"propagating" poems
People say they want to try
to fix the World's problems,
yet few do more than simply imply
that the Symptoms are the problem;
We need to stop simply treating Symptoms
and begin again to seek the Source;
only then can we begin to progress
and begin again to Harmonize.
But they don't really want that;
you see, they like the World's problems:
Perhaps they see it as Vindication
for propagating their vitriolic Dogmas.
Perhaps they seek to seize control
of Earth and her Inhabitants,
or perhaps they seek to establish
lucrative business contracts.
In any case, it seems to me to be the case
that they'd have stopped some problems, just in case;
that is, if the case was that they truly and earnestly sought to:
The World's Problems ensure future Business
for the Military-Industrial Complex.
The World's Problems enure future Business
for the Pharmaceutical-Industrial Complex.
The World's Problems ensure future Business
for the Disedification-Industrial Complex.
The World's Problems ensure future Business
for Banks, Demagogues, Tyrants, Corporations and Thieves
(sometimes all are one in the same!)
-
We need to stop dwelling upon the Symptoms
and do something about the ******* Source;
It's about time we, as Humans, stood up to this; our Wretched System,
for precisely the same ideals it so facetiously claims:
Justice, Equality,
Freedom, Liberty,
Tranquility, Solidarity,
Opportunity, Prosperity;
We have strayed.
We have been betrayed.
We are being played:
We should be ******* irate.
Irate, and yet Calm.
Non-violent, yet resisting:
Civil Disobedience is a Virtue
in a World such as This.
Civil Disobedience is a Symptom
of a World such as This.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
Tiny blue flowers that spread like wild fire.
Self propagating they truly are.
Trust in me.
When in your wild garden frontage they appear.
Always hold me dear.
No fear.
Vagrant angel.
Fear not to ever tread.
Destroy not the images I left painted in your head.
Whenever those images enters your eyes.
You shall ever remember me.
And ever want me more.
In a subtle heart beat you will remember.
Your sparkling angel.
Filigree wings bonded.
Tied tight until released until you set me free.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 4:30 AM UTC
resuming textual trip
testing experimental procedures
visualizing model tsunami
augmenting facetious environment
catching abstract architecture
noticing rhythmic exchange
projecting subtextual database
airhorning reggae royalty
adding atypical party
resolving twitter question
noticing emotional mission
awaiting emotional dialect
installing metaphorical experiment
intensifying animated trip
displaying dynamic victory
programming abstract development
releasing emotional exchange
deriving fata morgana
glorifying referential sequence
intensifying facetious map
noticing harmonic trip
observing radical ratio
compiling nomadic message
predating google rebranding
reticulating facetious panda
using hyperreal feedback
exploring virtual panda
speculating graphic gallery
throwing mundane exception
targeting graphic experiment
replenishing emotional trap
localizing asemic animal
dropping rhythmic trip
propagating immortal experiment
displaying lowercase database
invading orange bubbles
crashing animated trip
running conceptual topography
remembering collapsed buildings
crashing hyperreal coverage
propagating hyperreal stipulation
finishing western library
envisioning neon tessellation
reciprocating network likes
processing animated device
releasing haptic quality
examining building seven
awaiting rhapsodical ratio
sampling death sauce
sensing lowercase clone
examining symbolic tour
processing potential development
encapsulating spatial lottery
displaying digital paragraph
reticulating theoretical source
perpetuating western paragraph
transmitting monochromatic structure
anticipating ambient quality
transmitting asemic environment
intensifying atomic quality
remastering history poem
keeping future light
hypothesizing eternal game
using future library
rearranging masonic language
transmitting masonic development
continuing ceremonial ritual
questioning party's legitimacy
deferring western coverage
finishing asemic hypertext
mollifying ostentatious presence
synthesizing allegorical icon
forming categorical unions
sketching app wireframe
programming immortal repository
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
In the beginning
there is a class
of creatures we call Gods
that much later
we realize are just mono-
instances of god.
From the tower
I babble tongues,
coded messages and ciphers
that you implement
in your daily rituals
and obsessive behaviors.
In R, it's something like,
christ <- god(moral compass)
In Ruby it could be
buddha = God.new
And perhaps a nihilist or we
would find happiness in
10000.times do
pushRock = buhdda.take(me)
end
It's all pidgin for me,
unstructured glimpses at a world
that's moving and changing
faster than my non-existent
grandson can comprehend.
It's all a network
of +1 and like'd
firing mix media,
reinforcing a nascent
thought stream,
back-propagating our legends
and fairy tales, Grimm
reminders of epic Odyssey |
5 Armies in film |
Warring States |
loping dog with a severed hand
in Akira black & white mouth
repossessing Spaghetti Westerns
back into our feudal *****
Fire, firing
into the Monsoon rain.
Always in the Hemingway
rain of symbols and Matrix
green code.
And in my cupped hand,
I catch glimmering fireflies,
instances of Gaiman's
American gods, Tricksters,
Coyotes, and my faithful
Dog smiling at me.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
Undisguised not camouflaged
Standing out, A bright sun
in the blue sky stars hidden
within go unnoticed by the
Indifferent world Trapped
in their own cocoon of delusions
Unable Unwilling to metamorphose
to the beauty of kindred nature
into a free fall spiraling down
into the mundane
Illusion of Solid crust
beneath which the turbulent
molten lava flows
sometimes bursting out
yet another times causing
Tsunami and tremor
And yet the indifferent world
lays blinded by floodlights of duty
warming blanket of empathy
shredded by scissors of hate
buried within the grave yard
under the tombstone of misery
The different who rise up
from time to time are consumed
by the indifferent
like a flash of lighting absorbed
by the indifferent earth as storms
of war thunder around in dusky
skies and innocent plants take refuge
in purging rains only to be flooded
out into the indifferent sea of documentaries
only to make a trickle of frozen blood flow through
the chambers of tranquil heart
and indifferent yet try to contribute
subduing the thorny vines of growing guilt
by a click of like or share or Tweet
Sometimes the silent song
is heard through the sonorous
souls within mind and winds
of change blow nucleating through
an idea propagating through words
symbols of art hitting the conscience
and arise the single conscious crowd
not the raging temporary mob
new sprouts of generation rise up
through the barren land
and art forms inherently provide
what people need dragging from
the oblivion of what people want?
as bright illusion of illumination
is smoldered through enlightening
darkness as indifference transforms
into glowing luminous flowers of empathy
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
In these restless days
we fight
for a bigger picture;
more broad of a scope,
to pull back the curtain.
We're building potential,
with preceding
relentless
force,
through these
mental worlds.
Strutting around
savvy *****
sauntering by
like we know
no better.
Selling ourselves
one phony token
at a time
to a Devil
wearing leather
stilettos.
Insulting our own
intelligences
by propagating
more absurd nonsense
to the masses.
We are institutionalized;
stricken
with a historic fate
that deep seated roots
reminds us
does not need
repeating.
Be the founder
of your mind;
your
house of cards.
Inhale completely,
releasing the one breath
that matters;
yours.
Smile and worry not,
you have only destroyed
the home
the misinformed
have built for you.
Pick up the Aces
and begin again.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
Part 2.
The cracking smile on her face, faded as he lifted her hands away. Propagating a gap between them, granting the cold air a territory,
to crawl among the spaces.
There was an interval silence before she broke it.
"Would it hurt you if I chose something beautiful?".
Deep down, she truly wished that it wouldn't.
She then profoundly started studying him who was strenuously absorbed into fathomless thoughts.
Another deadly silence filled in the room.
To her great misery, he murmured, "I don't know."
Along with a vulnerable gaze and a despairing smile, she let the words escape, "Tell me the truth then, will you?"
He raised his eyebrows, "should I?"
She nodded, as she barely knew that he was slightly nervous,
"This," he paused, "thing between us, I don't want it anymore."
She was in a dazed, having a hard time to conceive his sentence and approbate the bitter fact that he quit loving her.
Evenoer
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 5:29 AM UTC
Earth: our ominous all-mother,
she, the greater good:
the interminable fountain out of which stems life and vivacity itself
always reaching
and grasping for the abstruse azure heavens above.
her hair never stops growing. the mites and parasites never cease to fester her scalp. She is growing and changing and rotting and dying. but where death comes, there is no long interval until more
life.
the liveliness is everywhere; it promotes to all faces and regions and niches. Multiplying, begetting, propagating. all for the greater good of our orb and its inhabitants. Most dwellers are humble and solicitous toward her, and learn to keep a vigilant eye
as she can be so
forceful and violent.
She does have, however, one rascal who believes that the globe belongs all to Himself.
He is the man.
He has a masterful gift, yes. He is profound and competent. He forges the impractical query into a conclusive answer. He, however, is also egocentric and pompous, and He sees her as a specimen to which
He has the rights to dismember and pervert.
He makes a mess of her unique vistas. He tramples and stamps on her face, running about as if she were the coliseum in which the gods gather to view the Species fight itself to extinction. He works her to the
core, always asking for more, more, more, more,
until she has little left to give.
But she never loses courage in His asinine and moronic views and His sprawling village,
for she created Him
out of herself
she is the framework out of which the mind is able to mundanely manifest itself.
Without her, He would be nothing.
And she is so immeasurably loving and benevolently caring and forevermore giving; for
She is life, she is love.
We are love.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
Still more, in words
In experience
Confusing Familiarity with Comfort
Confusing Comfort with Peace
Reifying confusion, but not successfully
Yielding, on my knees, heart to the sky
Forgetting
Seeing through, a single pinhole in a perfectly realistic backdrop
Pinholes everywhere, more than can be contained
Not containing
Torn all over
Dispelling everything
Stripping away the Stripping away
Trying to stand very still and very quite so I can feel, hear, sense
Perfect realism
Wanting to be convinced by rage
Agitation, but only conceptual
Feeling tight
Feeling rehearsed
Feeling like an imposter
Wanting to impress
Wanting to be convinced of Self, of Realness
Fortified by others knowing, or preferably- admiration
Like being constructed out of sets of other peoples' eyes
Like being made real by propagating in more minds, many more minds, specific minds. In countless beating and virtual hearts, likes, thumbs up
Not wanting to be forgotten, while alive, while dead
Taxed by maintenance and constant imminent collapse
Compassion, like collapsing into a safe lap
Relinquishing
No pretense
Bare being
More naked than when unclothed
Total exposure
Outed, in the light of knowing
Self forgetting and glimpses of freedom
Trusting sighing
Always loving Sad, not despondent, just sad
Feeling continuous
Feeling fragmented
Feeling like motion, like flow
Feeling like thousands of still frames, constant flickering
Grasping at impermanence, visceral
Resting in the middle
Dancing down the tightrope
Knowing perfect poise, brief equilibrium
Reifying stability. Gone.
Everything is hysterically funny
Hysterically
But also, sometimes, just plain humorous
And absurd
Crying
Loving people
Grateful for people
Seeing beauty everywhere
Encountering this, intimate, me, indistinguishable being, but everywhere
Ouch
Awareness
Always coming back
Like an epic
Like a great love story
Like the last wring of that silk dress you weren't supposed to squeeze dry
Feeling like I shouldn't know what I know, like I couldn't. This must be illegal, cosmically illegal
Knowing the inside of my hand
Knowing teenage shame
Knowing being yelled at, towered over, by my dad, in a narrow hallway, eyes glued to speckled floor tiles, feeling small
Loving with my body, with my hands, with my mouth, with my whole entire strong softness
Loving with understanding
Loving with teeth and nails
Music, lacerating
Crying with tears, and snot, and heaving
Becoming one single, concentrated point
Wanting to envelope everything. Really. Actually. Like physically with my body.
Knowing I am not this voice
Or this writer
Or this narrator
Though I am also all that
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 12:07 AM UTC
When and where did it happen
the shaming from the few
incensed at any notion
not a choice, for me and you
The media mere shills
for propagating hate
too many fools upset
offended, and irate
Don't sell those clown masks
they might give us a fright
after all, you and I, my friend
are really not that bright
Protected from everything
and from everything denied
it may hurt or harm you
you can be **** sure, they won't let you decide
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 8:25 AM UTC
This world is a beehive.
Studs and dimes all over.
Mingling and propagating.
Dancing like bees in search of honey.
Mortal men searching for nectar.
Is the sweetness worth it?
If I were to be honest,
I couldn't resist a taste of you either.
I've been exercising my wings.
Dusted off a blazer and a necktie.
Haircut and a smile to complete the look.
Just to cross-pollinate with you my dear.
I must be doing something right.
When everyone tells me how perfect I am.
Then why can't any queen choose me?
I guess I'm just a worker bee.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 2:46 AM UTC
If I swore to tell you
(wild eyed and breathless)
of what lies
inside my pandora's box
the blue velvet decaying
under my flesh
the whispers in my head
like supple breeze
through follow oaks
(eerily adrift)
would you still dare hold me
at the dusty ledge
of this 85-storey high building
(my crumbling paper body)
as the concrete cracks
submissively
and the walls fall apart
instinctively
because
i would give up
the last of my flicker
to light
your final cigarette
and make
your lonely bed warm
If i held your echoing heart
in my hands (with frantic devotion)
as it throbs rhythmically
in these fire brick palms
propagating at a frequency
of long found anxiety
a dim soul
trapped
in an antique olive wood clock
(tick tock tick)
would you dare still trust me
to dance
with those charred demons
(your most profound secrets)
the ones sworn to be
memories of disgust
the bad taste
at the back end
of your tongue
buried deeper in the Earth
for Hell to bare and hoard
because
i trust you
to embrace
the flaws we share
and
tears we didnt
(but most of all)
the discovery of our story
rapidly unfolding in this unashamed
polluted atmosphere
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
every day there's millions propagating
propagating young for human survival
survival of mankind lies in future births
births fertile by score sheet number
these cherished gems a large bounty
bounty of potential covering the earth
earth requires them to also populate
populate with treasures of life
the expiring old replaced by the new
new vitality bequeathed on our planet
planet replenished in fresh living beings
beings fecund of breeding's line
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC
tiny ones emerging in propagating boxes
towering giants stand in tropical forests
timber is yelled when felling a tree
thousands chopped down everyday
talented craftsmen designing cedar chiffoniers
teak wood makes a lovely dining suite
thick layers of sawdust on a workshop floor
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
when teenagers "think" they can
take over the "internet"...
from us... the 20th century
teenager pioneers...
you're kidding me, right?!
**** it, let's get delusional:
i am the shadow at the birth
of dawn,
i am the shadow on the moon's
face...
i am, i am, i am...
the hunting figment
of your imagination....
teens don't own the internet...
freaks, geeks,
pioneers...
these softball parenting skills
and their *******
wait wait...
you let them snap-chat...
and at the same time censor?!
swoon-smooch-flake
these ********
you have to be kidding me...
no, you, seriously,
have to, be, kidding, me....
next time i hear,
growing a beard will be deemed
offensive...
******* snowflakes...
that's what calling us millennial(s)
your "supposed children":
how about?
**** you!
i'm tired of listening to
20th century artifacts!
tired of them giving their
tenure of insurance!
tired of them propagating
Jane Eyre rather than
Frankenstein!
begotten not made,
forthwith:
with no one uttered to be
sanctified to be made to serve!
i am: übergebieter....
i serve no belittling English
feudalism...
nein! nein nein nein!
**** my **** and call me Charlie...
you! ******* English!
ponce!
für meine vater!
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
systematic injustice personified
defended by Constitutional underpinnings
a flag of hate, slavery, and intolerance
waves in the warm July breeze
as a debate rages
over the ideas of heritage
versus
symbolism
becoming the latest social conversation –
systematizing racial profiling
for Aryan officers
lost in the code of silence
giving the badge both a blue
and black image
of bruised pride
the pride of a nation –
poor pigment-ally challenged youth
bound to suffer
indignity of an atrocious nature
at the hands of your teachers,
preachers,
authority figures,
and family members
so culturally ********
that they cannot see themselves propagating
their own despair –
this nation of victim blamers
hates its own multi-ethnic skin
cannot look into the proverbial mirror
without shuddering at the view
in one thousand years
when all humanity is a nice,
even, shade of brown
what will we hate about each other then? –
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
It wasn't what you imagined; blessings did not flood,
when you gave me a shell of bones and blood...
You have an unfathomable mix of bravado and audacity;
wearing rose-tinted parenthood glasses out of stupidity...
As a child, did you actually believe in fairy tales?
Believing in white dresses and veils,
believing in propagating your subpar genes
are your happy-ever-after means...
Seeking for happy-ever-after as if a princess in a fable
when you grew up with bare minimum food on the table?
Tying the knot early before advancing your career;
being brainwashed into spinsterhood fear...
Schooled you were, but never interested in knowledge you are.
Concerns of my social abilities are far from your care.
You love to demand respect by brandishing parental authority
while you were meeting only the bare parental necessity.
Yes, the world doesn't owe me anything
but you owe me everything
for giving me a meaningless shell of bones and blood.
Aug 4, 2020
Aug 4, 2020 at 7:17 AM UTC
Doubtful of Self, of Realness
Fortified by others' knowing, or preferably- admiration
Like being constructed out of sets of other peoples' eyes
Like being made real by propagating in more minds, many more minds, specific minds. In countless beating and virtual hearts, Likes, thumbs up
Not wanting to be forgotten, while alive, while dead
Taxed by maintenance and constant imminent collapse
Identity is a social construct
Awareness is not
Aug 7, 2022
Aug 7, 2022 at 2:22 PM UTC
I have a tiny ****
Like a crooked little finger
Everybody else's ****
Is inevitably bigger
If six inch as an average
Can truly be believed
Someone here in this room
Must be twice the size of me
If you can do your algebra
Already you will know
Four inches is the maximum
My **** will ever go
For the engineers among you
I'll express my ratio
My little one inch wonder
Up to four times it can grow
I'm glad to hear you laugh
It shows you understand
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short **** man
My ***** they can grow longer
Into a comfy little nest
With a little acorn sat
Upon the very crest
Rummage in my fly and
Wish that I were blessed
Searching frantically
I recover just the head
Get a little **** drip
Up on my finger tip
There's absolutely nothing there
For me to get a grip
If I sit to *** I must
Be wary of my jet
The angle of my dangle means
My trousers may get wet
Then dribble on my ball bag
For my **** does not overhang
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short **** man
I **** it with one finger
If you really want to know
And no I can't imagine
The feeling of deep throat
When I look down I can
Still clearly see my toes
But my little ***** hides
Beneath my belly folds
Sometimes it is inverted
Even when it isn't cold
Like a little turtle
Inside of me it goes
Girls they like to tell me
It is a cute surprise
Until I have to tell them I
Left the ****** stuck inside
I'm hung like Micky Mouse
You've just got to understand
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short **** man
Now why would I admit to this?
By now you know it's true
I'm such a little babydick
Exposed in front of you
But the greater pain exists
In propagating myths
According to the internet
Real men have massive *****
So for anyone who feels small
Let me reassure you all
By bringing down the average
With my little four inch *****
So if you're sat with five or six
Feel the relief
And if you really want to,
Then have a laugh at me
You no longer have to hide it
Give a **** or give a ****
You no longer have to let it
Be the measure of the man
And I guess I kinda like it
When I am being teased
These are such the shortcomings of
A short **** man like me
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC
Bombs are going off
All over the world
People are fighting
Dying every second
Every minute someone
Else passes away because
Of war and hate and pride
Bombs go off in the night
They go off during the day
Snatching life in their wake
Leaving nothing but a hole
In the ground as they wound
The Earth and wound each
Other as bullets fly over head
Not always finding their target
But always leaving damage
Somewhere as the fly along
Carnage and destruction and
Hatred all over the world
The world needs a healing
She is weary of the wounds
That bombs and bullets and
Man inflicts on the Earth and
Even to each other in the
Advancement of war and
Anger and hatred and greed
Propagating death and disease
Destroying the Earth and her
Children as well and leaving
People without a place to stay
Without a home as they wonder
The globe wondering how they
Are going to feed themselves
And their families when they
Have been violently torn away
From everything they know
Because of war and what has
Been claimed that was never
Meant to be taken in the first
Place to begin with and staking
Claim on the land and on the
Hearts and will of the people
That just happen to be there
At the time just trying to live
Their lives their way until
Bombs fly over head and
Death finds them like a
Thief taking everything
They have ever known
Forever changing them
And the world around them
We need a healing and the
Earth needs a rest from all
Of these bombs and wars
And bullets that tear through
Our mother's heart as she
Watches her children destroy
Needlessly for no good reason
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
laying in that eternal white void i wonder
how the oceans flow,
the forests grow,
the skies arose,
the earth upholds,
as the universe chose
and my energetic field’s connection to it all
will my veins run as deep
as the river networks?
my lungs branch out full of freedom as the trees,
the print of my touch agree with the stump of nature,
my eyes glow ethereally as the galaxies,
the tides sing to the ebbs and flow of my blood,
if the death of a star
reads to the birth of thy cells,
then who is i?
then propagating that eternal white void
they sing♬ :
“O you who have reached the end,
enter into the paradise that envelops
all, join this great choir of organic matter
and feast~ listen to the billions upon
billions of cosmos holding you in their
embrace, harvesting thy gem of soul
from within moons.”
alas, nothing runs unknown anymore
for i who breathed life into the heavens
my soul shall erupt,
a luminous stellar explosion of love,
o supernova named after oneself
as you birth gods and monsters
alike,
let’s whisper once more,
“for we life, are everything and
everywhere all at once”
Aug 14, 2025
Aug 14, 2025 at 9:50 PM UTC
|||||||||||||||||
Your wall cast a flowing
tide shadow on our side
of the mutual morning
It grew and grew then
ebbed backwards the
direction it came from
Scaling the masonry,
returning, propagating,
germinating, a nightfall.
May 8, 2022
May 8, 2022 at 2:54 AM UTC
Call me haphazard
your toot-sweet boutique of skill
a pillpopper's dream
I'm not impressed by
the tongue your mediocre
narcissism speaks
what fading color
propagating hues, faker
saturate the blues
drown that puppy right
pay your ******* dues, tighten
the knot of the noose
Now is your never
you wrought the wrong from the right,
shoddy forever
Now is your never
sever the tongue that divides
wrong from the Right Now
Blasphemed the subtle,
broke the trust, popped the bubble
and wandered away
Call me a savior
I'll interrupt with a lie
truth can never repay
Defenestration,
when the face meets the pavement
your artifice blooms
Sitting stagnantly,
in the shade of the tower
it's toppling soon
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC