"precedence" poems
Defying the consensus of complacency,
And the enantiomorphic political practicality,
Candidates embrace their vacillating indexicality.
Spouting thrift store self reliance sapientiality,
Telling lores of cultural compatibility.
Hope filled promises of economic suitability,
Aligned with institutional feasibility.
Packaged in over-inclusive catchall empty signifiers
Strewn across all media screens, communal utilitarian plan flyers.
Requesting no need for responsiveness,
For a vote no longer dictates precedence,
In the age of social media endemic presence relevance.
PFL
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 3:40 AM UTC
those that see beauty in everything feel the most discontent.
there are extreme emotions that one who is creative must process--
an unforced authenticity and tenacity to stay focused on a subject,
and to devote the same amount of attention to each entity, that you lose a sense of self and a sense of the world around you.
we use stress as a way of pushing us forward,
and only in moments of extreme stress does an amazing happening occur.
and for this, we are deemed odd, as a normal person thrives where they are most comfortable.
the originality that visionaries possess is exhausting, yet we admire it.
we allow for many things to flow in our minds without halt,
all notions and ideas taking up precedence, and this may be our greatest fault.
day break to sunset, my mind is racing non-stop, constantly,
to the point that sleep does nothing to quell the overthinking brain,
as my lucid dreams act as a force to keep me awake at night.
my mind is in a perpetual state of fantasy, sometimes during everyday life in bouts of daydreams,
imaging new situations and being unable to describe it all.
when I try to silence the thoughts that persistently flux through my mind,
my talents feel wasted during this time of artistic deprivation,
and only do I feel truly sound when I create new artworks for a few to discern.
sometimes I feel as though my mind feeds off on my depressive states,
as it takes the deepest of emotions to generate proufound art.
while I wish to be happy, I have a need to be in a bit of a sustained disarray.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 10:28 PM UTC
Abandoned Love!
I thought our love was more than material things;
the fun times we had, laughing at each other silly jokes.
Sending you messages every three hours everyday!
I prayed for our love to last every minute of each day.
Finding excuses to be in each other’s presence;
The long hours on the phone,
the sneaky getaways on Saturdays to the movies
Our rebellious but clean acts!
I thought every ounce of it was real!
But then it happened!
Insecurities kicked in!
The want for material things took precedence over the love I had for you!
Through trying times, you had no remorse!
The skeleton exposed his dry bones!
The heart I thought was sacred, was just old wood waiting for a fire to catch!
Your heart turned to coals!
And your reflection on love was dark as evil!
Can't believe I placed my trust in the hands of the joker
And not the King!
I ask myself " What does it profit a man to gain the world and loose his soul?"
The lost of loved ones and eternal life!
How could the lifeless have preference over the living!
That shows you are another heartless being.
'Greater love has no man than this; that a man lay down his life for his friends'
And I neglect this unfailing love!
For a bag of dry bones!
I took his love for granted; the Creator, the Father, the true lover of our souls for flesh!
I guess my playing small serves me right!
But his greatness made me new!
Afroray
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
-To kill'em with silence is to kill'em with words.
-The words that express the distress of blatant disrespect.
-A treachery, not against me, but the history his story tells.
-Under one crest, but I can't call family those without respect.
-However, these words concocted cannot come forth.
-For these few words actually feed the fire.
-A passion built on perseverance that's serves as precedence.
-This unseen fire my friend, is how you kill'em with silence.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
Yes, Atthis, you may be sure
Even in Sardis
Anactoria will think often of us
of the life we shared here, when you seemed
the Goddess incarnate
to her and your singing pleased her best
Now among Lydian women she in her
turn stands first as the red-
fingered moon rising at sunset takes
precedence over stars around her;
her light spreads equally
on the salt sea and fields thick with bloom
Delicious dew pours down to freshen
roses, delicate thyme
and blossoming sweet clover; she wanders
aimlessly, thinking of gentle
Atthis, her heart hanging
heavy with longing in her little breast
She shouts aloud, Come! we know it;
thousand-eared night repeats that cry
across the sea shining between us
2.6k
As I was sitting at my desk studying for finals,
I heard in the distance the sound of a Clown's Horn?
