"provoke" poems
They act like foolish mice
lost in a maze,
with heart eyes, who only admire
and send praise;
so blown away, and
stuck in a dumb daze.
It’s amusing they excuse
your wicked ways,
and you can gladly starve
them all for days;
while smiling madly, not even fazed.
They’re dim and dull,
you need entertained.
You can’t help it, you think,
but don’t dare say,
to sustain your pointless little games;
that you can’t ever seem to abstain.
It’s the higher ground
you need to gain.
So lure them in enduring
your demented cage.
Provoke their wrath and
force them to cave,
spread your foul poison to
their every vein.
There’s no denying they’re enslaved,
locked tight in your chains.
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea.
At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate.
This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land.
“Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment.
Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement.
Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused.
Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control.
The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed.
In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
Kaliedoscope colors, shaped as a rectangle outline of my door-
and I can't go out and see the beauty of it. A gray room,
with a blue face, laced into rushing in another pumping day.
Provoke the guilt, wilted meaning every breathing being has.
I'll leave someday, in someway, maybe not this moon fall,
but I know I can't live, thoroughly at all-
Jan 16, 2018
Jan 16, 2018 at 1:20 AM UTC
He forgot his soap
What a dope
No one here can cope
He's worse than campfire smoke
He could of brought it on a rope
So he wouldn't have to *****
Instead he'll mope
For friends he's got no hope
They run when they scope
The boy without his soap
Rolling down the slope
Singing baroque
Like the pope
He tried a bath in coke
Oh what a joke
Because the sugars provoke
Mosquitoes to bite and poke.
Still he stinks like BO and oak
Smells like a singer of folk
Whose hair is matted into rope
Cause he won't use soap
What a dope!
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
My thoughts screaming out loud...
**** me daddy...
I need it bad, I want it, I crave it like a sin waiting to be unfolded inbetween my thighs where wetness needs to be explored.
You seem like trouble, temptation that I can’t help but have no control over.
Teasing you senselessly and wondering why I seem to have such an effect on people.
My eroticism speaks millions of sensual nightmares waiting to be unraveled and seeked upon.
My curtains are shaking and trembling waiting for pleasure to be evoked.
I scream to loudly on the inside wanting to lock away this part of me.
My ****** and ****** nature got me in bad spaces in the past, locking and hiding away that part of me for so long , I forgot what it felt to squirt... to feel drenched in your sweat, to leak forbidden sins...
Calling me your **** I love it when you provoke me, wrap me, and hold me.
It’s been a long time, I need a reminder of what it’s like to be bad again...
I’ve been good, keeping my habits controlled.
I want to feel you and **** you so bad it’s driving a drill through my chaotic sinful mind.
My words so raw and unfiltered, I need it bad...
Daddy, punish me for all that I have sinned...
Don’t forgive me, kiss me harder and penetrate deeper into my mind.
**** me with your words then show me what a bad baby I’ve been....
The devils ****** monster is lurking within, waiting for a sign....
Hungry and seductively parched.
Bring out my demon and allow her to drive you ****** insane...
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 12:59 PM UTC
Confession time,
Where's my priest?
When I was little I had it all planned out.
"In the name of the father and of the son and of the holy spirit, Amen.
It has been six months since my last confession and these are my sins."
I fought with my family.
I swore.
And I lied.
That is what I said for seven years.
I loved to throw a wrench in the machine.
When I was fourteen I added in a little tid bit to my routine.
"I am gay".
It was the longest pause I had ever heard.
And then it went completely ignored.
How rude of me to try and provoke you, father.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
- A Psalm Of Johnson when he committed a ****** sin
Oh Yahweh, Oh my Yahweh, I must confess,
I sinned against you and now my life's a mess.
No matter how hard I try to do whats right,
Hot women end up being my kryptonite.
Aug 22, 2021
Aug 22, 2021 at 6:11 PM UTC
I do not like the feeling of
examination,
of eyes burning on my back
as if you are a small match
and I am the bushfire
you wish to light...
I do not like the feeling of
obssessive observation,
I do not like privacy violation,
I do not like the feeling of claustrophobia,
I do not like claustrophobia because
it doesn't cease to exist by simply
removing ten people from one room.
I do not like claustrophobia because
sometimes your own mind is enough
to provoke a certain type
of wanderlust,
the kind where you run away
and leave everyone to rot and rust.
I do not like claustrophobia
because when I am alone,
it can never be enough alone,
it feels like the walls of my room
are breathing on my neck;
they're laughing at me,
declaring this poet insane,
it is the most crowded type of alone
until somebody, something
sedates my brain
and you call me "suggestive anxiety"
it's all in your head,
you're a game of chance
and I'm taking a guess;
you know my face but
you know nothing about my name.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
I'm so confused
No I don't understand
Because who I see here
Is Not who I am.
Reflections tell a story
The one everyone sees
But if you look deeper inside
There's much more left to be.
We're told when we're young
That anything is possible
But society continues
To declare dreams improbable.
I don't hate who I am
Just who I see in the mirror
For these thoughts I keep hidden:
They provoke too much fear.
I want to be normal
Young and happy
But I can't figure out
If I'm really me.
I make a decision
Decide on a label
That is until
New cards hit the table.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
deserve
it more than most, more than anyone, indeed, in deed,
your passion drowns me,
overwhelms and even makes me admit
out loudly
over comes
your faceted identities,
delight, charm, provoke,
and evoke
multitudes of moods, desires,
even writings...
but you are too stern,
this thing called love,
is tissue soft, so hard to form,
so easily torn, it requires
time & hard work, many words,
though oft the fewest are supreme,
and I laugh at myself, for the only word
I think that rhymes with supreme
is
dream
which is
just another synonym
for
endless opportunities***
and I, we, read each others poems
to each other
quietly,
for that is the only, & the best way.
Sep 8, 2025
Sep 8, 2025 at 5:33 AM UTC
Your white bosoms releasing that white serum.
That curvaceous mound feeds humanity,
That makes the biggest humanity via motherhood wisdom.
Your pink ******* arousing that tempest blood.
That soft hill becoming hard,
That hardens which heightens the adulthood.
Your black ***** taming sin.
That concealed shape popping out to provoke,
That provokes to **** feminism in mean.
May 28, 2010
May 28, 2010 at 12:43 AM UTC
I provoke the rain of Hell
From Heaven high to earth below
There we'll float on gainful spells
We're ready for this world to go
And off to outer space, we're facing
Endless races to the furthest reaches of our teacher, the speaker, the logos of Cosmos
And beyond to distant Quasars,
No phasers, no lasers, weaponry
We're safe with hearts of purity
And naked with our souls we'll seek
The greatest cosmic mysteries
I've always sought and thought unreal
The spacecraft not of stone or steel but
Opened hearts and focused spirits
Woke by times both strange and fearful
Changing basic notions of
What we all say are mind and love
We're through with consumers, they've doomed us
We've moved on
The proof is the truth that all life will soon be gone
We've built and built, killed billions and still
We march toward gold archways which never were real
I can tell others feel it,
They're real and they heal me
Relations, creations, spontaneous meaning
It's all building up to a climactic moment
Of high expectation that we will all blow it
But we were born just so we'd know when the opening
Ceremonies go on for the New Age of Hope
It's outrageous to think of the hate which created this
Darkness and chaos,
(Our God has betrayed us!)
But that's why our savior said
Look the other way,
To meet hate with more hatred
Speeds up the decay
We love the villains, though they **** us by millions
Because they're truly a part of this cosmic cotillion
They can't see the dance while they're
Crashing and sinning
So they can't imagine they're actually IN IT
There's a part and they fit it,
Catalyst for the equipment
Of Salvation:
The nations of women and men
Beginning again
We'll cancel the debt and we'll all become friends
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
i remember this one conversation
with such clarity it alarms me
in the dead of night
with a longing for ecstasy
seeping through his tone he asked me,
"could..you imagine....what..life...would be like...if we weren't..mentally ill?"
and with that question
my hanging heart
sunk even lower into its pit
due to jealousy and frustration
for my cursed blessing
and i was confused on how
for i had believed my heart already laid
at what i'd thought to be
rock bottom
well besides that,
he did provoke me
to question
is there is a chance
for my heart to find
its rightful place
in my body
yet again?
and maybe along with it
all of my chemical receptors,
and my neurological network of pathways
could all find their own
harmonious balance and natural sources
of dopamine, serotonin, and epinephrine
and have them work "flaw"lessly
just, way they were originally created to
when the goddess of mental
crafted these things with such care
and gifted those beautifully painful things
to humankind
****
the unholy things i'd do to obtain
the goddess of neurotypicality's
scientific? spiritual? situational?
whatever the **** is in her elixir of secret
for mental peace and serenity
that few were blessed with unconditionally
to me it just sounds like magic
but back to him the only way i could reply
was with,
"i could only dream"
for i believe
in a lifetime of mine past
i may may have made a deal
with the devil of neurodiversity,
a fallen angel without malice,
who simply forgot
to grant me the knowledge
of how i would be reborn
into a world
where its society
would be unfit for me and my kind of mind
and with that thought lingering i added,
"but yeah...it must be nice"
Jun 10, 2021
Jun 10, 2021 at 6:27 AM UTC
you do not need to be quiet.
you do not need to expose your heart
to this brutal world to feed its ugly desire.
you only need to walk into the wilderness of your soul
and breathe, succumb to the silence in your heart;
rebel and provoke, then embrace the soft despair
of your broken body and heal; in the miles
of broken road between your heart and mine, repent;
cry a little and scream, for the valley will echo
in redemption and uplift you into the timberline
and up again to the highest point above the valley floor
until the sun whips its fingers across your face and you stagger,
kneel, then pray in your enlightened state;
you will smile when you come home
to the craggy rocks and dusty rivers
and the tender patches of moss along the boulders;
you will tease the tall grasses and the buttercups
and the sunflowers with your fingers
and push deep through the mud with your toes;
here, silence is forgiving.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
Do you ever get frustrated?
Tired of the fight.
You're sick of wobbling at the edge,
with nothing going right.
The moon is tugging you once more
and you feel you must take flight.
Even if it means your fall to
doom.
Oh God, let me find freedom soon.
The freedom to scream, as loud and as
pained as blood,
dripping freely from the chest,
the successive scratch marks of my mind
free to air their wounds at last.
There you go everyone, there
is my real past.
It's disgusting and it's vile,
and still has the ability
to rip the smile from my face.
I feel like I'm in
a constant race.
Who can reach her brain first?
Can she really keep reign the bad,
when we provoke the beasts
of her destruction?
Can we quicken her heartbeat
and limit her air?
How about, if we tie her hair to
spiders?
Watch them scuttle closer in,
wriggling and spinning,
trying to reach inside her.
Let's watch her play "find the sin"
The sins we hid within,
which are not hers
but others.
We know she won't want to
cause a bother,
she won't dob us in.
She'll hide them like she
does her soul.
Honestly, she sometimes wonders if it's
worth it after all.
She feels enclosed, compressed,
constricted,
a claustrophobic who finds
solace in small spaces
fears suppression of emotion,
the heavy tread of life,
can sometimes be quite weary.
But it'll be alright, she'll always
find the energy to do that
which is right.
She'll once more start to fight
She'll find solace where she can,
and cradle ***** of light,
she'll find a way to free herself
by flying like a kite;
string holding her down,
but wind taking her high.
She'll dance
and laugh
and twist
and turn
and dive
high up in the sky
Free as a bird, but secret silent as a sigh,
not the least offended, if people
pass her by.
If they can't accept her,
she'll happily flip them off
with a cry of contentment,
that she can finally be free of living
with resentment.
Her Girl, Lady, Woman
firmly by her side,
together they will glide
and ride the
tides of life.
"We're flying!"
They will cry, laugh and love
forever eternally.
Their quirks in constant harmony
And when they lie to rest together,
the girl will whisper:
"We will never die
I'll live so safe in your heart
and you will be in mine"
"I promise, and I know,
our love can only grow"
So I'll never give up.
Ever
Because, I love you so.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
With beady,
lurking eyes
they pass judgement
looking for just one
"fatal flaw" to mock
Regurgitating false statements
giving them absolutely
no hope
for a future
ah, they say they have
but a single care
in the world
to provoke
to harass
those with substance
which they so evidently lack
what a world to live in
It's rather childish,
don't you think?
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
Distant clown, over-grown cow.
Greed, fled, fed, boat-led Sam,
Getting nowhere, near no fear.
Inner, sinner; surrogate's recycle-Bin.
Learned not we have, might constitute.
Flog a sand-bag, get dusty.
Provoke, take a stand for right.
Resolve why the hate. Quite!
Speaking of cows- inquisitive beasts;
Shouldn't be cast the wrong role.
Directors fault; new term. Choice-less.
Exactly. What would you do?
It's not of oppression, strike-down obsession.
Internal bee-stings, are not the painful.
Whatever the previous past, catalyst presentation...
On-going retaliation, stains not a few.
**** Rocks are heavy!
So what of the boat pudding?
Not constructive. World should bear this too.
Culinary dialogue. O'Bam, more custard?
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 7:46 PM UTC
a television interview, Oct. 2018 with Sir Paul McCartney
~for all of us, forever~
<•>
**** you Paul, old man
you trying to make us all look bad?
guess you’re just another
‘miner for a thousand years’
or more,
cause we haven’t seen a reason why the vein should run dry,
for the stolid earth resupplies endless old metal and the liquid veins
supply the need, the urgency of a warm gun of composition,
a drug nonpareil
and the things that provoke,
still provoke once more and again,
love and need, even memories,
petri dish cell regrown,
breathing atmospheric nutrients in the hotheaded hothouse air
of the human farm
‘tis why I paean you at 4:25am understanding full well,
better than most, for once I wrote,
it’s always the next one, that will be,
the flawless poem,
that will permit the laying down of the pen, the guitar
but even flawless is not
“good enough yet”
for all of us, forever*
for “yet,”
even more than forever,
is the most unlimited word we share
~
5:02am 10/17/18
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
I wrote this for a slam to explain who I am
It's PoetryByMAN
Yes I am a pseudonym
Mystery I provoke
Take it in let it soak
Word playing every stroke
Savor every ****
Next level set the tier
I'm here to make it clear
Though Twisted is the mirror
Rhymes you shouldn't fear
Competition vital
Here questing for the title
Who shall be my rival
In this game of survival
Hit with love
Vibrating like a hub
Ba doom Ba doom
Hit like a Sub...Woofer...
Heart full not hallow
LIKE ME!
If there was a button would you follow?
Messenger I am
Also I'm a fan
Diggity **** he thinks he's a rapper man
Simple..direct
Vocabulary wreck
All due respect..
Don't want to be correct
Commercial break watch me pop my snapple
Many skills acquired hope my talent is ample
Kung fu poet
Choose style I'll flow it
Talent the seed
Nurture grow it
From my bones
A melodic tone
Comfort comes from coming home
Shaman Buddha
Hybrid to school you
Sand a vibe
Runs right through you
Play my part
In this world of art
Butterfly to a new start
Blow nose with prose
Words without flow
Stand on stage
Put on a show
Hope you enjoyed PoetryByMAN
Spoken in 3rd I am
Blogs on tumblr..Facebook can't stand
Throw all in the air top rope poetry SLAM!!
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 7:03 PM UTC
I want a poet
between my thighs,
wicked tongue wrapped
in verse,
drive and provoke,
serenade
this dancing knot
of prose hidden here,
a hungry mound
saturated beneath a soft
cocoon of sweltering flesh,
suspended in expectation
inspired to spill forth
steaming compositions
sticky on his epic lips,
grinning.
And he’ll rise then
breathing a new stanza
onto my fragrant neck
“Sandalwood,” he’ll whisper
as he fills me with a new
refrain
emphatically taunts
my music
to sing down onto
his tightened fuse,
running rivulets spiraling
along his determined thighs,
crying out into his
listening ear,
a requiem so potent it
drips off the page
and becomes some reality.
Dec 28, 2009
Dec 28, 2009 at 7:57 PM UTC
I am the devil in the night.
I scourge, and haunt, and terrorize.
All those who see me stop with fear in their tracks.
All do their best to avoid such a horror like me.
Those whom provoke me regret their actions,
for I rip them limb from limb.
I will show them the worst pain they have ever seen.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 8:30 PM UTC
Words briskly picked
from the fruits of your memoirs,
galloping air you forcibly breathe
the music you hear, the colours you see.
the hymns you appreciate,
shows traces of wonderland,
the hints and pieces
ah, superficial paradise.
Now you tell me stories
I'd ought to focus and listen,
As I see the snap of your fingers
Loud words and Whispers,
vines and wrapped my heart
without any given reasons,
you provoke and attest,
Your hideous mission.
to capture and get,
Slaved by your intentions,
with peace and love,
through your life lessons.
You've given grip
through friendship and company.
I will raise this glass
for our uncharted destiny.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 6:11 AM UTC