"prevalent" poems
TO: icarus
i don’t feel anything when i look at you anymore
TO: icarus
but, sometimes, i miss your freckles like crazy
TO: icarus
okay so maybe i lied
TO: icarus
i keep trying not to
i keep failing
TO: icarus
but i guess it’s just that
you are like no one i’ve met
TO: icarus
and it’s dumb to call you my first love
when you didn’t even love me back,
but… man, you were my first love
TO: icarus
i love(d) you so bad.
TO: icarus
and if i see you on the sidewalk,
i cross the street because i’m so afraid of brushing by you
and falling all over again
TO: icarus
i don’t think i’d be strong to crawl back out this time
TO: icarus
how dumb i was to think i’d be enough for icarus
TO: icarus
i loved icarus and he dragged me into the sun with him
TO: icarus
i loved icarus and he let me drown in the ocean,
grasping for the feathers of his wings
TO: icarus
you made me want to understand gods,
but i only knew about monsters
TO: icarus
god, you didn’t deserve the immortality
that i gave you
TO: icarus
you didn't deserve a single thing
TO: icarus
so if i’m ever the kind of poet they write biographies about
and whose work high schoolers are forced to analyze,
some underpaid english teacher
is going to have to talk about you
as the mysterious and slightly vilified figure
prevalent in my work
TO: icarus
you're in between every line
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
Most schools have projects, in science classes and such.
Most of us, mastered the science of surviving in projects.
It's those at the bottom who need the most help, but cant even get proper school supplies.. where's the logic ?.
But oh, the rags to riches story is prevalent isn't it? Nope, the only rich I know is Professor Richard.
And that's not even something worth mentioning, he does more lessening than lessons lets paint the picture..
But these young kids don't understand, they try to curse them, place them in prisons, its a trap from birth..
Give them these Rick Rosses as role models, knowing they don't have fathers, instead of Tupac Shakur, showing them worth..
My bestfriend Tony once questioned his dark skin, just like i once questioned my brown.
how profound, a couple 4th graders at the time, having to prove that they were "down".
Crazy how Tony proved he was down, now i visit his site yearly on November the third.
And things aren't getting better, but nobody gives a **** haven't you heard..
The prayers our mothers chant, ritually every night.
Praying to the Sun gods, perhaps one day we'll all unite.
-afj
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:34 AM UTC
every friday, i put on makeup
i think it looks good
with eye shadow and just the right amount of nail glitter
i can look like
golden royalty, an azure fairy, a lime snake-kid
but
every friday, i get a second train of thoughts
i think i look not-as-good
with a thinner face and less prevalent raven-feathers under my eyes
i could look better
why don't i look better
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
What if they had a War and nobody came !
my sentiment all along
Actions so transparent and telegraphed a mile long
absurd anchoring, even more absurd triggering
so absurd as to be meaningless
the hotchpotch logic of simpletons on acid
The banal manifestations of the anodyne retards with advanced hysteria
Think unruly kids on Colombian marching powder
think advanced psychosis with total stage ten delusions
Watch mass hysteria contagion
Logic was never there, rationality bolted beating Usain Bolt
Inveterate liars and fantasists now control maddened throngs
Oh dear! they decided I am madly in love with acquaintance
neither I or poor acquaintance know this
But let not the truth get in the way of a soap opera by the insanes
After All meaningless triggers and Delusionary prompts
keep the sheeples busy in People's Power utopia
They are all having a war, nobody has told me about it
I don't understand their language yet they are very eloquent
Deep in their imagined Neuro-linguistic Programming or mental pygmies playing Pavlov Dog theory of the semi-illiterates
I just realized why cancer is prevalent amongst them
They carry so much poison and emotional ******* in their beings
It pollutes and eat away at them internally, they get cancer!
Never have been interested in little minds and liars and thieves
Have little time for dumb people, the toxics and the sheeples
What makes cretins think I take anything of theirs to mind
what can I learn or gain from contemptibles
I don't feel inferior so why would I want to learn
how to slander and defame others to bring them down
'Slander is the GREAT LEVELLER voiced one of them
poor inadequate soul, poor pathetic degenerate
I look twenty years younger than my years, no wrinkles
Just slightly greying, mind as sharp as razor
Because I don't carry acidic ******* hate or foul nonsense
in my head,
Because my mind is full of worthy knowledge
because I am not an ignoramus with attitude
because I am not a shameless coward or an empty headed nonentity
Because I am not amongst the madding crowd
I am not an insignificant pointless HATER with cancer in waiting!
I am NOT a SHAMELESS RACIST white THIEF discrediting the
Victim I STOLE from
OR
an OBNOXIOUS gang of SOCIALIST crazed subhumans cancerized
by jealousy and envy
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC
I got no more ***** on my arms, vaginal schemes and gospel psalms. Very private skinny tribes, lit up with oversized black lights. In the very end, everybody walks this way, they all move like idioms, they all wanna be lit up like stars. Some could be prevalent like cascading dreams, nauseous just like mesquite BBQ baby-back wings.
Fly away little bird, fly away. But don't try to leave
Or you won't get paid.
I know very well, just what kinda caption your capsaicin
Can be, lit up like honey blunts, golden stars on top of your christmas tree. Strawberry Swisher Sweets, Blueberry Dunhill flavors, poke your hand through the fence, make friendly on your neighbors. If you like Kimmel Live, Conan at Midnight too, recipes for the zombies, SS ****** Youth. Blow-up and be a party. Get off work and drink your check. Get down, get off- I'll show you. Just how Martin pays the rent.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
I woke up from a dream, in which I met an old lady, who was such a *****
My grandson, who is two ate fish fingers from a plate, as he sat in the luggage rack at the front of the bus.
The old lady got off chuntering and muttering, that he shouldn't be eating fingers made out of fish, as he was sat on the bus.
****** woman picked them of and stole them straight from his plate,
Muttering, that it was disgusting eating fish fingers while sat on the bus.
"Listen here mate, that's wholly inappropriate", said I.
Somehow resisting the urge to punch her in the eye.
I cursed and cussed and I gave her my worst.
While my grandson, just sat still on the bus, still a little bemused
He's not used to old lady's pinching his food.
She got off the bus, after facing my daggers, just looks, as I don't often cook.
She had the audacity to steal his tea, apart from bits of verbal conflict, got off ****** scot free she did.
My grandson, he just looked up at me, after squishing the remnants into my knee.
My most expensive rain coat is now in need of washing.
I'm wondering now who'll be fitting the bill.
My heart melting grandson looked straight into my eyes.
At the end of this story, he's the perfect prize.
But he's still a little hungry, as she stole his fish fingers.
And this silly bit of prose is just a pack of silly lies.
Made up as the result of a dream, I just had.
Here's hoping you enjoyed my tale.
It's pouring with rain and blowing a gale.
Probably the noise it drew me from sleep.
The times when dreams are prevalent.
When fantasy from dreams be inventive and put to wholly good use.
(c)Livvi
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 5:56 AM UTC
This is the fairy godmother's dream,
In this world nothing is what it seems,
A tribute to Martin Luther King,
I do dream of a circling ring,
Of global helping, healing hands,
I dream of Peace in every land,
I dream that guns be obsolescent,
That equitable freedom be made prevalent,
I dream that hunger be obsolescent,
I dream that safe water be ever present,
I dream that children grow and play in unity,
I dream that none be taught bigotry,
I dream of women free of discrimination,
I dream of no slavery in any nation,
I dream of one global human race,
I dream of an infectious smile on every face,
I dream of the perfect communion of the soul,
I dream that Heaven on Earth be our whole,
Maybe I dream impossible dreams,
In a world where nothing is what it seems.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 6:56 PM UTC
This verse soundscape
is labelled dejected and angry.
Procrastinated
pockets
of
hope deferred
make the heart choke
in a vice-like
pressure cooker
tension filled
with
the cardiac solution called
LIFE
Think about it.
Tasting your own medicine
is
such a bitter pill to swallow.
They say
“Be the change that you want to see”
but
NO CHANGE
I see
on paths traveled
now
&
before
me.
Does this mean
the change I want to see
is
‘no change’
– a Spirit
personified
slowly
dying
yet
living
within you and me?
Think about it.
Tired of a dead lifes' heart attack?
then
SEE THROUGH
the change you want
to be.
On your journey
bitter pills do digest.
USING
the
MEMORY
of that
ill
taste
to heal
&
outlive
the sickness
prevalent in this
human
**RACE
?**
Think about it.
WHAT REALLY IS YOUR HURRY?
S L O W D O W N.
Can't you can see ?
GRAVES'
great joy
is
to
blind & thieve
"your grace"
leaving you
with just enough energy
to
kick the bucket,
while robbing you of understanding
that these
sweet words
origin
from
YOU
to
ME
reflecting
what 20-20
would let you
really see...
**You are Kings & Queens**
Think about it.
We are all connected unilaterally.
Put plainly;
we agree to disagree,
in the midst of the fact that
there can be
no lasting freedom
until there is a weathered
wisdom
of
UNITY.
So(w),
If you see her
hold fast,
relinquish not,
D O N 'T L E T GO!
For
that's the point
when we truly become
LOST SOULS.
© Qwey.ku
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
My mental capacity is reaching its max
Ideas don't develop to their full potential like they used to, leaving them in a minor state
They can't be touched by man without it considered to be molestation
My words are virgins, seeking to be sought
But this isn't the place to be a wanted thought
The world doesn't want truth, and they're nothing but innocent
Truth is inevitable but unfortunately, it's not prevalent
We prefer the ugly in the lies, and treat it like a *****
Show it the love that is only deserved to be seen by a woman that you've taken the hands of in the face of the All Mighty.
You **** it. **** it. Lick it dry.
Oh the amount of love you're willing to show, to something like a lie
"But it's right there"
That's your only excuse
Because you're way too lazy to seek the beauty of the naked truth
We're removing the sweetness from the sugar
And the melodies from the songs
All to try to belong in a world that has no problem with moving right on along
Without us
This isn't how it's supposed to be
We're supposed to feel the softness on the rugged trunks of the trees
We're supposed to sing with the wind and hum with the bees
We're supposed to write on the skies using the ink provided by our seas
But we're not.
This is how the story goes
This is how the end unfolds
With that incomplete feeling
That undeveloped thought
Cause my words are nothing but virgins…seeking to be sought.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
Life is a fighter's ring
your opponent
is life's most downs
with all its fury
forever challenging us most prevalent surely...
What type glory
do you choose
when failing your fighter's round?
Do you pick yourself up
after crashing
to the ground?
What glory in rising
your situation
newly found?
What invention
of yourself
in your up and coming round?
Do your cheering crowds please you
your real friends know
your need?
Will you rise yourself up
in a thunderous quickened speed?
So, your fighter's glory in rising
each bout that you take
Will you rise yourself up
for your honor is at stake...
-This is why i think that most average are heroes no matter what country-
RW Dennen
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC
A vehement deity,
father of a carpenter,
and proprietor of creationism,
looked down upon his work,
both literally and figuratively.
When an ecosystem falls to the
egocentricity of man, a vessel
will be sought, and contained is
the righteousness of a mortal.
Serenity became inclination, and
with loss of the feminine beauty
came regret. For sin masqueraded
as black clouds, and whether
change occurs, torrential rain begets
growth in an environment. Wash over
the sins of the ****** what is current
can only be exposed as a fallacy when
revelation is prevalent,
and save for the innocent:
innocuous.
Even in Hell a cyprus tree would be
surrounded by wildflowers.
Noah knew not of damnation, and
with calloused hands raised to the sky,
a hammer came crashing down.
Not unlike stone tablets
etched with command,
the world lay on granite,
with a universal epitaph.
For Noah to ignore his destiny
would be blasphemous.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
*where are women really safe?
how is it that society-collect FAILS
as humanity stumbles yet again.. and again?
our lady-folk are not safe*..
Amaya-bai finds little comfort but in sibilant-twin
as no eye of sun nor ginoo laid eye on this binukot
Olga is the silent-saint; believes in charity at home
yet chaos ensues too easily - she is wronged and just gets.. lost in the system
Zandile fetches precious amanzi in her sun-soaked calabash
her vigilant-sister falls.. roving guerrilla-men from the river's edge
Michelle, la petite belle, survives the daily-grind via low-coin
tubes to Champs-Élysées as assistante-de-pharmacie
Aadita, from the outset at 15, dons a veil hiding ****** acid-burns
she has some relative-luck to escape sati later on
Amy with downtrod-heart, grabs the tram to downtown family
wearing dark glasses and gloves on rainy-day blues
Emiko graced (yet cursed) with beauty struggles with ancient-practice
despite the ban, silent-suffering lotus-gait in the tiny village
Aisha may be alive but not well from ethnic-marking tragedy
as irugu are outcast from all-too prevalent gishiri-cruelty
*might as well take a trip to Vladivostok
or be dumped in a sarcophagus
beneath the Pyramids
safer there*
S T - 27 sept 2013 - freitag
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 3:59 AM UTC
So you think you are a master of techniques of persuasion?
You shallow pips-squeak, mediocrity is your mastery
the obsequious hoi polloi that surround you are the pitiable averageness of conciliation
Sophistry and subterfuge are your game of compromised facts
syllogistic arithmetic conceptualizing doesn't make anything so
your addition is flawed by your bungled bombast of banality and guile
fortunately for you, your crowd will never study logic
fortunately for you semi-literacy is de rigueur
You pompous swollen grandiose mass of hyperbolic gas
Fear is what you offer, lies are what you sell
your rhetorical flourish is as the stench of a waste dump
fetid, corpulent, fallow and febrile
toxic
half-truths, innuendos, ambiguities, conjecture and asinine aspersions comprise your specious fare,
fostering rumours, manipulating facts, you are the purported Biblical brood of vipers so extensively reviled against
Your relevancy is attributable to the dull stupidity so profusely prevalent today
Your "success" is the stuff of taint and treachery
You'll probably choke to death on a stuck piece of poorly masticated flesh
so appropriate and befitting the demise of a professional liar
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
heart dormant
riding
forest green
inspiring;
soul seeking
openings
in vain
searching
spaces hollow
ridden disdain;
light fading
belief remains
wishing prevalent
keep on
discovering
well of tame
delight
dreaming
hoping
tomorrow invite
new insight.
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 10:45 AM UTC
#**Plagiarism and Biomimicry
Prevalent In Nature
Sustenance Is The Conjecture**#
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 7:40 AM UTC
In the black hills he lies,
in his old Kentucky home.
A passion within his mind,
burning, despite the cold.
He knows not what he is doing,
thinking with a mind that is not his.
He knows only that which can be known,
and that is all there is.
A wind is prevalent within him,
one that chills him to the bone.
Acting against his bitter nature,
he stares down an unknown road.
He swore he’d never act on impulse,
he swore he’d never lose his mind.
Focus was all he really had,
then she came into his life.
She takes away the security,
the way he knows so well.
But can she bring down his walls?
Time will only tell.
She entices him with greetings.
With her, he feels so close.
Still, he finds words escape him,
in the presence of a black rose.
No doubt that he fears change,
and he fears what could be.
He fears what he cannot control,
and she is vigorous and free.
Separated by a vast sea,
yet strangely together in heart.
He finds he knows not what to say,
so he watches it fall apart.
Act once on impulse,
Twice on intuition.
Act three is completely irrational,
But brings this to fruition
He tries to avoid reality,
because he knows what it holds.
He is absorbed within that passion,
to avoid all the cold.
In this old Kentucky home,
among the black hills, he lies.
Too fearful to take a chance,
He’s found his spirit has died.
And, so, by reaching out,
he is met with only scorn.
In reaching for that black rose,
he has only grabbed her thorns.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 7:43 AM UTC
I am an escaped prisoner from barred disillusion,
A personable recluse fighting the illusion
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion.
I wonder how it is that I find optimism alone,
When collective pessimistic thoughts condone
The woeful tales that howl and moan.
I hear voices of people that aren’t there,
Yet find myself in calmness aware
Despite their tormented accusational affair.
I see ideals living and thriving out there
Even when apathy or indifference ensnare
Battered hearts and worn out minds in despair
I want nothing more than to ‘want’ so desperately
I hold onto desire so restlessly,
That I’ve tired the being of my entity,
I am an anomalous paradox captive to the sea
Where waters churn in active disharmony,
Yet comfort as it may my tranquility.
I pretend that I’ve already staked my global legacy
As if my words, thoughts, and feelings,
Have changed the world entirely.
I feel everything as I believe it should be,
Riding the waves of intensity
In emotionally humble serendipity,
I touch the stars in remote prose,
Wandering the vast expanses without close,
Wherever my mind goes, it goes.
I worry about the future of humanity,
As if I was merely here to watch observantly
From some unknown eternity.
I cry for those in silent pain
With fake smiles of disdain
Who dare not speak for thought in vain.
I am a quiet observer of the human condition
Checking and balancing sedition
Though never granting my submission.
I understand the fallibility of the mind,
Gathering as many perspectives I can find,
Theorizing everything to which I’m inclined.
I say it’s all relative but it’s all relevant
Prone to be dominated by the prevalent
Missing the subtleties that are heaven sent.
I dream when I’m awake through my ideals,
Even when they’re still just spinning wheels,
Hoping they gain traction as time reveals.
I try to be better than the day before,
As that’s the best way to keep score,
When the world has us compared to others so much more.
I hope my legacy is genuine,
I regret nothing even when I sin,
As time wears down my wrinkled grin.
I am only human, to live and to die,
That’s about all we can be or rely,
And honestly this notion breaths me a sigh.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
594
The Battle fought between the Soul
And No Man—is the One
Of all the Battles prevalent—
By far the Greater One—
No News of it is had abroad—
Its Bodiless Campaign
Establishes, and terminates—
Invisible—Unknown—
Nor History—record it—
As Legions of a Night
The Sunrise scatters—These endure—
Enact—and terminate—
2.4k
When I was in 6th grade
I stepped out of the shower
Naivety prevalent in my smile
There was my family,
faces wet from crying
saying that you were leaving
you could barely speak the words
they were so big
they choked your throat
the truth
you never thought you'd have to speak
the frames of every picture; shattered
and I walked across the glass; barefooted
without a care
My mind wandered with questions;
what will it be like?
where will me, mom and sister go?
who will I go with?
who will sister go with?
where will you move to?
That summer was the strangest summer
my sister had two birthday parties
I was jealous
and at her communion
your mother refused to hug mine
a sucker punch from the world's strongest man
You came home; tried to fix things
nobody was optimistic
the fights before school
left happiness and any sense of optimism;
that a 13 year old boy should have,
in dreams
it finally sunk in
when we looked for new places to live
I was happy on the outside
(I think thats when I started to develop my think shell)
but my mind was still cluttered with questions;
will you be okay?
will we be okay?
will things be okay?
what
is
okay?
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
**Who did the *****
I'm wanting to know
Was it Chrysta or Alex
Or someone unknown?
*27 ***** chilled my spine to the bone*
I've seen less ***** on **** sites** that I surf when alone
Evidence was prevalent at the High School and the class fool was pinned as the guy
Peter and Sam then planned to document everything to figure out who and why
I won't spoil specifics cause that wouldn't be slick
I'll let you peruse through a plot so thick
Keep your eyes open watch for clues in the mix
And ask yourself this question:
**Who Did The *****
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
Here I am, the manic pixie dream girl of, you guessed it; your dreams. I am here to ask you questions about your boring, probably something generic, major like business or management or maybe even some type of art form that no one really knew existed until you decided to bring it to your high school and of course the liberal arts school of your dreams has that EXACT program and all the means to support it financially. Of course, I will always ask about you. How your day is, how your plain black coffee is, what you thought of that one song that played as we were walking into the train after a date that both of us probably went on looking to get laid. But in the end, it will always be you. I will continue to fluff your deflated ego that was caused as such by some hollywood trope from your hometown like a cheerleader or maybe even someone who was on AV Club with you, who really knows, because I sure as hell don’t care to do any research into it. Now, part of being your early to mid-twenties manic pixie dream girl, it is essential for us to bond over old broken up bands that neither one of us were actually alive to see perform yet that dream of ours is still so prevalent as we make conversations over whiskey you assume I like because of it’s pretentious name that you will describe as “harsh yet creamy, dry but sweet” and on bad nights I will tell you that it tastes like the back of my father’s hand and you will laugh at a joke I did not intend to tell but then again I will have to ask you what is so funny. I will always be the one asking you about a life I am so willing to leave without even meeting your family. Being a manic pixie dream girl is all fun and games until I am the one always doing the starting of conversations, until I am the one sending you Spotify playlists that I know you will never listen to, until I am the one showing up unannounced. My name will roll off your tongue like smoke from your American Spirits, but only in the beginning, because by the end; you will cough when I finally tell you to stop calling me.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 5:14 PM UTC
Blue is a prevalent color
you can find it almost anywhere
at any and every turn
you can spot the color blue almost
immediately, within 3ft feet of you.
Is this the product of mans moodiness?
Are we that trapped and burdened with strife
that we paint the color blue incessantly,
unconsciously?
Or is it the appeal?
Are we that attracted to our own madness?
To the point we wear it on our heads
on our arms and on our legs.
Screaming with sirens of societies ennui .
The mind of many meld with angst and warfare
in self,
bombs away with blues.
Does the blues find man or does man find,
the blues?
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 9:30 PM UTC
Dear society,
I have a gut!
It's where I keep all the men I eat
From my SJW rampages
You tell me to slim down
To relax
To let go.
But I cannot let go
That my friend was date ***** at a party
By the same boy who abused his ex girlfriend so badly
She tried to **** herself
And yet, he walks free.
See, you tell him as long as he does this behind closed doors
It is acceptable
I will not stand down and watch this happen
I cannot let go
That four separate occasions in my life
A man did not listen to my pleads
"No" does not mean try harder
"No" does not mean convince me
"No" does not mean pretend you didn't hear me
"No" means back the **** off!
Staying silent and catatonic means back the **** off!
Crying and shaking still mean back the **** off!
So now we pull the strings tighter
Lace up my poised facade
But I refuse to do it anymore
I refuse to submit to you, sweet society,
To the smoke and mirrors that allows men to build up their egos so much so
That when someone says they do not want to have *** with you
Suddenly, oh easily damaged masculinity, you are banished to an awful land called the "friend zone"
No one owes them anything
And we wonder why ****** violence is so prevalent on college campuses
In the workforce
In the military
I now **** the gun up
Pull the trigger
Shoot myself in between their stacks of bills
Their comfortable place in the world
And you, sweet society,
Will never liberate me
As you claim
The way I have freed myself.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC