"preservation" poems
Fear makes no sense
it doesn't matter what fear
Fears don't define weather
you are brave or not
weather you are reckless
Or *********
Fear is not,
as some think,
part of your instincts
of survival of self preservation
It can destroy you,
turn you into lil' pieces
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
So …..
Who Are The ...
... " Good Guys " ... ?
In These Modern Times ... ?
Osama … Obama ... ? ?
Or Those … Civil Type Guardia ... ?
What ...
Makes Them Good ... ?
The Guns They Use ...
As If They ... Should ….
To RESTRAIN and ... Defuse ...
VIOLENT … Neighbourhoods … !?!
But REALLY …
Is This ... What They Do … ?!?
I've Heard Stories ...
That … Relay TRUTH ...
About The ABUSE ...
Some Guardia … Choose … !!!
Like …
STRIPPING Men …
In … Spanish Streets ...
To ... Prove To Them ….
The ... Kinda PROBLEMS ...
They're ... BOUND To See ...
If They ... DON'T Respect ...
The ... " Gendarmerie " … !!!!!
Good Guys ….. !!!?!!!
REALLY … ?!?
Or Employed … BULLIES ... !?!
The Type Who ... FEED ...
of … "ABUSE FILLED Deeds" … !!!
The Type That Make ...
Young People … BLEED … !!!
When ...
Guns They … PARADE …
Aren't Used … " Properly " …
Kind of Like …. " NEWTOWN " ….
Where It's CLEAR … Gun Sounds ...
Will Now … RESOUND ...
In The ... Hearts and Mouths ...
of ... Parents Now …
Resound With … " LOSS " … !!!!!
Cos' A ... LOVED One's Gone … !!!!!
WITHOUT A …. Song ….
Or Farewell ... "Prolonged" ...
So …. ???
What Was The Mantra ... ?
of … Adam Lanza ... ?
To Shoot REPEATEDLY ...
In A ... KILLING SPREE …
That Took … SO MANY … !!!!!
Was His Mind So HEAVY ... ?!?
That His Thoughts … CLEARLY …
Had Become … "UNstEAdy" … !!!
So …
Where Were Connecticut's ...
GOOD GUYS … Then … ?
With The ... " NRA " ... !?!
At A ... Shooting Range … ???
Shooting Guns For … "FUN" … !!!
While The Blood of A MUM ...
And Youngsters ..... RUN .....................................
Down SCHOOL Hallways ...
In The … Middle of The Day ... !?!
Now The NRA Says …
"Bad Guys with guns,
need to face, good ones !"
Okay Okay ...
But Let's ... Get This Straight … !!!
It's ... OKAY For A Man ...
Whose Been Paid and Trained ...
To ... SHOOT TO **** ...
Pretty Much AT WILL ...
Cos' It's Been … " Okayed " …
By The …. " NRA " …. !?!
Who Said ...
They Were Good … !!!???!!!
I Learnt My Lesson ...
Watching … Charlton Heston ... !!!
It Would ...
Seem To Me ...
That ... NRA Peeps …
Care ...
MORE For ... MONEY ...
Than When … Children BLEED … !!?!!
It's ... ALL About GREED … !!!
Cos' ...
Good GUYS ... DON'T NEED ...
To Have … " ARMOURIES " ... !!!
To ENSURE The Streets ...
Are Filled With … "PEACE" ...
and I … For One ...
DON'T Believe That Guns ...
Have … ANY Function …
In …. Education …. !!!!!!
Educate Our Youth ….. !!!
About The ...
HARM They Cause ... !!!!!!!
They NEED To Be Schooled ...
In ….... AVOIDING Wars ............ !!!!!!
And In ... Avoiding Depression …
That Leads To HARSH Lessons ... !!!!!
It Time To STRENGTHEN ... !!!
Our Fight Against ... Guns ...
And Time To … " LESSEN " … !!!
" NRA " ... Type Funds ... !!!!!
That SUPPORT … " The Lie "
of ….. " Preservation of life " …
Through The Use of …
………. GUNS …………
Seeing Blood ... Run …
DOESN'T ... Signify FUN … !!!!!
NEITHER Does ...
... The Sight ...
of Police In Schools ...
With A Gun By Their Side … !!!
They Weren't In View …
When I Was ... Being Schooled … !!!
So FOLKS …
DON'T BE ... Fooled ... !!!
By ... Lobbyist Groups … !!!!!
When It Comes To ...
... "Who is Who" …
Who Are THEY To Decide … !???!
When It Comes To ... Peoples' Lives ...
Who The People Should Believe .....
To Be …………………………
... "The Good Guys !!!" ...
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
The hardest part of growing up is the disappointment. The rules of fairness get thrown out the window and it's up to you to pursue your interests. Each person becomes their own main priority. Self preservation. Your heart loses it value to others, your feelings no longer spared. Doing what is right mistaken with what feels right. My problem as of lately has been not doing what has felt right, but what's best for me, finding who's best for me.
Now, don't mistake me. He was a dream. My eyes glittered when I smiled. The first tender touch that scared me, but I was too proud to flinch. Laughter was endless, love ran lucratively. I guess you could say he was the beginning of my disappointment. No kiss could be as sweet.
The next was the captain of saving. He loved the skin I was in and taught me to do the same. He gave me affection, recognition, and a dilemma of delicacy. So sweet yet so twisted, wicked some may say. The sweet taste of sin. My disappointment grew with the seduction of satan.
Now I transition. The ending of a roller coaster. The disappointment began with the first drunken "I love you" I started to believe it myself. In actuality, I think I was just trying to fill the void that sweet kiss originally gave me. Nothing else could replace it. Not even his return. These short romances burn out quickly, only lasting months at a time, but experiencing the most significant of moments. Together, my loves have caused my heart to wither more and more. But it's those small moments that make it all worth it. The moments that I knew somewhere in the midst of the mess they learned to love me, even if it wasn't forever. It happened, and in these moments disappointment grew because I knew they'd eventually end.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 7:47 PM UTC
Crazy passion fast deep soul kiss warnings word breathe reckless love devastated desk art struggle pinstripe attempts drunk ghost lost wind beauty hunger soul smile elegance latte knowing containment bond ink shallow identity measure chaos stumbling darling life dance frenzy sweat hole paper haunted only dreams ****** vandalized scars Achilles proceedings bare deep still pain inside lied courts darkness wind step empty rocky soul whisper eyes alone wrapped inside Athens love smile abuse truth lies time mind bungalow knowing liar violated Pandora’s entanglement flashbacks ****** self-preservation private suit weakness baklava hide lips ******* played deserve hold earth destruction haunted coffin judgment dreams hands eternity sleep sunset lips hidden kissed desire champagne stars taint lovers fallen what **** PR glistening intense echoes seeing taste depth care finally beach rolling salt binding heat lost quietly resumed park come believe myself arms world you skin love stranger now
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
I am half-Chinese and a half Filipino-Spanish.
I have only learnt to speak Filipino my whole life.
The best advises I have received is that there is no right or wrong,
that labels does not always help.
That no matter what, I should just go
and "Live my life", or "Sing in Full Voice, Until Then".
Attentive to a fault to the work or person at hand.
Because of routine and living demands, sometimes I
only pay attention to what is available or given to me.
Like the quest for the Spices of the East, I could no longer live the same way when the time came. I had to learn preservation and other flavors.
In a Asian Food Show, someone shares
How some later generation Chinese had to study their own native language in secret between 1966 to 1998.
Stories of how their migrant or refugee heritage have made them scapegoats of many local tensions.
And varieties of words and ingredients also native to Chinese and later generations that lived offshore.
Many of us now in the thrash of our collective songs
towards healing and full living as humanity, continuing
refugees and wanderers in our own ways.
Where we see our indigenous-selves and our oppressor-selves,
is not as difficult as we are usually made to,
in a world of artificial
demands and surpluses.
One old song gently reminds me
in many languages singing,
as another bowl of handmade noodles
breaks open into countless random pieces:
We are only passing through earth.
Made to experience, and let go of our fears
and limitations.To gather our remains so that
it is inanimate buildings and objects that are used
by the living instead, and nothing is left behind.
To not leave a trace. To learn how to love.#
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
fuel desperation,
and so are valuable
assets in the game
of spinning chambers.
one ***** is all it takes.
you might not believe
a person still wading
through adolescence
could harbor such
malevolent intent.
one slight is all it takes.
age is barely even
a consideration when
haunted by the desire
for revenge or need
of self-preservation.
one fragile moment is all it takes.
fewer years simply
equate to shallower
perspective, exacerbating
youthful impulsivity.
one bullet is all it takes.
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 12:40 PM UTC
I was floating in honey.
The viscosity of the substance
Made it so that, while I still needed to work
To keep my head afloat,
I had a little extra support.
So I didn't have to do it alone.
And it was good.
But my temperature began to rise.
I became too hot too fast, and,
Because of my actions
I started to destroy the beneficial parts
That the honey needed to remain useful and healthy.
So the honey reacted:
Threw my melting self out of its jar.
I tried to jump back in
But the honey firmly ******* its lid back on,
And my charring fists
Fruitlessly pounded on the boundary
The honey had erected.
Then as my body and brain burned,
The other honey jars disappeared-
Distancing in acts of self-preservation.
I knew how I could get my temperature
Back to baseline.
I just needed a little help
So I could work to get back to my normal self.
But my actions had pushed away what I needed.
So I accepted the fate I had caused,
And allowed my body to fall to ash.
Nov 20, 2023
Nov 20, 2023 at 9:05 PM UTC
Don’t love me.
Please, don’t love me.
I know myself, we’re quite close actually, and let me tell you, you don’t want to fall for her,
you don’t want that girl, I hate her.
I hate her because I know her so well and I know how horrible the truth can smell.
Don’t love me, because even I know to hate myself,
the vanity that despite this loathing I might actually believe that someone could fall for me.
Don’t love me.
Don’t love me, because I met Heartbreak once and she left me gasping for air
and I will never meet her again.
I refuse, so if you love me, please be aware that when you do,
some day I am going to leave you, battered and bruised, because
twisted self-preservation has taught me all the tricks to keep myself afloat by drowning you.
Don’t love me.
Because as much as I will love you, I’m not friends with Commitment,
and whenever I see him on the horizon I set off running in the opposing direction.
I will treat you like there will be no oxygen unless I’m holding you,
but when you’re the one reaching for my hand I’ll become the wind.
Commitment is not my friend, I said, but no one listens.
Don’t love me, because I am a tornado, a storm to chase until I’ve taken everything from you.
Don’t love me.
Someday, you will be married and happy, and I will
whirl back into your life like the hurricane that has never been named after me, and
you will believe that all your scars
and your broken heart
have healed enough that you can run with me.
But I have razors between my fingers and wedged in my teeth,
and your scabbed over heartstrings will be powerless against me.
I am an expert at running, at hurting, at ‘maybe’s.
Don’t love me.
When you ask me for something more,
I will tell you that I am not ready, because I never will be.
Chances scare me, and trusting someone so much will always be risky.
I will tell you that I am not in the right place for your Commitment,
for your future Heartbreak,
and you will tell me that you understand but you’ll stick with me,
and fire will consume everything.
Don’t love me.
I can’t even go a few years with a friendship before
burning it all for at least a few evenings, but we’ll always rebuild the
rickety ashes of the bridges we’ve passed.
Don’t love me.
I’m only saying it for your safety.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 11:22 PM UTC
Fear too is an epidemic, it stretches out like
An incubation period for a kind of doom
Population control, whispered a silent elite
Who engineer our wallets, our GMO food, our futures
Ebola was a convenient way, of making us fear
Who we once were again, black as a Nigerian
We died alone in deathbeds, isolated plastic containers
For who we once were, our organs giving out
Infection was a spider hand, MSM gave us
False positives, but could the main-stream-media
Be trusted any longer? Wasn’t this just a matter
Of time, an algorithm set loose upon the billions?
Fear is that place, where people go in adversity
It’s hypnotic like an audience at a concert
It’s contagious how the will for self-preservation can spread
Fight of flee, but where to run, out of the cities?
The new normal is a kind of paranoia
While we watch the situation very closely
Every hour there is underground news about
Another case in another country, Ebola isn’t
Your grandmother that only likes good climates
She’s an engineered hypothesis of how mobility
Causes any true pandemic to become a flamboyant outbreak
The comet that signals black plagues has been seen
Fear too is a weapon, when you can’t stop the world
Because it’s too costly to do so, and you can’t
Tell the world not to fly because we’re too free
We left Africa a long time ago, but who among us
Would stand 20 meters from their open graves?
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
Money melting in a spoon,
let's shoot it into our veins.
Flashing Kardashian lights,
streaming into our brains.
Donald Trump! He's our man!
Mark Muslims is the plan!
All-you-can-eat-
Pile. It. The. **** High.
When you walk or
When you talk,
let the words squeak out
like they're between
Your thighs.
Thighs. American thighs,
Dreaming next to our Calvins.
Our slacktivism, our regurgitated ideas
spitballing out of our McDonald's mouths
into our peers' ears, distilled by years
And years of "almost-knowledge"
that we quasi-ascertained,
if we knew what that meant --
but we've been left behind!
No child left the **** behind!
We were left behind and there's no
possible way we slacked off, that we're dumb,
that we aren't the movie stars destined for
Lamborghini cars, five-star bars, designer bodies
for designer you and designer me:
the most special of the unique, the
Pearls that have been made in the
darkest parts of the sea, the darkest parts of
origin. Origin. ****** ****
American **** virginal ideals sliding around
the muck of a marketable **** fuckfest,
******* of the American mind, the
congratulations of the American ego,
the proud mother and father tears associated with
buying and lying, "trying" and frying our food,
our ideas, our friends, our neo-impressionistic
children in Jordans, skinny jeans, on tumblr:
the unknowing cousin of Fox News, surprised
by its own wit and wisdom: they're ******* twins.
Carbon copies, unknowing, unwilling, un-un-un.
The romanticism of mental illness.
The close-up of reality-tv emotion.
The manipulation taught to servers
from managers.
The manipulation taught to customers
from society.
All we care about is **** image, and ***
Self-preservation: **** Donald Trump
and **** you.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 12:39 AM UTC
With a raffling breath
I sate death neatly
I am now in trust
Dead
And being played into new life
There's a swelling of new strifes
and wavings from within
Heats of organisms
Worlds accelerating
Pulsion
Gases waste and gases invitations
take place where I have been
A celebration
A bedding
If only The Humans would leave
the 'Dead Body' be
Just when I am finally achieved
They make a bother
I'll make out a doner card
No, a placard
"No Preservation Upon Death !
Corpse Rights Remain !"
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 11:03 PM UTC
When we think about the choices in our lives
When we fight and we bicker and become bitter
When we think there is only power or powerlessness
If we can realize that there is power and powerlessness
Then haven't we began to acquire consciousness
In that instance haven't we began the process of choice
That there is those who have not have given birth to this consciousness
To those who have only lived powerlessness
And know nothing else
Haven't you owed them part of your consciousness
That you have ceased to be one of them
Or your mere power has denied one of them
That there is no choice for them
Because they haven't birthed that consciousness
And if you choose power they'll remain powerless
Because within you there is no loyalty, right?
It is a choice predicated by an erroneous concept of self-preservation
It is a treacherous dichotomy; doesn't make sense
This is not an indictment of your desire not to suffer
Because surely to hold power would cease your suffering
But it is this type of power that thrives on the proliferation of powerlessness
This conceptual understanding of what it means to have power
That is not what we've come learn, but readily ascribe to
That a mind and body can cultivate power
That can be harvested, shared, communal
For the sole purpose of the survival of the other, not the self
That that can survive in this world is impossible
Its antithetical to the modes of production
In which our societies operate and thrive
How can workers begin to derive power from their collective efforts
How can workers' purchasing power equal the power of the production of their labor
How can any community in any corner of the world escape
The misanthropic missions of first world free trade capitalism
When will we reclaim our escaping humanity
When will we cease to keep feeding the system with our minds, our bodies, our labor
How much longer can we become fodder, scraps, waste feeding the machine
And don't think that you are safe when you have made it
When you have entered the circle of dominance
Because it is then when you will loose your humanity or die
It is at that apex of power that your presence becomes
Just as dispensable as that of the powerless
Because to maintain that circle of dominance
Requires a total conversion to misanthropy
The rigor with which your power will be required
To keep proliferating powerlessness will give no break
And when you become useless, it will replace you
So that we must realize that the modes of production
That we allow to exploit us
In powerlessness, or the semblance of power
Can never safeguard our humanity
How much further will we allow power to be concentrated
So that soon we ourselves, or our children won't have a choice
Won't have the consciousness of power just powerlessness
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
Mobile phone
Apple I pad
Are these great inventions
Or are they bad?
Face book
Twitter
Take all our time
I refuse to succumb
There not taking mine
Then there's face time
Available to see
Whoever you like
But they won't see me
People like sheep go on line
Not realising
Just how much time
That they have wasted
Nothing gained
Many have been bullied
Many brought to shame
There's a lack of privacy
Lack of respect
Being projected
We therefore must protect
Our self preservation
Dignity pride
Or you may just find
Your washed up
With the tide
Sure I'm not alone in
thinking
Life was a slower Pace
Before Internet intervention
And mobile phone took their place .....
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
Morsi stands among
his people as an expression
of Egypt's democratic will
democratically elected
his feet are rooted in the
constitutional right to rule
Morsi has one foot on a
pillar of secular democracy
promising to uphold Egypt's
journey to an egalitarian future
this pillar advances the
republican ideal that
safeguards diversity
and a people's liberty
to express free will
this pillar brought him
to office and justifies his
right to rule
ironically it’s also a pillar
that Morsi's guiding philosphy
find impossible to suffer
Morsi's other foot is firmly
planted on a pillar of
Sharia sympathies
upholding the divine
foundation of his rule
over this earthly principality
Muslim Brotherhood’s
cardinal principles
undermine the pillar
of secular precepts
that equally enfranchise
all citizens
Sharia Laws allows no standing
to equal rights of women,
religious minorities,
LGBT civil liberties and
advocates suppression
of atheistic and
progressive political groups
this has riled the
democratic sympathies
of the Egyptian people
Morsi's actions
threaten to tip the pillar of
secular democracy back
into the Nile’s murky waters
Morsi's stance
is precarious and as his
feet slip he realizes
he is not the
Colossus of Rhodes
he believed himself to be
discovering it impossible
to bestride the pillars
supporting incompatible
structures
the generals have declared
a road map for stability that
rescinds the constitution,
dissolves the parliament
and places the military
as sole protectorate
of the nation
is the preservation of
a democratic republic more
important than the return
to the rule of a military junta?
is it more wise to place
principles before personalities?
Morsi’s next steps are
uncertain
The pathway of the
people’s democratic
journey remains unclear
the sound of the military’s
marching boots grow louder
Music Selection:
Sweet Honey on the Rock
Marching Off to Freedom Land
Oakland
070313
jbm
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 11:08 AM UTC
Creating
that fallacious intimacy
wrapped
arm around arm
with a nameless
body.
It's easy to get
temporary satisfaction
from it.
Even though
you're chilled
and hollow inside.
The want
of not being lonely
can be too strong.
Keeping up
the exhausting task
of costant contact.
Never really
developing
a bond deeper
than physical sedation
can tire out.
It will ash away
as soon as you move
an inch
in that position
which is holding
unstably present.
Distance
would be the ruiner
of that
shallow fantasy.
But...
to be hundreds
of miles and moments
away from someone.
To be
alone and removed
from the one
who you have
a real, unrelenting
connection with.
To know
you are singular
in that very moment
but not unsupported.
Having them
somewhere you're not,
holding onto your
spiritual thread.
To achieve real
intimate foundation
in knowing the body
doesn't have to tie you
together.
That's an ember that,
when set to breathe,
engulfs you both.
Understanding
and feeling comfort
that when surrounded
by faces
and being unknown to them
is alright.
Since
that person
who lingers in your mind
Is a whisper
off your lips
and is there
in that place you
left them.
They've penetrated inside
that fortress of caution
and self-preservation and
they get you.
They are there,
hidden
and carried with you.
With their hands
cradling and cherishing
your heart
like the treasure
it is.
The enormous responsibility.
To be
the keeper of
warmth and familiarity
and home.
Even though
being separated
from one another
you are reminded of what
exists between you.
By
concentrating and honing
in on the weight
which lives
there.
That love
and loyalty
and equal respected commitment
to take care of what
the other is given.
The total
vulnerable
surrender of
yourself.
That is something
worth wanting.
That is something
to daydream for.
That...
is what we all
crave.
© NDHK
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 1:10 PM UTC
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Though the faraway look combs through the glances, the heads lowering and longing
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
The icicle street of perturbing yellow parallel lines and molasses traffic that seems to rake the people across pavement into curvatures of avoidance keep me running.
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
I repeat it, a gesturing phrase, recurring, as I watch the transcendent glow, a denouement to a one-sentence story.
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Could have: (What will save the moment in untickable preservation?)
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
songs of freedom in Kenya are paradoxical of themselves
they have become the songs of oppressive tyranny
they are not songs that were sang by freedom fighters
in the tropical forests of aberdares and Mabanga
they are blissful carols of powers that be
mouthed by the state poets in the deadly feats
of political sycophancy fuelled by cult of betrayal
and espionage, a real substructure of state dictatorship
they are not the true songs of mau mau
that were sang by Kimathi wa miciuri
they are the songs of the top crust of the tribal
and political powers that be in oblivion of
the cultural revolutionaries that countermanded
cultural Darwinism of European imperial gamesters
they are not the songs sang by Elijah Masinde
of Dini Msambwa that spirited up cultural aura
of cultural dignity;which cautioned certainly
an African against the cultural call of the white culturalizer
the African to balk and turn his back
and **** and spit scornfully at cultural trickster in the colonial ploy
to dance for Dini ya Msambwa in the spirit of war and fires of war
that is to be fought in preservation of democracy and cultural freedom.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 7:19 AM UTC
do any of you get a rush of elation
starting from that first notification
that sense of peer validation
from a selfie with a random quotation?
it fills me with so much frustration
that i can't go a single days duration
without posting content for admiration
each time needing more and more adoration
with each and every notification
for my self-esteem's preservation
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 7:48 PM UTC
For love to flourish
Some ideas on life we need to punish
And for unity to feel unified
Some old philosophies should be denied
A universal charter of peace
One that imprisons any aggressor with no signs of an early release
Third world or new world, rich and poor
Eternally searching for so much more
At breaking point and primed for implosion
Standing at the towns gates and cheering totalitarianism on its arduous march into expulsion
As masses we move in uncertain terms
Living to absorb , to almost defend the disease, the genetic germs
The crowd ask questions, seek answers of clarity
Settling no more for the disgust of others impunity
Maybe the balance will tilt
And the toxic flowers of the current state of affairs begin to wilt
Global humanity free to exist and have an honest future of preservation
Not just confined to a future in some wildlife conservation
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
Teasing the beast
Looking for a feast
Hounds barking at our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Compartmentalizing symptom after symptom
To hide the great systematic sickness
Labeling the suffering, outcome from desire
We, wholeheartedly accepting being
Appropriated, labeled, discarded
As construing our own oppression and sadness
Enduring the **** of our minds
Being castrated of our consciousness
Before we reap the products
Of its bold liberation and grandness
Its the belly of the beast
And its hungry
Insatiable, amoral entrails
Hoping to salvage a feast
From the casualties of d(e)moc(ratic) wars
Hoping we feed our monstrous fear
Thirsting for the greed
Dripping off of accumulating wealths
Impatiently waiting, we keep parceling out grudges
Disfiguring our minds, our souls, and our bodies
Its misanthropic nature lashes out without conscience
Knowing we'll never realize we are masses
Disappearing the individuals who realize their suffering
Ensuring there's no collective opposition or action
Trying to reassure we are weak
Knowing at some point or another
We all act mute, deaf, and blind when anyone experiences:
Oppression
Pain
Silencing
****
Hunger
Fear
Violence
Repression
Retaliation
Discrimination
Torture
Negation
Alienation
All forms of mental, psychological, physical, and spiritual mutilation
Fearing death more than fighting for necessary abolishment
Preferring to live out our veiled miseries
Endorsing their continuance
Instead of risking our lives for everyone's liberation
Always ensuring the feast of the beast
By its very efforts trying to decree our very human nature
Ingraining greed, fear, animosity, and weakness as if inherent of us
All parts of its most damaging weapon: the seed of discord
Its implantation, a socialized deep desire for self-preservation
Sheep bleating painfully toward our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Signifying the impending recapturing
Of our true transformative desires
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
I, ConnectHook
DEMAND recognition as The Most Boring Poet of all.
You’ll never touch me so don’t even TRY.
Don’t even bother dipping your quill again,
you mere drip on the mildewed scroll of antediluvian parchment,
you cuneiform Cunégonde, you proto-Canaanite pottery fragment,
you keyboarding failed clown
and archeological relic unworthy of preservation
in a third-rate underfunded Albanian museum…
I, and I alone, dragged myself up from the protoplasmic slime
to BORE you.
I transitioned from amphibian to anthropoid
before your mama even MET the postman.
I stood upright upon the ****** battleground of evolutionary struggle
and SELECTED MYSELF (naturally).
Now pass that banana right over here.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
**the banner photograph that the poem references is off now, but...
The poem is about a photo I took, outside looking in, where the window and an interior mirror, both reflected me, outside, outwards, but caught the interior of the house within, and the interior of our lives, which was my intent, but the poem came later....
a self portrait,
a reflection
in a window, in a mirror.
a man stick figure
within and without.
me hidden, armed,
iPad spyglass
one upon the other,
unaware of observation,
introspection / extrospection.
man, external,
grilling striped bass,
woman, internal,
kitchen caught slicing heirlooms,
a dressing awaits,
peach salsa,
the seagulls inform me.
Outdoors, indoors.
bay,
in the background.
living room, kitchen,
in the foreground
couching, crouching, cooking,
a closeup and landscape,
of two lives.
so the photo treatment,
introspection / extrospection,
upon reflection,
a poem ouside-insight.
a moment to reflect upon a reflection of a moment.
this how I see things,
and why not you too?
Double vision.
outside, looking in, inside, looking outward.
then,
at the point of intersection,
a memory recorded,
always recording,
paths, moments,
worthy of note.
such a note, here,
record of a photograph.
preserving my preservation.
tho photo blurry,
what you see,
is what I see.
lives of symmetry
summer symmetry is my life.
life is my summer symmetry.
exactly.
August 2012
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:14 PM UTC
Beautiful colors
Vibrant light
Dark shadows
Pain in the night
Long lines
Smooth as glass
Shards await
A looming crash
Lights beckon
Future promise
Sudden pain
Bleeding bliss
Secret words
Sight unseen
Another's intent
You must glean
Time slows
Breaking it's gait
Simmer alone
Enduring your fate
Beautiful spell
Shivering joy
Maturity lost
Happy boy
Words burst
Forcing their way out
Focused attention
There is no doubt
Emotional courage
Consumed with fear
Faith in you
But you're not here
Passion builds
Only to peak
Inevitable pauses
Not for the weak
Feelings ebb
Self-preservation
Love never dies
Winter's hibernation
Reality lives
In this different world
In our dark minds
We are hurled
In a new way
Love is defined
Held back
Our actions confined
Their face
You cannot see
Their words
All they can be
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC