"reform" poems
What they don’t tell you in school,
while you’re trying to remember
the difference between prophase and metaphase
chromosomes and chromatin
is that really
biology isn’t science
biology is life
See, divorce
divorce is like mitosis
slow to start, but quick to finish
Begins at prophase
when conflicts arise as your family’s nucleolus,
your family’s unity
disappears
Your carefree life, your chromatin,
coil and change
become tight, tense chromosomes
Outside forces, mitotic spindles,
residing in the cytoplasm
start creeping towards your parents
to separate their souls
Metaphase:
you’re all lined up
single file
ready for battle
Centrosomes, middles of each new life,
poised opposing each other
with their spindles latched onto you kinetochore, your middle,
like a dog with it’s leash
Anaphase:
everything separates,
your world’s torn apart
and you’re left silently
watching
alone
as your sister is torn from your life
Telophase:
the pain starts to lessen
as you uncoil
and your broken family’s nuclear membrane
begins to reform
Once the paper’s are signed
once the cell’s wall’s rebuilt
your old life is over
and the process
it’s finished
See, they don’t tell you
don’t think you need to know
that
divorce is simply biology
and
mitosis
well, it’s life
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
At the Zoo
Patriots and faux exhibit and binge on synonyms of liberty printed on beer and underwear
Advertising what should be unspoken and inspired to pervert and romanticize
Preludes to the parades and finale above us all
Weeks of saturated irony
Cuckoo bird irony and BBQ
As they reform Phoenix, rebirth of distractions and thievery
Predators in ally ways pursing America's diamonds and legs
Then gunpowder
Gunpowder of colors and cuckoos
Layers of streets in gunpowder
Towns built of gunpowder
Sky is gunpowder
We are born addicted to led and gunpowder
Gunpowder ****** in the air
Success, display and diversion and more gunpowder to ingest.
The Grand Finale
The Volta of the evening
The hammer of the judge
*** appeal of death and nature flexing it's muscles-
show us some skin!
Covering your ears
Eyes fastened-
Ready to burrow back to mothers womb
Binged and free
Chinese celebration hijacked
Red, White and Blue
And a moment of silence
Orchestrated onomatopoeia in heaven
Chorus of arousal on Earth
Band marching war machines in hell
The showdown of 241 years!
This freedom we are all grateful to only talk about
Only free to battle shackling intoxication
Men and women tugging extra weighted offspring
Sulking for indoors and portable addiction
Chanting three letter obedience
God being counted by his blessings
Fear and Statism in every breathe for salvation from our stick swatted enemies
Checkpoints that serve and protect asking for a toll;
liberty synonyms.
Arresting the too free
At the Zoo,
The cuckoos regaining reality.
The phoenix red eye and held under oath
To the next day where we are back
To hate each others freedom, again.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 1:31 AM UTC
I am astonished as to how at ease you are
with the great unknown
how unfazed you are
with being lost in uncertainty
It scares me how I am willing
to toss the compass overboard
and join you
how willing I am to destroy myself
only to reform again to be
brave like you
You make me feel safe
In myself
You’ve freed me to be
capable
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 5:28 AM UTC
•
Fix
me•
Mend
me•Stitch
me•Overhaul
me•Amend me•
Alter me•Modify me
•Enhance me•Patch me•
Adjust me•Heal me•Correct
me•Reform me•Shift me•Renew
me•Remedy me•Rebuild me•Aid
me•Assist me•Change me•Rectify
me•Troubleshoot me•Revive me•
Assemble me•Calibrate me•
Service me•Love me•
Repair me•
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC
I am alive by luck at this point.
I wonder if the gun that will eventually take me has been made.
Whose trigger will bury me.
How many bullets, like a flock of sparrows, will come carry my life to its final bed.
Today, I am alive but there is no law to thank.
If not me, then someone else.
Born into a game of chance we never asked for. Traded diplomas for obituaries. Traded graduation speeches for eulogies. Traded futures for an early grave. Forced to cash in their chips. We don’t want to play anymore.
And this too is eulogy. And this too is prayer. And this too can resurrect the coffin wood back to a tree. Can sing back alive whatever parts of you died with them. Whatever leapt in your throat at yet another headline.
Mourning until you, too, are a thing to mourn.
But we will no longer be martyrs.
We are the rude awakening to politicians who pawned out our safety, who bartered our lives for bribes.
You say “gun reform is not the answer” but all I can see is a bullet rattling like a pinball in an innocent student’s jaw.
You smell like gun smoke and
I can see the AR15 you're holding behind your back and
I guess it's easy to crack jokes about dodging bullets when you're the one firing them.
Give teachers books not bullets:
Kafka isn’t kevlar.
Bronte isn’t bulletproof.
And how sick is it that we must add school shootings to your list of proud american traditions.
Throwing opinions like punches.
How many more have to die before you decide your ego isn’t as important as you think it is?
And I, too, am buried alive
My soggy grave parting its greedy lips.
To you, my bones, when ground into gunpowder and mixed into water, taste like champagne.
My pulse, as thin as an obituary panting beneath sweaty palms, and sure
We are “just kids,”
But you are forgetting we are the next generation
And you autopsy your fists.
Call it reclamatory.
Lately, when asked “how are you?” I respond with a name no longer living.
And who knows if mine will be next
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 10:32 PM UTC
If a busy gun takes lives
Then silent leaders do worse
They burn lives, hang knuses on the innocent
Voice your pain or get blessed with a curse
Blood shed Schools
We elected fools
Wrong leaders to lead us
Pushing useless agenda’s
While feeding us propaganda
Halls covered red
thousands of innocent people killed
At the expense of gun reform laws
Watching news with dropped jaws
We sit in silence
while the voiceless die for peace
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 5:22 PM UTC
Have you ever seen a clouded night
the darkness suffocating?
Have you ever seen the blinding light
the darkness all-negating?
Have you ever felt the black surround
when you were all alone?
Have you ever felt the lightning shake the ground
from celestial heights unknown?
Have you ever felt the spray upon your face
from a coming, speeding storm?
Have you ever known the even pace
of earth's rain-brought reform?
If you've never seen a lightning-light,
or felt it burn your eyes
Upon a cool late summer's night—
then you're in for a surprise.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
You and I were a natural disaster.
How we acted came naturally,
Though as natural as a volcano.
There is beauty in destruction.
And darling, we blew up.
We crumbled, we burned,
And we took others down with us.
The aftermath still isn't pretty,
But life is rebuilding around us.
It's avoiding the rough spots,
Still cooling off.
It's hard.
It's rocky.
It'll all come together soon, though.
I was magma, unstable, explosive.
You were the rock, the result of previous disasters.
You were simply trying to grow.
I was simply out of control.
You and I were a natural disaster.
And just like most eruptions,
We erupted when it was least expected.
Maybe now, I can cool.
I can stabilize and reform.
You can finally get the stability you need,
From a source less risky than I.
There is beauty in destruction.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
#*What to do when depression
Strikes again
With more of strength
And me falling weak & apart
Unable to get up from bed
For day or two
Unable to scream for help
Or speak up what's wrong
Lying there like a dead
Waiting for the depression storm to pass
I get up from square one
When it passes
But the destruction still remain
Taking one step at a time
To reform oneself
And fix the armour more stronger
Than ever
To wish for more strength
To weaken the depression storm
And make myself more stronger.*#
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 1:20 AM UTC
Because the thirst wouldn’t simmer; it ruptured cities into boils,
turned cultures into armies, an armageddon of cheeky stubborn Irish Catholics and thick veined Germans couldn’t imagine a world without their stout hearty headed pint.
Because white dry protestant angels thought crime existed in a vacuum, in a filthy saw-dusted saloon, the hub spawn of evil.
Because twice as many of those saloons were ******* by unlicensed blind pigs, not through free swinging doors on the streets, but in the domestic sphere; in the dark crept crevices of household sanctuaries.
Because bootlegging capitalist princes turned the industry into a stenchy liability with their home brewed distilled poisons. Alky cookers wrapped the commodity fetish and dubbed it moonshine.
Moonshine – spirits for the poor and blind.
Because this social reform was a moral reform lost in the oblivion of politics, lost in the timeliness of progressive spring-cleaning referenda’s.
Because the ragged, toothless class had to be scold, striped clean of their traditional barings,
because wisdom is everything and they’re spirits ran vilely wild.
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 6:57 AM UTC
i still straddle the fence on this
immigration reform manifesto
i see both sides of the story
it's good to have the grandfather clause
for the immigrants in my bloodstream
- the scrappy scots-irish-ingles-welsh
in me - but too late for the cherokee
behind the old fences of history.
r ~ 11/9/14
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
Shinchan, Shinchan we are his fan
He’s a tot but swanks as a man
He is too minute and he is so cute
Shot in the arm can put you in dispute
He pranks and clanks with pals or alone
Be it his school or be it his home
Mitsy his mom shouts as a norm
Harry his dad scouts to reform
Pranks and clanks both gets flop
When Mitsy gives him a pop on his top
Our fun gathers when he does not stop
And another one goes on top on his pop
Pops and shops is what he gets from his mom
We never go sad be whatever his form
Shinchan, Shinchan we are his fan
We will love him as much as we can
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
You grab spiderwebs with your teeth
just to understand the detail
of something above you.
You only matter to you.
The Universe has more to deal with
than your problems that surround you.
So dust off your dirt you know as fear
and reform to the plastic reality,
we call life.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 9:32 PM UTC
What day it is
what place is this
Answer is there
I can see
but cannot see
the book is open
unreadable
the seamless
more I know less
up to the point
I know what I want
till nothing to
wait for
the sour feeling
keeps coming
driving slow
not missing sun's glow
it is bright
like always
beating on its own
the little heart
from its start
many branches
of the root
all stretches
out
to find a better place
participating in
every race
further apart
from where I had started
no closer to the end
it is no better than
if I just stop
midstep
it is not money
not for this journey
all I do
is do it more
candle is melting
all the wax
how can I reform
myself
The structure
all that matters
is that it stands
no fall, no toll
it is not as simple
to make the life boat sail
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 12:46 PM UTC
Blurring,
Through a lifeless realm of light.
Blinding,
Is the massive ray display!
Phasing through two different voids,
As life enfolds, the dark engulfed.
Before the storm,
The tallest bricks reform.
And waves ring silence,
As the boat stays on the shore!
I'll travel to the distant past
To cast the gauntlet to the mass!
As the wise men fill with rage,
Their heads take cover
Under hoods of shape!
Detonate!
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:22 PM UTC
I want cheesey garlic bread!
alas, it's all that's in my head-
and if lactose I could tolerate,
this might not be such a debate.
though I'm sure my body could conform,
but it's taken this long to reform!
from the **** and mucus that is dairy,
that will surely turn your knuckles hairy.
I'll eat a piece of gluten toast,
for it only makes my tummy bloat,
but from cheese I must stay far away,
unless I want my **** to spray.
it's a sign, I think, that my body rejects
such a harmful product, my body protects
but god ****** I want garlic bread,
the cheesey kind, it's in my head...
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 1:30 AM UTC
Two snowflakes descend toward the ground.
One lands on the head of a man,
The other on the outstretched tongue of a woman.
The man thinks little of his snowflake,
while the woman is slightly amused by hers.
The man sees his as one of many landing at once,
while the woman's snowflake stands out.
During the descent of these snowflakes,
two things happen in particular.
The man is staring at the woman,
while he bumps into a passerby.
A student is taking a test,
while his friend is sleeping through it.
The snowflakes collide with the man and woman
in a seemingly accidental way.
The man and woman are unaware
of any particular snowflake coming at them.
But the snowflakes seem to follow a path
dictated by the wind,
as if aiming for their target.
The man is unaware of the passing woman
because of his fixation on another.
The man, along with the passing woman,
is also unaware
that they will be married in the future.
The student taking the test
will receive an A in the class.
The student sleeping will receive a C.
They each will go on to graduate
and have similar jobs.
The life of a snowflake is short,
but it has infinite forms.
It will melt, reform, and descend many more times.
The snowflake won't be significant
to its target in each life,
but the snowflake is not phased by this,
for it will have many more attempts.
Human life is like the descent of a snowflake.
It is made up of small moments
that we may or may not be aware of,
and that may or may not be significant.
Its time span is short,
and even when it is significant,
the significance is slight.
Unlike the snowflake,
humans aren't certain of having infinite forms.
The life that exists now
may be the only one given.
Human life should be spent
like the snowflake aiming for the tongue.
There's no guarantee that you'll make it,
or be remembered for it,
but if you have no direction,
there's no guarantee you'll have another chance.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC
Your journey does not change you,
it only shapes you.
With your broken pieces and all.
You reform yourself
using your pieces.
To become,
who you are
to be.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 5:36 PM UTC
I wish I could go back in time
and save myself from you
Fix all the mistakes I made
change all the words I said
Reform the way I held your hand
relive the night you kissed me in the rain
Over and over
Feeling your breath on my skin
Absorbing your warmth around me
Forgetting the empty feeling I live with
Loosing my memories of rejection
And I'm back
The loneliness
The separation
The depression
You left me again
Just like before
The same kind of pain...
but worse
a deeper wound
a shallower soul.
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 4:28 PM UTC
kids march to school,
merry, hands linked,
socks strangling calves,
backpacks swelling with milk teeth,
dangerous smiles.
in the centre they stand,
fronds shivering overhead,
buttress roots clutching earth
like they know what’s coming.
bags dropped in a ring,
offerings to something older
than the walls they study in.
fractures komorebi,
and in its faded gold
i see pareidolia,
grinning from the leaves.
the tree is temple and witness both.
the trunks sway in a rhythm
older than speech.
a tree at the border warns:
don’t take pride in the faces—
power is the thing they can’t hold.
if, my friend, you see the tree
cast out its own,
know those who give the orders
are across the ocean—
safe, distant, very clean.
owls, fat with promises,
every five years
stuff a new child’s face
into the stump’s rot
and call it a future.
the old tree votes unanimously
to shed its skin once more—
they call it progress,
call the rot reform.
loosen your roots;
the wind doesn’t care
which children
it strips for kindling.
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 7:50 AM UTC
An ordinary soul encompassed in extraordinary expectations.
Social pressure manifesting itself into anxiety and doubt.
A mechanical mess of cogs and wheels churning out endless streams of mental clout.
Be what I will and do as I may is what I say.
But they say:
Be what we will and do as I do, this is the proper way.
Try not reform or perform to conform is what I say.
But they say:
Follow me through this hollow tree and you will see what I want you to be, this is the proper way
An ordinary soul encompassed in extraordinary expectations,
passed down through electric, media driven sensations of transient satisfaction,
a mechanical mess of wound up plastic toy soldiers marching in circles with rubber souls pointing death dealing cylinders at each others backs.
Be yourself for everyone else is what I say.
But they say:
Be everyone, or else.
Try for progression's sake, be genuine and certainly not fake is what I say
But they say:
Try for regression's sake, be fake and certainly not genuine, this is the proper way.
An ordinary soul encompassed in extraordinary expectations,
disgusted with modern tribulation, choosing self-selected conscious liberation.
A singular, personal declaration toward evolution.
A natural mess of vines and roots reaching below and above producing boundless rivers of truth and love.
This is revolution.
Be one amongst many is what I say.
But they say
Be us. This is the proper way.
Be you, is what I say. This is the proper way.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 12:10 PM UTC
I can hear the lonely air whistle
As we fly on this time missile
The wind chimes
As it carries time
A time that is quickly fleeting
When it's death we'll be meeting
So as time keeps flowing
My anxiety keeps growing
Like the Reaper's scythe
It used to be a knife
But now it is my crescent moon
That will take me to my tomb
Time keeps passing
Time keeps thrashing
My skin is hardened
As my mind is smartened
I gain my impurity
From my seniority
But time slows when I'm with you
And you can erase the color blue
Please pluck me from your fandom
So we can tackle time in tandem
The clock keeps ticking
The clock is tricking
Me into thinking I have time
And so I begin to climb
The sands of my daunting hourglass
Sand hits the ground becoming my past
Your absence makes sand fall faster
My life becomes a natural disaster
I'm stuck in a sandstorm
Only you can reform
For the power of time
Covers me in grime
Time's gavel
Is my calling
Time travels
As I'm falling
The minutes feel infinite
Until they're gone forever
If we could be intimate
Time would be pleasure
I am missing seconds
As your kissing beckons
I start to float through time and space
Whenever I witness your lovely face
But that's time I'll never get back
So I must get my life on it's tracks
And reset my clock
And reset my ****
So I can see time clearly
And watch it float near me
Because in a life without your love
The passing of time fits like a glove
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 4:51 AM UTC
Plundering corruption
A boy an apple from a tree
Son you know that is wicked
Come on, and follow me.
You saw that strange fruit growing
The poor a hanging from a tree
Let's sing another song boys
Call it US democracy
I free all kinds of good boys
In my old boy kinda way
From tyranical oppression
To the kinder Gentler me
And I say you must reform now
To our ever wanking little whim
Chairman Bush is on a roll now
Thinks he's facking Chairman Mao.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC