"repositioning" poems
Broken box
Society’s cold shoulder
Children grow older
People get colder
Humans become more animalistic
Incarcerated ********
Humans don’t deserve this
Barbarity
Our city
Needs clarity
Eyes upwards in isolation
Nocturnal
Echo location
With no manifestation of god
But the sun feels so good
Freedom forgotten
Lost to new conditioning
A tumor that gains a stronger claim
To an inmate’s brain
We are not improving our world
We are just pharmacist repositioning
The world’s pain
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
I rarely get on Facebook anymore. But when I do, I'll change my profile picture or banner-- maybe post a witty status update, maybe not witty, just something to let people know I'm alive.
It's like repositioning the arms on a stationary mannequin to depict a different scene. Except lately I just don't care anymore. It's just that-- a mannequin. An object, an image, a lifeless entity with which I used to feel real-- a dusty mirror.
I see that the line between the idea of a person and the reality is being blurred and crossing over into something all-together different. It's as if people are starting to wake up and realize the objectivity of their reality. But that brings into question the basis for which we define reality.
We have become a, “Look but don't touch” society in which we click a button to show our appreciation as opposed to genuinely reciprocating human emotion and energy. It is extremely isolating and dangerous.
Packed subways and sidewalks have fallen eerily silent with faces illuminated by their cellphones. Most everyone wants to be heard, appreciated and recognized and social media has provided an outlet for that.
But there comes a point at which your platform becomes your prison and your voice your warden-- and everything you say is modified to be pleasing to the ear and 'likeable'.
But I like dislikes. And if you're not ******* anyone off-- you're probably not doing anything important, and if you're not outraged you're not paying attention.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
High above the teetering mast
A shout long awaited is heard at last
"Land ** Land ** Straight ahead"
Across the sea, the mariners sped
The mass of land, close in range
Ominously, the winds have changed
The ship drops anchor a hundred yards out
Rowing in without a doubt
Making landfall, the ****** cheered
A great appraisal to Brown Beard
Gallivanting, their songs sung loud
Roused, the sea soughed
Ripping from the strenuous tides
The monster emerges, the sea divides
Crashing down upon the ship
Fearful men tighten their grip
Threshing about as the beast descends
Into the depths where the mirk never ends
Duped, the mariners take their last breath
Inhaling, the seas grant them their death
Bloated corpses resurfacing
The dubious island repositioning
Full, the gulls await
For the next to take the bate
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 8:44 AM UTC
BRUSH
Brush free the carpet
of mud and fluff.
Let’s brush off the hurtful comment too,
that snide remark, those graceless words.
We’re cleaning yet collecting,
straightening up, taking out the dirt.
Repositioning dust. Always temporary,
never the same, brush, brush,
to and fro, again – again - again.
SCOOP
The ice cream tub has one
to make the portion fair
for that ever-observant,
pernickety child.
When walking the dog,
we scoop the ****
carrying the plastic bag
to the waiting wanting bin.
Yet the all-important wooden
scoop is made from a block
of a 2 by 3, with chisel, gouge
and a steady hand.
This farmer’s friend, this open spoon,
lives in darkness and under the lid
of the deep grain bin,
to feed white chickens.
POKE
Getting it out,
placing it right –
but much is trial & error.
If it won’t go in,
give it a poke . . .
and it might.
Nowadays it’s a software app
to help you cheat at on-line games
and , God forbid, an important tool
in the tattooist’s bag – the hand poke,
liner and shader with standard
8 – 32 thumb screws and
completely autoclave able.
CUT
Hogwimpering drunk
or ****** out of mind.
Seventies slang for
individual incapacitation.
A cut can hurt,
display the inner
through incision
in the outer.
Reveals, opens up,
allows a division from
one to another.
This cut of meat on the slab?
For you, madam?
I can cut it up
nice and small
for the baby to chew.
RAKE
Lying there in the long summer grass,
it needs standing up, its teeth cleaned.
When autumn comes it redeems itself,
clearing the path, letting the lawn breath.
In the hand of sculptor, ceramicist, modeller
it fashions variously, cuts, pulls away, gouges,
scrapes, a multi-purpose stick with two ends:
of wrapped wire, of ribboned steel.
LOOK
To make sure it’s right:
correct and straight,
balanced, in proportion.
The magnifier helps,
the camera too,
getting the angle,
the position , the light
gauged . . . with a little looking.
You have to look,
see?
HIT
Whatever needs placing firmly,
needs fixing permanently,
can do with a hit (or two).
A nail with a hammer,
a door with a foot,
it could be a winner,
and right on target,
strike out the opposition,
disable the enemy.
A killer noun.
I prefer the verb.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC
Dead plains
Open air
My baby, my K,
Smells of lavender petals,
Defined despair.
A known
Vowel howls
Like she does at night.
Turning right she lights
All former antiquities
Prove wrongful due regularity.
A pressing matter topples
Next to the standing tower of rubble.
Grey stubble tumbles
Like hours out of the hands of a clock.
A kaleidoscope of horror
Makes the mind entrenched in narrow.
She tells me the name
Of a former lover of another
That pressed no buttons, rubbing
Everything
The wrong way.
We compare, we see a sea of troubles
Illuminating nothing but the past,
Never meant to be free.
Trees shallow swinging singing
Like scythes across the yard.
Burgundy yarn weaves through my heart,
Cold as you were today,
I got nothing else to say.
Pressing matter, dear dead hatter.
Craziness is a beauty
Only the Cleopatra's of the world
Have to truly suffer.
Cradle me naked, cradle me dreamed',
Ain't no love like the
Broken sick and broken hearted'.
At least the darkness
Harkens thee dead ghosts of
Former lives forgotten.
Grey gravestones smell like
Roses given my former lovers;
Each hour with her is
One that will never be forgotten.
Present pasts pass me in the
Mirror; these shop windows are all colored
Green.
Caretaker saint, apple apricot skate, a
Note for the doctor stating
All is forgiven, all is about.
I remember the dream,
Shallow and filled with steam.
Fine patent leather, stitches and cream.
She pressed her face to mine,
Like silk string woven into seams.
Nothing is the matter.
Nothing passes the time.
Dylan hurls the harpsichord,
Gripping the nails,
Repositioning the boards.
The ice was to thick to climb,
The snow to heavy to see through.
Where you see your life is
What you think you can do.
Books on fire.
Trains of heavy steam.
Life is nothing but
An unforgettable dream.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 6:09 AM UTC
I see things through
Astigmatic eyes.
These peas percolate
But exhaust our supplies.
If you blink I will see,
The energy of light dies.
So, as I consider the atrocities
Of my mind.
Release the emotions
That bind.
Maybe through your character
You will be kind.
There is no thought to
My reasoning,
And our link is something that
Needs questioning,
It will allow possibilities that are
Always repositioning.
I do not know my feeling
Or emotion.
You do not show any knowledge
Of internal commotion.
We will not bow down to the social
Concentration.
Remember your idealism of humanity,
If I become uncouth.
It is because I am unstable at times
Of tongue and tooth.
You are the only one that disallows
My smooth.
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 4:15 PM UTC
Dive bombers, black wings spread,
satanic angels: Two crows attacked another
broken on the long grass,
consumed by grappling weeds,
unable to fly and imprisoned within
the soft melding soil as if caught
nesting; I watched from afar; a spectator at an accident
unwilling to intervene.
Darting beak, defending itself with desperate
protests: they swooped again and again-
stukas in the old war, squarking demonically
wings flapping like black pistons geared up for death-
again and again they drilled into the world of men
boring down until
in the fading light, head bowed,
the damaged crow surrendered
and vomitted out its last stored-up breath,
shining ebony slashed, in a flurry
of dangling flesh, its life hacked away-blood
dripping from its bill-
hacked away in the cold air,
its brothers, like brothers everywhere,
gorging on its flesh.
By then, I had had enough,
I refused to watch anymore. The bird
a meal for its own kind,
soon just scattered feathers
repositioning the light.
Its darkness, once a threat,
with its suggestion of forboding
now merely signalling innocence,
the victim of misrepresentation.
I left a scene that did not truly
embrace reflection, an unusual
carnival of life and death in a city
that rejected both.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 11:54 AM UTC
Rhythmic low tones drown out the subtle thought matter that has flooded this present moment into a stagnate puddle of -what-if's- and -what-could be's-
I swim the shallow seas in search of a lurking ego.
To view its enormity in its natural setting, to find the beast and set it free.
Sticky, murky souls, collected on the brim of my understanding, Weighing down the high levels achieved.
Their heady waters blur my envisioned light love, Blinding me entirely.
Feeding my energetic needs through heavily worded ramblings
and third eye openings.
I dive deeper into internal dwellings,
A cognitive repositioning of what is just beyond my understanding.
My being.
My everything that is and could potentially be.
From the darkest crevasses and deepest catacombs.
To the most elevated ramblings and soft spoken prayers to weeping willow trees.
I am everything, and it is all free.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 6:41 AM UTC
The first time you saw me
you were staring at me
face blank with a big question
Where are you from?
Thailand
Japan
South Korea
Singapore
Vietnam
China, I am from China.
I didn’t wait for you to get stuck
in an endless abyss of map search
Ah, China!
Then you are suddenly reminded
of an obselete word active in nowhere except your kitchen
(and perhaps your GI tract)
Painfully welcoming
as you take a closer look at me now
I felt like a ******* ******
mind frozen against your fierce gaze
Though all you did was to
shake my hand gently and briefly
like you were just acquainted with me
A slight trace of uncertainty flashed across your face
as your eyes rested upon mine
with a voice saying “Nice to meet you.”
The second time we met
you were smiling at me
fighting the best you can
to refresh memories about me
Which part of China?
Echoes of media reveberate beneath the screen
So you’ve heard of the stories
The rich east booming with red captitalism
and the impoverished west ocassionally annoyed
by separatist troublemakers
But I am from the part of China
with a past too glorious to be ignored
yet a present too obscure to be proud
One second of repositioning later
I heard myself saying
I am from the city of ancient China
Then you were struck by thoughtful silence
That was made of artificial admiration
and numb alienation
a secret nowhere to hide
And I smiled back with real pains
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
My legs grow weary, my heart grows weak from the thought of losing you
Am I so crazy now that I can’t see what is in front of me?
Just put me in a rubber room, bounce me to the sky.
And hopefully, I will finally feel better soon.
Free from what?
I ask myself…. Yet no answers make themselves clear
Praying for the sought out remedy in an instant, making it quite obvious
That our union was made in heaven, if only I could allow you. My life, to steer.
I escaped from the dreariness of the wet, sloppy sleeping back in the desert.
And moved up to a sleep number bed, but hoping the number isn’t six six six
Forgive me, if I appear to be confused and irrational, but we all put labels on ourselves and others.
Wondering upon the reasons I am always awake in my mind, but only find the “TRICKS” or ******
Why are things so difficult for all of us to comprehend, ???
When God has handed us a manual to get though our life in his way
We are constantly questioning and repositioning, tying to manipulate his work
When we should take a step back and get out of the ******* way!
Just imagine, for a minute, what it feels like to be me…
Just listen to your inner spirit that is telling you to use kid gloves.
Friendless and faded isn’t my true reality
I’ll never be kept down, despite my enemies desires, for I know God is love.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 1:34 PM UTC
I felt the hair on your cheek like brail standing and screaming, as your breath whispered into my ear.
Down the canal like a Venetian rower it flowed until it rested rhythmically on the pulse of my heart.
Passion fills the moments between the repositioning of our pupils, and in staring
I paint a moon in the dark spot of your eyes.
That moon, poised against the friction of blinks, glows brightly causing vibrations like wind blown grass through face.
Your neck extends and your head shift-tilts, a perpetually still teetotum. My lips grip upon an extension, and we are pulled away.
Pulled, and pushed we collide and the atoms of our souls explode, melding and twisting and engulfing the void separating painted moons and brail.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 6:36 PM UTC
I'm the aftermath of Q-tips on the attack
that awkward itch beneath whatever's left
A twisted mixture of wax and scripture
lifted from the zippers used to grapple issues
Broken arms and still I've got two thumbs
who'd of guessed I'd learn how to use just one
Blind, deaf, and dumb never to be out dun
my earthworm tendencies must be tingling
cause even on this limb I need no repositioning
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 12:00 AM UTC
Greatness comes from the
positioning of oneself for
advantage from the
source of bounty.
It is beyond the ordinary.
Opportunities occur in our lives
and daily affairs for us to do
what we need to do to reclaim
the situation to solve our problems.
Our lives issues keep flaunting
themselves in the portal of
our personal world.
Personal repositioning is needful to
overcome and win in this down world.
People are positioned in our lives to help us overcome our challenges and leave when their work is achieved,
others will come to stay with genuine true trusted friendship,
will still be there for a lifetime guidance.
Recognition is needed for their help to manifest.
Though time and chance affects
the change.
We must take the advantage offered,
or something sinister will persist
with horrible influence so powerful that chances of winning will be so farfetched.
Take heed of the divine timing
for there is nothing like coincidence,
it is all configured for our advantage,
working in synergy to bring
desired response.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 6:15 AM UTC
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IRRESPECTIVE OF ECHO
SAMUEL DAVID <[email protected]>
Tue, Oct 20, 2020, 2:47 AM
to drmikemurdock
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Al;tering in the sonship to eternity column…’
Triumphing in the echo of surmantable.
Your conquering absurd,
Samuel Churchill Omale
Wrist Of Eternity Rejoining
www.hellopoetry.com/SPEAR_LEGACY
+2348131914240
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 5:43 AM UTC
Proclaiming to perceive certain suffering makes me feel real;
The unrecognisable charade
You never see my true face
It's all a facade, a disgrace
I'm no martyr but **** me please
I've heard too much
I'm on my knees
Save your blood
I need to feed
Repositioning thoughts inside the head, emulating feelings because mine are dead
Impression remains untouched
That won't change much
A perfect shade of narcissist, cutting you with my tounge
It's sharp, and opposing all the bullets from your gun
Attention please! This is how I feed
And I'm no martyr but **** me please I've seen enough
You're on your knees
Apologies don't exsist here and if you stay I'll pull you in, it'll never stop untill I win
The naive are crucified
My former face has come here to die
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 7:23 AM UTC
STOP
Be quiet
Are you listening?
My words are belittling
You don’t move, no repositioning
What have you been witnessing?
Why are you so scared?
Please don’t be
It’s me
STOP
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC