"slaved" poems
I last saw her in Santiago
******* drunkenly in a Sub urban taverna
parading conceited pride in a twisted union
with that ******** heinous maniacal harlequin
each in vainglorious throes of their imagined septic mindfuck
Debauch celebration of collaboration of succubus and incubus
Some days she is saying Haloa in Hawaii
adorned as Sainti Maria the ***** now as Madonna
spewing words like a dove acting like a Nun in a Convent
the fiendess with two faces hiding her ****** like the ace in lace
the malignant serpent crawling in the duality of her neurosis
I last saw her in Santiago
In a sanctity of the poisoned insecures with exiguous minds
consumed with flaming fears she begs acceptance for inclusion
******* for percieved reflected glory from her fathers' jailers
The subjugated souls of chai wallah lives on in grandchildren
So when Santi Maria flirts from honey to beehive
Ready to ***** and part thighs and brain for minor pointing gun
Feel sorry for a damaged child devoid of a prime core never made
only obeisance to past rulers whose discarded cast-offs she wears
Her poems enchants but its virulent tools she takes in her body
I last saw her in Santiago
A slaved two-faced pretender who sings like a nightingale
In sub urban dives she postrates to friendly pats and gropes
Melting creeps and hot tigers begging subs for a heady drink
Brilliant yet blindsided to **** on knees as her children will too
Copyright@LaurenceA20thSept2018Allrightsreserved.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC
The proudest thing I think I've ever done,
Such artistry, such skill I have attained!
The semi-glaze reflecting of the sun,
The richness of the blue, so lightly stained;
So perfect is the pointed pouring spout
That sits upon a rim of gold emboss,
And proudly do the handles both stick out,
Exquisite is the painted Celtic cross;
I toiled and slaved for oh so many years,
My fingers ever wet and moist with clay,
But now at last I'm free of all the fears
And doubts that clouded me until this day;
I know you'll all be very pleased for me,
So thanks, my friends, on Hello Pottery!
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
I've become a victim
To my own rapacious desire,
'Slaved to the rhythm
Of this unquenchable fire.
Succubus personified,
As abysmal concupiscence;
I'm Incubus defiled,
Who lost her innocence.
Erotism's my passion ;
A passion that's my monster,
Worn as frenzy fashion;
My sweet seductive sinister.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 4:44 AM UTC
Words briskly picked
from the fruits of your memoirs,
galloping air you forcibly breathe
the music you hear, the colours you see.
the hymns you appreciate,
shows traces of wonderland,
the hints and pieces
ah, superficial paradise.
Now you tell me stories
I'd ought to focus and listen,
As I see the snap of your fingers
Loud words and Whispers,
vines and wrapped my heart
without any given reasons,
you provoke and attest,
Your hideous mission.
to capture and get,
Slaved by your intentions,
with peace and love,
through your life lessons.
You've given grip
through friendship and company.
I will raise this glass
for our uncharted destiny.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 6:11 AM UTC
I had thanksgiving with my St. Lucian family, my
loud, unapologetic,
laughs-too-loud, generation-gap
homemade *** heads in phones,
blasting dancehall music
old ladies dancing
clap-back
talk-back
family.
"Play us a song",
my cousin and I sent to my room to play jazz chords, I
finger along clumsily. He's in college and his dark eyes close, fingers
sliding up and down the frets,
frowning in concentration, cursing quietly at a missed note.
My islander family comes over and prompts impromptu drinking games,
"I'm not looking, I saw nothing",
I lick a bit of vanilla ***** from my mother's shot glass,
alcohol becomes a family affair, it
takes away the danger and the stigma and throws a friendly, lovely
light on a vice.
It's raining, it's cold,
islanders do not belong on a Kansas porch smoking cigarettes in the dark rain.
I light candles on the wall.
They all outlast their welcome, between four and a half hours of transition
from uncomfortable "i don't remember your name", put on the spot,
only-child-becomes-one-of-several to
discussing baby names and family gossip, they
all wrap up their food slaved over at nine am, they
all troop out the door, they
take their coats, they
leave their wide smiles with us until next time.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 2:16 AM UTC
Holding me firm, I can feel it incarcerating me.
With my ankles bruised from carrying the same heavy chains, day by day.
Chains, that will keep hurting my ankles with every step I take.
I can hear them squeak, tearing my tympanum with every drag.
Reminding me remorselessness that I am one more slave.
Working under its rules, shaping my life with my every breath.
Punishing me with all my memories and rewarding me with an unknown future.
At night it laughs spitefully seeing that it has caught me in its timeless web of an insomniac hex.
And in the morning it plays the same joke seeing that it has caught me in an eternal doze.
I wake up , following the ritual it has for me, slapping me in the back with its whip declaring its power over me, as my owner.
At 7:00 am I wake up indoctrinated by a false faith" Thank You 'God' for this new day ( I thank a 'God' I do not know a 'God' I do not follow)" I suddenly feel confuse.
7:30 am; I shower.
7:40am; I choose my outfit, one in particular that will disguise my insecurities.
7:50am; I have breakfast. My palate already knows the taste, and it protests intensely for a new tang.
8:00am; I walk out of my house, feeling the wind through my body silencing the cacophony of the chains and the beeping of the time clock they hold.
With every beep, I realize I can be late. I rush.
9:00am; I start my ritual, managing papers in an office full of sick people, just like me. Moored by their own chains to their own sorrows, with different time clocks and slaved by the same owner.
4:00pm; I plead it to go faster, to show me mercy. It laughs.
7:00pm; It frees me from my work routine, I thank it before it slaps me in the back again.
8:00 pm; I'm home the chains feel looser now, and I have a break.
9:00pm; I eat dinner same flavor, my palate prepares to taste the same.
10;00pm; It orders me to go to bed, to laugh again about by insomnia and wake me up with no pity.
It doesn't care about what I need, I go under its rules.
It threatens me everyday with my memories and it frightens me with an unknown tomorrow.
And, I only have 24 hours each day,60 minutes in each hour and 60 seconds in each minute to do what the calendar of life has for me .
I was convicted with a human felony, and I am currently serving a life sentence in this time machine.
I am cursed by time and my challenge is to defeat procrastination and monotony.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
A square, white, four bedroom, one bath country home
With fourteen kids, parents and much family love
We didn’t have abundance: fiscally poor
But we had each other: banked on our family
We shared our victories and or trying pain
We were a modest Scottish Catholic Clan
Isolated, we were not to our immediate clan
Our uncle’s lived within a trot, fifteen in his home
We kids worked and played on the farm without pain
It was an adventurous labor of extended family love
We worked, laughed, cried, and played as a family
In the early years, we young ones were anything but poor
However, in grammar school, we learned the meaning of poor
And materialism and envy, outside our cloistered clan
But together we lived and loved as a close nit family
Sure we had disagreements, not material goods, but a solid home
White paint peeled on the outside, yet inside was painted love
Still, there were poverty jokes, ridicule and masked pain
Every family has strife, baggage, and superfluous pain
Our parents didn’t drink; we had faith, yet fiscally poor
Ole Dad plumbed toilets; Mom slaved in the house, both with love
So we wouldn’t trade riches for our impoverished meager clan
Summer berries to pick, winter sledding, spring kites, and forever home
Kickball games, splashing in ponds, nature hikes and family
We were not taught to show emotions, hug, not an “I love you family,”
Albeit, an honest, polite, and proud Scottish Clan
The old house was eternally warm; it was our forever home
Until 1999. Dad passed from cancer still money poor
Yet rich in the knowledge of family and that his true pain
Was never saying that word; on his deathbed he whispered “Love”
Though our patriarch was laid to rest, we rose with the word “Love”
Eventually, the house was sold, but always one huge family
Mom spends her days in a retirement home remembering her clan
As time passes and memories fades, it lessens the pain
Of the loss of a noble father, economically poor
Yet with a strong work ethic, church, and love, built a home
Fourteen children now forged fourteen homes on love
Many, still, financially poor, but rich in forever family
Correcting mistakes that caused pain, while perpetuating our clan
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
You made a cage out of
your rules and your ideals.
You picked me up
and you locked me in it.
I’m caged.
I’m slaved.
And I’m lost.
BUT
You can cage my body,
not my thoughts.
You can dictate my actions,
but you can’t manipulate my mind.
You can exert harass my body,
but you can’t compel my soul.
Your cage can’t tame this free spirit.
Your cage is too small for these huge wings.
So, I will break free
and fly into the open.
And I will Fly high
as high my dreams go.
And before you know,
I would already be flying way high for you to reach.
Finally, the cage is broken.
I’m free.
I’m alive.
And I’m Un-Caged
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
A man and his brother set on a task
An undertaking attempted many times by others
To no avail nothing and no one could succeed
But their vision was to them possible
It seemed that this feat was not meant to be
The world told them to quit
If God wanted it to be he would have giving you the tools
Yet they were undeterred in this goal
They toiled and worked
They slaved and sweated
Failed many times in their task
But together they crawled toward their aim
One day they finally did it
They climbed aboard their creation
And started a new era in the modern world
Finally these brothers did the impossible
Their names were Wilbur and orville wright
Stubbornness is perhaps the greatest gift God has given man
Those who have it are mocked and berated by their clan
Undeterred they continue toward their mission
Never swayed by words blinded by their ambition
When the dust settles everyone sees
The answer to success is this disease
More things have been done
By unrelenting men seeking the long run
Stubbornness may in fact be wrong
Alas anyone can see this burden is carried only by the strong
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 11:20 AM UTC
Stuck inside the maze of life, were material value keeps the people slaved. You get so caught up with the distractions around, you fail to realize the price you pay.
It's time to disconnect the computer wires and step outside the captive frame. To no longer be dependent on, the software society's programmed in your brain.
I know the plan the hidden hand, keeps in play to keep us slaves. Keep the people dumb and in constant fear, they are easier to control this way.
The plan calls for mindless drones with mounting debt, so you continue to work and pay interest for the rest of your life. Living pay check to pay debt, in a vicious cycle until you die.
Credit is a weapon used in the separation of the masses. The goal is to collapse the middle class forcing them to join the poor. They give out loans and extend out credit, so people can live a life they can't afford.
Make no mistakes about the truth. From birth your programmed and trained to live this way. It's sad to say a credit score determines your wealth now a day.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 9:07 PM UTC
All my friends are heathens.
We live in sin, we die to spend,
the gold…
Were hopeless, were homeless,
Wandering the roads.
All my friends are heathens
Slaved by gold.
We're gutlessness, were soulless
Filled with woe.
There good men, were bad men.
Filled with greed.
Acknowledge the sin that Lies in me.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 12:22 AM UTC
Our Farmer is different
He wants to change how things have been done
To make our world kinder to the slaved millkers
Some say radical,even risky
Our Farmer wants change
He wants to be kinder to the cow
Just milk once a day
Let cow and calf stay together
Our Farmer is being kinder to his herd
Giving kudos
To his products
Come full circle make cheese again
Our Farmer can see the future
No milk for the processors
Just milk for calf little extra for cheese
Organic is the ethos
Our Farmer is making change
Making a Kinder world
We're produce is Kind
Animal welfare is high
Our farmer is being the kindness he wants to see in the world
KINDNESS Rules
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 2:42 AM UTC
Born into a house of red hair
soulless people and
beer
my great grandmother is 101 and four months
and she has contracted Alzheimer’s
which means she sees those who have died before her
like her husband
two of her sisters and
four of her nine children
Her sister died just yesterday at 100 and 17 days sleeping in her bed
I was named after dead relatives
Moira for a cousin who died at 20,
before I was ever even born,
a cousin who sang like a bird
and could have been a mermaid
a beauty with straight white teeth and blonde hair
who found death after struggling with anorexia
Katherine for my great aunt who I never met
but my mother told me of her wearing sunglasses and
her sleek black car and
silky hair always tied back in red ribbons and
how she would sneak cookies to the children
holding her legs in the kitchen
I was born into an Irish house
I was born to people who have slaved their life away to make it
My great grandmother was born in Ireland in 1912
and came to America with her family when she was 10
my great grandfather was a French Canadian born in Quebec
who I was told was gentle and quiet
who smoked when he was happy or sad
and worked on houses and cars and a large family
I was born into the legacy
I was born with their blood in my veins
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
Trembles commence beneath the exterior
An eruption blacker than a hollow wails superior
All light alienates,
Obscured by manifested immorality
Only spared by vast vitality
Virtuousness defended,
Intended to liberate slaved maliciousness
Autonomy of the anima was the consequence
A union through yielded yin and panged yang existence
Sep 20, 2011
Sep 20, 2011 at 8:57 AM UTC
Born free,
what have you been branded to buy as truth?
You couldn't help but consume the prime conditioning,
angelic thing, they manipulated your blank, slated value with price
Impressionable infant, deficient heuristics anchored in tradition
were all you were given, they represented trend's definition of right
Blind to blinders set by frames,
you will never long for sky you've never seen
While you've been growing, who's been leading?
Who's been sowing, who's been reaping?
Now you are as you're told.
Now you are as you're sold.
You didn't see how your movements were determined: causal reinforcement and cogged belief systems
Hunters exploit the needs of the herd and they traded you meaning for all you were worth
Customerary compliance made you meek and the markets less violent
Your standardized schema had felt so secure, while their fashion pruned passion's significant core
Blind to blinders set by frames,
you cannot be free if you don't see your cage
While you've been growing, who's been sneaking?
Who's been sowing, who has been reaping?
Now you are as you're told.
Now you are as you're sold.
They'll come as salesman, promised happiness in their wares
They'll come as preachers, with taxing cross for you to bear
They'll come for your time, your money
They'll come for your life, and your sunny days
will be grey without that which you never knew you needed
No, you never ever needed
What have you been branded to buy as truth?
You won't choose to see your reflection on the discount shelf,
reduced to pelf, you let them establish the goods so you could be saved
from spending efficient economy, it's ironic that you're their battery
and though their floor is your slaved ceiling, you give your Self away
You won't see your light inside
if you're guided by other selfish minds!
How did you begin?
What have you been?
Who are you now?
Jul 5, 2011
Jul 5, 2011 at 7:27 PM UTC
I was stripped of my freedom
Brought to this bearing land
With a glass of water and an open plain,
Left to die.
But I shall rise again.
I have been beaten with horse whips,
Handles of hoes, rakes, and shovels,
But I revealed no pain
When I was left to die,
Oh yeah, I shall rise again.
I’ve slaved upon many fields
Picking cotton, beans, potatoes and tomatoes
While being washed by the rain.
My spirit was left to die.
But I shall rise again.
I was tooken away from my mother
Like one takes a pig from a sow.
I screamed like I was insane,
My heart left to die,
But I shall rise again.
I witnessed my brother being hung from ropes,
My father getting shot many times over.
With their blood, the ground was stained,
Alone, I was left to die,
But I shall rise again.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC
Once upon a strange sunrise
I got lost and time died before my eyes
I feel like i'm too far from my home
My body now races and my mind roams
I can see my feelings
I can feel my thoughts
Caved into weird dealings
My perspective tied in a knot
Hard to gain control
of which I don't understand
Seemingly an eternity,
only a tick of the minute hand
Unsure if I can withstand the heat
My soul is a bright star, but unmanned
casting a radiance like a helping hand
An uncanny force attracts my waves
into a cave slaved to the dark abyss
I'm moving closer to the grave concave
a hiss of fear followed by a shivering kiss
As I enter, I see my troubles carved in the wall
Regrets, fears, sorrows that I've yet to overcome
I'm appalled by the amount, too many to count,
my overwhelming hate frees my mind from the drought.
And in just the blink of a smile,
I'm lavishly released from my personal dooms
Eager to set foot in the aisle of a new lifestyle
and I sit up never happier to be in my own room.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
You can not grasp the concepts I speak,
I accept gay people for who they are,
You hold on to your dreams and weep,
Then shop the avenue with tacky stores,
You are the one who breaks into song
When there was a villain who died,
You are always there ready to go to war,
Blank faced death as you boldly stride,
You were a pillow that I would lay my
Head on, now I run from you for my life,
You were a rainbow I had wished upon,
Now there is nothing but shame all the time.
*I was the one who had a childhood to explore and dream,
Now if I am not eternally busy, work restless 8 hour days,
I fall upon my sofa and knock out after I get home,
Finally find a little time and space, there you are
To tell me I'm nothing but a complete waste,
For I'll never work out in this world until I have
Lived up to becoming a slaved out tool for money's pay.
Perhaps on the outside I seem like a disgrace, but in truth
More like a dog who never learned the tricks of the trade.*
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 6:20 AM UTC
it's unfair that i helped build this home
just for you to knock it down
i slaved for this
and look how i wound
a dead horse isn't beaten as bad as me
for i haven't been put out of my misery
i have been left
to feel like an outcast for eternity
how did you do it
how did you make my place
my sanctuary
into such a disgrace
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
The first time he came into the light
He thought that his eyes had gone,
The sun was shining, ever so bright
With nothing to focus on,
They led him out to sit on a rock
And hacked off his ball and chain,
It took a week of his ticket of leave
Before he could see again.
Richard Dawson, a broken man
Had finally done his time,
He’d spent three years in shovelling coal
In the colony’s first coal mine,
They said it was only his just desserts
For a pocket, picked in the Strand,
And sent him out on a convict ship
To the hell of Van Diemen’s Land.
At first they set him to breaking rocks
For laying the first rough roads,
He worked while tethered in iron chains
That chafed his skin and his bones,
He wasn’t allowed to take a rest
From swinging the pick or axe,
For the guards would follow the line of men
And lay the whip on their backs.
He lost his God and he lost his soul
Or he thought that he had, out there,
Where men were hung as a matter of fact
And nobody seemed to care,
He slaved four years with the other men
But his future was looking bleak,
When he hit a man who was guarding them
He was sent to Saltwater Creek.
If ever there was a hell on earth
It was called Saltwater Creek,
The devil had got in the minds of men
And they formed a barbaric clique.
The cells were buried, were underground,
There wasn’t a spark of light,
And the men were taken out of the mine
When it was dark, at night.
They started before the sun was up,
They finished when it was gone,
Were locked and chained in their pitch dark cells
In a terror that just went on,
And while they were buried and mining coal
They’d think of the old country,
While their judge sat cool in his stately robes
And finished his morning tea.
A man turns into a surly brute
When he’s kicked and cursed, and beat,
But take the sun from his daily run
And his soul admits defeat.
Richard Dawson, later in life
At night, would take to the street,
And never could quite explain to his wife
The Hell of Saltwater Creek.
David Lewis Paget
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
Seated high on the throne of infamy
His smarting embrace envelopes pure desire
From the water you drink to the air you breathe
From the riches of kings to the rags of beggars
Your freedom, your mind, your possessions, your obsessions
Craving greatness and gall, everything and all
Senselessly slaved to the poisoned yearning of his core
He is avarice absolute, he wants the world and more.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
You talk of peace
then you slay me away
nocturnal are your keeps
and i am bright as day.
you call me freedom
and bind me in chains
this love of yours
brings nothing but pain
how can i be ever slaved
in cages that withers with age.
so many times i have told you this
you can't buy me love
just roses won't suffice
this affection of yours
is like a poison dart
shoots through air and breaks my heart
You grant me freedom
and chop off my wings
now flying and soaring
are out of my schemes.
this is what your love
has done to me
i am free and alone
but can't even dream.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
There was a time...
The first rhyme
You ever read to me
That time when I,
Once unappreciative,
But that night...
Fell in love with it.
You recited your hurt like art,
A delicate voice,
But with trembling heart.
During those early days of early love.
I always wanted to read along as you read aloud.
And I would've died to be the page you'd slaved upon.
Tears, blood, passion unrivaled like a daring dawn
That fights the night till the day is gone.
Perhaps it was to feel connected to you,
But I began to write my stories too.
I threaded them together painstakingly,
Usually in the lonesome limbos I felt achingly,
Anxiously,
And it took so long to share myself with you.
Did you know you were the first to ever see them?
You always thought I was beautiful.
Once again, you encouraged the fire free.
And this isn't the only sea
You've taught me to sail.
Now I place my work here
With the sheer raw emotion I so dearly make clear.
It is one of the few things I've made mine.
I never said I had talent, but at least I can rhyme!
And now?
Now I write for me.
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 10:24 PM UTC
A slave to hate is free from love,
a slave to mediocrity- free from passion.
A slave to confinement is free from wandering,
a slave to blindness- free from seeing.
We are all slaves,
all free,
all a contradiction.
Jan 25, 2010
Jan 25, 2010 at 8:52 PM UTC