"poseurs" poems
I've learned to love my black face
to stand in adversity and embrace
all the god-perfected beauty that he has placed
on this resilient black face
resilient
able to recoil or spring back into shape after bending, stretching and being compressed
resilient
the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties the very definition of black and its beauty
the definition of 300 hundred years of slavery and then modern complicity to be black proud and beautiful openly
to live in a world where European features are aspired to and to be black is frowned upon so if you have any black then you’re shunned
But we all know the stars couldn’t shine without the black space allowing them
Any giving moment our black greatness could swallow them
And funny thing is the same black face you call a disgrace only to turn around and try to obtain the very thing you shunned
so why is it that my curly hair is detrimental to society and my full lips cause controversy and my ****** curves taking as trends and stolen from me
told that white is what is to be and white model thin is in
while you praise poseurs for their artificial curves and fake tanned skin
yet through all the racial sin that dates back to 1910 when the KKK became known for lynching black men still then
we are able to stand in a crowd of hate and discrimination
the years of toil being perceived as an abomination and still love our skin
still rock our curly hair and color our full lips
still embrace our curvy hips
and embrace our “ghetto names”
and our ghetto trends
proud of it
proud of my face
yes I'm proud of my skin
because to be black is to be beautifully resilient
By poetic90's
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
Composing Hallelujah
Fractious lines crack,
holiday decorate the spirit inferior,
while each note upon the priest's guitar
penetrates the aspirin roughened interior,
face slaps me, daggers and accuses,
you're not composing hallelujah.
So I mislead, big deal,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******** with you,
as you sit across from me electronically
pretending, me to you, you to me.
Lie to each other with smiling faces,
you too have reaped,
been emotionally *****
by what our minds see and sow,
scowls and howls,
we've both grown our own demons.
My secrets, maybe are all there,
maybe, writ loud and clear,
in the songs I choose to share,
and in the unrevealed ones,
buried alive, held in reserve,
but not, for your average, rainy day,
could be today, you have no say.
Are we not all veterans of a kind,
don't we all have ribbons on our chest,
stripes and stars on our khaki blouse,
a record of our own great campaigns,
including the war to end all wars,
the never ending one,
the one the psycho-historians renamed,
"The 24/7 Year Conflagration"?
It used to be just my secret, no more
don't need a cartoonist to tell me that's
the enemy is us, and there are moles, traitors,
hidden deep in our intelligence organization,
planting seeds, urges, pushing to
out the identity of our communist friend,
Depression
I don't mean the ordinary, garden variety,
a mere moody blues recession,
when funk is sourced from gray clouds,
served up proper, cold and wet,
then travels on when sun warmth
clarifies temporarily, the aspirin kicking in.
So I misled,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******** with you,
sit across from me and lie to me,
lie to each other with smiling faces
we reap what we own,
scowls and howls.
A chorus of harmonious poseurs
inside your own City Center,
vocalize the lyrics of the anti-hallelujah,
a composition of questions directed at
whomever in tonight's audience deserves it,
asking, nerving, to sing too loud, at decibel speed:
Are these verses, curses
about D,
our mutual acquaintance,
or just research notes for further followup,
part two of a pas de deux, and,
did you go this time, too far,
or still not far enough?
-
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
I don't want to be a part of your world.
Full of poseurs and flirts.
Relationships mean nothing. Thrown away at the slightest inconvenience.
Full of drama and backstabbing. It doesn't matter in the end.
And honestly I feel sorry for you. I don't envy the day you wake up to the real world.
Enjoy your life while you can. When you finally realize, please don't waste time on regret.
Move on and make the best out of this mess you call life.
Jan 13, 2010
Jan 13, 2010 at 4:30 PM UTC
lurking in every place that others, who also pose as poets,
lurk in--disguised as human beings--rather ineffectively.
Not even as good at deception as terrorists do
but they do manage easily to deceive themselves..
Writing in simplistic rhymes,their inexperienced and shallow
observations, that are made with the blindfold of truth over their eyes.
Pretententious juvenile and middle aged posturers,
that write excretable prose about their shallow juvenile longings,
to possess another completely,and always call it " love poetry".
Begging for a mummy or daddy figure to "love" them,
and thereby give their miserable existences value
and validation,energy-sucks one and all .
Crying out in immature and verbally comatose
stanzas, insisting that they are not to blame,
not me guv!--never met him before!,
can I hand you another nail?..
Still afraid of the "roaming soldiers" in our midst,
the paramilitaries of the Oligarchies that rule everywhere.
On their knees beseeching the one they met momentarily,
and who has walked away from them,
heaving with laughter at their chauvinism and sexism
and lack of integrity and lack of truthfulness.
Begging their various "gods" and "goddesses"to return to their grasping and possessive conditional love the *** object that rfejects them..
"Poets"(very few of them here and I am not a "poet") expose these thieves of others integrity and truthfulness,to the ridicule they deserve,
for trying to twist the shining shimmering slender thread
of unconditional love into a for life shackle
of the conditional attachment that they call love .
Whether they be Heterosexual or Homosexual/Lesbian
or Bisexual is if no account to these testosterone fuelled
inhabitants of the ****** free zone.
"Be all mine" they cry out piteously.
"You cant leave me like this" they cry unceasingly
as if some fictional "god"or "goddess" will fasten
the shackle around the "beloveds" ankle.
What a lot of horse **** to dip your quill into.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
We’re all just so clever, so tragically unbalanced
But I woke with a new kind of obsessive disturbance
I’m finally shutting up with all the pretentious little dialogues
I’m not special, I’m detached, burn down the inner monologue
This scene’s dead, this scene’s gone
there’s no enlightenment in store
This love’s dead, this love’s gone
Just leave me to rot with futile lore
I don’t belong to meaningful existence
I’m never coming back despite your persistence
Highly stylized poseurs, highly addictive pills
So glamorous, my life’s work will be cheap thrills
You write your ******* witticisms and poems to adorn
Crushed between pointless inner battles, constantly torn
Encircled by the same ******** unsolvable your entire life
Ok, you’re brilliant, but I’m free, but I’m going out tonight
And every night I sleep, my conscious becomes softer
And every morning I wake, I wake with nothing more to offer
So stare up into the stars, direct your profound scenes
I used to waste so many nights planning, wondering what it all means
Micro manage feelings while I succumb to blurry haze
Controlled by a constant pounding beat, sensuality ablaze
You’re too curious, too poetic, and far too intense
I’m living in a world ruled only by impulse, only by decadence
Your burdened search for originality
You’re brilliant, but I’m free.
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 11:17 AM UTC
I am from soap bars unnoticed in supermarket aisles, from Lux and artificial jasmine fragrances.
I am from ****** motels, suspicion strong in the air; far from the warmth of toasty family cottages.
I am from the bouquet of extravagant roses, the dead white one within the reds.
I am from the cholesterol-inducing pizza nights and sharp senses for both the culinary and your lies, from a sinner and an angel and the brave and just the plain stupid.
I am from the self-deprecating and the highly-sensitive.
From you’ll never be able to climb a tree and you’ll never be able to find another me.
I am from the inverted views of the crescent and the star, on my knees waiting to turn back.
I am from the city of the creatively uncreative and its posers and poseurs, plain bread and steamed rice served on China plates painstakingly crafted.
From the not-so-happy ending of mom and dad’s love story, the blood boiling and the tears rolling.
I am from the well-kept, well-preserved antique shelves hidden under our everyday closets; a ***** little secret, secretly waiting to be saved.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
I don't want to be a part of your world.
Full of poseurs and flirts.
Relationships mean nothing. Thrown away at the slightest inconvenience.
Full of drama and backstabbing. It doesn't matter in the end.
And honestly I feel sorry for you. I don't envy the day you wake up to the real world.
Enjoy your life while you can. When you finally realize, please don't waste time on regret.
Move on and make the best out of this mess you call life.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
And a vision appeared to the Poet in the night
The vision of The Holy Spirit in the wild wood:
‘By one thing only
By nuclear weapon alone
Sin enters the world
And death by sin
Who shall deliver us from this death?
Lord raised up Savior from the dead
You too won’t die
As His Spirit dwells in you.
Beware of the nightmare leading nowhere
And bigot’s extremism claws:
O what delight, as consecrated rose worships the altar,
Inner chapel and sanctuary:
Angels and heaven smile.
This Ultimate Reality
(Symbol of the greatest and noblest,
Mankind has striven for
Generation after generation)
Reborn as Christ
Reveals His creative fecundity
Infinite manifestations.
Our perfection
Our ripe blooming
Our sunlight and singing
Our reconciling dry philosophy
With light of Love
And this alone is our true sovereign.
By this knowledge alone
The timeless is united with time:
Liberation from the human wheel
Otherwise our disaster is irremediable:
Satanic spell will work
New weapons develop
New violence within States.
The only battle worth fighting is Peace
The spirit will defeat the canonshots
This is the reverend aisle of a true temple
Never forget the admonitions
I insist
Self-sacrifice is regeneration
And the moment of birth_
Living among charlatans, poseurs, terrorists
Doing acts of love and charity
Sorting out diamonds among the dross.”
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 5:16 AM UTC
And a vision appeared to the Poet in the night
The vision of The Holy Spirit in the wild wood:
‘By one thing only
By nuclear weapon alone
Sin enters the world
And death by sin
Who shall deliver us from this death?
Lord raised up Savior from the dead
You too won’t die
As His Spirit dwells in you.
Beware of the nightmare leading nowhere
And bigot’s extremism claws:
O what delight, as consecrated rose worships the altar,
Inner chapel and sanctuary:
Angels and heaven smile.
This Ultimate Reality
(Symbol of the greatest and noblest,
Mankind has striven for
Generation after generation)
Reborn as Christ
Reveals His creative fecundity
Infinite manifestations.
Our perfection
Our ripe blooming
Our sunlight and singing
Our reconciling dry philosophy
With light of Love
And this alone is our true sovereign.
By this knowledge alone
The timeless is united with time:
Liberation from the human wheel
Otherwise our disaster is irremediable:
Satanic spell will work
New weapons develop
New violence within States.
The only battle worth fighting is Peace
The spirit will defeat the canonshots
This is the reverend aisle of a true temple
Never forget the admonitions
I insist
Self-sacrifice is regeneration
And the moment of birth_
Living among charlatans, poseurs, terrorists
Doing acts of love and charity
Sorting out diamonds among the dross.”
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 5:16 AM UTC
And a vision appeared to the Poet in the night
The vision of The Holy Spirit in the wild wood:
‘By one thing only
By nuclear weapon alone
Sin enters the world
And death by sin
Who shall deliver us from this death?
Lord raised up Savior from the dead
You too won’t die
As His Spirit dwells in you.
Beware of the nightmare leading nowhere
And bigot’s extremism claws:
O what delight, as consecrated rose worships the altar,
Inner chapel and sanctuary:
Angels and heaven smile.
This Ultimate Reality
(Symbol of the greatest and noblest,
Mankind has striven for
Generation after generation)
Reborn as Christ
Reveals His creative fecundity
Infinite manifestations.
Our perfection
Our ripe blooming
Our sunlight and singing
Our reconciling dry philosophy
With light of Love
And this alone is our true sovereign.
By this knowledge alone
The timeless is united with time:
Liberation from the human wheel
Otherwise our disaster is irremediable:
Satanic spell will work
New weapons develop
New violence within States.
The only battle worth fighting is Peace
The spirit will defeat the canonshots
This is the reverend aisle of a true temple
Never forget the admonitions
I insist
Self-sacrifice is regeneration
And the moment of birth_
Living among charlatans, poseurs, terrorists
Doing acts of love and charity
Sorting out diamonds among the dross.”
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 5:04 AM UTC
Opening your soul to the public
is to swim naked in the sewer
with scores of salivating rats.
The poseurs spill their low-calorie
compliments. The haters,
they drop the most sincere insults.
Depressed, angry, mad,
I walked into the kitchen.
Standing barefoot on the cracked tiles,
Hemingway finally made sense.
A bottle of cheap whiskey
next to the coffee maker,
it had a mouthful left to go.
I figured it would see me through
and that's what it did.
-Ron Gavalik
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
The cost of TRUTH
may at times burden
our mental energy and our wallets,
especially when we are delivered
so many cheap, comfortable lies.
TRUTH, however, is the tonic
that heals and fortifies our minds
against the constant flood of toxic oil
that pours from the gullets
of poseurs and profiteers.
The few who summon the courage
to embrace TRUTH are transformed
into angels of light. They rise above
the sewage of violence and hatred
of so many polluted minds,
the diseased souls condemned
to whither in misery.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 5:33 PM UTC
No Wolf, no Ginsburg, nada de Sylvia,
all my precious, deadened,
all my possessed, to dispose,
the garbage the city won't haul away,
even Potter's field
issues a writ of habeas corpus refus-us,
***** you-us,
our graves runneth over
with nobody's nevermore,
perfected howling
~~~
murdered victims last
murderers to the front,
howling innocent,
got no room
panning for second raters
poetic pain poseurs
~~~
some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and and of the
vagaries of hasty parted spotted pitted words~~~
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 4:00 PM UTC
Cody -- hey buddy -- something
I want to ask you about;
Are her eyes still ice-emeralds
And her skin like a cloud?
Do you think Allison will
Sleep with me now?
Does she still have a soft-spot
For dreamers; down-and-outs?
Red-eyed poseurs, beautiful losers,
Fuckbois, dry-drunks, and fidgeting louts?
If so send her my way
Or tell her give me a shout
I'm ****** up, I'm so lonely
They just let me out.
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 10:53 PM UTC