"honk-honk" the sound grew louder and closer "honk-honk"
Fairly certain the Circus had not come to my Apt. complex,
Bested by my curiosity as it continually increased
My need to discover the horn's origin became the priority over my studies.
My focus shifted from the page in front of me holding all the answers,
To the outside world were the answers where yet to be discovered...
Breaking free of my "Study Shackles"
A new goal to precedence over all obstacles,
Mind now on a single track,
The spirit of pioneer steers my intentions,
Set forth from my dwelling, into that vast universe of possibility's
That simpletons refer to as the parking lot.
Honk-Honk the sound hit my ears like a search beacon would register on radar,
How far past my car or 100 cars who cares
What was this I continued to ponder in the recesses of mind that was playing like it was recess
Placing a collect call to myself I called my other senses to man their positions.
Sight-CHECK! but nothing was seen,
Touch-CHECK! but my feet and the ground was the only contact being made.
Smell-CHECK! But nothing, wait hold for confirmation....
Could it be... ELOTE!?!
Corn on the cob... on the stick!!
Mexican style elote!!
I had not enjoyed, "G-lote or Getto Elote" since San Jose
Since the last time I spent time with cousin Chip
Then just as I turned the corner the beacon sounded once more
"Honk-Honk" ELOTE....! and it was only $1.50 Perfect!
Proceeded to purchase two, one for me and one for you,
My cousin my brother...
Devouring mine with you in mind,
Took a single breath took stock of what was left,
Thought, "If I wait for Chip to come eat his it will get cold before he arrives, and who wants to eat cold elote?
Not my Cousin Chip, He's a Gracia
We are just better then that.
So I did what I believe you would have done for me if you where to find yourself in the same predicament,
I ate it nice and slow.
Thinking about how grateful I am to call you my family, my cousin, my friend, my brother,
I made sure that I enjoyed every bite,
In that for a moment no matter how brief it actually was we where together again,
In my minds eye laughing, joking, enjoying elote together....
I love you and I miss you cousin,
You are always in my prayers and in my heart.
If only Australia were not so far away...
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 4:26 AM UTC
Tribulations and my afflictions are misery
This cryptic, ironic, depiction is misery.
-
The warmth of the sanguine is never in me
The cold cells of mine are dead, are misery.
-
What would it take to ever **** me?
Perhaps, if only one thing, misery.
-
What is a sickness without remedy?
It is a malignant growth of misery.
-
Verification of my friend, my enemy,
Certainly my brother, my nemesis misery.
-
Confidence is precedence in my virility,
Verily infecting, lacerating misery.
-
I, Andrew, deny that ever woe could have been me,
Although I surrender, I succumb to misery.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC
I now present to you the talk of the town Mr Page
He looks are deceptive; please don't be fooled by his age
He lives alone in a house near to his office in front of a park
He has far too many enemies for he is a loan shark
Before I tell you more let me put a disclaimer
Now days anyone can sue you, even a lamer
So if there is any resemblance with anyone dead or alive
It’s a mere coincidence, have checked all archive
Mr Page as you read this, is now in a court
Facing a trial bravely and holding on to his fort
Lawyer asked him if he would promise not to lie
Mr Page told, truth it shall be, till he would die
Not only was he a loan shark whose guts every one hated
He spoke in rhymes, even when he debated
All he did was to threaten people all the time
He made them sound ridiculous adding punches and rhymes
When the lawyer asked, 'Mr Page can you show us how you rhyme.'
He replied, ' No sir this is neither the place nor the time.'
'Besides I am not carrying any dictionary or copy of rhyme zone'
'Watch what you say Mr Page' said the lawyer, 'I don’t like your tone'.
'Order order', said the judge, 'I don’t want any rhyming in my court.'
'I can see my lawyers have started rhyming too', he added with a snort
'Do you see Mr page what a bad precedence you have set'?
'Why my lord how could I corrupt the court, ' said Mr Page, ' we have just met'
'There you go, rhyming again even when I told not to'
'Sir why are you so against rhyming I have absolutely no clue'
'Mr Page, please stop.'
'Sorry sir I will try to drop.'
'Mr Page I warn you.'
'I am trying, I am trying, and it’s hard! Phew'
'A phew! Did you have to add that'?
'Sir please, it’s all part of a chat'
'Mr Page you are not helping'
'Please my lord, stop yelping'
'What! How dare you! Handcuff him and put him in jail,
No books, No net, No friends and No bail.'
So you see this how Mr Page landed up in prison
And for what, rhyming, which was certainly no treason
Funny laws, funny punishments, this certainly was a funny case
But the people were happy as long as they didn’t see Mr Page's face.
Jul 14, 2011
Jul 14, 2011 at 1:54 AM UTC
Volcanic eruption
corruption
unemployment
recession, depression
Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan
Earth quakes
rumbles
Wall Street crumbles
Haitian children wail
tidal waves prevail
Global warming
fiction or warning?
Taxes, health care
how to handle
the next scandal
Hawaiian birth
takes precedence
over incidents. Coincidence?
Arizona immigration
discrimination
Oil spill
of gigantic proportions
contortions
in the Gulf
causing strife, ending life
Bomb in Times Square
where? not here!
just sit and sip your beer
watch the world go by
with a wink and a sigh!
Sometimes we are powerless
nothing we can do
our head in the sand,
don't understand
not care, or dare
to question?
What is our place
in this space
our destiny and fate
to help our world continue on
so our children can survive?
The world is spinning out of control
Iraq, Iran, Afganistan
Quakes, Rumbles, Crumbles
Global Conservation, Preservation
Distortions, Contortions
Bombs and Beer
Dare to Care
Frenzied
© 2010 Marlene Dunham
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 8:46 PM UTC
Its 1:30 in the morning. And I’ve begun to think of the rarities and adversities in life, which shape
us into the hollow ghosts called humanity. Machines that listen, and obey. Becoming slaves of a
mundane existence as we go about our days. Wake. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. With the slight possibility
of variation that may never come to fruition. Why must we consume, but not provide? We
multiple uncontrollably, take from this earth, yet never seem to substantially give back. Something
so beautiful and yet so abused. To give, may be to take away from ourselves. But is selflessness so
horrible? To make the life of another better, at the small expense of ourselves should be but a
small price. Yet the few whom know this and continue to give out of the goodness of their hearts,
are scoffed at by the selfish majority. Why must we, the hollow ghosts of humanity, make
decisions for whatever objective we may have, in whatever situation should be presented, and
then complain of the results or the consequences should they not go accordingly? Rather than
vowing to improve on the matter of contempt? The decision was made, and cannot be
changed. Why fret so much, over something that is now unchangeable? Why not simply decide
within one’s self to, when presented with a choice of a similar nature, make a different
decision? We, being the hollow ghosts we are, dwell so frequently on the past. Thinking so hard,
as if to change events of times long behind us. We think, as if to comprehend our very
nature. And in the absence of the desired understanding and/or enlightenment, we complain
about our very existence. As if anything and everything in our daily lives may hold precedence
over the very fact of our existence. As if to curse our Creator for making us such simple creatures
not able to grasp the complexity or diversity of His design. Rather than taking existence itself for
face-value, and enjoying the many fruits of this beautiful earth, we **** ourselves with selfishness
and passiveness. And we, the hollow ghost of humanity, will ultimately be our own miraculous
yet untimely downfall.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 8:01 AM UTC
The only legacy of maturity is insensitivity
I will die old will think nothing of it.
The young tend sodium springs
All the while watched by the barren.
Muted observers to life labours conceiving gasp
Unwilling to interpret.
Bald cries to heaven go souls dug with grapples stuck.
Silence takes precedence in the right seat
Unlawful is the wrong
Red is the left
Old knows all is dark.
We run water to rid false colour
Run it until we are dry
Run it until we are black.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 9:00 AM UTC
What if all you believed was a lie
What if everything was an illusive deceit
Would you commit suicide, continue to believe or investigate the truth?
What if your life depended on it
What would you do?
There is paper trails wrapped up in illusion and like a picture framed
You only see what is there,
At least what the camera shots.
Charisma is subtle
It’s a quality I despise, why?
It’s the traits of politicians,
They tell you sweet bitter lies,
A fool enthralled, you eat it up like it was pork chops and salads
An appetizer
A delight.
Conspiracy theory elaborates truth as well as lies
What are we to believe when the world is built on bluff?
And we are all blind; give me a pair of glasses so I may see the world more vividly
I do however; believe I need more than that.
What holy war is upon us, when will the Jews have some solace?
When will the fat aristocrat evacuate his couch and out of the kings palace?
When will the rich exchange shoes with the poor and vice versa so
They might know the shackled ******** life as well as champagne and caviar.
We question the possibility of what takes precedence
I may Google the net, read a thousand books
Dive in all sorts of information
But I guess my appetite wouldn’t be satisfied because my eyes and ears
Had enough to realize and acknowledge that the world is built truly on illusion
If you don’t believe me, take the movies,
They use graphics and all the technology at their leisure for things to appear real
Actors and actresses like wise
We are all plunged in by theses perceptive beliefs
That precipitates a reality that conjures fictitiously real.
All rights Reserved.
Christena Antonia Valaire Williams.
April 17, 2013
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
Tabby Lix is the chick with the **** sure to get your hammer swanging. Pull back and strike! without each and every regret you were fed by the newest precedence in social norms. Peek this ******** scope his or her form. Non-binary ***** she's splitting your mind in two and got you confused so rear back your neck, dragon, it's K -- I got the shield. Boy. One of you might want to **** me the other turn tail 'way while another one even less understanding might got something to say, he say: *** drop ya pants, I'll cut ya little **** off n I'll feed it to you and if you need a reason you only need to know who ya talking to. When I walk with my walk I'm a horse trot, like I got the whole pride of lions riding on my stride --
I like to **** the girls
I need deplete *** to survive
I know the entire world
yes everything high and low there is to see and, all of the reaches and trends begin and end with me. I know you know I got the right the justified authority to beat you in your ******* face for the choices you make that might lie beyond the confines my head. I don't believe in you and I don't need to. Rear back your head, Dragon, it's K I got the shield. And when I'm back on attack I gotta let my **** dangle down to show you ******** what's real just like sometimes I **** ***** or lick ***** and cunt-thrust or **** butts, I'll penetrate you, you **** House-pet cat Tabby Lix gets her fix by dancing with the devil on or off her leash you, never, never -- **** with master. Check the collar. Guess boy/girl for $10. Lift muh tail up. Use your fingers. Can you find, blind? When I win I'll buy a dime bag. Make me feel good. Kitty catnip. Stick your tongue down my throat, descend unto madness.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
Rinse
Repeat
A simple man, trapped by society,
Raised to feel indebted to his family
His fantasy is printed and framed
Above the job's lobby. A beautiful
Scene of the mountains in Nagasaki.
The clear air clears the clouds
Of the the solvent factory
So he sits and stares
Ever unsure of his trajectory.
Rinse
Repeat
The quality of his life is priced
At $4.50. If he can't get his fix
Of burritos and churro sticks,
His world turns to bricks.
His grip slips.
The slight weight shift on his hips
Strips his exuberant demeanor
Like a lunar eclipse.
Rinse
Repeat
When he tries to adlib the script,
Life and love kicks him in the intelligence.
His happiness doesn't take precedence
Over the dead presidents he needs
To keep his residence. It's evident
In his directionless aggressiveness,
He feels irrelevant to his existence.
