity)
like a black moss spewed on the walls
Poisoning visions and Rheumatic fever
tearing up our lovely
lovely
pacified
pay and display
psuedo
proto
posterity
….....
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..
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
Straight lines bound the edges,
while it became necessary to spend
the anchor of time lost in the twisting
patterns slowly darkening to supply
the molecules which provided scenery.
The character was divided
between a wolf and the hiker towering
at the pinnacle of the hill to gaze above
the head of the beast across to the vista
of the trail. Roses bloomed, and the ink
was done, to dry while color trickled
in a world comprised through streams
of shivering light reflected from
the mountain, a flower raised by
the frivolous event of cataclysmic times;
the hatchet carved its cliffs to make
a face of empty granite and the soul of
the rock. The delay created a great offer,
considered by erosion, but the hesitation
defied the smoothing influence of climates
and their ages. The rise killed the
enthusiasms of the hiking spirit,
reconstituting the problem, and
the messenger of hilarity was never less
welcome than when enthusiastic about the
confusion of lost victims. Always a few
of these were
in the scenes along the shimmering trails
with their names that changed at inconvenient
turning points until travelers were anxious
to go through the door into the chalet with its
green carpet of moss. The discount welcomed
them, inside, yet there was no great pile
of money and nothing was purchased. Instead,
after the warmth set in, showing determination,
the man with the pack returned to life on
the wild edge of the land. After a command to
the sharp creature that had been pacified by the
impressive displays of civilization, the walker
began to trek, and the wandering dog felt self
respect, the beginning of membership. So, they
belonged to the range, and the traders had plans
to provision them by means of a system of values
arrived to demonstrate available necessities and
equities conceived in the course of bargaining.
This general aspiration was accompanied by the
taciturn response thought to be more pleasant
than the argument and ill will. Prosperity had
been created by serving fate and nature rather
than by transferring property to a singular pit.
The result was an expectation of good deals and
reliable assistance.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
Do you want to know why I can't sleep at night?
Why every time I think of you I choke on my own breath?
Why I want to shake you, kick, and scream, untill you see this grated pain that I live with?
It is the love I have gifted to you
And it is dieing
A slow and merciless deth
Slow rotting in its own chest
The metal teeth of your lies no longer comfort it
No longer pacified the beast that hungers for more
The things you promised but stopped delivering
Blotted blue, a blood turned red as it falls
Having been starved of the nutrients that gives it vigor
The reciprocity of mutual connection
The stale sickly bile of backed up emotions poison me
Taint me
Ready to explode
Wanting not to hurt you by showing you what you have done
What you have bottled inside me
A love that could have moved mountains like it has done before
Killing me
Brutally with each day I wake
With each expectation you no longer fulfil
With each I love you from your lips
I die, the churning clog of ash
And the unforgiving malice
Of pretty words
Waiting for you to withdrawal
Even more
As if I were some old wound left to rot
Decay
Decompose there at your doorstep
To long forever a mummified homage to the hopeless
The loveless
The ******
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 11:09 PM UTC
Words unreleased congeal
Within the agonies of conjecture
Tormented by solid sorrows
Sounds that can not be pacified
Plague my presence
In unannounced pronouncements
Who will be summoned?
By this secret voice
A piercing sorrow?
Our the sensuous meaning of tragedy
The grief of eternal exclusion
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
They slipped a roofie
in the wishing well
Now we're all on some ****** up
American wet dream
Baptize the ********
In the sacred swamps
laced with chemicals
They bottle feed
We're the children of the same struggle
Hungry ghosts of the nursery
Pacified by the message
they shoved down our throat
via the animation machinery
with malicious undertones
**** on this
Oral fixation
Choke on this
We can fix it
The problem you see
The problem we invented
it's what you want
to be ailed with*
The hypochondriac
vs. the human conditioning
Prescribed apathy
They want us numb
Some scared sick lullaby
along we hum
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
Did you see them take the green fields
one by one, now line by line on hills in echelon?
Still, holding ground held holy by their sons;
no longer marching to the smoke and drum.
Where bugler called the day to final rest,
now silence grows like lichen on the stones.
For those who gave their all at our behest,
our memories alone will not atone.
Do you see the fires burning at a distance,
and more hallowed ground broken day by day?
Each new stone laid a fading reminiscence;
each new bouquet soon fading into gray.
What better way to honor sacrifice
than to pause and speak their names aloud.
Until the gods of war are pacified;
until our flag no longer serves as shroud.
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC
the acrid unease of incence
emaciating the mind
hangs in the air at the edge of the forest
where the dew drops wither
the sorrows of the moon
where shaped and tailed eyes
pacified only
by a satisfaction of images
that buzz in frenzied movements
savored and perverse
strangle
in black, scarlet, white and pink
divergent parallels
the quantum connection of memory
listen to the deformation of silence
and tease the disunity of
attempted cohesive geometry
where nothing is heard
but strained articulated color
by shaped and tailed eyes
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
My Principal is forever ready to explore
New things from students who implore
And set a new goal for them to outscore
In their own life. He is ready to restore
Intellect and discipline in school therefore
Stands out and administers students’ footsore.
Cherian sir the one who is fighting war
Against anxiety and worry on door,
Which pester children and occasionally gore
Their morale and self-esteem. They spoor
Away from study which he sojourns before
They reach to larger extent and be cocksure.
Never he criticizes without any reason poor,
As he is a positive thinker. All of us roar
Which is pacified by him but for sure.
He is the man of principles and decor
Whose blessings on all of us ever pour.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 6:42 AM UTC
Derived from the remnants of sacrificed thought
fragmented reminders of lessons taught
**** the device used to rose tint our sins
and shatter mirrors that sustain fake grins.
With self painted visions, we are pacified
Convinced...
Horrors inflicted have been indemnified.
Tied to past convictions we cannot shed
commitments that exist solely in our head.
Painstaking attempts to make justified
the pain that we've caused that cannot be denied.
Who are the victims of decisions we've made?
If given the chance...
Our suffering for theirs, could we bear to trade?
Whispered snickers hint at retribution
offer redemption but no solution.
Mistakes which drizzled in unspectacular drops
collected in pools and drowned cultivated crops.
Prisms of pain inflicted by selfish choices
Cut deeper...
When we ignored the pleas in our victim's voices.
Pointed fingers say all that needs to be said
our peers may believe us better off dead.
But the harder we try to fix our mistakes
the more ground we lose, that we cannot retake.
With guns to our heads, and a knife in our back
No weapons...
Us against the world, and we're under attack.
Weight of responsibility burdens our souls
sapping our strength and confusing our goals.
Stripped of our artillery, naked and exposed
inside we're screaming but appear composed.
The enemy looms larger with each of our errors
Weakened by defeat...
Realization strikes, We are the true terrors
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC