"pandering" poems
*Religious discrimination sells, it's all the rage!
If a Muslim wants office, we automatically get
Suspicious, some pandering to the public's fear,
Deny our own constitutional laws and values,
And never elect a Muslim whether far or near.*
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
WOMEN
I cast you out for pandering your ***
WOMEN
You are shameful
On you
I gift this hex:
*If you need to be the object of manly gratification
If you have no interest in the freedom or the liberation
Then your life will now be governed by the exploitation
A vessel pure and simple for man’s ***********
WOMEN
You are worthless
**** upon my shoe
Read between the lines my friend
Figure out the clue
For it is in here somewhere
Deep within this write
Nothing's ever as it seems
Nothing's black and white
WOMEN
Does a bloke walk round?
With his ***** hanging out?
Does he emphasize his testicles?
Does he bandy it about?
I think you know the answer
Just stop and use that brain
Then maybe in the future
Equality will rightly be reclaimed
But all the time you flaunt your ****
****** you ***** in their face
You, my friend
To the sisterhood
**Are a ******* skanky **** disgrace**
Wake up and smell the Costa
For conditioning is wrong
You need to understand
You cause The Cause to be prolonged
This is my stand
I hold my own
I’m never fazed
By stick nor stone
For I know deep within my heart
The value of my worth
I will never sell my principles
For merriment or mirth
**So … please …. just take a moment
To digest
The words within this write
Unharness faux benevolent blinkers
Because this is our absolute pre-emptive right**
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 4:31 AM UTC
The mannequin faceless,
Clothed in gold
With hands pandering svelte,
Remains an admired inanimate,
Albeit, atop whispers to a girl,
A 4-foot flower 3-feet my right,
Fretting and stumped;
Extrinsic a label – “undesirable.”
The mannequin faceless,
Her and hollow –
A towering nose above, stands
Opaque ivory, scarred come
Synonymous eyes with a symmetrical
Soul, assumed plastic perfection
And more importantly,
Soon to be sale.
The mannequin faceless
Convinced her new friend,
Her lesser, lopsided,
And natural not-so counterpart
To consume,
“Eat me, “eat me,” “eat it all,”
And then, “binge some more.”
The mannequin faceless
SCREAMS,
“BUY!” Amongst the other torments –
Born both fingers that can’t move and
The thumbs that shuffle, “One’s,”
To the girl that was never,
“Good enough;” so shared the
Tabloid’s mouth.
The mannequin faceless demands
And DEMANDS nothing less than to
Buy, starve, suffer and sacrifice
So that every “broken body,”
May embody polymer, and for a price,
A not so fair trade whilst
Considering old man gold,
The curator of conundrum
And the plastic he’s created.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
#
shackled to a notion
rubbing through wrists
in rusted remains
of beautifully easy
it's a slow bleed
through insults slung
in fear the unmaliciois
only noticed in hindsight
calling the innocent a *****
doesn't breed hate from love
the duke-yeilding cowardly lion
flings back like a monkey
##
breaststroking a marathon in tears
wading through pain I never caused
pelted with double-barrelled denial
THIS IS NOT WEAKNESS
there is no waver on my solid ground
torn flesh and compound fractures
cannot break harder than history
still, gavel strikes
in sucker punched cracked ribs
that look like a past that ain't mine
###
keep hacking off pieces
maybe I'll fit into those pretty boxes
your liars left as gifts
nasty reminders that trust has sharp teeth
maybe that's just you
biting back any hand that gets too close
pandering in placating platitudes
ain't my bag
flattery fails to flounce from unfettered friends
####
can't be beat into submission
with unspoken broken rules
can't run from a truth in plain view
this is what it looks like
to believe what you know over
what you've lived
I'm not running
I'm not biting back
I'm not going anywhere
then again, why would I
I'm not the one afraid to love you
https://soundcloud.com/user-166761247/a-fourth-in-time-to-cracked-selections-of-music
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 8:04 AM UTC
//// |||
•
<>
/|\
/\
Crippled
Old the man
The child looks on
Does someone have something to say ?
••
Silent !
What is it that matters ?
This question
Is all
That is going on !!
••
Pandering
Inventing the safe gods they allow us to worship
SLAVES FOR THE DURATION
This is our name
••
The real truth humble as always
Awaits your even most meager attempt to discover her
////
Healing with self evident respect for decency
|||
Those who would
Just
GO FREE
///
It is all quite easy as you know
But pain had such appeal to such as we
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
I am staring at the red hand demanding stop
in a mostly silent rushing manner with any
urgent notice for the blind lost in the crushing banter.
And there is white hot anger in me
at the flamboyant capsules borne along to be seen
it is Soylent in essence proudly proclaiming to be green
I am flaring at the steady hand pandering
hot in a most heady hushing stammer.
Myths nay jerkingly, quoting for us
the signed history and sing lush slander.
And there is white hot anger in me
at the clairvoyant ape who is now born
chain-smoking and mean;
it is annoyance in adolescence rowdily
claiming to be clean.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 9:58 PM UTC
Silver tongues, diamond cut,
Artfully place pandering
And articulate acupuncture
Dragging your cheeks up with hooks
Until you are caught by strings
A marionette madly dancing
To another's fine sour tune
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 2:06 AM UTC
You're so dangerous with your profane paraphernalia
Your pelvis postures pandering favor
The line of your stomach embossed by the fire is like a pasture for me
So paranoid with your pacifistic lust
As you proceed to please me with your posture so slightly
And I attempt to pursue oh so politely
You make me perk up like a peacock just with one peak
You're aware of every petty palpitation you can feel just under my sleeve
You play me like a piano, so plush with your lust politics
Pandering for a pardon of my ***** talk poignancy
I part you like Pluto from your orbits serene hum
I'll pleasure you, pleasure you until you're purple like a plum
A pastimes poetises to be written with pleasing lead
You plan every move like a predator in my bed
You're polarizing, plump, and pampered like a pageant doll
Pilfering every plausible pause with a pose of voice, your moan
Seizing the post with your post - modern pompous pouncing
Prompted like Pisces to postulate your prognosis
Lifting your posterior like the pun of a phaliccy
Pillaging me like a pandemic, a plague
Something to be paraded by paganistic plauds
Your pale skin is like playwear for sins
You're pinning me plastered with the play of your grin
Such a pretty motion picture to paint in the prison of your promise
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
My tummy rumbles rolling
into bed with you, before a big
test and when I think about
my future.
It twists at the thought of
lazy summer days and time away
from school and stress and
sadness.
With new years come
new resolutions and new people
in and out of my life. It comes
with people pandering for
weight loss, new jobs and
fatter wallets.
I sit and stare at the girl with
a sizable waist line, bigger heart
and even bigger brain. I stare at
a girl who works hard for what she
has and harder for the ones
she cares about.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 1:37 AM UTC
He exchanged his
routines
for the
long dusty road,
he exchanged his
jeans
for a long white jacket
he called it the "white robe."
His hat said "Home"
He took off on the
road only travelers
go.
He had a pretty girl
he was was going to see,
then he knew
he would have to leave.
He stopped saying much,
mainly "thank you"
and "please".
He had exchanged
his mind set
for a new set,
his confusion for clarity
his narrative for poetry,
many said
it had led him astray.
He exchanged his
fullness for emptiness
and
began to take it all in,
the old dusty road became
the only way he knew at all.
He would stand in perfect silence
and
hear it all.
He would stand in perfect stillness
and
travel it all.
He exchanged his awake routines
for dreams.
He traveled here and there,
where ever
that dusty old road
would take him,
some places made sense,
some were flashes
of total innocence.
He had exchanged
his expectations
for creations.
He could love you on the road,
be with you
but with you
he would never go home.
Rumor has it
it was his fatal flaw.
He had exchanged
success and failure
for
experience,
he avoided many a cliff
many a fall
in having it all.
You won't find him
hitchhiking
panhandling
soliciting or pandering
selling drugs
or
in bed with your mother.
You'll find him in the whispers
you hear
in the rainbow aura
around street lamps
on night time
deserted streets,
the meteor at midnight
the green flash at sunset.
He had exchanged
staying for going
and
he was on his way
with dust devils
blowing
behind him.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
stolen verses blanket the floor space
encircled by the inspiration of others
tastelessly faceless
pests controls fail
as the numbers overwhelm
everyone thinks there are special
and the selfies are there to prove it
zit faced miscreants misrepresent mankind
in asexual fodder and anthropomorphic
suburban camo
turban wearing wash-outs
hold court over newbies
attempting to sew again
hippy seeds
their stench, deafening –
sandaled dirt clods
scamper
seeking selfishly surrogates
someone to birth their ideas
raise and tend the dreams
fund the movement
all the while recognizing the futility
feverishly fapping the frail phallus
frequently finding foolish *********
flipped in their folly –
********* the finale
freakish frogs filibuster
night creeps in as the soft sound of mating toads
fill the air
stars dot the moonless night
complete in its absence of clouds
only the wash of the milky way
holds hearts –
pandering to the philanthropist
looking longingly in giving eyes
for a scrap of dignity
and bread –
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
strange enough,
that word choice,
******
for they are all,
(or mostly)
men
they get on
their knees,
so eager to please
write a poem,
newbie,
they will be your
partner pretenders,
instant followers
but
the trick employed
is transference
they want you bad
to worship them,
that being the purest
of their false intentions,
their oldest trick,
guilt,
"if I follow you,
you should follow me!"
their kiss
Pass
laden with std's,
they want implanted
in your
hp inbox
The std is vanity.
what they need,
what they want you to imbibe,
is their world view,
poetry-is-by-the-numbers
the number of followers,
(how I detest that word)
the number of reads,
oft manipulated,
by cyber techno b.s.
so understand,
this craft,
you may have chosen,
is work, so hard,
because it comes from the gut,
wrenching pressing issues
inside you
it is about everything you want
us
to understand about you,
your vision peculiar,
without revealing your rawest self
so obviously
know this in advance
each poem has a unique audience,
as unique as you
years took me,
took me to grasp
this simply complex notion,
over come myself within myself,
that self-same infection
that audience is you
write to please yourself,
be your harshest critic,
popularity
will find you
your truths,
withour pandering,
will finds the seekers,
the quality lovers,
the truth
hungerers
they will find you,
of that,
be assured
amidst the millions of words,
yours are yours,
fear not the plaintive worry,
are they any good?
for the courage to post
yourself,
is the very
self same answer to that,
the bells toll
for thee
if it pleased you,
pained you,
enough that you released into this world,
in poem form,
it is good enough
poetry is ego
no question,
but keep yourself
on the right side of the line,
separating your ego from
the egotist,
and your poetry
will no question,
forever live,
a mark of you
upon the world
let us be brothers,
let us be sisters,
David and Jonathan,
Ruth and Naomi,
but not
Cain and Abel,
no anger, no jealousy,
just raw,
refined,
truth,
the truth
of you,
which cannot be
diminished by enumeration,
cannot be counted,
only blessed
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
Karma is accused of being a cruel *****
But she just collects the debt that is owed
The lies you told to cover the tracks
The respect for you is gone
Pandering friends blind by loyalty
You are irrelevant, why even bother?
Took half a year to spread manure
If you're better off why even care?
It is sad, you hold onto this past
You know you don't have a future
The bridge we built, you set it on fire
With all of your slander
Look closer to home
Your friends will stab you in the back
That is all they ever did
Deep down you know it's true
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
They say beggars can't be choosers
And truer beggars there never were
Blessed with able minds
Bodies
Souls?
Lively and lithe, blessed by chance
Complaints for your coil;
an affront to existence!
Breathe easy, it's what we have
Stardust and daydreams,
pandering --
benefactors of infinite fortune
The stars have graced you
(once!)
with immutable form
So find grace.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
Breathing unconscious the air permeating
an oxygen right into lungs finely formed fed
waters so carelessly drunk quenching thirsts,
revitalizing with hydrogens exact innards all.
blood red coursing true from vital forces aplenty
Terra firm formed so right for me to walk straight
finely tilted earth enough for my days and nights
turning over for summers and my springs bright.
Now fine bodies and limbs,a heart pulsing sound,
minds capable bestowed by a time eternity bound
given lovely comrades, mothers, sisters, lovers and
brothers, friends, angels all for me destined especial.
the universe cosmic pandering to me, kind totally,
creating never a God,a cast,creed or a religion sole
but all and everything to survive as a man whole.
why then did I fragment,divide and multiply false?
and How! the mind shut first and then did heart too
geniuses both, discriminating unholy, inventing evils
dividing colors,crazed gods,cruel prophets,races divine
religions irrational unmeant for me but claiming us all
in a class uncaring obscene,a kid now just dead hungry!
what purpose is then of us,the grand senates and fiscals,
our temples,mosques and churches shining,vaults monied.
claiming then minds,hearts,honor, integrity and the self
stating grandly, survive you shall as you are the meek!
and so shall you be starved.raped,killed,burnt! Hell I am,
meek no longer! survive I shall as a king, a queen free!
I reclaim all now,taken from me in false names dastardly
show just my finger mid,for where I was led unwilling
the whole creed sole human,the religion only just humanity.
my will is what i make of my consciousness eternal revealed,
slowly peeling off layers and burdens yolked,reemerging now.
to freedoms anew today, and soon to that day of Armageddon.
I just wanted to count and write a small poem on the numerous natural blessings of Universe and time,but then realized all these are taken for granted and turned to horrible human made curses...now this is neither a prosy poem nor poetic prose. a state of mind?..so here I am..with what ever it is..
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 7:13 AM UTC
People watching people
Gazing at screens
Crouching behind veneers
Of interconnected
Digital
Fibre optic
Cabling
Safely connected
Safely disconnected
To their
Subjects
Objects
Judging them
Demanding cosmesis
Ordering alteration
Controlling behaviours
Controlling people
In an out of control world
The watched
Conforming
Naively
Desperately
Daily
To gross
Aesthetic stereotypes
Pandering
To the hits
Prostituting
For numbers
Disordered society
In which watchers
Hold power
Are you asked
How many views do you have?
Is it enough?
Are you popular
Enough?
Are you worth
Enough?
Are you ever
Enough?
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
Isn't it strange living in another person's head?
It's like Being John Malkovich,
or Anne Sexton
as I rode along with her
wild rides into sand at the beach,
lost in Boston again,
inside a mind
that was different but still mine
because I saw
that very street lamp she did,
and in her advice to me,
that yet unborn memory
that would never be,
I heard her words in soft puffs
of nicotine-scented tickles
in my ear, warm air
before young lungs
had ever breathed in,
and I cried
because she was speaking to me,
though she never knew it
when the words clattered
from that old Remington
like a machine gun-
I was just an idea
she never really had,
a wish in soft feathery hair
on the chest of man
she shared lust with as he slept,
not knowing he would father
a specter delivered from a womb
that had closed for business.
Our walks
along an asylum lawn,
returning waves
to suspicious grass,
green oceans to get lost in
after sewing leather wallets
from our own hardened skins
as if projects could ever fix
the worlds of sin we lived in,
pandering doctors offering
officious pretense of cure
against the sweet furies
of sunrises, sunsets,
earth worms and *****
So, can I cry
having crossed a divide
into another,
for moments residing
in the soul and belly of a mother
who was never mine,
though I feel her pain
as if we own it together?
Apr 18, 2010
Apr 18, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
Porcelain teeth flashing with that unnatural hue.
Pandering your **** in an alleyway
for two squatters and a proper *** to see.
Knees bent,
hips gyrate.
Throwing **** like caution to the wind.
Moldy pull-tabs torn limb by limb.
Manual fixation (or so I've been told).
Peel a label.
Phone a friend.
Flip the switch on this ******* shitshow.
Ripe with intentions spilling on the carpet.
Red like the drink,
the drink that got me here.
Slow ascension followed by the free fall ...
as is life.
Appreciate the absurdity
of a swan dive
straight into the asphalt.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
i would love to
be able to identify
a bird from its call
or the shape of
wide-spread wings
as one flies overhead
in theory
it may seem impressive
but if i were to
successfully distinguish
a chiffchaff from
a willow warbler
based on the patterning
and colour of
its plumage
or the shape
and length of
its tail feathers
i struggle to think
of a single person
who would respond
with more than
an indifferent
mocking or
pandering "oh"
Apr 14, 2023
Apr 14, 2023 at 10:20 AM UTC
From the concrete purgatory of my burdened decades I hear them,
From the capital run over, drowned in the tide of righteous pandering fervor I hear them,
From the streets taken to by shock treatment portraits of deaths un-died, I hear them:
The mournful howl of the 108,000 in waiting,
Terrified for the fate of their soon to be brothers, sisters, competition for the future,
For the divine rewards the privileged will promise themselves for their narrow compassions,
For the killers slapped on the wrist while the innocent remain condemned to a life that no one asked for, without the consent of anyone involved,
Yes, the street preacher cries,
Yes to life,
Yes to opportunity,
Yes to the future promised to all of us by this great nation,
(Well, all of us, not all of you)
But when the destitute mothers of a generation abandoned reach out cupped hands for help,
He's left his wallet in his other ideology,
Divine privilege only applies to you before you're born,
After that you're on your own
All lives matter, until they're alive
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 6:06 PM UTC
In the spirit of progress
Let us not forget
Love is label free
~
in my preferred world
Love
needs no
man made moderating,
judgement,
or sanctioning.
No, in that expansive world
Love exists purely..
defying
institutions or packaging
Or Supreme Court pandering
<open letter to society>
The kind of love I aspire to
and have discovered
transcends your stamp of approval.
Love Is.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
An empire built on enslavement
conquering and plunder
striving to maintain order
via censorship in a modern milieu
the irony isn't lost on me
watched the news today
a self declared expert
cited a rather lengthy inventory of mass murders
a veritable host of troubled people
he seemed well informed
but half dead inside
as if something was internally devouring him
an expert in stolid stage craft
oblivious to his self inflicted harm
until he watched the playbacks that evening
pretending, posturing, play-acting, contrived concerns
now collapsed in a fit on the floor
groveling pitiful fragment
vomiting bourbon tears
out of sight, above detection
by them
the watchers
tomorrow, a different city
another "shooting spree"
another interview
another barren bereft onslaught of absurd rhetorical questions
hand ringing, and staged pandering consolations
another pallid parroting reporter who thanks you for "tuning in."
"next up, Sports!"
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
The Dark Ages (The Atheist)
“Do you solemnly swear to tell...
So help you God?”
Well, (“No”)of course not, Twit, for there is
No god.
Then how do you know the truth?
The lie? The thief?
Is there the immoral?
Or the moral?
Shall I covet for the hell of it?
**** the beggar, the homeless, the starving through the laws
Of Economics and Pandering to those who have?
In the Dark Ages, this was sufficient.
12/14/11
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 7:37 PM UTC