"policing" poems
I am a man.
I am a man who does not love.
Who cannot love.
For, I am a man.
I am a man.
Hence, I am not allowed to love,
To show emotion,
To feel.
For then, I’d be a *****
I am a man.
I must be masculine.
I must be a stunner.
I must be callous.
For if not, I’d be a loser.
I am a man.
I cannot be skinny.
I cannot be fat.
I cannot care about my appearance, but I must look good.
For if not, I’d be a loner.
I am a man.
I cannot respect my wife.
For then I’d be under her thumb.
I am a man who cannot love another.
For then I’d be a criminal.
Is it that wrong
to simply love
without boundaries, without expectations?
Are we that heartless
that gender can force us to behave in a certain manner?
Are we that naive, that
we really believe phrases like
‘all men are heartless’ and
‘men are animals’?
No.
Sexism isn’t about women being oppressed by men.
Just like feminism isn’t about women being greater than men.
Discrimination, gender policing, societal pressure
are good for neither ***
But then why do we put up with it?
It’s time for a change.
Be that change.
Sincerely,
The man who dares to love.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
I know they're out there somewhere
Watching, cringing, when they see those
who don't know just what to pick out
When they go out in their clothes
I cannot list the culprits
And we all know fashion crime
Like, pants that show the *** crack
We see this all the time
It used to be a faux pas
When one made a clothes mistake
But now you see them daily
With every look you take
With all the shows on tv
Showing people how to dress
Why do they go out looking
Like such a rotten, bleeding mess?
Stripes and spots and solids
Wearing braces AND a belt
Wearing parkas in hot weather
You'd think that they would melt
Socks worn with one's sandals
And those pants around the knees
I mean, someone, help these people
someone help them please
We need some clothes policing
Maybe a hot line they could phone
Maybe send the cops a photo
Before they choose to leave their home
There are people wearing spandex
People who aren't really thin
think of squeezing ten pounds of sausage
In a five pound sausage skin
And makeup...yes, the makeup
Someone needs to teach them how
to apply it, in moderation
We need some clothes policing now!
There are rules and there are guidelines
But common sense should reign supreme
It looks like these poor people
got dressed while in a dream
We need fashion policing
So we can all walk, showing class
Instead of being like these morons
Who wear big jeans, and show their ***
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 12:55 PM UTC
Sulking back grinding my teeth is useless
Taking out my ire on boneheaded people is ridiculous
Asking the world to stop using the 'F-word' is pointless as well
Yelling at the top of my voice against the vice is not worthy either
Involving not in policing activities without being authorized
Not caring for you jealous people is best in these circumstances
Gunning them down is impossible any day anyway
Lowly words are your virtue commonly crude language people
Ostentatious skills of yours are no use against the new born rage
Winning your hearts over is better than whining over your malpractice of teaching your kids the F-word earlier than either Papa or Mama.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
You left me with scars
Deeper than those I’ve given myself
With only your gritty hands.
You took a beautiful act
And stained it with grease
Ruining it for any future lover.
Yet, you used my experience with others
To justify your actions
Because you “love me so much more.”
You abused me like a child;
Expecting loyalty
And punishing me regardless.
But you “loved” me;
You manipulated me
Into thinking it was my fault.
If I stopped letting you explore
The body you felt entitled to
You threatened suicide.
I was poisoned into believing
That you actually cared for me
When you were breaking me slowly every day.
We were best friends
Until my mind caved in on itself
And my body was too broken to love.
I chose my life over yours.
You’re suicide instead of my repeated ****
Yet you’re still breathing.
Parts of me died every time you touched me
And when I felt incapable of continuing
You offered money in return.
Considering my financial situation
You knew I couldn’t say no
So I sold you my body.
Emotionless you left me
Stealing breath from my lungs
And life from my veins.
I gave up
Once paid, I left you
But I’d see you anyways.
On the bus.
In the halls.
That day of the final payment.
An envelope full of money
Left me feeling even more empty
Realizing what I lost for it.
With it you left a note
And your prized possession
The indicators of your impending death.
You said you were sorry.
You said you loved me.
You lied.
While I’m happy you never took your life
I’m dead inside still
Because of you.
You took ownership of my body
Without my permission
And you left it broken and incomplete.
Those pieces of me you stole
I will NEVER get back
And you don’t even know you’re a ******
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
"God, I really wish she talked like you,
dressed like you;
how do I get her to think like you do?"
Policing her to be like me will never serve you
because the one who does me best, is me.
Be truthful with yourself,
when you ask her to behave like this,
do you dream of me?
You cannot easily transpose my image onto your lover,
because no one else loves like me,
talks like me,
dresses like me,
can transfix in your mind like me.
Do you love her like you love me?
Does she know the blueprint you use to mold her from?
Could she handle knowing what I know?
Nov 4, 2021
Nov 4, 2021 at 9:16 AM UTC
Where was I, when you were alive?
Was I sleeping, dreaming, kicking, screaming,
Staring in wonder at the bright stars a-gleaming?
Where was I when you were crying?
Was I thinking of life after dying,
Seeing as it was, or blind and sighing,
Where was I when you were crying?
When you were born, what was I doing?
Was I speaking, walking, peeking, stalking,
Dancing, singing, laughing, mingling,
Looking, lying, toking, trying?
Where was I when you were on the beach,
Staring out towards the sea?
Perhaps I was taking a ***
Or sipping my hot cup of tea?
Where was I when you were sleeping?
Perhaps I was in mid-air, leaping,
Or watching as MTV was bleeping swearwords.
Where was I when you fell ill?
Was I parked up on a hill,
Waiting for life to arrive
With a plan it did contrive?
When you were driving,
Or tidying,
Perhaps on a snowboard somewhere, sliding,
Was I alone at home and hiding?
Or on the bike somewhere, and riding?
Maybe I was wide-awake,
Or laughing with my friends, while baked,
Or greasing a pan to bake a cake,
Contemplating what makes a lake.
Or perhaps I was asleep and dreaming,
and lost in my subconscious readings,
With avatars of all my friends,
Buying a Mercedes Benz.
Where was I when you were wasted?
Was I laughing at old hatreds,
Staring at a crawling aphid,
Or in the shower, and stark naked?
Where were you while I was thinking?
Perhaps you were awake and blinking,
All the sleep out of your eyes,
After dreaming of cute Albanian guys?
Where is everyone this second?
I mean, this specific second,
As I write or read this poem,
Perform it for a crowd so wholesome,
Where am I as you read this?
Up on a stage and fighting fears false lisp,
To make sure all of these words are crisp,
Or eating bread with ham and swiss?
Are you dead, or are you living?
A minion to society's bidding,
Or policing streets and finally ridding
Pavement of the hobos twitching out of crystal ****
Perhaps you're firing a gun,
Or you've found the only 'one,'
To love through thick and thin, till death;
Or thinking, "Wow, poor old MacBeth."
In this moment, is it all;
So listen to the moments call,
And cancel all your texting plans,
And use those thumbs to grasp the hand,
Of a loved one next to you;
"The day before" was never true,
So there's no better time for you,
To look for some more love to brew.
So get up, and go do.
Go do it.
Apr 27, 2011
Apr 27, 2011 at 12:10 PM UTC
Such an abused past, much vast… Darkly basked and masked!
Badly, sadly bruised or roused, from the cold or scold! Bold or
old! Coerced or forced! Victims of heroism, terrorism, **** or
scraps. Casual, intellectual, punctual, sensual, ****** or virtual.
However its clever affliction, direction and infection. Its con-
densed defense, a pretense of self-sense and intense suspense!
Unfortunately, if induced, seduced or misused, the abused may
eventually fuse! An abstruse spruce, controversially in use.
Gratefully to some; the increasing of peace and a truce is to become.
I proclaim with claim! It blames, deems and seems forever! For those endeavoring, policing and severing this noose and nuisance of abuse!
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:50 PM UTC
why make videos these days...
they're easy target,
for people who read,
or largely (pretend to) read...
the bare minimum...
journalists with the equivalent
of the bare minimum of
journalism:
namely?
literacy.
a journalist these days...
wow!
they can read! they can
write! read & write?!
**** me! a double whammy!
you sure we shouldn't ascribe
them policing stature &
authority?!
like...
simultaneously?!
let's face it...
they have investigate
the double curriculum venture...
we know how donkeys play
the bet...
they gamble with a
worth of a carrot,
and always return with
stick's worth of motivation
to gamble stupid once more.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC
~~~
a poem derived from these words of
Joel M Frye
"Poetry is a self-policing agency, enforcing nothing
~~~
The Truth Burden
is the accursed need obligatory,
the sacred sanctity requisitioned,
when the whenever,
chooses to drops in and
upflag the mailbox,
an uninvited invitation,
announcing with precise bluntness,
that precisely now,
is the tool crafted moment
and you fool,
are the selected tool
you must render unto Ceaser,
by your own hand,
render your own rendering,
do your own undoing,
go forth and in haste,
will thyself into the cauldron of the
Great Mystery of Creation
you cannot lie in poetry
-one can only validate-
you will tell the whole truth,
and nothing but,
all in good order,
to secure me to thee,
to muddle
our molecular cocktail mix,
you must,
must give only
truth in poetry,
or give
nothing
police yourself
in every aleph bet,
don't substance abuse us with deceit,
give only your unburdening,
force us to lip kiss
when
we face each other,
when
pronouncing the blessed script of
ourselves,
that we have been granted by sharing
each other's unvarnished lettres
the burden is
to un burden
cut out what needs
to be bridged from
the secret walled-in safe,
and give form, life and breath,
expose it to the atmosphere,
reform your bleak introspection
and white horseradish bitter realism,
turn blue blood veined internal
into an amberina red,
all by being
unsaved, unsavory, unsafe
you are the enforcer,
you are the police,
you are the validation
and the validator,
enforcing this sole law,
police your self,
give us
with no agent in between,
give us
nothing but,
a voice
one will recognize instantly
as the whole fats milk of
truth
oh, how I will embrace thy
one and only,
when given,
your
one and only
for do we dare disagree that is
each other's truths that
shall set us free?
•••
for we are the inhabitants,
of this wild land of
no inhibitions,
no rule of laws,
except one,
defend the essence,
protect the defenseless integrity,
promote the mystery of the
human poem
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
Hey, I'm not a lumberjack, or a fur trader there's only one pelt I'm interested in....
I don't live in an igloo or eat blubber, or own a dogsled Global warming has taken all the snow away....
and I don't know Jimmy, Sally or Suzy from Canada, i do know Partel, Kareem, Xi Chein and Steve
and they're really really nice.
I have a Prime Minister who is ******** not a president.
I speak English and a little French, not American though we like to mock southern accents...
And I pronounce it 'aboot, not about...
I can proudly sew my country's flag on my backpack along with with motorhead and misfits patches...
I believe in peace keeping, not policing unless you count the G20...
diversity, not assimilation, unless it's the borg...
and that the ****** is a truly proud and noble animal and a bald one is truely a wonder to behold...
A toque is a hat that douchbags wear all year round, a chesterfield is a couch that my dunken friends sleep on,
and it is pronounced 'zed' not 'zee', 'zed' unless its Zebra because Zedbra sounds stupid!!!
Canada is the second largest landmass that can be pilfered by multinational conglomerates!
The first nation of hockey!
and the best part of North America... except vegas!
My name is Josh!!
And I am Canadian!!!
EH?
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
People just don’t get it do they?
PolitiX -
There are no good:
-politics
-politicians
-politicos
-policy
-polices
There is only DISTRACT and TAKE!
If it is bad, fake It good
if its fake, fake it real
if it’s obvious make it someone else’s fault
manipulate details and statistics too
lead the questions,
get the right answers for you
Mass Programmng Media
secret Not Saying Anything service
hide behind our own goods
Freedom these days is all about -
Policing
And the illusion you are in
Control
Politics by its very nature can only exist by divide
the greater the divide
the easier to fraction
easier to fraction
eaier to incite aggression and violence
the resulting fear makes us seek peace
we legislate our freedom away putting hope in lies
the greater the distraction,
the easier the take
Peace is an illusion,
a God-like ideal
A frightened little bird hiding in the bough of a tree
barely out for a second
starving to death
confused
and lonely
because the fear of fear is so great
Political Peace is submission and oppression while convincing you
that its in your best interests not to resist or persist.
You are then provided with a guilded cage
distracted by how different the cage is next to you
or the fence that divides you but you are safe?
All policed by consent
the unmerry road to oppression
begins and ends with distraction and take
all selling illusions of peace and happiness
while selling you out
And YOU are too distracted to notice
YOU are killing your family and neighbors
One fear
One prejudice
One judgement
at a time...
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
(A 'thought piece' I wrote in high school)
Ok, I'm not paid to think (like the TV shouting heads), I have no real voice (vote), and certainly no credentials - but I'm as invested in America as any high-school citizen can be. I've pledged allegiance 3000 times (hhmm.. do they doubt our loyalty?) and when it comes to loving America, I'd have to say my classmates and I are at the center of the spell.
I'm afraid we're growing up in the age of hate.. the age of phony outrage where each position large or small is high noon and violence is underfoot even when policing ordinary citizens.
We won't address the multitude of old problems in this new age.. we'll just unleash a marquetry of half truths to dispute the proven until unreasoned arguments reach their paranoid fullness.
