"professionally" poems
I love chocolate chip cookies
Be they soft or be they crunchy
They are my favorite munchie.
I love them by the pound.
The best snack around.
My love for these cookies
Surpasses my love of ice cream.
They are more than what they seem.
They make my day and then more so.
Even though they make my **** grow.
Chocolate chip cookies
They are my very best friends.
I am sure these cookies
With stick with me to the end.
I can count on them to please me.
Cookies never ever tease me.
I love chocolate chip cookies
Whether they are baked at home
Or just purchased on the roam.
If they are professionally made,
Gifted to me or I have paid.
Nothing else tickles me so much.
I start giggling when I first touch
Those delightful little sweet plops.
Don’t bother calling the calorie cops.
Chocolate chip cookies
They are my very best friends.
I am sure these cookies
With stick with me to the end.
I can count on them to please me.
Cookies never ever tease me.
I love chocolate chip cookies
I know it started when I was a kid;
What those rolls of dough did
To me was transform me instantly
Almost to carbohydrate insanity.
I could eat as many as I touched;
I loved them just exactly that much
And it continued on into adulthood.
Chocolate chip cookies are that good.
Chocolate chip cookies
They are my very best friends.
I am sure these cookies
With stick with me to the end.
I can count on them to please me.
Cookies never ever tease me.
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
*Being unemployed is like….
Being stuck in a hole in the ground
with a broken leg and no cell phone,
while surrounded all on sides by people who ignore
your very existence,
or treat you as if you are less than…. well…anything.
Their silhouettes casting quickly passing shadows
on the concrete around you.
No one offering you a hand.
Each time you reach out for help
you are rejected coolly and professionally.
No one wants a failure, but they also don’t
want the responsibility of helping to create a success.
The ones who do reach out for you,
don’t really care about your success or well-being.
They see a quick buck,
easy to replace or move past,
should you realize you are worth more than their
verbal abuse and manipulation.
No one wants a self-valuing person either.
They don’t even want a human,
with thoughts
emotions
and memories.
All hiring businesses want, is a robot to do their every bidding with no complaints,
no questions asked,
even if that person’s health or sanity is on the line.
Or even their life.
In a world created by ourselves, we are unimportant.*
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
Clever minds that stretch
The many elements which live as our backdrop
Too often everyday is spoiled
By unnecessary people, gathering ammunition
For climbing invisible platforms of command
These are cast aside by simple smiles and welcomes
And it was.
Even if the task was invisible to me at first
My soul felt at home amongst these new work mates
My responsible position was underwritten
Given gravitas and a freedom to which I wasn't quite used
The time was charged with familiar but different
It was fraught but strangely healthier in paradox
The honest fight was taken with gestures of family proportion
Success had waned but the unity of 'knowing' was the strength
That continued to support that Company
In spite of the turmoil my personal facets were given air
To run and to adjust, to temper and to manage
Poor communication was completely disastrous
The confusion of three currencies
And the balance of understanding left us guessing
Never mind agreement or translation
Through all this, looking back my heart is lifted
Not by the freedom or the ability to achieve ...mostly,
It is the strength from our leader,
That calm, silver haired man
When many were distraught you kept us going
And fed us with hope and built our confidence,
Not always with the obvious
But gave us the ability to win through by believing ,
Believing in us and building back our motivation and teasing out
The raw infrastructure of our true capabilities
Never before has anyone, apart from my Mother
Believed in me as you did. To tackle the toughest of tasks
Anything that the industry, the public or our customers
Could throw at us, we dealt with it.
Sadly you could do nothing at the final demise but take the role
Of a father giving news of an aged relative sadly moved by
A force greater than yourself
I know had you the influence, the power and the funding............
You were always more than a boss Chris
Your transparent enthusiasm raised our spirits
And in times of worry I hope we lifted yours too.
I think of you often, thank you for being a friend
After we were no longer professionally connected.
I see your generous smile and your warm handshake
I can hear your laugh now
It's always a treat to catch up over a beer.
I now find you in my phone, in my photographs
But mostly in my heart for being a great bloke
You taught me so much.
Speak soon, with love, Max
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 10:01 AM UTC
He heard a last echoed clink of liquor-laden ice-cubes,
Stuck between two stools that screamed for company,
I gazed across his vacant stare to the barman –the silent DJ,
Professionally ignorant as I gestured my hoarse thirst,
I waited a little minute, another minute an’ just one more,
Enter our businessman, full-schedule, long-hauled to drink,
With a rib-eye steak of a face an’ breath surely barbecued,
Two satisfied cheeks, pink-puffed with brows fit for burial,
Teeth ground with tension but brighter than the lighting
A fungal-lung nose perched upon a smile that I could smell,
He plumbed himself wet-shave close to my stiffened neck,
“..Hana Drink..?” (Silence) best to follow the DJ’s example,
(Bullish huffs) (Lips licked) “.. Ya’ll wantin’ a drink, Mister?..”
Flustered by the company, I replied “..Non, Je think eh Je chi..”
A retort of sorts, faux languages not my degree, “..Leaba..Bed!”
Spluttered just at the end – an insulting first impression,
He seemed nervously joyous, loosened from being himself,
Yet his trouser belt buckled, pulled tight to conversation level,
An’ Redwood-trunk hands, alive with the latest deal struck,
“..Bedtime for us..” he bare-bawled, splitting my weary eyes,
His numbed arm clumsily flung around me, “..bedtime for us!..”,
DJ unmuted, the music paused, I mouthed softly “..just the bill..”
(Silence)
“..Who’s Bill?.. a friend?…Is he cute?.. So this drink?” I panic still.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
This letter, is to inform you, about a
bomb threat
that we received this, morning. Name of a Name
Unified Consolidated ISD,
a State-Recognized School of Somethingness,
Where Kids Come First under the theme of
All The Kids All The Curriculum All The Time
is committed, to the safety and education
of all our students and We Are Number One,
Go #Thundercatbears!, ‘Cause We are #All-Hashtagged
in Unity and Oneness. We also, want
to clearly communicate with split infinitives
And crazy commas all over the place
to parents about safety issues when they
get found out arise.
This morning, a phone call, was received,
by the receptionist at
The-Latest-Name-Held-in-Place-with-Velcro-Until-the-Next-Name-Change
Elementary School and Essential Spirit
Dreams New Dawn Progress Learning and
Technology Center of the Future
stating a
bomb
was present, on the campus.
After conferring with the Threat Assessment Team,
The Standard Response Protocol team,
the Chinkypin-Lizard Lick Police Department parked in the handicapped spaces at Tia Jolene’s Goremay Eats ‘n’ Bokays out next to the Interstate,
the cheerleader sponsors,
Facebook,
Twitter,
our attorneys,
and Superintendent Dr. Hamestus Goodoleboy “Spike” Ponsonby III,
the students were rapidly, and efficiently evacuated
to a safe area up in the football bleachers
where they would be more obvious targets
and the school was professionally and thoroughly
swept for anything suspicious and untoward.
During this time,
when no students were in danger,
another call was received stating that gunshots
were fired in the school. There were no gunshots,
fired in the school and
no children were in danger at any time.
Currently, we’re are is allowing students,
who were never in any danger,
to return to school as usual
where there was never any danger at any time.
We will have extra counselors and therapists available
if students or parents needs supports are
counsolining in spelling ‘n’ sentence structure.
The students were never in any danger at any time.
All threats to our school where
their was never any danger
and students who were never in any danger
will be taken seriously immediately
and thoroughly and investigated
thoroughly and fully except for that call
last week that we managed to keep covered up.
We wanted to inform you of the correct facts
because our correct facts are the only facts
so you can discuss them with your child/ren
Of any race, *** color, creed, religion,
or gender identification or not
and emphasize the seriousness of our facts,
which are the only facts. If you discover
Any facts untoward or out of place please contact us
At the district office at
*** *** xxxx ext ***
or the Chinkypin - Lizard Lick Police Department
immediately and thoroughly.
No children were in, danger at any time.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC
One of his sick molars
was jarring, crying foul,
the root canal treatment
she did, the first, on him
made it quiet,it touched
exactly the love nerve.
Love sprouted,got rooted between
the curvy dentist and him
in exactly five sittings;
the soil was fertile.
The romantic dentist seized
his pining heart too quick,
the causes and effects of
that pain, she whispered, was similar
to what she felt , when he whimpered
leaning his head on her full *******
No reason he had, not to surmise
she didn't do everything she should,
to make his ailing tooth perfect.
Coochiecooing to her, he even
called her" the tooth fairy's baby girl"
overwhelmed she gifted him a smooch.
Each sitting fallowed
soliciting that rare,tender dental care,
on her cozy swiveling chair,
brought them closer to bouts of necking
and things more adventurous,
(may the medical ethics, pardon the pair!)
Vigorous narratives she breathlessly
reeled off, on the state of his each tooth
brought her more closer to the chair
than what professionally was expected,
her perfumed warm presence
brought aches, not necessarily dental.
A stinging pain on a root repaired
at a time his 'root canal sweet heart' was away
compels him to explore for a new chair.
The horror of horrors, it was revealed
here, a piece of broken iron implement
his sweet heart, has left within the root;
a cover up as she couldn't retrieve it
with her skills inept,
it did aggravate, caused the pain!
Isn't the betrayal of the kids,
in the name of tooth fairy,non existent
far less heinous, than a cheating like this!
could any one blame him for this,
to escape a bad tooth future, he did
the best one could; the comely tooth fairy
that found the fault and mended it
shows him his place in the
swivel chair of her heart these days!
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
You never know when you might lose something.
A bracelet, a bill, a pencil that you chewed nervously.
But sometimes, you lose a person;
I was in a classroom,
with great big tables
and walls that echoed the teenage chatter
of my class.
My love, he sat beside me.
My friends, a tad bit too loud
laughed behind us.
A modest couple
chuckle in the back.
A brilliant, clever man
with cunning yet tired eyes
look at me happily, solemnly.
A smile was traced
by his beard laced with silver
and his accent inquired professionally.
I remember how much fun he had,
how he filled the void in my soul,
how he shared his stories and wisdom.
I lost him; I miss him.
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
Religion’s constant undulation
The ever ‘holy’ consecration
Of the stereotypical faith
Strong but fleeting as a wraith
Ethereal things cannot be seen
And so true love is lost between
Acting it out professionally
Or giving it out abundantly
And genuineness is lost below
The weight of putting on a show
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 8:43 PM UTC
Medical Technologist you will be by next year,
As you do your best part then success is near.
Realization of your life's dream is not impossible,
Zealous dedication is what you do to make it possible.
Act now be a keen diligent intern to claim your victory!
Dawn has sparked so make the most of the opportunity,
Accept the challenges don't quit fight all the negativity.
Winning is not easy to achieve as it requires determination,
Nobody but yourself alone can justify for your own action.
Plan for your future and do it with the highest attention,
Insure that whatever outcome will help realize your ambition.
Zest you have will inspire you to perform well with integrity,
Allow no negative vibes to degrade your courage and dignity.
React professionally to whatever trials that may come your way,
On whatever duties you do always follow the protocol don't sway.
Be tactful in your actions follow laboratory protocols,
Read and understand fully the procedures before using the tools.
Avoid mistakes in running the tests so you won't give false results,
To the patient's doctor such act is a taboo and you will get insults.
On to your internship my darling do your best and make us all proud.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 12:47 AM UTC
Every generation
has the leaders and the followers.
The popular kids and the geeks,
the kids who get high on the streets
and the kids who get high on cloud nine.
The artists and the poets,
the skaters, the stoners,
the musicians and the actors,
and we all have the kids
who are all of the above.
We all have the kids
who are none of the above.
Times change, yes
and trends come and go
but don’t tell me that I’m exceptional
not because of what I know
but because of the children
that surround me.
Don’t tell me to speak my dreams
and release my strife in the form of rhyme
because “few others you know do it”.
Passion is limitless,
passion is ageless
and while I’m being raised
in a generation of technology
and dramatic social media,
yolo and swag, pregnant teens
and 55-hour marriages-
I’m growing up
in a generation of artists,
a generation of dreamers,
a generation of doers,
and a generation
of freethinkers.
Freethinkers whose words
drip from their tongues like honey
and stain their pages in the world
like wine.
Students who get bored
with teachers wanting them to think
in 1’s and 0’s,
fit into standards,
speak in slanders
and begin to hyperventilate
because they can’t translate
what they think.
Kids who haven’t forgotten
that breathing in binary isn’t healthy.
Apparently, those that find
enough creative destruction in life to cheat the system
are going against the greater public’s
better judgement,
feeling free to sit and glare
at those who swear that they’re normal,
but I’m not growing up with those kids.
People who sit back and cry crocodile tears
for those who don’t know
what to think of themselves,
sitting back and laughing
at those who shudder and shake
at the thought of being caught in between
different sides of their minds
that they don’t know it’s okay to have…
but I’m not growing up with those people.
I’m growing up in a
group of rebels,
a group that will one day
run the nation-
a nation of tenacious activists,
wearing their minds
more professionally than
politicians wear their suits-
and with better ideas.
Because we have voices,
we have pens,
but most important
we have ideas,
ideas that can change the world,
change the world more
than poker-faced suits
and hate commercials
and picket signs
ever could.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
They were playing the beach boys
all day at work today
I went up to the computer
I typed in Black beach boys on Spotify
a white coworker put her hand on her hips
she said to me,
“Elan, there are no black beach boys, Im sorry.”
So I had my graphic designer friend
take an old beach boys poster
replace their faces with black men
Then he changed it to "Black Beach Boyz”
I put it on a T shirt
very professionally done
made me proud
I wore it to work the next day
My white coworker asked me
with a confused face and tone
“There really are the black beach boys?”
I said with a straight face,
“Yes they were the original. Then the white beach boys took their name and music and became famous.”
She said after a pause,
“Oh, wow. I didn’t know that."
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
**Husband
raises eyes
and
beholds
Wife
Showcased on the marital bed like some bizarre opus of abstract art**
Dali would have been so proud!
Juxtaposition
of
Wife
against white satin sheets is breath taking
Stark
Exciting
Exhilarating
Stark
Delectable mountains of previously guarded white flesh available now in abundance
Curve of spine
Swell of *******
Secret garden
Husband is breathless
Patent Red Stilettos
Ruby Red Lipstick
Conspire
Entice and lure him into new and dangerous forms
Light from partially closed curtains only elevate already awakening senses
Draw base instincts to the fore
Primeval
Lust
Depravity
**Husband stands transfixed
Spellbound**
Death lines
Professionally accurate
Precise
Plethora of perfect pinpricks adorne a graceful neck
Precise
Criss-cross of intricate irresistible artistry
Precise
Resembles an oracle in obscurity of thought
She is simply beautiful …
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 5:19 AM UTC
i watch her from below.
every time she descends,
slides down the pole,
time slows
until it comes to a stop.
she moves her body gracefully,
head held high,
professionally,
she sways her hips
puckers her lips
as intoxicated exhilarated men
shower her with tips
but she glows,
vividly against neon lights,
like a firefly who cannot cry
so it burns bright
till the day it dies,
on the brink of death,
she shines like a
star on its final breath
i watch her from below
she says she’s used to it,
but i know
her better
than all the body glitter—
i watch her from below,
still i cannot say anything
for i am
nothing but a mere spectator
of her show.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 4:55 AM UTC
Romantic moonlight edges over the mighty cupola;
I stroll enchanted by the timeless beauty of St Peter's Square;
I casually enquire of a passing nun whether she would consider
Going down on me behind the marble columns.
After a brief but heated haggle over the price
(I hitherto thought nuns were generous sisters of mercy)
She gobbles me professionally but rather noisily
Causing me to leave a generous donation on her dental plate.
I hear a half-strangled cry of "Bejasus" from a passing Paddy priest
As he gives himself a quick one off the wrist
Into his already badly stained cassock
Before hurrying off to keep a hot date with a choirboy.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
I am in love with
Melancholy.
He is the sweetest of suitors,
Bedazzled in jewels that glint so smoothly,
And just enough,
And right in your eyes,
To shield you,
Maybe protect you,
From his abuse and his repetitive,
Cyclical nature.
He is so handsome in any light.
I sometimes love to just stare at him
And contemplate the rigid, weepingly gorgeous
Features that make up his seraph's face.
There is a sharp angle just beneath his perfect
Ears, which hear me splay cheeky compliment after
Cheeky compliment toward them.
This angle turns into his jaw,
Which opens up and down, not like a hinge but rather a
Hatchet, to tell me
So many lies.
He presents them just so - as lies.
But he sways them so wonderfully,
So persuasively and professionally
That I can do nothing but fall
Asunder to this dark suitor's mouth.
He pulls me towards him,
Like the Earth pulls the Moon,
Like the Spider pulls the Prey,
Like Love pulls the Fool.
Intoxicating, really.
His lips move like planets.
They orbit around his weightless voice,
And they spin on their own axes,
And sometimes they spin toward my own.
They plant themselves like magnets,
As if we were meant to be,
And they move in harmony,
Just as hard and stubborn as magnets,
Just as ineffably wonderful we sometimes
Find physics to be.
But then they release -
He releases.
He floats backward, his beautiful
Demonic grin enticing me,
Telling me, "I'll love you and
Leave you, and you can do nothing do
But enjoy it."
My Melancholy.
My beautiful, beautiful angel who blots out the night,
Sweeping the stars together to form a
White, blinding fingerpainting that he tapes to the heavens,
And delivers unto me what I believe is daylight.
But then his head bends back,
Exposing that beautiful hatchet-jaw,
And his crackling fire of a voice beams
Like headlights right into my doe ears and eyes.
He cackles, tells me he loves me,
And flies away.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 11:23 PM UTC
You are killing your own people
You are killing off our sequels
...
You're dying
If I told you that you'll be ok
I will be lying
...
On the ground with you
We're united by a state of hysteria
So pledge of allegiance to your own grievance if you want to
Our allies realize our lack of participation within the United Nation
They know that's it's a race of the racist
It's hunger and starvation for **********
So they don't support our sport
They don't get a kick out of our matrix
Master the skill of being manipulative
And maltreat our own citizens
Who will have our back when we're getting attacked?
For sure not the group of people who our history once beset
Wait reset
Why strain something that isn't our stress?
Hold up quest!
Consistent warfare give us a rest!
Do we ever handle things professionally?
There's pros and there's congress
And according to our constitution
It's precedent that every president
Is only present
Im a skeptic of their effectiveness
They're just a face for this place
A image so when things cringes
We can look at him in disgrace
Sometimes I think I've been misplaced
.....
Misplaced
Taken away and placed
In this place full of waste
Place full of wasted minds
Place full of wasted minds who waste their time
Place full of wasted minds who waste their time trying to waste everyone else's mind and keep others below their waist line
United States of Hysteria
Where you have to equip yourself with a personal barrier
The superior preys
The inferior pays
And the wealth relays
The baton get passed to relatives
This is where you can cross the finish line first and still be without work
So we pledge of allegiance
With our right on our heart
Stripes and stars is for
Lashes and strikes to stun our awareness
Our apprehension just blow effortlessly in the wind
They cover their flaws
The gover-meant to **** us all
Is there a such thing as a war on war?
We nuclear our own fears
And air strike on our own tears
Use Sub Atomic Bombs against our own peers
Chemically engineer everyone who's mere
All hail U.S.A
All hell U.S.H
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
It’s not mystical, the winter solstice.
Think of pink fish, red fish, the sun, a pond,
Part water and part reflection, beneath
Fresh ice, so slowly sinking, not frozen, just cold,
About to touch bottom and death, their thoughts—
Of carnival barker and circus clown
And Superman all rolled up tight—about
To be extinguished, with summer so far
Away, you start to think it is death, not
The kids not splashing in the shallows, and
Not the less than dire necessity
Sophisticated poetry, read so
Professionally, so dainty and so
Doily-like, that it seems like ashes scattered,
Lost in some larger lake’s ichthyology—
But still byzantine enough for fish to fathom,
The depths their special province now that ice
Has capped the pond and crested creation.
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 5:03 PM UTC
I wanted to tell you
That my mom was sick
She was strong & I was at my weakest since my brother slipped forever
But whatever, we don’t need to talk about that
Alas through my paranoia and tobacco riddled anxiety
She would be ok
I wanted to tell you
that I cry more than most people
Especially during the part of the movie where
I can't remember
But you know the one where the crescendo truncates
And he promises her whatever is
She wishes to be promised
I wanted to show you
My favorite painting
Those lofty strokes and sharp lines creating the right light around a blue tunic and sure footing on the morning star
When color was black & white
Yes, those moments when religion meant everything
I wanted you
to hear my favorite song
But then you kissed me
Before that wall of sound could swallow that third verse
Before the violins could be whip stroked
Before I was just going to **** you
And stream something else
I wanted to tell you
That there is a bigger **** out there
Filling all of your existential regret
and satisfying your unwanted needs
Attached to someone far more important
with longer hair
and a mom and dad who love each other
I wanted to tell you all of this in the mere moment we had Standing before an open minded stranger
Elbows propped eagerly along the marble
Stretching a hand out across an ashtray
I wanted to tell you
It's not you
It's me
But we both know after 3 glasses of Malbec
And one deeply destroyed waiter
This isn't true
I wish I would have told you
That I am not afraid of getting old
I am afraid of feeling old
Out of touch with whatever happens to grow around me
Having no room to absorb or breathe anything but time’s ailments
Nervous nails & the black & white hair you called distinguished
Which only serves to remind me, that someone has died
& I have lost so much
& still, will have nothing to leave behind
I wanted tell you
It's not because you aren't pretty
It's cause you act ugly
It’s cause you think I am stupid when I act smart
It’s cause you lie professionally, to survive
I wanted to tell you all of this
All you wanted, was for me to buy your drink
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
Sitting here talking about myself
It all feels almost, well, silly
Like why would this person care?
I'm just talking about me
Sure these things happened
And maybe I feel odd once in a while
I never really thought it mattered
Just hid it all behind a smile
There are lots of people like me
(Or I guess; that's what I've heard)
I've always just wanted to be average
Disguise wrong feelings in written word
Even years after I still ask the question:
How much of it all is in my head?
I think I need this help, and it's working
Though it's so terrifying, I hide in bed
Bound securely, affixed professionally
I admit the bandages feel really nice
But they're in response to waking the past
I'm not sure I'm willing to pay this price
When I hesitate, I say I want to get better
Who doesn't want their broken leg to mend?
Somehow being honest is physically painful
I almost prefer when I had to pretend
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 11:41 AM UTC
A jump rope lisping
Through loose gravel and rhymes.
Resembling orchestras and rapidly
Scratched-out novels,
Evolution of an indifferent ******
Delicate lacework stitched
Beneath the youthful
And frail. Disintegrating
Like a bird’s nest, once
Air conditioning expires.
Scampering between markets,
Wavering while waiting
In redundant lines, as you
Carelessly caress outerwear that you
Waited in line for yesterday.
Placing yourself professionally
On seats, beside plainly colored
Briefcases. Quivering arms
Tingle, as the blood
Relinquishes.
Wordless entities fill
Empty rooms, as pressure
Builds from the exterior and in.
Tarnished sneakers sink and slip,
Amidst cunning quicksand.
Mangled and thrashed,
Fabrics that used to be
Accustom to merry-go-rounds, and dry
Eyes. Gently laced hemming,
Lacerated at the seams.
Stroll down whimpering sidewalks
That sting for vibrations, fixed
By a stranger’s oblivious feet.
Jerking outerwear closer
As no emotions pass.
Synthetic joy overcomes
You, when droning
Minds think alike.
Wriggling and skulking
To cease the crunching of time.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 12:40 PM UTC
Counterfeit CDs
Drugs, clothes, handbags
One ma paints counterfeit Van Gohs
Fake drugs are the worst
Because fake medicines don't help people
It's big business
Especially in China
Golf companies hire a Chinese manager
The manager copies the business model
Starts making counterfeit clubs
Begins his own counterfeit industry
Modern Fakes trade
Cialis, ****** Levitra
The packaging professionally done
The investigator seems quite concerned
That it is almost impossible to tell these products from the orignals
190,000 Chinese people have died because of fake medicines
The Chinese government is powerless to stop the faking syndicates
Capitalism unrestrained
By decency, morality, or law
According to the investigator
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
I'm 17 and I still don't know how to
Dress nice.
I will be a woman soon.
I am going to have to know.
My whole life
I practically refused
To dress fancy;
In heels,
Lace,
Jewelry,
Silk,
Shalls,
Skirts,
Ruffles,
Anything.
Because I felt so uncomfortable.
So undeserving
So misplaced
I would feel stupid
I didn't feel good enough
I always
Felt like I was doing it wrong.
It made me feel uglier.
Then I just wear
Converse,
Flannels,
Fipped jeans,
Handmade bracelets, and
I feel more in my element.
But I don't feel accepted.
I feel judged.
My wardrobe isn't for a woman.
My wardrobe is still for a
Little girl
Who grew up in a neighborhood
With boys.
I'm still a little girl
Who wants to go play basketball.
I hope I can learn
To dress professionally
And be confident with
Myself.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
Picking up mysterious interference
In supersensory organs
I'm struck with the fear of reality
Magnetic forces unnoticed
Hourly exacting imperceptible influence
Burying truth deeper into the murk of sensation
Micromovements hiding me alive
I'll never know unless I try to see
Which reality I'm knowing
And which I'm living
How many beams am I,
Cast through how many particulate clouds?
How much is happening to me,
And how much occurs within
And how much is shadow
Cast by straw men
Built by ghostly men of paper
Professionally seeking to
Confirm paranoid suspicions
That gurgle up from the darkest dreams
Black Magic cauldrons of Chaos
Manipulating minds
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
Multiple beautiful faces,
immaculate complexions,
and precise, practiced grins.
It's easy to understand
why it makes me thirsty;
they invented bottled bliss,
eagerly and professionally selling:
beauty, happiness, companionship---
all for the price of $1.50 with tax
at the cost of only my dignity.
Affordability and availability,
it's no wonder it's high in demand.
The American success story:
to sell simple desires
to the lazy, naïve man,
who believes he can't
obtain them otherwise.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 12:31 AM UTC
they came around
this early morn,
asking for you
they always do,
check in regular,
especial in the now
disharmonious waking times,
ever since you checked out
a different path,
your own,
wanted a kitchen
with no His aprons,
where you were
chief chef,
braising simmering, shucking
of your own choosing,
and the cooking accessories
were yours, initialed,
so you stated
in your
'so short, so long' note,^
a trifling amuse-bouche,
for me to consume,
for you,
to be amused by...
so long,
now soloing,
duo thing wasn't working,
two sopranos,
in one kitchen
trying to out
high note each other,
a creatively strange way to say
I love you but,
I am Top Chef
thus is the human way,
to err for what we want,
to err for what we had,
err for what we now need
and the long and the short of it,
long for...
the smell of your voice,
the song of thy fresh creations,
wafting, enticing and now
in hind-sighting,
mesmerizing me awake from
loving bed to contested kitchen
now I only sing and cook professionally
which is another word for mechanically
the voice,
thine cooking smells,
cinnamon and cardamon
that resided in our skins,
check in,
looking for refreshment,
have none to offer....
ever since,
we were
so short, so long...
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC