"placement" poems
what were Walt Disney's nefarious purposes
behind inventing a cartoon landscape where
children are subjected to an intense media
driven recapitulation of childhood; a technology-driven
experience of childhood; does a child know
what constitutes its own childhood & what is
corporate psychological product placement;
coming from Middle America how did Walt Disney not find Jesus?
in the Transcendentalist American religion,
Hollywood is Heaven & Vegas is Hell;
therefore Disneyland is Purgatory - - I totally get that;
Forbidden Planet & The Ten Commandments
both had their special effects done by Disney;
that Disney owns Marvel Comics means that
half of all super heroes are Disney characters
the protagonists in each of the above
mentioned films are respectively:
the Id monster & God
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC
if you let me love you, i will give you my body, my soul, my ear, and my heart.
if you let me love you i will give you the air from my lungs offered from my lips.
if you let me love you, you will be my everything.
if you let me love you, will i be your everything?
if you let me love you i will be with you through every moment of joy and of pain.
if you let me love you, you would no longer desecrate your beautiful wrists because i would offer my own in placement of yours.
if you let me love you i will never let a lie leave my lips and weigh down your mind.
if you let me love you and you have a moment of weakness, i will forgive you.
if you let me love you i will give you my everything if you give me your heart.
if you let me love you i will be a shoulder to cry on and a embrace to rely on, always faithful.
if you let me love you i will show you the meaning of the word love down to every sound.
if you let me love you i will put you fist and myself second.
if you let me love you i will protect you with my life.
if you let me love you, you will be my life
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
Hi, below I copy a humorous hiabun, which I shared as an exercise to mentor enquiring and inspired poets to learn, so they might adopt and try different techniques and then give critique together with awesome comments... Yes, I used the words *** ****** and **** for context the rest was left to an individual imagination as in good poetry!
It included reflective commentary encompasses innocent classification terminology used in the critique, reading, examining, appreciating, understanding and writing of poetry for example: POETIC DEVICES (enjambement, duality, keriji, images, collocation, semantic, oxymoron, repetition, listing etc.), STORY (personification, characterisation, subject, context, voice etc.), IMAGERY (synaesthesia), STRUCTURE ( lineation, breaks, syntactic etc.), SOUNDS (syllables, rhyme, alliteration, pace, musicality, phrasing, beat, assonance, onomatopoeia, mouthed rhythms, patterned) and WORDS (preposition, determiner, verbs, adverbs, lexical, nouns, adjectives) used by poets, critics and academics...
And here it is :
**** tongue-in-cheek haibun - a reflective commentary on writing a popular tanka
Eye lashes flicker
a shared urgent interest
parting - dancing smile
My first inspiration was *** passionate life squeezing screaming *** the thumping wall musicality of *** exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet.
I wanted to make it a senryu but for duality the female characterisation demanded two more lines each extending to seven syllables.
Arousing images captured her moaning splashing loneliness in unusual collocation.
I was first excited by the placement of a hovering extended enjambement to give life to my final line, whilst also considering the satisfaction in using noisy mouthed rhythms.
I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context with a watery semantic field, that suggested she would choke and drown.
So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’ as a cutting keriji to make clear the dominating ****** context, having previously used a preposition and determiner to maintain duality!
Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite
**
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 7:10 PM UTC
exacting in love
possessive by nature
volatile in temperament
and raging like flames
you are wild and untamed
nothing like docile padma!
the strategic placement
of each kiss on
your voluptuous body
you so unashamedly demand
is provocatively seductive
drawing out
from deep within the soul
of this simple flute-playing cowherd
a brazen but besotted lover
© 2019
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 2:40 PM UTC
The door to your heart is a horrifying puzzle
Your Jigsaw pattern I can't put together
The pieces I hold don't correspond
So I take parts from you
Which is making me Leatherface
And giving you a flatter taste
And the ****** chain I saw placed
Was pressed to your door with haste
You're a killer doll like Chucky
How could I have been so unlucky?
I can't even cut through your curtains
I become a cold corpse before the movie can start
Like a careless Jamie Lee Curtis
How long can such a curted courtship last?
Before I contrive the courage to crush
The Killer Croc in your rib cage
But the corrosive corrections officer
That is your puzzle piece door
Impedes all progress to your horror heart
Because the improper placement of pieces
Will make me think you're The Witch
When you tell me Don't Breathe
As my theater's lights dim
I scramble for an exit
But my only escape from the cinema is through your door
I grow cynically situated to the pitch black pictures
How could I expect to solve the riddle
Now that I need to?
Doors that can't be opened are walls
Speaking softly turns to brawls
As your pieces scattered like change
Your door completely wrapped in chains
I feel stupid and ashamed
Your puzzled movie's to blame
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
-The moment you stop wanting it, you will have it
-The moment you stop planning, your life will begin
-To be happy, you must stop saying you will achieve it after a goal
-Forcing will not help what's meant to be a falling into placement
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
*My first inspiration was ***
passionate life squeezing screaming ***
the thumping wall musicality of ***
exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet
I wanted to make it a senryu
but for duality the female characterisation
demanded two more lines
each extending to seven syllables
Arousing images captured her moaning
splashing loneliness in unusual collocation
I was first excited by the placement
of a hovering extended enjambement
to give life to my final line
whilst also considering the satisfaction
in using noisy mouthed rhythms
I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context
with a watery semantic field
suggesting she would choke and drown
So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’
as a cutting keriji to make clear
the dominating ****** context
having previously used
a preposition and determiner
to maintain duality*
**Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite**
.
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 6:29 PM UTC
Backstage Drake show,
don’t know how I got here,
heart beats ********
feel every feeling except fear,
at Drake’s last show,
of The Boy Meets World Tour,
backstage without a backstage pass,
how the heck did I get here?
Life so blessed,
there’s no need for a backstage pass,
always All Access,
no matter where on this atlas,
facts facts facts,
everybody misbehaving,
no one knows how to act,
on our worst behavior,
wish we could bring **** Back,
actually,
can barely believe we exist,
and all of the quotes I wrote,
are starting to sound like a To Do List,
my God what type of life is this,
in first place,
which wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place,
how the Hell did I end up,
backstage at a show hosted by Drake,
how’d I get picked for first place VIP,
when I wasn’t even close to being a First Round Draft Pick,
how can I live a life so viciously victorious,
at the same time terribly tragic,
I don’t know,
just know it all happened like magic,
like that’s it,
like going from being an anonymous to an A-List actress,
beats bumping heart pumping,
sold my heart but kept my soul intact,
and if want a seat at the table,
all you have to do is ask,
go ahead,
let’s make this a conversation
but if you run your mouth too long,
I might start running out of patience,
and then you’ll lose your chance and your placement,
just saying,
just finished another world tour,
Boy Meets World 2017,
on this wild ride like a rodeo with OVO,
only one word to describe this and that’s “Amazing.”,
backstage Drake show,
don’t know how I got here,
heart beats ********
feel everything except fear,
at Drake’s last show,
of The Boy Meets World Tour,
backstage without a backstage pass,
how the heck did I get here?…
∆ Aaron LaLux ∆
new book HERE: www.amazon.com/dp/1721134158
Or message me directly and I'll send it to you for FREE.
∆
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
This poem is green
Would you buy this poem?
This poem is do-it-yourself
backyard garden green.
This poem is save the world
give peas a chance green;
this poem is azure sky
squeezing the golden sun
all over the world green.
Could you buy this poem?
This poem is apples and oranges
farmer’s artist market green.
This poem has
leaves as pillows
and blankets as grass;
this poem is a lil’ patch of green
earth purchase me plot;
this poem is
100%
recyclable
disposable,
sustainable
(after all it has gotten this far)
You should buy this poem.
This poem is green,
its’ tyro-technics
shooting out of asphalt cracks.
This poem is a snot-nosed brat
full of SASS
(short attention span sentences)
This poem is the hope of audacity.
This poem is fumbling with bra straps
and tongue-tied techniques,
this poem isn’t old enough
to know any better, it’s wet
behind the ears green
petting zoo pellets green
willing to SCREAM green
but not part of
a gang green
this poem is all alone
with its words
Buy this poem?
This poem is green
Its envious of
solar panel studios with eyes on the price
of a venti economy
This poem is the green-eyed monster
of product placement pick-o-the profit
This poem WANTS to make
consumer obedience the easy culprit.
But really…
This poem just wishes it could sing
Won’t you buy this poem?
This poem is green.
This poem has no half-life,
shelf life or
night life.
This poem exists solely in this moment
of your imagination.
This poem has milk carton desperation.
This poem is begging for change.
This poem was stolen from all of you.
This poem is not for sale.
Buy This Poem!
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
It's not OCD
I'm just anal-rententive.
There are two
coffee urns
in my office kitchenette.
Each urn has
a spot to place your mug
beneath the spigot.
Each of these spots has
a circular insert
of gridded plastic
to mark the mug-placement area
and allow spilled coffee to flow through
so this spot
doesn't become
just a puddle of coffee
soaking the bottom of everyone's mugs.
Each of these inserts has
three indentations:
one on each side
at nine and three o'clock
small, arcing parabolas
like reversed parentheses
there to allow someone to
get their fingers into the
coffee mug spot
and under the insert
to remove it
and, presumably
clean it
and then another indentation
more like a groove
or a notch
much smaller, thinner, and deeper
at the top
that fits perfectly with
a matching
small plastic protuberance
jutting from the coffee mug spot
where the insert goes.
In an almost ****** fashion
this protuberance fits into
this last indentation
this notch
this groove
to secure the insert in place.
For some reason
I've never known
perhaps laziness
perhaps inattentiveness
more likely simple
couldn't-care-less-ness
this insert never seems to be
placed into the mug spot
properly.
It is always placed sideways
rotated a quarter-turn
so that the larger indentations
on the side
meant as finger holes
are placed top-to-bottom
noon and six
the small plastic protuberance at the top
being swallowed whole
by the too-large indentation
and its mate
the groove
meant to hold the plastic piece
so tightly
is left alone
to one side
empty
and useless.
This has always bothered me.
Bothered me more than I would like to admit.
It's such a simple little thing to get right
it would take almost no effort at all
and yet, day-after-day
someone
I don't know who
whoever is in charge of these things
insists
on doing it wrong.
And I cannot abide it.
So, day-after-day
when I go to get my morning coffee
I fix it
I twist the insert ninety-degrees
and secure it in the correct position.
Lately
I have noticed something.
Sometimes
when I go to get my coffee
one of the inserts
will already be
fixed.
Someone else has seen
what I have seen
and felt the same
had the same response
took the same corrective action.
This feels like winning something.
I don't know what
but it definitely smells like Victory.
And Conspiracy.
And it makes me happy.
Happier than I'd like to admit.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
We sense it because it comes inexorably,
this is the beginning of good-bye.
Her eyes avert his, a touch with no
feeling, a caress more cautious than
caring, a kiss when lips do not meet,
this the beginning of good-bye.
