"registered" poems
Before you criticize me too soon, I think you should spare some seconds and answer a simple question to yourself...
If Shahjahan loved Mumtaz Mahal so much, why he had a harem of wives to use at his own pleasure?
While I agree that the Taj Mahal is arguably the most extraordinarily beautiful monument in the world, I don't agree upon the fact that it was built as a tomb of love. It is just a symbol of madness if you asked me. An emperor's insecure feeling to get his name registered in the history books. While it may be one of the most beautiful architectural monument, it was built by over 20,000 architects, craftsmen, masons and engineers who took over 16 years to build the magnificent building.
He got this apparently high & prestigious monument of love built but everything that the Emperor did was not pleasant at all.
° The lavishly living Mughal Emperor spent all his - his subjects' money into building this monument of love instead of keeping his subjects well-fed.
° Mumtaz Mahal might have been the luckiest woman to have died and got such a marvelous building built as her mausoleum but she died giving birth to her & Shahjahan's 17th offspring and then Shahjahan who had uncountable other wives was inspired by her demise apparently to undertake what is termed as the biggest project in history build the costliest monument proclaiming his rule.
° The arrogant - falsely proud lover - Mughal emperor didn't know that what he thought to be looked at as the greatest symbol of love will be criticized by some poet in his own land nearly 375 years later. The insane Mughal Emperor got all the builders of the Taj Mahal's fingers cut-off of so that there could be no other Taj Mahal.
But Aurangzeb, his & Mumtaz Mahal's son overthrew his power when Shahjahan got older and locked him up in a jail at the other end of Yamuna river where the emperor then died a sad old lovelorn bedlamite person in prison. Aurangzeb was the exact opposite of his dad, he showed religious intolerance and his habits drove the empire towards its doom after his death.
But let me think this way; when I look at any picture of the Taj Mahal, what I get the first thing in mind is this: Such a CRAZY emperor who got such a beautiful monument of Egotism built!
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
Establish a research and development facility tasked with recycling 100,000 commonly used household goods or packaged products back into the original base material needed to remake it into new product packaging. Pass legislation requiring all companies selling products with packaging to buy their source materials from a registered public-private venture allowing any firm willing to participate to do so. Companies must then manufacture packaging locally using source materials supplied by one of the public-private companies. Companies will also be required to hire locally using a diversity and economic income model incorporating or locating the participating companies in the poorest rural counties in the state.
Society grows great when Old Men plant trees. -Socrates
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 7:46 PM UTC
Why the hell ... do they do it … ???
They run blacks like ... " Fluid " ... !!!
Well ... THE TRUTH is ...
Most Coppers ... Keep Proving ...
... They're ... STUPID ... !!!!!
Harassment ... INDEED ... !!!!
is why ... some of them ... BLEED ... !!!!!
But ... Let me ... Proceed ...
cos' ... I will ... NOT Concede ... !!!!!
that ... ANY ... Police Force ...
is .... " RACISM FREE " ... !!!!!!!!!
" This Morn' " ...
It was ... ME ...
who they wanted ... " To be " ...
ANOTHER ... Young Black ...
in .... " Police Custody " ....
“Excuse me sir,
your car is registered,
to a national bank ?”
“THAT’S BECAUSE THE CAR’S LEASED,
I’M PAYING A FEE,
SO THE CAR IS THE BANKS ….
IT DON’T, BELONG TO ME … !!!…”
“Okay Okay !!!
but, can we have,
your name please ?”
“LET’S GO TO MY WORKPLACE,
IT’S OVER THERE, SEE !”
See .....
That's when ... their faces ...
Disguised their ... TRUE HATRED ... !!!!!
of ... seeing a black ...
Who Ain't ... " Selling Crack " ... !!!!!
The car that I drive ...
is ... " LEGIT " ...
That's a .... FACT .... !!!!!
While ... RACIST OLD BILL ...
NEVER SEEM ... to get ... " SACKED " … !?! …
When ...
" Their Nature's " ... EXPOSED ... !!!!!
They Quickly ... ” DECOMPOSE ” ... !!!
and then ... just .... RESORT ...
to ... ******* ... Up Their Nose ... !!!
Which ...
Just goes to ... SHOW ...
It's NOT ... " Only Blacks " ...
who take drugs ... when they're low ...
It's ... White People ... TOO ... !!!!!
who shove ... Coc' ... Up Their Nose ...
But whose ... " Cashing In " ... ???
is what ... I want to ... KNOW ... !!!!!!!
because i'm ... Getting Sick ...
of ...... " ALL TELL " ......
and ... " NO SHOW " ... !!!!!
They ... KEEP ON HARASSING ... !!!
Then ... KEEP ON SUGGESTING ...
"Blacks being mis-treated,
is NOT a Race Thing !"
But …. ???? ….
These ... "hidden-cam" ... shows
Now Show ... how things' go ...
It's ... NOT JUST ... undercovers' ...
Who ... " Sniff Out " ... THE TRUTH ... !!!
Now ... Journalists too ...
have ... " Suddenly Learned " ... !?!
That .....
" White Men " ... under cover ...
Show Racism's ... TRUE ... !!!!!!!!!!
NOT ...
A figment in ... Black peoples' ...
****** …. Brain Tool ... !!!?!!! …
Now ...
Those are not words ...
I believe to be ... True ... !!!
I’m just ... " THE BLACK ” ...
.... Sherlock Holmes .... !!!! ....
Giving people ... " Some Clues " ...
as to ... WHY ... " Some " ... Black Men ...
feel the way that ... I DO ... !!!
Harassment ... is ... REAL ... !!!
But ...
Here is ... THE DEAL ... !!!
" Some " ... Black people STEAL ...
and DO ... move in ... "The Dark' ...
Like ... "Covert" ... Navy Seals ... !!!!!
But ......
THIS ... Does Not mean ...
that ... EVERY ... Black Person ...
is into ... " THAT SCENE " ... !!!!!!!!
and that ... Money they've made ...
Really NEEDS ... A Good Clean ...
in a .... " Laundry Machine " .... ?!?
It's Policemen ... to me ...
who work in ... " ***** TEAMS " ...
and then in ... " Their Dreams " ...
Make ... Black People ... SCREAM ... !!!!!!
Just check through ... THE NEWS ...
You'll SEE ... what I mean ...
Well .....
My day's getting ... better ....
now i've ... " Typed " ...
These few ... " Letters " ...
But it's .....
Time to ... STOP TAPPING ...
cos' this poem i've written ...
has allowed me to ... VENT ... !!!
My View ...
On These ... PIGS ... !!!!!
Who ...... THRIVE ON ......
……… ” HARASSMENT ” ………. !!! ? !!!
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
We've heard the tales of eyes and smiles a hundred times before,
but for this one I write about, I'll have to add one more.
Though songs of faces say so much, they cannot tell the all,
so I shall sing of one who wears the golden waterfall.
The signals of her hatred for this world of little lies
is registered within the tell-tale candor of her eyes.
On this plane of human falsehood, such honesty stands tall,
and so I sing of one who wears the golden waterfall.
The poetry of words alone has not the grace to give
her passion to discover all the love she wants to live.
A warmth too great to be contained in her body, largely small
flows through the hair of she who wears the golden waterfall.
So from aside I watch, a half-read book upon her shelf
as she throws light upon the unkind mirror of her self
and wonders if the things she seeks will listen to her call -
look! See them run to one who wears the golden waterfall.
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 6:52 PM UTC
The Moon has a gentle light, which he gifts the Earth,
It could be compared to how you talk to a child;
Careful, soft and in a sweet manner
His light doesn't hurt me, which is what I adore,
Therefore, is it bad that I tend to lose myself in his gaze ?
When he rises over me, in a clear, registered pace ?
Without a sound I let go of all troubles, all pain,
As the clouds open and it has stopped to rain,
Many people do want to be the sun to brighten up anothers day,
But not me, this is not something for me to say.
I wish to be alike the moon, brighten up your darkest of times,
And be here, to illuminate tomorrows very way
Tug you into a delicate embrace, like his light tends to do
And be here for you, till I have to rest too.
Even in the coldest of nights, the moon manages to warm my heart
And manages my heart not to just fall apart
Tonight again I will enjoy his light,
After all, I hope he does not leave my sight
~ Umi
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC
The Chains of ones fate are undenyable, as life carries on,
Servants caught in a hell of rebirth without ever escaping,
A red thread which leads verily onto a destined pathway,
Decisions, the pen and the ink for ones book of destiny,
They may ruin the servant, or bring them great happiness,
May mislead, trick, ****** or even manipulate them without their conciousness or understanding of the weight they brought upon their poor little, yet precious bodies which carry on depression as if it was the weight of the world or far beyond that registered mass,
In a hole with seemingly no escape to it, trapped in misery,
Chains of suffocating pressure are keeping them in place,
Oh what a terrible fate it must be to be in this position,
Patience, hope and positivity are needed to see another ray of sunlight, shining beyond the scene of the darkened clouds above
Once this trial has been overcome they too will shine with newfound strengh, energy and relieving glee from within themselves,
So fight on, you precious souls, you are worth more than you might think or would even admit to yourselves, then shine
That would be, a great wish of mine
~ Umi
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
By the earth and it's wonderful, wide and unique expanse
A mother to what is living on it and inside of it, may it be small
or great in their posture given to them.
Indeed this place inhabits many creatures, faces and races.
Each striving for their own path, of staying alive.
The soft soil of the Earth, a comfortable living and breathing
ground to walk on, proud and all connected, only to be divided
By the sea which covers most of this planet, comparable to a blanket
From which we gain food and drink, in a clear registered cycle.
Of course this place too holds it's dangers, such as a quake could
end it all in a brutal roughless manner and tear it from the ground
we build our houses on.
Or be it an eruption which casts a rain of ash and embers, suffocating
the sky above, the ceiling which was meant to protect is our very end.
A mighty wave, which sweeps over the cities, drowning them in
it's lethal, cold and brutal, moist and salty embrace.
It is not healthy to be in such a negative spectra of thinking however
For this place holds, more transient, living, artistic beauty than I
could simply express or convey in words.
~ Umi
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 3:10 PM UTC
I'm the villain, but how was I supposed to know he had a wife and two children. Twenty-three years of marriage and she contemplates her happily ever after coming to an end……after a miscarriage, another child's death, 23 anniversaries, and 23 year old twins. My sugar daddy lead a double life, but how, how, how……was I supposed to know that he had a wife? It should've registered to me how he always wanted to skip out of town, but how could he lie to his goddess and not see her standing before him in her wedding gown. She hates me……She hates me and I don't blame her, if she decides to **** me and him both, I hope they don't tame her. When this woman walked in with her husband's **** inside of me I felt a rush of excitement, rode him harder and looked her in the eyes as I did it……painful mistakes you make when you're *** addicted. They'll think about how Dad's fake girlfriend is younger than them, but they won't understand, she'll wonder why he stepped out on her with a stripper young enough to be their resting daughter………as she thinks of a backup plan. I know this is wrong, but I might be in love, and this is strong. There's black and there's white, and grey will never be right. But this grey is my sin escalating to a whole new level, I can't leave this man alone………for I am his cruel devil.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 7:24 PM UTC
Dear Donald Trump
You don’t know me but I sadly know you
Your face has been plastered on tv screens and newspapers for so long
And your words have cut into my soul like a knife
Twisting each time you spew your venom
Never in my life have I been more scared of a man until now
I am now forced to be more aware of my surroundings because your supporters are hidden in crowds waiting…
Despite all your crushing charades
I have never been more proud to be the minority
Because for the first time I see my communities standing together
Seeing my family work hour on hour only proves you’re a fraud
Cause unlike you I spit the truth not lies
I preserve differences you block them
I strive to build peace between nations while you rather build a wall to separate it
News flash, us Hispanics don’t want to be in any country you’re running
We aren’t these lazy or uneducated ganstas you make us out to be
Us Hispanics are your backbone
Were the ones building the skyscrapers you got with your “small loan”
We’re the ones that make you look good to your “followers” because we’re your foundation
I mean let’s be honest
Without us you’d be nothing
The only reason you’d be recognized is because you bought a role on home alone 2
And by some weird chance of faith you’ve managed to stay in this twisted race
You’ve managed to scare us straight
And with some hesitation I say you’ve actually helped us
We are now united and stronger than ever
Because you’ve open our eyes to the fact that we must fight
So as I close my letter want to thank you
Because of you my family has finally registered to vote
Because of you our determination grows stronger
So excuse me if my poem causes you frustration
But I thought you deserved some type of credit
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
with moonlight, he travels mostly
at night, past snoring hikers and embers
of fires that cooked their food, kept darkness
at bay, and heard what they had to say
if the coals could only speak, perhaps
he would find the right circle of stones,
a black heap of carbon that once glowed
red and gold, and her tale would be told
at least he would know the last words
she spoke in this wilderness--whether she
chose to vanish into the deep wood, fodder
for the scavengers
or was the prey of evil men,
who lurk at every turn--in bustling city
and quiet forest as well--vipers who strike
without warning, without curse or cause
when the moon's light wanes, he moves yet
in darkness, feeling his way, a nocturnal detective,
hoping to find what the others have given up
for lost and registered among the dead:
sign or scent of her--black coals or white bones,
a piece of tattered clothing, the canvas backpack
with her name, the hiking boots he laced for her
which left tracks he forever yearns to find...
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 5:27 PM UTC
a e i o u and opposing thumbs
my woman, she's a
snuggler and spooner.
burying herself on my,
no, in my
double barreled chest,
her blonde hair,
my field of gold.^
she landscapes my life,
paralyzing me with the
simplest of gestures.
she sleeps holding my thumbs.
locks me up.
locks me down.
so I cannot transcribe
the lines of poetry mindful,
landlines shut,
land-mines of verse
unexploded,
till these now,
hours later.
a few notes ago,
a few days ago,
heard an octet,
eight voices singing of
five letters, five vowels,
a e i o u.
you can hear what I heard too.
after you listen,
better understand
vowels are the butter of language.
the anointing oil of connectivity.
more than a line of code,
they are the keys to the code,
that make words and life musical.
I suppose we could mange without them if we had to.
spsz v cd mng wthot thm ff v hd t.
but not so well.
I suppose we could manage
without opposing thumbs.
learn to type with my nose,
paint with my toes.
but not so well.
here is how it comes all together.
a e i o u and opposing thumbs,
never give them more than a
never thought, passing over, assumed.
oh yeah, on some tv show,
you can buy a vowel.
these glues are the things that
give me the chance to tell this:
this poem it is a bit about me.
this poem it is a bit about her.
this poem is really about you.
I could live without
a e i o u and opposing thumbs.
but I could not live
without her landscaping my chest.
but
when I share this knowledge
with you friend, it becomes a
verified, realized, acknowledged truth.
So you see this poem is about
a e i o u and opposing thumbs,
but really about you.
In fact, I am thinking,
that if I did not love the title
a e i o u and opposing thumbs
so much,
would entitle it instead,
a wholesome democracy of love.
you, a registered voter,
vote then with both all the
a e i o u and opposing thumbs
at your disposal.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
The Picture Window
The vista view never changes but daily.
The naked eye, registers the same distances,
resting objects unmoved, modest alterations
by wind and water are noted, but for intent,
for purpose, the watercolor one would paint
be invariably unvarying as a Swiss Alp.
The subtle nuanced worldview, where the sky
stretches from ceiling to a foot above ground, as
I lay prone neath the coverlet, vista always subtly differing,
from its prior reincarnation, self-reflection demands to know.
Alive & Awake? Yes.
Breathing steady? Yes.
Toes? Still can wiggly to & fro.
My soul?
Presumably ok, as I write, because I write, the
picture window into to my insight, though oft blurry,
yet intact, making discernible the changes in light,
temperature and heart rate, as the body/soul contraption modulates, just as the gradient of daylight shifts lighter and higher, with a rising sun bringing more clarity to our interactive encounters with our environments..
The picture window internalized, much the same,as
the vista, subtle modest changes, colorations variegated,
are registered. Today is mostly cloudy overcast, and shall remain so for the foreseeable future, which be about two days hence. Not unsurprisingly, methinks, the future tends to be cloudy.
Beyond that peripheral, no one can say, our macular envisioning only gets weaker,time is a tough taskmaster
and uncertainty is it’s own principle.
But I can say, forecast from well under the comforter,
that more than less, where less is more, this picture window,
ex and in, shall remain, unchanged for the remainder of my years that fortune shall provide, and will & would grant me awakenings to the ex-sight and in-sight of a sculpted landscape, of negative entropy, where disorder minimal.
My musings end here, unless you still wish, come the morrow,
what the marrow the day reveals, what the window will spill,
new and exciting, subtly unchanged, and always different.
Caution: The injection of caffeine may dramatically alter
the windows perspective, as the exogenous always trumps the
endogenous.
5:50 AM
P.S. Making coffee clarifies: If the vista in +/- unchanging,
then, all my personal, own horizons are immortal as well.
Jun 4, 2023
Jun 4, 2023 at 6:34 AM UTC
On a lonely night
when my moon
refused to show her face,
even after pleading
till my heart broke,
in to pieces of gold
and diamonds,
dedicated to her
all covered with love
dripping like drops of blood,
darkness forced me
to confess the love crimes
I never did commit
I thought it will set everything right
but in vein....
Wolves howled with
a mad glee to make me
nervous thinking that
you'll be frightened,
the owl, in silence
pretended to be all knowing
but not a wee bit
about the gravity of our love
registered in his mind,
hooted again and again
"She doesn't love you"
in a voice reeking vengeance.
My love, I never thought
of a cup hemlock, a bodkin
or a flight to darkness
from the hill, we used to sit
heart beating against heart
when
you
gave
me
the portion of your love
for the first time from your
trembling lips....................
I am enscorned in you
you are in my veins
immortal I am
I'll meet you in your abode,
even if you fail to keep your word
and don't turn up in our rendezvous.
the jasmine bush, whose
fragrant buds just bloomed
took me in her ***** and
wrapped me with her scent
of love, what a solace!
"Your love is immortal
never grieve, your true love,
never would perish, it would
stand the tests, however tough
she is always yours, you are hers
in this life and lives to come"
I slept like kid under the jasmine bush
like a kid in his mother's bed
she covered me with her tears
of falling flowers, till dawn appeared,
at last I saw my beloved in my dreams.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
A touch of Synthetic Blue
drips
down our tear battered frames
before it catches on
a match made in hell
Becomes an oily
twisting
saffron cold flame
Redefines love
as a pact to collectively
fall apart
Redefines hate
as a pop cultural norm
As it smolders
strife imitates art
Another massacre
Another overdose
Another malignant mass media circus
and maybe now
you understand
inevitability
Synthetic Blue is a registered trademark of White Spider Pharmaceuticals, a division of the White Spider Corporation, and is used without permission.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC
For the past two hours
this Mac has hypnotised
my gaze to its white screen
and every website has
sentries at the door -
Username ? Password ?
Already registered ? Login
When did we become so
chary one of another ? Were
folks so paranoid in the pre-
digital age when existence
had not been magicked into
noughts and ones in Silicon
Valley? It did not seem so.
(c) C J Heyworth July 2014
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
'Dockery was junior to you,
Wasn't he?' said the Dean. 'His son's here now.'
Death-suited, visitant, I nod. 'And do
You keep in touch with-' Or remember how
Black-gowned, unbreakfasted, and still half-tight
We used to stand before that desk, to give
'Our version' of 'these incidents last night'?
I try the door of where I used to live:
Locked. The lawn spreads dazzlingly wide.
A known bell chimes. I catch my train, ignored.
Canal and clouds and colleges subside
Slowly from view. But Dockery, good Lord,
Anyone up today must have been born
In '43, when I was twenty-one.
If he was younger, did he get this son
At nineteen, twenty? Was he that withdrawn
High-collared public-schoolboy, sharing rooms
With Cartwright who was killed? Well, it just shows
How much . . . How little . . . Yawning, I suppose
I fell asleep, waking at the fumes
And furnace-glares of Sheffield, where I changed,
And ate an awful pie, and walked along
The platform to its end to see the ranged
Joining and parting lines reflect a strong
Unhindered moon. To have no son, no wife,
No house or land still seemed quite natural.
Only a numbness registered the shock
Of finding out how much had gone of life,
How widely from the others. Dockery, now:
Only nineteen, he must have taken stock
Of what he wanted, and been capable
Of . . . No, that's not the difference: rather, how
Convinced he was he should be added to!
Why did he think adding meant increase?
To me it was dilution. Where do these
Innate assumptions come from? Not from what
We think truest, or most want to do:
Those warp tight-shut, like doors. They're more a style
Our lives bring with them: habit for a while,
Suddenly they harden into all we've got
And how we got it; looked back on, they rear
Like sand-clouds, thick and close, embodying
For Dockery a son, for me nothing,
Nothing with all a son's harsh patronage.
Life is first boredom, then fear.
Whether or not we use it, it goes,
And leaves what something hidden from us chose,
And age, and then the only end of age.
2.5k
Stone slabs descended down,
forming a staircase straight to hell.
A sea of screaming miasma suffocated
either side of the winding venture.
The light of the world above no longer
registered as darkness swallowed this place.
It seemed that whether forward or back,
this road was infinite.
Finally, after endless time, the monument
of this suffering came into view.
The blackest Obsidian rose beyond
comprehension and without feature.
Voices wailed and tension bloomed
in ominous agony.
And as it called out, a liquid wave of
familiarity poured in and around me.
The door, once unmarked, split down the seam
as I came within the final stretch.
Understanding drowned my mind,
as I pressed my palm against its surface.
Instantly, with a deafening boom,
it swung open on ethereal hinges.
Walking through, in bewildering clarity,
what was one became two.
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 8:06 PM UTC
1570
Forever honored by the Tree
Whose Apple Winterworn
Enticed to Breakfast from the Sky
Two Gabriels Yestermorn.
They registered in Nature’s Book
As Robins—Sire and Son—
But Angels have that modest way
To screen them from Renown.
2.4k
Men clad cleanly, polished boots and bowler hats,
Women wearing short skirts or long dress,
Boys no longer boys deny their old,
With rock and rap, skate shoes; how bold!
Indifferently they carry on,
I am you, and you are him,
She is fat and she is slim,
Registered in heads dead depth,
As we pretend to see no man who chokes on crystal ****
Like the jaded sidewalkers,
Who cram these city streets;
A glance is but acknowledgment,
As all shuffle in quick feet.
To say the least, we will pay none,
To those who are not us;
To say the least, we think we've won,
Ignore the drunk mans fuss.
Like the jaded sidewalkers,
Who view in black-and-white;
No middle-ground perceives a frown,
As they sleep amid streetlights.
The morning rush and nightly blitz,
As people scurry too,
Destinations, dealing smiles;
Self-help books to start anew.
As talk through text, online, or phone,
Dominates the daze,
Indifferently, ignore eachother,
"Nothing need be said inside this maze."
The CEO, he acts as King,
With peasants treated well;
Their brains blunted to buried states,
"He's bad; but he'll get his due in hell."
Everyday they rise early,
To catch the mornings speed;
"I do this by the clock because,
A life, so rich, I'll lead."
"Conforming kills the mindless soul,
To fight off human urge;"
You're free, yet unaware of this,
So conforming, you won't purge.
Like the jaded sidewalkers,
Who, like zombies, follow sway,
A human hand on island sand,
'I saw him not,' or so I say.
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 9:17 PM UTC
*before you start reading, please not that the Barbie in this poem is not the registered trademark that is the Barbie doll (all is revealed in the notes)*
When Barbie wakes up in the morning
Even the birds stop chirping in fright
She makes her way to the wardrobe knowing
What is inside will start the day right
First to be donned is her barbarian bra
It takes quite a task to fill
She really is ever so grateful for her bra
It keeps all the best bits subdued and still
The bras must always go on first
Without it she would be in trouble
If the briefs went on first without the bra
To this day she’d still be bent over double
Next on are the bountiful bootylicious briefs
She worries that they may have shrunk
Mayhap she should stop putting them in the dryer
They are essential to keep all her junk in her trunk
Over the top of the barbarian bra
Goes a sweater with the deepest V neck you’ll find
The cleavage that is on display is important
It keeps the focus from straying to her behind
On go the boots and laced up tight
These babies were made for walking
But most days they are just for comfort
Unless she’s up for some stalking
Last of all on her perfectly coiffed head
She settles her beautiful hat
It looks a little like a large table umbrella
In fact, once upon a time, it was actually that!
She’s now ready to start her day
And the birds resume chirping like a choir
Barbie is ready to face the world dressed in her
Barbarian Bra and Bountiful Bootylicious Briefs and
Other Amazing Attire
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 2:03 AM UTC
She was a girl
full of dreams,
affectionate, adoring,
easy to please,
a full life ahead,
so it seems....
Living and laughing, dancing a dream,
loving life, to its means.
sixteen and beautiful
full of passion and grace,
she hungered for the day
she could take her place.
Hopes and dreams
of a full life ahead,
she saw it coming
she never had any dread.
Living and laughing, dancing a dream
loving life, to its means.
daytime turned to darkness
joy to grief,
laughter to tears
with no passion or grace.
Beaten and wounded
youth taken away,
she longed for the day
she could escape this place.
Protecting the ones she loved
from the outcome of her fate,
she pushed it deep down inside
and hide it at any rate.
Day’s turned to weeks
weeks turned to years,
she kept smiling and living
but joy was replaced with fear.
Longing for the one
who would hold her tight,
turning her darkness
back into light.
Living and laughing, dancing a dream
Loving life to its means…
~
Copyright © All Rights Reserved ~
Stormy Angel/DMA
Registered: 2015-04-20 07:08:23 UTC
April is ****** Assault Awareness Month along with National Child Abuse Prevention Month the two go hand in hand. Any form of Child Abuse happens from infant age to adult age and at times carry’s beyond. If you see or feel a child is being abused in any form of any way call this National Number To Report It…
1-800-4-A-CHILD (1-800-422-4453) or visit the web site at, Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline… http://www.childhelp.org/pages/hotline-home Crisis Counselors Available 24/7.
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 10:21 AM UTC
*"The Business Int'l is a trans-national,
Multi-operative, corporate entity.
With the means to function outside
Normal Gov't bounds
The Business Int'l has become the worldwide leader
On the frontline of:
Genetic & Bio-Engineering!
Space Exploration
And long-range teleportation services!
Our research will better* [human-kind]
*And is the most advanced & comprehensive
Ever imagined.
The Business Int'l values it's loyal customers!
And at the Business Int'l
We take all of your corcerns seriously.
We also offer aid to every worker at any/all of our subsidiaries
Any 4th class employee who feels compelled to:*
[Leave the Facility]
Or
[Propagate sensitive data]
*STOP.
Remain calm. And fasten yourself to nearby set furniture
Until our Registered Physcian can
Follow up with you.
Self-Quarentine is a Business Int'l core policy!
In extreme cases though,
The Business Int'l reminds you to
Be prepared to utilize
Your personalized botulinum capsule
Provided to you during your initiation!
Thank you!*
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 12:25 PM UTC
This is in dedication to Mr. John Grant a spokesman
for Veterans for Peace local 31. When during the late Bush years we protested the Bushy Zombies in West Chester
Pa. This took place every Saturday from early morning till
around 4 or 5 pm. He keep saying, "They're drinking the cool-aid."
P.S. Veterans for Peace is also national and is registered
under the U.N. with its own magazine. This was poem was written in 2010
Besides it has a rap beat to it
Lies ah decieven' our minds ah believen'
by ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny-fudge
Drive-by ah flyin' innocent babes ah dyin',
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny-fudge
Blacks against slavery racists say lazy,
Jim Crow ah knowin', black vote ah growin',
voter lines ah showen', black suppression ah growin',
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny-fudge
Mr. sweater vest advisin' theocracy risin' ( Rick ********
gays cannot marry his heavy-load to carry,
all Muslims are targets by his government harlots,
body meedlers of women, no rights he has proven
by ah drinkin' his cool-aid and eatin' funny-fudge
Mexican Border right-wingers disorder,
Jail complexes growin', their profits showin',
public schools no maintain', corporate zombie schools gainin',
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny fudge
Corporations are people super-vote-money inclusion,
Super Pacs' delusion, Democracy illusion,
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny-fudge
Profits by Lockheed Martin perpetual wars embarkin',
wars appeasin' without good reason,
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny fudge
No good reason callin' Wikkeleaks treason,
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny fudge
Houses ah runnin' from ex-owners ah gruntin',
our lands will desert us whole nature unnerved us,
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny fudge
Street people ah growin' with hardly non knowin',
parents ah cryin', hungry tots ah dyin', emergency rooms
ah packin', it's healthcare ah lackin'
While ah Wall Street ah hoppin' in triumph give-away-ah-hoppin',
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny fridge
Slave hours grind us while paychecks are minus,
GOP congress never behind us,
while ah drinkin' the cool-aid; eatin' funny fudge,
Zombies surround us to only remind us,
QUIT DRINKIN' THE COOL-AID AND EATIN' FUNNY FUDGE!!!
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 4:19 AM UTC
you will forget
the colour of my eyes
and the way i turn to the back door
instinctively, when i hear the click
and how, unlike you all, i do not yell across the cubicles
the way i crushed boxes for two hours, then
and how i cry, too easily
the six pack of strawberry milk (fresh from the fridge) that only i drank
the smell of fish and chips that wafted through the office and-
-you will forget my love,
my loyalty,
and soon enough,
you will forget me.
i don't want to forget.
"don't want to?"
no. i can't.
i cannot forget the christmas decorations that must be down by now
or the perpetually-unmanned front
or stale, recycled, air-conditioned oxygen that tasted like bliss
and lemon stained fish and chips, and salad that came out of a tub,
and scalding heat against my palm
and tears.
i cannot forget the way she laughs
like an orchestra of the wind beneath the branches
or the way you shook my hand
and made me feel like i belonged and
how you, you, my love, you are bothering to go to the trouble of sending me registered mail
so it doesn't get lost
the way i do, in her eyes
i cannot forget how you are different. special
and how you refuse to take selfies that are glamorous
because you have a sense of fun and
the first time you ever saw me, drenched
dedicated, yearning, and already in irrevocable love.
i cannot forget the strike i scored
with my eyes on a screen instead of a lane and
the cookies, the vouchers, the games
the screwdrivers, shoes, and sushi
i cannot forget the goodbyes i never said
in case i never say them, the next time i can
that once upon a time-
i belonged.
i cannot forget beauty and goodness and strength and
laughter and belonging and teasing and acceptance and
loyalty and experience and diversity and determination and
passion and teamwork and friendship and family and
love.
i cannot forget.
because you will.
you know what they say
if nobody remembers something any longer
did it really exist?
when i was young and foolish i thought that was so ridiculous
because it's happened- so it must exist
mustn't it?
and now i see why
the philosophers say what they do
and why people doubt.
i am so afraid to forget
because if i can,
then others can (and will), as well.
but as long as i remember (even if it fades from the collective remembrance)
then it will always exist
even if only
in the land of memories
and dreams upon our dreams
where we can never set foot upon again.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 7:55 AM UTC