"polemic" poems
Words are made of thoughts.
I wish they'd intrude. I am lonely,
unemployed with a nine to seven routine
of various activities.
A malignant trend courses through the head.
Broadcasting it outside in the realm of trust
where I am blank but set to go, it would have
the appearance of a finely ambient glass of chocolate milk.
Sometimes I'm asked why the relevance hinges on me.
If I had to say, it's because I keep getting vignettes, like something
out of a beggar's bowl, a wooden saltiness
that becomes increasingly less involved. And, like, everytime
I think about it, it's something similar to trying to walk
on John Carter's Mars; and all of this trivial, like, asinine
things can never match up to the draw, the pull of
whatever has been dropped, whatever has been shorn
unevenly like a badly eaten candy-bar. Or something.
I don't know why it has to be about me.
I don't, pull my weight, and recently I feel cold in the summer;
I have slept under a bedsheet since June.
That's not what this is about, or what I, want to project.
This isn't a prerogative, a jarring hiss of due-dates
incoming inevitably. I just **** Which is not a surprise,
like organic web shooters is a surprise, or, thinking up
something like a dead polemic of a sewer draining
the sordid leftovers of a consciousness.
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
But it's all crazy, all this neo-fascist **** lately.
I guess populism's got a catchy rhythm,
if your lazy,
then it's so much harder to love me or debate me
than hate me.
Now, let's dispose of this safely: you're racist
because either your daddy was too
or you're manipulated by falsehoods masquerading as news
but it's true, now even I'm getting confused,
but ask, who the **** wins? because you AND the immigrant lose.
This shit's got polemic, pulled by extremist views,
taking the meanest cues,
we contravene abuse, on the daily.
It's all so ****** up lately.
I guess it's so much harder to love me than hate me.
Then, the wicked beat breaks & it all flies apart
leaving my rhyming heart to aim and find it's mark -
it's my one sight of light in the deepest dark
'n' if ya hold to me now, we just need a spark.
The day will come, I'll be called crazy, man,
feeling like I'm William Blake's Grain of Sand,
Eternity in an hour, in the palm of my hand,
I see the white ******* walls in the back of the van.
We'll be nabbed from the streets, it's the master's plan,
'til all that's left is sheep, the rest bottled and canned,
then, they'll sit inside their keep, every gun-post manned,
their delight, so sweet, never to understand:
Heaven in a wildflower or the Endless Night,
a reason to die or a reason to fight.
In their sweet delight they won't see the light,
But in the Endless Night, you & me just might
because each glimmer shines out in the darkest depth,
as Blake writes revenge from the realms of Death,
those protected on high, Nations that sell & buy,
can all be blown out by a baby's breath.
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 11:11 AM UTC
Climb into bed and...
Hearth embers of body heat circulate,
Tourists on self-guided walking tours,
Exploring the cabalistic eighteen chai holies of the
Human body, temple depository of spark divine.
Heat sparkles cross over the isthmus of Touching Toes,
Continental negotiators, swapping free heat for icicles,
2 X 10 interstitial connections, now land masses filled,
Global warming credit trading par excellence
Fingers, jew wandering, exiled to freedom,
Intertwined within soft-edged, graying sea grasses,
Coverlet over pounding chest,
Hands illegally mining tousled head hair,
Nestling, nesting, without proper permits
Lick away the rumbling hoarseness
Coating a neighboring sleepy throat,
Gate crasher bringing surround-sound comfort,
Seeking to seal and still the groans,
Escaping prisoners of the ills of the wearied mind
Your favorite parts inspiring, demanding
Song, word, drawing or simple quenching,
Tonic of revival, an affirmation of self,
Existence proofs met through need
I write this for me, for her, for you.
Suckers for iron pyrite, most will skip this polemic,
What you don't know about me could be a
Hit show on prime time cable TV.
Like a cute commercial that makes you smile,
For a product you'll never buy,
I write this for me, for her, for anonymous you,
I am the voyager, you the ******
Middle of the night envisioner,
Re-writer of The Gift of the Magi,^
If I die today, I leave this as my last
Will and Testament,
Just another love poem
You'll never read.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
It's all crazy, all this neo-fascist **** lately.
I guess populism's got a more catchy rhythm,
if your lazy,
then it's so much harder to love me or debate me
than hate me.
Now, let's dispose of this safely: you're racist
because either your daddy was too
or you're manipulated by falsehoods masquerading as news
but it's true, now even I'm getting confused,
but who actually wins? because you AND the immigrant lose.
This shit's got polemic, pulled by extremist views,
taking the meanest cues,
we contravene abuse, on the daily.
It's all so ****** up lately.
I guess it's so much harder to love me than hate me.
Then, the wicked beat breaks & it all flies apart
leaving my rhyming heart to aim and find it's mark -
it's my one sight of light in the deepest dark
'n' if ya hold to me now, we just need a spark...
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 8:31 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
By no means is my diatribe polemic
The truth of the matter it was systemic
The CIA created the crack epidemic
Which over time became pandemic
They needed a scapegoat to pay the cost
So they blamed it all on Freeway Rickey Ross
While acting as if he was the boss
In hopes the evidence somehow would get lost
Then a reporter for the San Jose Mercury News
Came along and gave them the blues
By exposing their involvement they stood accused
Of funding the Contras and substance abuse
Meanwhile Nancy Reagan was just saying no
Her husband Ronald was using the dough
To fund the Contras like I told you so
So don’t pretend as if you didn’t know
Ronald Reagan remains the patron saint
For Conservatives everywhere even though he ain’t
What they make him out to be despite the taint
Of his secret dealings done without restraint
His secret deals with Iran and the Contra’s too
Was something that very few people knew
See there was no limit to what he would do
To insure that the Communists got the *****
The crack epidemic was allowed to grow
Because of the supply a never-ending flow
From Bogata to other places we know
Fueled by ambition and the money yo
So they shouldn’t pretend to be squeaky clean
While blaming the victims ya know what I mean
When they’re nothing short of being obscene
Though we tend to blame the average crack fiend
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 3:34 AM UTC
You were the height of existence
more high than view
a poor man's whimsical consolation
I'll give that to you
and you took
you took
thigh then broke through
you were an ***
face askew
You were the master of nothing
lowly looking far from view
heart beat inaudible; polemic attribution
no want of memory
and you smiled
you smiled
pin what you could
held steadfast
I don't know who you were
I don't know that it was you
I don't recall the sound or when it stopped
I only remember when it restarted
absent a shadow
absent from view.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 7:43 AM UTC
Das Fuehrer gefüllt mit Flöte.
Listening 2 yawns,
meditating on medication,
lisping a cry to Das Führer,
I proffer a pray,
im morgen Früh, im morgen Führer,
im morgen nah; hören Sie mich.
Not 4 pleasure yearning 4 unright
Unctuous crimes. Not with U.
Not with boast (yet not with hate 2).
Hating the bath water with the babe
as it bashes Reaper's polemic
hellfire falling out of window;
Still me, in that kindness enters
my home, bowing cuz the doorway is 2 large.
Guiding in black ink,
writing a way
out of loyalties mouth,
out of sclerotic liver,
and contumacious throat.
I tongue an act, a play,
staying guilty in U,
saying guilty in Us.
Lemmings encouraged to revolt,
Offending in U,
Rejoicing only in Us.
Witness our joy, that Xanex protects
against dull moments, forgetting Us,
bland blessings rightly
Surrounded by Yawn's shield.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 9:06 PM UTC
Happier songs
make my arms move
to melodies like
shut up, i'm pretty
and like a balloon
i will let you go
-cj
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
the break rolls in
your fingertips white with selfish memories
fabricated smiles after dark
time pours faster
the embers cling to balconies and bedposts
stepping gently from another unwelcome sunrise
we sink into a soft inevitable blindness
****** into abandon
to await the slow bitter collapse
savor these polemic kisses
we have already died a few times
just to feel alive
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 10:12 AM UTC
If perception truly is everything, then to age in Amerika is a psychological disaster.
Amerika is a youth obsessed country; a capitalistic consumer oriented country. All the power of capitalism goes into (via advertising, etc.) creating and maintaining this youth obsession.
Take women as an example. If you are female in Amerika, you must always look 25. You must be slim, long-haired, sexually alluring, preferably blond and dress youthfully. Even if you are 60.
This goes a long way toward answering the question why so many women who are 40+ are so fat, unhappy, depressed and ****** Simply put, there is no reasonable way for most of them to meet cultural expectations.
Either they let themselves go (fatties abound in the US) or they resort to grotesqueness to measure up (extreme diet and exercise, plastic surgery, etc.)
They can't win so depression and self-loathing abound.
Most mature women have known that horrible moment when a young, attractive man looks right through them. They have become culturally invisible: they are shocked and hurt.
Men suffer from all this too, but not as much. Younger women will sometimes actually see value in an older man. Rarely, but sometimes, so cultural invisibility comes later for men.
Mid-life money, Corvettes and condos only delay the inevitable. The same moment will arrive and so will the hurt and shock.
This is not as simple as all men are pigs or all women are *******
If we know that the perception that we don't exist is created by the capitalist media and advertisers, why do we do we buy into it?
Every age has its beauty. Why not accept it and be how old you are? Be who you are. Forget those impossible perfections. Stop trying to be Barbie and Ken. Be real.
It is difficult but possible. I have seen it.
In France you see lovely older women dressed alluringly (but not like 20-year-olds) who are slim, can run in high heels over wet cobblestones and exude sexuality. You often see them with handsome younger men, who are clearly entranced. Why there and not here?
Maybe it's the champagne or maybe it's just sanity.
mce
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
factual or fake
terse or sensationalist
trying to be as objective as possible
shamelessly partisan and polemic
or simply hate speech
esoteric remedies for all problems
cat videos and personal snapshots
on asocial networks
whether we believe it or not
it is difficult to avoid it
in our great age
of real-time digital information
the abundance of unreliables
is almost legendary
like hearsay in the Middle Ages
when wandering minstrels
spread the tidings
more or less
a challenge to all people with brains
not yet oversaturated with daily trivia
to decide what to believe
doublecheck
do follow-ups
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 4:25 PM UTC
Ameliorate me
Ambience of high nod
No fortuitous meanings
Landslides of alien snod,
Furtive ways
Are all to many
I seeketh a day
A fullness
Of plenty
Futile romantics
In frugal pinch
Judicious tis they are
Worldly *****
Juxtapose notepads
Yet different touchstones
Tentative beasts
Prowl no homes
Terse one shalt be
With all affection
Guns given as presents
Slave turned more peasant
Tirades of clownery
Winery's fail
Hidden like documents
Heart impaled
Corroborate manifest
Wilt shine its light
They've lost their path
All in fright
Arbiter's come bountifully
Devils dance
They've forgotten the ways
Of sweet romance
Inherent to pleasures
Instead of others
Lost all kinship
Sister and brother
Paradoxed discourse
Spoken on route
They forgot the lonely beggar
Prodical sons in doubt
Polemic they'll be
In times unfortune
Burning with lust
Lost to distortion
Forbear thou shalt do
Wherein thy ruins won't topple
Genres of permeating growth
Diseased muffles!!
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
Boulevard royalty mingling with animals in open cages
Instances become signposts for alleged tolerance
But it’s time to go back to the gates of where we’re from
To tell of speculative social forays to an adoring audience
Seamless air pockets provoking thought, constructing
miniature crosses piercing walls where painful paintings were hung
But you decided being a crow was better than being a rooster
There is no difference but black is the color of the song being sung
Passionately significant but intellectually deficient
Sensitive jealousies masquerading polemic tendencies
Dreads worn for life not for the fears of who would notice
An intrusive memory loss was all that could save their enemies
As ludicrous as foot stools for wheels or sleep when morning breaks
Social dynamics treated reservedly by contemporaneous mocking birds
Philistine rounder’s no more or less competent than square faced priests
Believe me, the time we forget is only because we cannot say the words
The story ended before the introduction did because they never met
The pre-text may be questioned but the post mortem changes nothing
The only evil that is selected are outrages that inoculate us from shock
Warm friendliness does not sink the rocky rapids that are no longer asking
Confounding lines of judgment and reckless carriages await their turn
Canon or pulp; equally intriguing depending on which way towards the sun
Systematic folding chairs gaze at danger but in the manner a priest would
He swallows before telling the congregation he is not a man or the one
The reconstruction of peace begins with a soft breeze and earth tones
Necessary or essential, it is all the same for the time it takes to be sane
Within the sacrament principle we beg pain to restrict our movements
Linguistically inexperienced emotionally spent will we ever be the same
Dreams of flying with leaves under wires calmly watching man fall short
Incantation pastoral discovery of what aspect we could never know
Until you feel nothing between lovers except what is written on the heart
The one who walked away will never know the one who told them so
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
The polemic exists
when the full circle persist;
The space in between?
A mess that you don't have to clean?
A question of what could have been?
The questions are valid
for the idea is not obsolete.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 7:21 PM UTC
A circle noon is here and we message awhile
or oft right assuage the view of Ashton Hayes
as these will meet with hardly a shiver forthwith our hindsight there harbors a polite politic without polemic.
As observations finish at sunset and measure loft during sunshine with embankment that has marked us with sheen inside.
Therefore heathers disappear as smoke clouded conditions now our gazes in the fog of the air as the ashes still in the rain only go away if we accompany legislatively hence rescue reform yet seen in glory.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 7:55 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
I’m hurt and I’m confused
Got a bad case of the blues
Opioid addiction’s old news
'Cos someone lit the fuse
And now you find it everywhere
In places where they didn’t care
But life indeed can be unfair
So they’ve become aware
Just say no was like denying
That whole communities were dying
Then we discovered they were lying
Iran Contra revealed them buying
Drugs that kept our communities addicted
Not in the least were they conflicted
‘Long as they thought it was restricted
To the areas that they conscripted
Because it has become systemic
Now it’s called an epidemic
And treatment is the new polemic
The rest I guess is academic
And so I wonder where to begin
Treatment was the thing back then
Until prevention made its way in
Now maintenance happens to be back again
Medical professionals now treat the affliction
That politely is known as opioid addiction
If they didn’t it would be dereliction
Of office treatment in their jurisdiction
Some of you may not be aware
That opioid addicts can get office care
For many of ‘em it’s an answer to a prayer
A stigma free environment beyond compare
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 3:01 AM UTC
protean nucleic processes polemic yield
explosive diversification
punctuated diversification
Stephen Jay Gould
paleontological hypothesis
spawning sudden flora and fauna
competed against diametrically
opposed diatribe
pairing diehard religionists
versus doubting Thomists
which creationist advocates
threatened non-believers
with damnation and eternal punishment
brethren of god thru tongue did wield
pompous empiricists
fire and brimstone sermons
excruciating punishment of soul
claimants who refute
intelligent design theorists
will meet scimitar and invincible shield!
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
Beauty
At the
barricades
.
my love
......
Undresses Death of Wonder
And loves
The Devil as much
As jesus does!
/--/
We are so foolishly deceived
So purposefully naive
..
In colors
yellow brown and green
Harmonious in purity
--
Deliciously weak!
---
Beauty!
Behind the barricades!!!
We cannot lose
Cause
WE ARE
the good
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
Mad archangel 2020 scam, dead weatherman noos report blam
be live-r to the umbrella storms;
“Stiffen up, you needa chief more
kid, you’re riffin’ with a
legend— as it is,
it’s a sewage drain,a bed
Pan the pipes of dawn’s
crack;at end of the tusk,
the silverback-gorilla camo on the lawn
kept the rusted metal on a locket-chain
hanging off his pocket;pocket-watch
hang from his eye-socket;
.seed sewn, from the cornrows
in his carriage-patch, 3-wheeled rig and [a battery-pack
lithium frame, told him, ‘slow down black’
—ain’t no money in that”
magazine gass’ed up -let me hand em the curls;
code to the Source,name
the names, bigstick for walking a sideways polemic
fortyoz forecast for
hisshadow stringed-up a harpwing tune
the maddog politick;
Show ‘em on the map
-where it rain tonight?-
(not that alley X the liquor store—sea the eagle
swim gelatinmass of marvelous cherrylime-green sky;
posse told him to pass
his flying colors, vomitspittle—
Magnesium flare—was all his
day in the dunya,(we all got’em)
bent youngblood ear like a
bloodhound:
What’s the static charge?
Smash!pumpkin brain s-p-l-a-t, rush to eat the seeds?
all the sparrows scatter cuz the lights
is red,white&Bluuuue on L juice
—Ah! Hell’s loose, call me a river and
press
snooze.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
Too young,to talk about life
Too young,to talk about death
Either both are strong,or none of them
Yet not tried life or death
But both of them,aim human breath
Again and again,I have been told
Life burns the wound,and death colds it
That's why I fear,that they will bring
Drawn us and mean one thing
I proclaim them,a ruin
Who blown you up,or fall you down
Our end,a way may bear
Or one of them our suffer would stare
So one zaps furiously,and one quietly
May life kills faster,than Death's cold spirit
But you won't believe,till they warp you violently
Frost and flame your grave,and let you rivet!
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
A call to action is not action
Other things that are not action include:
Expostulation rhetoric poetry
Fulmination logic contumely
Proposition dialectic philosophy
Tergiversation polemic and ideology
Actual action, he expostulated, is behavior -
Behavior that acts, he fulminated,
Actually impels or constrains the acts
Of other behavers
This is only done, he propounded,
By applying pressure to weak points
In these others’ safety or security
But acts of violence, he tergiversated,
Only spread or institutionalize violence.
Apart from physical violence, he droned on,
All people have two things they can use
To act with –
Time, and Money.
What you can do with time is specific
To your skills and situation
But what you can do with money
Has exactly two categories:
You can give it,
Or you can withhold it.
You may think withholding is automatic,
And it is, it is; but you are not the one doing it,
It is being withheld from you, in every pay period.
By far your largest charitable contribution
Is to institutionalized violence.
To attempt to withhold your money from these withholdings
Would be enormously risky, painful and destabilizing
In ways that calls to action and other forms of talk never are.
But for one body to impart momentum to another body,
It has to transfer energy, i.e. there must be a cost.
* * * * * * *
On the other hand:
It is currently fashionable to say
That we are not the same person over time
Everything is replaced every few years, personality is a myth
And according to the most advanced thinking
Consciousness is an accident that affects nothing.
In the real world, of course,
I’m the same person I was at age seven
When I first thought of myself as a person;
This knowledge is immediate and irrefutable.
We aren’t the sum total of replaceable parts,
And consciousness for most people is a long-lived thing
Not the space between tick-tocks of a metronome.
This conscious thing concerns itself almost entirely
With exteriors, which are almost the only thing to
Latch onto. But the ultimate ho-hum of the exteriors
Compared to the permanent (mortal) consciousness,
Which has no good bad up down or plus-minus incentives
Gets so obvious as to become ridiculous. This is Anti-Action.
Other terms include depression, cynicism, selfishness,
Detachment, solipsism, reality.
But you must care about the others,
Or you are contemptible. Even the Buddha
Said this…right? (It was a long time ago
And there may have been many edits.)
The real and only basis for action is Love,
That is to say you must care about the exteriors
Which is to say the undeniable mechanics of the world
And what happens to those who are acted upon. You Must.
Is this knowledge immediate and irrefutable?
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 3:58 PM UTC
a vile sense of self-pity
forever dreading its agony wrestling your conscious
paranoia by the freedom of your thoughts
reverberating towards the ruined prison of your skull
is there a limit?
overreach and and overqualified for the senses
sedation for the numb
halting the feeling
can't break the chains of self-hate
forever must succumb to the white noises
their words touches my skin longer than others
it circulates upon impact
that enters your eyes
washes your mouth
bleeds your nose
but grows your mind tirelessly
it feeds your senses but drains its capacity
your eyes shutter but sees the tragedy
your words batter but freezes the energy
your brain polemic
but your heart - crying for eternity.
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 2:46 AM UTC
as the gush of invectives admonish me
pouring as it never rains,
drowning me in a drawing sea of phillipic polemic as per Cicero and Demosthenes
slating
I feel bulimic
consume ravage and destroy
to be in being
is to miss out the joys of unbeing
essence before existence
never chicken before egg
hammer before stick and metal
******* malleability is not a virtue
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
I love a long holiday and as a general rule
you’ll find me out by a turquoise pool
cause it’s hot outside and I’m nobody's fool.
Closing my eyes I lazily daydream
listening to my favorite musical streams
umbrella shaded from harsh sunbeams.
I’ve put away polemic school assignments
for leisure and tastier desultory refinements
like buffalo wings, pizza and ***** martinis
and the barely there cool of a string bikini.
.
.
Songs for this:
Digging your scene by Ivy
The Big Sky (Special Single Mix) by Kate Bush
Can't Be Like This Forever by The Moving Stills
Jul 5, 2025
Jul 5, 2025 at 1:39 PM UTC