So, he slows the pistons of his brilliance.
Rinse
Repeat
His silence has made him forget his presence
He's become convinced that washing metal prints
Isn't against his will. That the fulfill-
Ment of another's vision is the pill
To his sickness. Like the use of litmus
Will heal his mental limpness
Between 9 and 5. The only thoughts
He completes are rinse and repeat
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
She held him like a dangling participle,
as mothers sometimes do.
Disconnected from her sentence,
he was held on but stiffly confused.
He possesses a birthright to her hard-wiring,
or is it mandatory?
Woman-datory?
Umbilical, precedence will or won't inherit addictive behaviours.
Likability of some traits but not others, wishing he wasn't.
More like her, realisations go awry.
Pattern of outstretched arms dangling that boy.
His diaper is off, and jettison's stream, so caution.
Hiking along the forgotten path, brambling overgrowth blocked his continuing.
He cuts a new path.
She cuts the umbilical.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 9:39 AM UTC
Eloquence is irrelevant in times of relevance
For it is not the beauty of the words that sets precedence
Rather the idea behind them that shows brilliance
Any man can speak articulately without substance
There is no power behind such simulated statements
Those with complete control of their clarity claim valiance
So, go forth and form your feelings with eloquence absent
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC
Rat-tat-tat rizza rap
Humble claps for the fab
Here's a grab, take a jab
I story essay, a sore T ese
... A time without food
Those who eat all day will not understand
A year without ***
Those who always fuel a *** romp will not understand
A life without money
The excessively wealthy will not understand because it's all been inherited and not earned
This way that, check a glance
There is a chance amass
Some things that used to happen will never happen because of time
Some things that used to happen will happen again because of rare chance
Be wise and quick to grab
A time without material things
The materialistically endowed will just not understand
A series of lifetimes in the Light, darkness they just will not understand
A man goes to prison for something he has not done, the one who always gets away with crimes will never know what it means to pay the price
When position is more important than responsibility, honour they will not understand
When killing the egoic mind frees the carefree, life after death they will not understand
When sibling rivalry takes precedence over mediating a family in shambles, peace they will never speak
When the bible is the only book they have ever read, the other side of the story they will never seek
When greatness is all you know and not that your fellow man can also be great, you will never get over yourself
When your dreams overwhelm you because they are too big, you shall remain an almost-been
When you don't know when it's time to hand over power to a worthy candidate, justice and transcendence will never be
Unaware that you are sinking into being a has-been
When political muscle is more important than empowering the subjects of that power, freedom will never sing
And souls forget who they are because they've been trapped in a dome
They are living baseless lives and don't know their way home
They will still call out the tyrannical colonisers by name and be ovlivious to the fact that it has been consistently Rome
A time in the shadows, but all they see and want is glow
A time in silence, but all they know is talking about things that change nothing for the better
This way that, who has the tag?
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
The shadow of long-ago noblest of souls
now ghosting
the battements of this
mouldy tumbledown palace moans still,
albeit silently
about the time there was wind
blowing out of control in her royal mind.
Oh there was storm but she held the reins
of the hurricane
that could strip grain bare
if she so wished, and he whom she loved
was there in the room
handsome and bold, she decided to speak.
She was never afraid of tomorrows yet
she trembled
beneath the weight of this
queenly affair, there was something she
had not known
for a very long time
and that now arose to entangle her heart.
The Queen turned of a sudden and asked
for a kiss, oh yes,
she then received the tenderest
of gentle embraces
which would not be forgotten for the rest
of her life, but was
she liked for herself as a person, or not.
Fate though dictated that she never marry
any one man
but be wedded to all,
and such a hard
immensity of role meant belonging soley,
being in charge of her nation
was where mission ever held precedence.
All knew their place, so she lifted her head
as royal a ******
as ever had been, and yet
she was always to ask in her deepest heart
did he kiss her
because she was his Queen,
just to gain favour or did he really mean it.
Elizabeth's shadowy ghost will ever ponder
that unanswered question
in this hazy place as she wanders awaiting
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC
I find myself stopping in a crowd of people and time slows still. Their laughter, their unpredictable movements, the fights and the resolutions and the bonding of brothers--all quiet. I am left in the fabric of things to wonder at the tapestry we call a culture.
How am I to know what is proper when all have their own true mothertongue? Who can teach me what to say when all I know is jumbled and disheveled based on who I've been and what I know?
I leave behind a southern legacy of liturgy and doctrine that outlines exactly what is human and exactly what is not. I step into a society that constantly years to fill a void--please Lord, find us someone who knows the Truth.
Their apathy and nonchalance is false; bravado is left wanting. I know they they all cry out for connection and seek it in flesh rather than spirit. I am caught in the midst of the pursuit of happiness and the quest for morality. I know not what brings joy to humanity, I hike towards that river and hope it is not run dry like all others.
In the study of psychology, I have found so many places where words fall short and the great carnal animal within all of us takes precedence, demands attention, seeking comfort in a world that often overlooks those that need it the most.
Love is a fragile, timid thing that is most often hard to find and difficult to voice. Instead, we lash out in aggression to hide that inner child that needs a tried and true comfort of a known embrace. We seek forgiveness and express it in anger, manipulation, meeting our needs however possible because this is America, after all.
This is all we want in our sequestered human heart, the beginning of redemption.
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 6:58 PM UTC
As stars reflect the knowledge of the sacred,
The boiling seas of the cosmos churn acrid.
Upon the nurturance of Venus' passionate quivering calls exclaimed,
The essence of God's wrath so lovingly made tame.
As the chariots of love, upon the courtships of epic virtue, possess,
Our goddess sisters, import the specialty of rule, for which the governs obsess.
As Boreas' trumpet sounds a euphoric ecstatic bliss,
Rosicrucian passion bells hither, to a faint swaying and hiss.
As the murmuring embers of the divine, left receded,
Hour of humanities past, no time of present, so subtley defeated.
As upon death, a mummy spreads its rein,
Crucibles of knowledge, all for not, in vain.
The seduction of fertility and the mysteries left to relish,
Though made bitter upon showers of mourn, to embellish.
The disillusionment of our fathers’ petty immortal opportunity made solemn,
The wisest of men, why, amongst the true, made golem.
Take precedence, then and now, when upon your throne of pride,
As the winds of wrath call upon, our savior’s passion tried.
In due notion a precedence of time, without respect,
A fulfillment of God's love, our souls to resurrect.
As dragons drew the chariots of night with profound duration,
A coward’s sword in hand, his skewer's elation.
As stars reflect the knowledge of the sacred,
Humanities, why… derision for dole, left shaken.
As prophets emit, as seen thus…
When stars do let fall the Sun,
Pray thee, a heavenly Venus.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 2:56 AM UTC
I pray to the Man on the Moon; he listens to me every night.
He knows when to send fireflies in green and white glow; I believe in him
just like how I believe in road trips and their gram of health benefits.
I do not believe in sunlight, in daylight, in blazing heat that cuts
my skin without honor or grace, or respect. I believe in the Dusk and the
precedence of Dawn, and the exchange of whimpers between the now and five
minutes before that; in the dust that cannot seem to settle when I hold my
hand against the first greeting of the day.
I am made of dust and sand; I am made of clay, of sheds of disappointments
and blisters of neverending tomorrows. I am skins and heart that skid on
a swinging tire loosely cramped on a tree branch. I lift my feet up before I
do that huge push, and it is the closest to flying. I believe in flying high
and landing deep, with bruises and cuts on my forehead, and splinters on my
palm.
I believe in the Man on the Moon and the truth he tells me. I believe in
looking up, closing my eyes and smiling as I feel the first drops of heavenly
drizzle; I catch some in my mouth. I do not believe in the truth spoken and
outside; I believe in the whispered honesty of tongues who cannot lie, who seek
clapped eyes and receptive hearts. I believe in the witch doctor and if he says
run, I will go.
I believe in quiet nights spent curled with old pressed pages on Earth that
reek of ink and strings and speak of hopeful hearts and bones. I believe in hope.
I always hope. I believe in unmade beds on a Saturday morning and why the sheets remain white.
I don't believe in shared moments spent talking, mouths moving against skins;
I believe in looking, in always searching, in intertwined hands that talk more
than mouths and sharp tongues, in gazing and waiting and understanding that
waiting is the Man on the Moon smiling at me, in the unspoken kindness of
being held.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
Just a simple scrap of paper, stained with his blood, dried red,
It was picked up by a passer- by. It’s author newly dead.
The victims in the towers had been pulverized by stone.
And now could be identified by DNA alone.
For about a decade after, his note was saved, unread,
The M.E. was too busy, bones took precedence instead.
Reflecting pools, the well of souls, are where the towers stood.
There’s a garden of remembrance and that’s all well and good.
His widow and his daughters hung his picture on the wall.
It was like a wound reopened when they finally got the call.
She thought he had died quickly; the second plane had struck his floor.
He worked in the South Tower way up high on eighty four.
“We identified this by the blood, it matched his DNA.”
She stared numbly at the note he wrote that sad September day.
You may view the blood stained note and the message that he wrote
In the Nine Eleven museum in Manhattan
When he'd spent the time we're given,
paper saved him from oblivion.
Now his tragic end will never be forgotten.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 7:27 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Going to the Mosque to pray
Five times a day
Doesn’t make her devout
If she’s going astray
Wearing her hijab in public
Each and every day
Does not mean that she was devout
No matter what you say
How could she have been devout
But clearly disobey
One of the most important things
That the Qu’ran has to say
The unjust killing of the innocent
Can never be okay
It’s as if she killed everyone
In the world today
How could she be saleheen
And do the things she did
With no precedence in sunnuh
That’s doing what Shaytan bid
Islam encourages mercy
And she did not show none
Which adds to the controversy
When she opened fire with her gun
Her devoutness shouldn’t be measured
By how she outwardly appeared
If her Islam had been treasured
All she had to do was adhere
To its principles and tenets
Which clearly she did not share
Nor did she offer penance
That anyone could hear
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
Knock knock knock
There is no precedence
for a knock on the door
she’s busy cleaning
while staring at the floor
Knock knock knock
It’s the insistence of the knock
that has her trembling
and she’s ready to give up
until she starts remembering
There is no one who would
knock upon the door
Her little army of Seven
would never leave her trembling
there is only one
who would want to settle the score
She peers beyond the curtain
and sees fruit
She is hungry, and just a little angry
her army of Seven
are mighty
but they are miners
and she needs to eat
and the apple merchant
is elderly
with a smile
there is no fear
of a brute
Her mouth waters
for a taste of fruit
She opens the door
and reaches forward
murmuring
“Just one taste”
The merchant is eager
to hand over the apple
cackling
“That is all it takes”
"But first and foremost
be warned...
A prince may, or may not
come
Bite the apple
you are the one to decide
Sate your hunger now
or wait!
Eat, or don’t eat
Let your decision be
your demise"
Snow White is hungry
and angry
that the little men
don’t provide
and she’ll bite the apple
holding onto the hope
that her decision
is the one
that will provoke her prince
to ride
to her side
But it was otherwise known
that her prince was thus occupied
by a ***** *****
and he didn’t feel the rip
in the fabric of time
Snow White collapses
clutching the apple
in her hand
representing all her hopes
and dreams
the years trickle away
like sand
It’s apparent that all
that she had left
to watch over her
was a small figure
that if she could see
*would make her run
more than a mile*
But for the apple
clutched in her fist
Poor old Grumpy
might crack a smile
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 6:10 AM UTC