A perfunctory placement of the hand,
a conversation moribund, sipping
scotch and sodas in silence, a call that
never comes, memories that have grown opaque,
this is the beginning of good-bye.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 2:37 PM UTC
My recollect is of the each,
The Two
And within the Two
One is the One
Holding and using our lead and ink utensils
as if they are weapons for winning at Love,
and reasoning for our written duel
Expressing desires the voice would customarily sever into dissection
Permitting authority to the crafted scripts *********
and may it’s barrier lay
over the possibility of a broken and scattered tongues communicate
Giving our internal intent its day
the way hoped it would speak
Expecting the requited, the return
was a pesticide over wide horizon,
Where the organic surprise of rainfall kept us neutral and thankful
And apart,
our minds maintained with
and of our other
With no need for philosophical proofs only the inner felt proof
Of forwarding shards of sentiment
with compiled assurance
and a dispatched formula
the best way we could phrase
Alongside images
that came in and held tight
in sectors tucked away and reserved from the cherished
to this day are still to be amazed
Spontaneous placement of universally synchronized jewels and stones
Of not have to have
[Only the simplified, pushed down and planted fact]
Of want her to have
So when away,
You feel a personal, singled-out
appraisal of praise
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 9:07 PM UTC
Oh, how hard it is
to right your wrongs.
Needing perfect placement
like words in songs.
Or words in psalms.
Would you listen?
Instead of drowning
in lost visions.
As long as you know you’ve been gifted..
time to better..not just fix it.
Then your the world’s prescription.
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 1:16 PM UTC
Star soldier with the rocket arm,
you bleed silver, gold,
and product placement.
Smile big for the camera,
the media will sell its soul
for a new bankable face.
Party hardy, Heisman candidate,
******** your semi-steady's
sorority sister,
then ask to see her again
sometime after the **** kit.
It's quite alright,
so long as you have talent
beyond this hemisphere.
Why even the fatherland, ESPN,
will gladly call you "son."
Mar 9, 2021
Mar 9, 2021 at 11:37 AM UTC
It's the music, the alcohol
it's my situation won't improve
it's vices
it's smoking bidis
it's coughing from addiction
it's having talent but no outlet
emotion without expression
it's wondering if it's depression
it's insecurity
it's am I happy
it's advice when only I am me
it's drinkin brew
things I thought i knew
downing downers to cheer me up
it's a powdered nose
secrets no one knows
gambling with tomorrow
it's waiting tables
it's sore shoulders
it's scowling behind a smile
it's lifting weights
it's bad first dates
limp from drinking from the bottle
it's my ex lady
it's lusting
it's wanting what's in the past
it's a broken car
it's public transit
it's fearing that I am them
it's lovers cheat
talk is cheap
promises wash off my bed sheets
it's my breaking point
this broken joint
trying to calm my loathing
it's the ecstasy
that only fixes me
for one pill at a time
it's the president
pay the rent
work and school until I'm spent
never sleep
no cash to eat
feed my heart
with dreams I never see
holding on and letting go
walking fast and running slow
out of place
out of patience
job ******* placement
alcohol and strippers ****
dignity and throwing fits
trying not to slit my wrist
when everything comes down to this
moment
and I miss
it's insanity
everything all around me
it's me
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 3:20 PM UTC
I read him one of my poems
He complemented my mechanics
And although part of me laughed
Wondering how he heard me breathe the commas
Heard my spelling bee winner's letter placement
Still
The notion stuck
Steadfast
Push-pinned in my memory
In the neglected space where kind gestures live
I told him how I appreciated it
I should've told him
Boy no no
You don't understand
My mechanics need fixing
No not my grammar boy
I should've told him to volunteer
Sweet boy
I know hands are easier to work with than words
Touch me with both
Shhhh sweet boy
Fix me with your good nature
Let it wash over me
Wash away my grime
You needn't a good speaking voice
But a good intention
Warming arms
To thaw me
Couldn't hurt
But sweet boy
Too bad
We all grow sick of licorice
And I broke you
Like the mantelpiece momma told me not to play around
I broke you
For a less sweet boy
With a politician tongue
And words soaked in muddy motives
I broke you
Hardened you
Into a less sweet boy
With a polititia- err
Salesman tongue
And words soaked in muddy motives
I left you
Gone with the wind
You were the Rett
In the search for my Ashley
But he broke me
Like the soldiers countenance heading to combat
He left me
Wondering
Where all the sweet boys could have gone
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
Kiss after sensual kiss leads to what I would find as an inevitably ****** placement between us, that avenue of lust which we mutually entered once we were on the same level of thinking.
I lean into you, inhaling the intimacy second after second from your tasty lips, biting your lip and running my fingers through your hair as my hands ease slowly down to your neck, caressing you and easing down farther and farther until I'm caressing a breast.
Call me crazy, but I think I'm in love, or at least its unmistakably destructive premonition. Lifting your shirt and kissing on flesh, making your toes curl under overwhelming chills being sent from your abdomen.
Easing back up to you, I can see your eyes, I catch them and keep them in place, letting you know full well that I intend to enjoy you fully.
And you let me.
Easing down and absorbing your figure, kissing and tracing down your belly and easing into a certain heaven before coming back up and stripping you down gently, making you smile at the gentlemanly figure that you call yours.
Can I love you down? lying you down fully extended, can I get onto you as if we could share the same space against scientific belief?
I ease into you slowly, only speeding in a way as to show my own urgency isn't priority.
And we make one. easing into your form, our bodies become entwined, become one at last.
suppressing your pleasurous scream with my own warm kisses, I allow us to combine again and again, and become one once more as our nerves and hormones take over in this ritualistic connection.
Made love? we make emotion. Stripped bare and enjoying the ****** pleasures given us, ****** after ****** kiss after juicy kiss and scream after luscious, pleasured filled scream until we finally reach what I like to call climactic end and level up in our relationship. At last, though we are still levels away from the final intimacy, we are closer than we have been before, and the closer we get, the deeper and more sensual our encounters are.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
Whenever I'm around my family,
I get this low kind of feeling.
My family is full
with the kind of people
that become vps,
investment bankers,
nurses,
lawyers.
me:
little ********
that smokes ****
calls himself
"a writer",
and doesn't like to have
long conversations
about his future.
I am not one of them,
I am not a black sheep, or a black pharmacist,
or a black lawyer.
I am something
that wants to become
something,
when I am unsure
of what that something
is.
A continual
rebirth of somethings
likening myself
to God
with so much
internal creation.
This is malignant
to my family's ideals
of self-assuredness
and placement,
brutal placement
in America.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 5:18 PM UTC
The Seashore Gathering
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On the seashores of endless worlds, earth's children converge.
The infinite sky is motionless, the restless waters boisterous.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children gather to dance with joyous cries and pirouettes.
They build sand castles and play with hollow shells.
They weave boats out of withered leaves and laughingly float them out over the vast deep.
Earth's children play gaily on the seashores of endless worlds.
They do not know, yet, how to cast nets or swim.
Divers fish for pearls and merchants sail their ships, while earth's children skip, gather pebbles and scatter them again.
They are unaware of hidden treasures, nor do they know how to cast nets, yet.
The sea surges with laughter, smiling palely on the seashore.
Death-dealing waves sing the children meaningless songs, like a mother lullabying her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with the children, smiling palely on the seashore.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children meet.
Tempests roam pathless skies, ships lie wrecked in uncharted waters, death wanders abroad, and still the children play.
On the seashores of endless worlds there is a great gathering of earth's children.
Originally published by The Chained Muse. My translation is based on an untitled text in Bangla (Bengali) first published in 1912 and known as "60" due to its numerical placement. Tagore made history by becoming the first Asian to win the Nobel Prize for Literature the following year. Keywords/Tags: seashore, gathering, children, sky, sea, water, dance, sand castles, shells, boats, play, nets, swim, fish, pearls, ships, waves, songs, mother, lullaby, baby, cradle, tempests, death
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 11:03 PM UTC
Eye lashes flicker
a shared urgent interest
parting - dancing smile
**My first inspiration was *** passionate life squeezing screaming *** the thumping wall musicality of *** exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet.
I wanted to make it a senryu but for duality the female characterisation demanded two more lines each extending to seven syllables.
Arousing images captured her moaning splashing loneliness in unusual collocation.
I was first excited by the placement of a hovering extended enjambement to give life to my final line, whilst also considering the satisfaction in using noisy mouthed rhythms.
I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context with a watery semantic field, that suggested she would choke and drown.
So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’ as a cutting keriji to make clear the dominating ****** context, having previously used a preposition and determiner to maintain duality!**
Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite
.
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 11:25 AM UTC
#
*The finest meaning of 'Wholeness'..
Is shown most fully within the intertwining
in to the pivotally and most necessary
healing of both body and mind..
In that
the perfect expression of Spirit here on Earth
can only happen through the physical--
You "feel" the Receptives and/or the Urgings
from deep within you (your flesh wrapped spirit),
That are only brought out into the light of day (made known)
the moment your very tangible fingers touch the keyboard..
Or up close..
the tangibly-heard sound your very voice-tones,
Created by your so very tangible vocal cords-- made unique
by how deeply infused your spirit is into that
beautiful mind and body of yours..
By your ever-renewed
and continual choice to heal.
Within that beautiful union, the Sensings and Respondings
of the body bring impulses into the spirit..
touching deeper, the Core--
The "Image" of Perfect, Absolute Being
placed deeply into each and every one of us..
by the very nature of Love's Ache--
Residing within the center of this Universe..
(and all other Universes).. both known..
and those also yet to be..
..An Image placed, as to be a Plumb-line,
and also a Never-ending Cinematic placement of the View
onto (and within) the inner-wall linings
of both mind and spirit..
..Seen in greater and greater "less dimly-lit" degrees,
based solely on how far we commit ourselves along,
and in to, the healing process.
In its finest form, through healing,
the things we take in.. through feeling;
and then express back out..
from both mind, and body's untethered Unfolding,
..Becomes closer and closer
to the very Expression of God's own heart,
..Therefore smashing through, and gorgeously undoing
the ever- quenching.. ever-diluting nature of Subjectivity, itself.
Hmm..
The "taking in" and then The Tremblings, of your body's
unavoidable responses are the very thing most 'maverick loners'
like me need most from another in this world,
if we are to continue on in our mission with any kind of strength..
(along with its much desperately-needed resolve).
If, within the "taking in" process.. the beautifully feeling
Receivers such as yourself, were to be overcome
to the point of release~ all alone.. on the edge of your bed..
isn't that a very understandable and nearly unavoidable
and also so very very tangible part of the process also..
--In itself
above and outside of all human (and Heavenly) judgement?
Carry on, sweet Angel..
and so gorgeously continue to be who you are.
Those that can see.. see (and feel) most clearly.*
I see you.
#
Aug 12, 2023
Aug 12, 2023 at 8:19 PM UTC
He watched as she spoke
Her gentle lips moving seductively
The scent of her perfume haunting him, inside and out
Confusion in placement of words
He could find no explanation for himself
No excuses
No reasons
He was mesmerized, flooded with infatuation
The desires he had would haunt him again
At night…
During the day…
Her dark brown eyes blink right back at him
Her smiles, enthusiastic with charm
*I saw you smiling, beautifully engulfed with happiness. If I were to list the things I love about you, I could never be done with it. I saw you blush at the words I say, and I wish I could tell you them every day. Light touches on your face to feel your cheeks, firm hugs connecting body heat. Even if it was just for a second, I had you close to me.
And then you pull away
To go back to reality
Back to the reality we both will ever be facing
The reality in which
You are not with me
But him.*
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 9:30 PM UTC
I wrote to you in broad bold letters.
I wrote it on a tree.
You know the one, remember
—it called to us from the middle of the garden.
Sassafras: our secret token.
Winter's stillbirth is soon upon us,
and our placement in the sun in peril.
But I have whispered it all to stones
now ****** into the sea.
Remember the tree, and pray I live long enough to dream in its hollow.
Oct 28, 2022
Oct 28, 2022 at 4:52 PM UTC