The real world is alarming enough - lets just push that away and ignore it - while we're at it lets **** shame the poor, the old, the sick, the unemployed, the hungry and the hand of mercy.
I realize America was never one moral atom bonded for better.. but those anvils that forged us appear neglected or forsaken. I'm afraid what's happening now, what we're seeing and hearing now, is a symphony of erosion - that by the time I have any say at all, the middle class will be gone - america turned slum - where even the voice of despair will be turned traitor.
We'll only be able to see our greatness in museum souvenir shops where nothing is affordable and everything is made elsewhere.
Oct 28, 2024
Oct 28, 2024 at 10:35 PM UTC
Avoid trouble.
Be willing to face the consequences for your mistakes.
Oh, punishment will come.
Bet on it.
Believe it.
We selected you for your talent and sports skills.
And more than anything wants you to achieve your diploma.
Yes, educating you is our main goal.
As young adults, realize you not in high schools.
And the rules and regulation is of a higher standards.
You must police yourself when faced with temptation.
Yes, common sense works when confronted with things you should avoid.
Parties, oh you will attend with select friends.
Than the smarts ones won't.
It's just not their purpose to act out cause they away from their parents.
****** matters, will be your stumbling block.
And more likely lead you down paths you regret.
Oh, by now you should have witnessed this evidence.
But parents should be your security check guards.
Call and confirm that you still policing them.
Forget what their friends think of your parental check?
These are your children's.
Coaches, can only guide so much.
Some kids get in colleges and begins to lose touch of their senses.
Get influence by fools and used by idiots.
So blame not the schools when your children's venture out and find trouble.
All universities hand out guidelines what expected of them?
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
These Nights with lights, Lightened from cigarette filled clouds to rainstorms.
We are drowning our Inhibition to exhibitions, of a shallow madness.
Within a matter of clearance
Of transverse sunrays:
We call this morning
A day past,
A night ruled with dreams.
Flooded with traffic afflicted
Souls searching beneath empty vessels of libations
Only to unearth realizations from lost sensations.
Vagabonds patrolling streets
apparently policing their worries,
from failed inquiries of maternally adopted creeds.
Divided vision escalated arrhythmic palpitation
Deviation from a gradual calm away from calamity
Expel, Exhort-Excise, the deep-veil
A rising dawn, polluted skies reflected in these eyes,
I stare at this street lamp, flickering at-us-all.
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 10:48 AM UTC
my brother is the safe environment I’ve created for the history of my lord. political awareness, I mean, I mean, is a darkness. my eyeglasses tell me you’ve been to see a train station. do animals wait? several impatient years later, two blindfolded mouth-breathers walk cheek to cheek in an Ohio fog that combs forward worms the length of a screen name on craigslist. I am nearly pronouncing krokodil until my tongue disappears so I can pronounce it correctly for my mother’s not frostbit ear. as for the two, they are mistaken by the disembodied poetics of local policing as the trophy nose of an odd-for-these-parts moose. any re-enactment is my father the victim of a spirited birth.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
so sometimes I'm just right,
cold, calculating and perceptive.
and sometimes I can't make it through the night,
policing my thoughts and perspective.
But tonight is a night of freedom and purity,
closing the doors to opression,
spilling inpure and conformist thoughts,
and avoiding resurrection.
smoking and snorting and popping and coughing,
breathing, decieving, and barely talking,
focused now.
never later.
still breathing this atmosphere of pure hatred.
can't see past my hands in this tomb,
alone i lay and quietly consume,
every last one of them.
I've let them all go.
the part time, doin time, ebb and flow of cold.
growing old.
when I finally outgrow this taste in my mouth,
i'll be able to breathe.
when she finally outgrows me maybe she'll leave.
never looking back, always forward,
never late.
she quietly escapes the debate of our fate.
never look back kid,
cause your soul might turn blue,
tied tight with saran wrap wrappers,
duct tape and glue.
Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 8:29 PM UTC
I read some poems badly and in bad light, here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QR3w2eHYE5Q
from 12.9.13
messianic allure
my brother is the safe environment I’ve created for the history of my lord. political awareness, I mean, I mean, is a darkness. my eyeglasses tell me you’ve been to see a train station. do animals wait? several impatient years later, two blindfolded mouth-breathers walk cheek to cheek in an Ohio fog that combs forward worms the length of a screen name on craigslist. I am nearly pronouncing krokodil until my tongue disappears so I can pronounce it correctly for my mother’s not frostbit ear. as for the two, they are mistaken by the disembodied poetics of local policing as the trophy nose of an odd-for-these-parts moose. any re-enactment is my father the victim of a spirited birth.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
To erase, a half prayer that I
could peel off my face.
Hoping my mind would die inside
So I could rebuild, start to replace, the
memory within my fingertips
Of your missing pulse
The way your eyes screamed
contention, and the
sight of your bodies post-
mortem convulse,
I want that to stop
Still
Smash in every clock, for
when Time doesn't link us, why should
I hark to a ticking that
slices at a life
already half empty, rather
than half full
Keep topping myself up with ethanol
Central Nervous System policing
the cheat, puncturing my
sockets to free the
holograms of happy memories,
in a silver stream
No substance left now that it's
tainted
No substance strong enough to take
this pit away
Shovel thrown away, but never
clean, bones and teeth,
muscles oiled and lean,
cling to the metal of
my mouth.
All eyes drawn south, because
dust always draws flies
Like the worm trodden mess
of your thighs
And the way I can still feel
you on my breast
Like a coffin's weight
I bare you
Never at rest
Always a race
Perhaps I'd find peace if I tore off my face.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
American arrogance
Notwithstanding
Our benevolence
Being unfurled
Ego and influence
Ever expanding
Now we' re policing
The whole ******* world
My father was bled in Korea
Cousins slaughtered in nam
Now the prize is Judea
Tell me why I should
Give a God damm
There is no stopping genocide
Human nature is covered in blood
Take this little fact
Mix in some pride
Leaves Africa swimming in mud
I don't care
What they do to each other
I have two sons
So I don't give a damm
Tell me why
You think I should bother
We will always be bleeding the lamb. Hy
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
Watching the archetypal parable filler sealing his fate with a seed,
and see the walls of the story blossoming off to the sky.
It seems to offer impossibility bottled and wreathed,
a leaf in season to whittle through to the blossom in time.
The time he took to fear it, board windows, ignoring the means,
and flailing crops are not to halt the work ,and question the why.
He finds a seed to bury deep within the walls of his dreams,
a kind of thief to be policing the light.
The hubris in a few ferocious branches,
accruing the subtle stances required, refusing visitor glances at the shrine
The thorns swallow a rich canopy buried beneath
and keep a perilous gift hanging for traveler thigh
Time echoes in hope of lending vestige's light, crying out
to see the breadth of the line.
To see the tangential nature of the leaf,
and know the grief elucidated and reaped
for a return on what we sow in the vine
Another garden enclosed.
A partial view of the sky.
A further longing for truth.
Assume a gruesome divide.
Aloof and hardened to bone.
A carving suited for pine.
A starving forest in roost.
Abuse is looming inside.
Confusing and dried.
He's choosing his pride.
Refusing a guide.
Losing his mind.
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 8:08 PM UTC
**“Won't do no good
To call the police.
Always come late,
If they come at all.”**
Thank you, Tracy.
Thank you for shining a light,
Drawing the world’s attention to the gulf
The gross variance in policing,
As it is practiced as we move from
One area of the city to another,
From one part of town,
Across the tracks to the
Wrong side of town,
Not the neighborhood where
Cops get out of the squad car after dark,
Ring your doorbell & politely remind you
Your garage door is open.
I refer, of course, to the same
Neighborhood with the best schools,
Libraries, public parks, and other
Fine & dandy amenities
Enjoyed by some its municipal citizens.
I send greetings from reality &
Say “Thank you, Tracy”again.
Now I’m hip to an area of town where
People have to shoot it out for themselves,
Where people contend with a
Quotidian Death Camp or Gulag,
A daily killing-field of extreme
Predatory desperation.
We’re taking a quintessential peek
Through a Social Psychologist’s lens,
Namely Abraham Maslow’s
“Hierarchy of Human Needs;”
Categorically speaking:
The ladder’s bottom-rung.
We’re talking basic human survival, here.
BTW I actually learned a lot in college, & besides:
**** You! I’m a Harvard graduate.
One last time I say
“Thank you, Tracy.”
I actually learned & continue to learn a lot,
From getting high & listening to music.
Life at the bottom of the barrel?
Sloshing it up with the
So-called “Dregs of Society,”
Which, by the way,
Would be a great name for a band.
Cue omniscient narrator:
Google "I want to Be a Pornstar.”
But I digress.
We were talking about a frightening alien planet,
A no-where place to be for
An intelligent young black girl,
Hoping for a fast car out of there.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC