"quota" poems
(1/15/13)
the human trafficker sells your body , sells your soul
they keep you under their control.
to them you are just a piece of meat
for humanity to sit and eat.
the younger the victim the easier to control
by the time they're teens- their spirit is cold.
no longer do they have the will to fight
it's become their way of life.
they never had a childhood or a family to love
or to even know what love's about
for their hearts and minds have been turned inside out.
fear is the only thing they know
and in their face it will show.
many are bought and put on the streets
if they don't meet their quota - they don't eat.
then there are those who are sold privatly
those are the ones that you never see.
most are girls - but there are boys
and they're all used as ****** toys.
we have to let all countries know
human trafficking has got to go.
(C) L . RAMS
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
Sa sampu sigurong manggagawa ng Kentex
tatlo ang maglalakad nang napakalayo,
mula pinakamasikip na eskinita sa Valenzuela
hanggang pabrika para makatipid sa tricycle.
Sayang din kasi.
Dalawa siguro sa tatlong yun, babae,
may tig-isang anak na dumedede pa
at hindi pa talaga maiwan pero kailangan nang iwanan
kahit mahigpit ang pagkakakapit sa tuwing paalamanan
dahil mas mahigpit ang pangangailangan.
Sa sampung rin sigurong manggagawa ng Kentex
siyam yung nagbabaon ng kaning tinipid nung hapunan
at ulam para hindi na bumili sa kainan.
Yung isa siguro kakain na lang ng biskwit at tubig.
Sa sampu sigurong manggagawa ng Kentex
siyam yung hindi na magbebreaktime para magmeryenda.
Sayang ang bawat minutong titigil sa paggawa ng tsinelas,
baka hindi umabot sa quota, baka mawalan ng trabaho bukas.
Sa sampu sigurong manggagawa ng Kentex
dalawa lang ang nagpapansinan sa oras ng trabaho-
yung magkaedad at magkatabi.
Sayang ang bawat minutong tatakas ang atensyon
sa ginagawa, baka mareject ang gawa, baka tuluyan nang tumunganga.
Sa sampu sigurong manggagawa ng Kentex
labing-isa yung hindi pa nakaranas ng fire drill.
Sa sampu sigurong manggagawa ng Kentex
labing-isa yung walang benepisyo.
Sa sampu sigurong manggagawa ng Kentex
labing-isa yung mababa ang sweldo.
Sa sampu sigurong manggagawa ng Kentex
labing-isa yung inaasahan ng pamilya.
Sa sampu sigurong manggagawa ng Kentex
labing-isa ang hindi mo kilala
kaya wala kang pakialam
mabigyan man sila o hindi ng hustisya.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
After days of hot sun, down came the rain,
It watered the garden, and flowed down the drain.
In less than five hours, the month’s quota met,
The news had reported, a record was set.
The drink was welcomed, by the parched earth,
Ending the dry spell, experienced by Perth.
But soon people complained, about getting wet,
They wanted the sun, how soon they forget.
We’re never satisfied, with what we get,
It’s too hot or too cold, too dry or too wet.
We want 24 degrees, with sky that is blue,
And rain for an hour, in the morning at two.
We should be grateful, for the sun and the rain,
Make the most out of it all, and do not complain.
when things do happen, which we can’t control,
Leave it in his hands, it’s part of his goal.
Bill Hoeneveld. 4/26/2016.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 12:33 PM UTC
I’m Biracial.
Which did you notice first?
The me that looks like you or the me that looks like other?
There is no denying what I am—
from my last name to the shape of eyes,
you’ll know I’m not white.
But you’ll also immediately notice
I’m not quite not white.
I’m not quite not white enough.
White-passing.
“extremely” white passing until:
someone sees my last name
takes longer than five seconds to look at me
notices something “other” about me.
Other...
not one box to check on your
“optional” choose one diversity survey
Can’t check White. Can’t check Asian.
other...“Decline to Answer”
I’m Biracial. White-passing—
but not enough to stop ignorance
ignorance in the form of
questions and comments
meant to be “harmless” or “curious”
but ones that strip me of defining my own identity
“So are you a math Asian or a **** Asian?”
“You don’t look Asian enough for your last name.”
“Why are you trying to whitewash yourself for them?”
“Diversity quota”
And in comparison, those aren’t the worst things to hear.
By age ten I knew which words were meant to hurt
and which were meant out of ignorance.
Which racial slur applied to me.
I’m Biracial.
The same system that builds up half of me tears down the other half.
But— The model minority myth means something to you.
So you’ll build my other half up at the expense of someone else.
You’ll make me feel uncomfortable in my own identity
to fit what you need in the circumstances
Statistics to fit your workplace diversity quota
But still white passing so you can use micro aggressions as a joke
because I’m “white enough” that they should be funny.
I’m Biracial. Not other.
Not part you and part not you.
Not “missing” something.
I am wholly biracial.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:50 AM UTC
so we are at the operating table
and we work slowly and deliberately
with the patient between us
and I say to you:
I'm a little nervous
And you say to me:
You? But you've got so much experience
And I say to you:
*Yeah, but if i ***** up this one,
my insurance company has advised,
I'll be at the end of my quota of cases
for my malpractice insurance*
And you don't say anything
just that, behind that mask,
you've got your mouth agape
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
A semester of struggle,
Torture and fear,
The grades are in,
Their finally here.
Relationships on hold,
as we prance around,
try to salvage,
what we let down.
Kids will do anything,
just to pass the quota,
Except for me,
I just play Dota.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC
to him,
she was his escape,
his ever present lighthouse.
as shadows creeped up his vision,
he would go to her
seeking temporary paradise
in an unforgiving world
that would pass judgement
on those that failed
to meet their quota
it calmed him.
to be able
to completely surrender himself
to someone so pleasurably cruel
each whip lash,
each biting scar,
each punishing slap,
each delicious sting from candle wax,
his neck wrapped in a collar
his skin marred by abuse
yet he couldn't help but ask
for more
more
more
he would beg
and she would give it to him.
he let himself drift away
until nothing more
than welcomed thoughts of her
invaded his once clustered mind
he would do anything for her.
only for her.
that was his duty
as her loyal pet
to her,
no words needed
to be said
he was nothing more
than an animal
trained to
satisfy her
in bed.
that's how its always been
with her partners being
lustful creatures
forever seeking an outlet
for their suppressed desires
but she couldn't help
but think that this one
this insignificant little pet
would be the one
to stay by her side
then again,
that's what she thought
about everyone else before him
but she'd gladly wait
and see if
this one was any different
the least she could do
would be to enjoy herself
and savor the moment
of being able to call
this pathetically beautiful beast
as her own.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 7:38 PM UTC
The Grim Reaper reaches deeper,
Over-eager to catch a keeper,
Create another ever-sleeper,
At the expense of ever-weepers.
Playing heart-string harps, his hand extends,
Lost in searching, he transcends
O'er prayers and pleas. He descends:
The catalyst of anguished ends.
A terminator of life's coda,
Enternally, he fills his quota.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
I have a life experience to share.
I don't know if you would care.
In the last unforgettable year,
I applied for FSW/Federal Skilled Worker
Immigration Program in Canada.
Unfortunately,
I've already reached the said quota.
I was denied for my dream visa.
Though I was qualified to apply,
I was refused for two simple reasons:
"No current employer and Ph.D. degree."
My self-esteem got very low,
I didn't know what to do
Because I have nothing to show
To my friends who kept asking me.
So it's time to break my silence.
I told them what happened
And they have felt sorry for me.
My wife has lost her self-confidence
But I told her to never give up
Even though I was hurting inside.
On this coming May 4, 2013,
CIC offices will accept FSW applications.
Though I've the necessary qualifications,
I don't know if I will ever apply again
Because I still have the unbearable pain.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 12:16 PM UTC
He asked me how I liked it today--
from the back or front?
He wanted to know why--
too small or didn't last?
He said he knew, so I shouldn't lie to him--
as if I was less than him.
What's a ****** to do
when the rumors peg her as a ****
She can't ignore the whispers,
or the blatant accusations:
*Now we all know how ***** she really is.*
It's been twenty-four hours,
and already the **** is coming
with dogs, chained, in their heels,
makeup streaked and lipstick smudged.
He releases the *******
But they don't wait for the cover of night to bite,
no, they lunge at noon in the crowded hallways
teeth of words, power of the sideways glance,
venom of whispers, bullets of pointed fingers
He needs a new name for the list,
his quota is short--
because when a girl becomes single,
she is an updated item on the auction:
Name: Lilith
experience: 1 guy(s)
skills:
hands: 4/10
tongue: 6/10
on top: 3/10
bottom: 7/10
volume: loud
Her reputation is spoiled--
the way her friends talk to her,
the invites she gets to hang out,
the fact that no one wants to talk to a ****
Welcome, little ******
to the Virtue Laments.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
I was surprised it felt heavier
Uneasiness too pinched me
Haven’t carried a weightier ever
What could fill a family!
Did I see a red heart there
Did I see a silver line
Did I carry the weight of care
Sealed with the hands of valentine!
It was heavier but I felt so light
And free as my dreams set free
Scaled the hillocks reached mountain height
When remembered what she heard from me!
*There’s no time I must haste
A load of work at office knocks
Would come home late it would be best
If you forget for today the lunchbox!*
Now I’m smiling as I eat the meal
More than daily quota manifold
The lunchbox lends me the much needed fill
Sealed with a heart of gold!
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 5:45 AM UTC
Kanye Got Got
Well I guess They got Kanye,
I suppose They’ll get me too one day,
and I can try but can’t get away,
because They get everyone eventually,
hundred years ago we were all playing flutes,
we’re all guilty as charged even without proof,
and then we play ourselves that’s the truth,
because those in control have nothing to prove,
They pull up the trains and tell us to move,
get to your job gotta quota to fill,
these politicking capitalists are making me sick,
and maybe I’m one too and that’s why I feel ill,
but I’m better than that getting better in fact,
and that’s why my cup overrunneth when filled,
to the brim ballin’ all in,
swimming in sin still blessed as Mary The ******
first programmed device was invented in Baghdad,
but we’re all caught up in these narcissistic sentiments,
we’re in The Greatest Time in Human History,
and all you can think is the narcissistic thought that “I’m sad”,
Yeah we’re all sad,
and that’s our own fault,
got me mad as a cam in Baghdad,
which I guess was the results,
of being over optimistic with bad math,
and being on the war path with a sadistic cult,
but what’s the cult called,
does it even have a name,
and how’d it get Kanye,
and what’s it gotta do with Jay?
Well I guess They got Kanye,
I suppose They’ll get me too one day,
and I can try but can’t get away,
because They get everyone eventually…
∆ LaLux ∆
The New Book Is FREE Here: https://www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 11:36 PM UTC
Expect miracles every minute
Not.
Go away children if you want
Uplifting,
This is a dark adventure
Composition.
Gloomy the mood,
Gorgeous the day,
You have received my disclaimer,
Scurry away.
I scribe smoke that is uncontainable,
Smoke that suffocates, not for decoration.
You are the unrighteousness, not on the list,
Peekaboo voyeurs who read and dismiss.
Why I pen this or this.
Lost in the shuffling cards,
Luck is not inexhaustible,
Mine, bottled in the bin labelled,
The last recycling.
Dark is the blue sky,
White clouds just clothing to disguise
Morose is the vision,
Of eyes that have not seen a miracle
In decades of waiting.
Let us divorce today,
Find good cheer and company elsewhere.
From my finger these words fall freely,
No waiting, from me to you instantaneously.
What ails thee smoke scribe?
I have given and been taken, leeched and bled
and now wasted the last of my
Nine lives.
This is where I stand, edged and ledged,
Miracles are not shown to me anymore.
My quota, used, I'm not us-confused,
Cause I wrote the disclaimer,
The warnings, the risks, well understood.
Write of the good, the bad, of the
Beautiful that does not last,
Wonder if this is the poem
shall be my Epitaph?
Poetry craft, was the sword I breathed thru,
Unlike you, my motet is completed,
The music, the canon smoke, here, come, then
Gone.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
the filth of the alley is kind
it is the dust of the office
that coats the brick cubicles
here stands the curved beauty
presented and elegant
as if carved to physical perfection
she sways the men who pass
hoping to tickle the primitive weakness
that steeps within
like a corporate jungle
they compete for position
to meet the daily quota
among the urchins and minions
they are the forbidden fruit
they’re bouquet fills the air
bringing suitors
who choose the exceptional
these retched sales are precise
they’re instrument is physical
product of flesh and pleasure
the red light markets this reality
teasing curious souls
into the cubicles
giving into the primitive weakness
they leave them stripped and bare
cradled by the alley
covered by the filth
the transaction filled
she stands
the curved beauty
and begins this ritual again
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 9:57 PM UTC
Just what do we know about
Ward Churchill?
That radical agitator,
That Colorado college professor
Most famous for calling
Twin Tower 9/11 dead technocrats
Little Eichmanns.
Noteworthy is the fact that
The United States Supreme Court
Denied certiorari,
Passed on hearing his claim of
Unlawful discharge.
Unlawful discharge?
Sounds felonious and vile:
Like pus laced with *****
A criminal secretion, like mucus
Smuggled past Customs:
Vaginal contraband.
Sorry, Ward.
We just don’t give a ****
Your fake Indian pedigree,
Your bogus Vietnam fairytales,
Your phony combat record,
Your forward ops recon
Way out in ******* Cambodia,
Fall flat like Buffalo turds.
You’ve been slick, Ward.
Hired originally to fill
Some gratuitous affirmative action quota,
Denied tenure in two legitimate departments,
You create some ******** academic discipline
For campus freaks & geeks.
Self-appointed Department Chairman,
A fraudulent college professor from the start,
Once tenured, a courageous warrior for free speech.
Describing Native American history as genocide.
Summing up American history as Holocaust denial.
Professor Churchill was all of these things,
And less.
But using the Holocaust metaphor
To anchor one’s fakakta politics?
That was the proverbial last straw,
The camel buster, if you will.
Especially since most of the
Stockbrokers & market analysts
Crushed in the rubble were Jewish.
Hava Nagila, Babaloo!
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
Finkle Rat and Derby Cat
Opened up a specialty shop
Which was running rather smoothly
Till kids teeth began to rot
For what it was they sold were
Candy apples, Sugar Cubes, and Lemon Drops
With Fizzie Soda to make their quota
On the loaner they had got
You see the latest shipment of Fizzies
Came from the loan shark Marco Mole
To save themselves a buck or two
Our naive friends both sold their souls
And Marco doesn't care about
Any kids or their rotten teeth
Cause he also owns a piece of Charlie Cockroach
The dentist down the street
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 7:39 AM UTC
I jumped off the platform
and onto the train tracks today
simply because — well —
there was nothing else to do.
I did my laundry at two in the afternoon,
had breakfast an hour after that,
and filled in my daily quota
of wondering where my life is heading.
And I completed all those tasks
before five!
Can you believe it?
I jumped off the platform
and onto the train tracks today
simply because I felt like it.
Because death
has been knocking on my door
since 2014, and I thought
to finally give it a chance.
Because the thought of dying
is the only thing that keeps me alive.
Because at this point,
death is the only thing I haven’t tried.
So, I jumped.
I jumped — and the train crashed into me,
like death was finally
giving me the embrace I have denied for so long.
It said, “This is the end, and you
have reached it.” And I, all red and blood
on the floor, smiled because
death is exactly how I
have been imagining it.
The people around me have places to be,
lives to live, people to love, pets to care for,
and I — I am guts on the ground
they are frowning at because I
delayed their entire lives.
They would think back
thirty years from now,
and remember the girl
who spilled her guts on the train tracks.
But I will be dead, and my last memory
would always be the faces of these strangers.
Was my death an inconvenience?
Did my death ruin your life?
Your day? Your evening?
Did seeing me die
make you realize
how precious your life is?
Did seeing all the ugly parts of me
make you think of how beautiful you are?
Did my death serve as a lesson?
Did my death teach you
how to be alive?
Lucky.
My body was a graveyard
long before it was dead, and my mind
was even worse than that.
And you think your life is ruined?
You think your life will never be the same?
Funny.
Mental illness
took that chance away from me.
At least I did the laundry,
had breakfast,
and filled in my quota
before I jumped.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 10:50 AM UTC
I’ve been waking up early lately Not intentionally, though the days do seem longer It makes me wonder what my body is scheming It has plans for me of which I am unaware I wish I knew them Then maybe I wouldn’t get up so reluctantly, guzzle black coffee, and sit here while some arbitrary words unfold in my mind The usual I feel the urge to record them It’s like psychological regurgitation, this typing I suppose it’s cathartic Worthless probably, otherwise But it’s the only thing other than running and smoking which keeps me sane I’m addicted to dopamine and now I’m down my usual quota because my *** life is at a standstill Maybe that’s why I’m up so early **** I feel psychotic at times like this I know I’m not but my observations of others’ behavior tells me otherwise They’re happy, or at least seemingly so Or, at least they have the nerve to ***** about how sucky their life is out loud for everyone to hear Which isn’t getting them anywhere I, on the other hand just sit here quietly and write about it Which isn’t getting me anywhere either so why the **** am I waking up so early, I mean ****
At least let me sleep in.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 8:59 AM UTC
Where were you
when they called me ‘keling’ and ‘pariah’?
Where were you
when my grandparents arrived in a boat?
Where were you
when my kind slogged the railway tracks and roads?
Where were you
when they called me a snake and a rubber tree loafer?
Where were you
when they tore down my temples ‘coz there were one too many?
Where were you
when higher education was denied ‘coz some quota had been filled?
Where were you
when my kind were killed in prisons?
I didn’t know it was a crime to look like a black rapper with earrings;
Where were you
when my grandmother wept the first time she cast a vote?
Where were you
when my grandfather laughed, shaking hands with the Tun seated by the Brit?
Where were you
when I proudly held the nation’s flag up the Everest and in a squash court?
Where were you
when I wept at the sound of ‘Negaraku’ heard thru’ muffled speakers and a loud silence?
One Malaysia sorry *** was once believed but now delusional
When my kin are likened to toilet paper
Used when needed and then discarded!
@ shaqila 21/1/2013
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
I'd rather cuddle than go to the park
Said my friend
I'd rather cuddle then go to the park
Said I
What a difference one little letter makes
Funny that both 'a' and 'e' are the most used
Out of all the 26 children, these are the most abused
(Sorry that was dark, I had to write it though
I've got a new contract giving me a quota
And setting a minimum of X poems a day
With L number of lines with Q words per line
And purple plus candy canes equals love.
Another provision in my contract is that I must write
Anything and everything and whatever comes to mind)
So I'm thinking of all these letters and thinking
Why these? Why 26? Why have 'c' if 's' and 'k' can do its job?
And why do people have favorites?
Which makes my mind segue into this thought:
Why have favorites at all? Everything will be a favorite
Something to someone, right?
And what does it benefit us to love a letter or symbol such as <3
Or maybe :)
Is it because our mind sees patterns and so instead of seeing
The mathematically incorrect 'less than three' we see a heart
And instead of 'colon parentheses' (correct in no context but the internet) we see a smile
And in all honesty, we must admit, <3 and :) are not biologically
Or physiologically accurate
So how did we come up with the super-simplified emoticon?
And who came up with a word like emoticon anyway??
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 7:14 AM UTC
I know what you’re all about because you’ve told me.
You’re against using medicine and chemicals.
Unless I put them in my body and they become the permission slip for you to *** inside me.
Somehow this feminism pill that is supposed to liberate me is really liberating your ****
You’re against plastic surgery.
Until I need it to fix this unbroken vessel which you can’t help but make comments about while we stand naked and on exhibit in the shower.
You’re against hurting women.
Unless it involves “hog-tying me and carrying me around like a brief case.”
Then it’s just **** and what you’re into.
I guess I should work on finding the pleasure in that.
You’re against me using a ******* chef’s knife to cut pizza rather than a pizza cutter.
Until it becomes an opportunity to tell me I’m doing it wrong.
I’m going to dull the knife you are so cunningly waiting to shove in my back.
You’re against giving in to unhappiness.
Unless it’s an excuse for you to ignore me.
I forgot I already reached my frown quota and you were given the free infinity pass at birth.
You’re against eating meat.
Unless it’s human meat because you aren’t above cannibalism. How many of us have you chewed up and **** out, anyway? I am just one more unassuming girl to be preyed upon.
You’re against pessimism.
Until it’s your life, your opinion, your need to rain on everyone’s parade. You say I don’t see the silver lining in the clouds, but it’s because I’m consumed by your storm. The entire sky is overcast and I can’t, or won’t, be the rainbow every single time.
What is a rainbow anyway?
Depending upon which way you look, it vanishes into nothing. Beautiful, but transparent and fleeting. I give you pleasure for a moment and then I am forgotten.
I am a refraction.
A bending light.
Invisibility spreading it’s legs wide open to give you a smile in fabulous color.
You shout these qualities in your autobiography like I’m supposed to give you some type of award.
The reality is that being in a relationship with you means constantly teetering on the balancing beam of a double-edged sword.
The only thing you’re really against is me.
On day 1 you told me you were an *******
And I thought you were just exaggerating.
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 3:31 PM UTC
Looking at the heart wrenching image,
Moved my whole being to tears,
Laying lifeless, bloodied,
Entry wood to her temple;
The husband craddling her head,
Tearfully looking down,
At the love of his life,
Never again to cheer his home;
She left the home that morning,
To oversee elections,
To serve her fatherland,
To contribute her own quota;
But all she got,
Was a bullet to her head,
The robbing of her life,
Abrupt end to an unfolding story;
Two children have lost their mother,
Parents have lost their daughter,
Sibblings have lost their kin,
And a husband his confidant;
Would she like many others,
Be a little statistic,
Some unfortunate incident,
Lost to unending callousness?
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC
mom says we should buy an axe.
she shapes her gum into a moon,
craters and canines and molars,
like a fake suicide on national tv,
the passing of the torch,
the running of the bulls,
the macy’s day parade.
ashtrays don’t lie, but ashes do,
they’ve got their canines and molars
and tongues tuned to calamity,
slick as sunsets as they chop away.
and this fortnight is something you can read,
go ahead, turn the pages,
one to fourteen and you’re caught unaware,
what the **** were you doing,
counting casualties, coming closer to the yellow sky,
it’s petroleum sliding down your throat now.
the human body is 70% ********
and you may meet your quota but you’ll never meet your end,
racing through the stucco in the room your girlfriend rents,
the ridiculous ambivalence seeping through your pores,
staining the sheets you haven’t washed since february,
turning off the tv you were never watching anyway,
letting bulls run and torches light
like that little corner of your eye that twitches when you touch,
like that interrogation manual you can’t read anymore,
the door shuts in your face and your books crush your bones.
and you and mom buy the axe and leave it by the fridge with the broom,
and the more you scratch the rustier the blood.
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 8:42 AM UTC