"stifles" poems
Poetry is a disease
Words sit in your gut like rotten meat
You hold onto your stomach for dear life
'Cos it's full of knives
There's no choice but to stick your pen down your throat
And bring it all up
Yeah, poets can't tie knots
And they don't own a pistol
And all that venom just stifles and stinks
But you can close the book
And close your eyes
Ready to hate yourself tomorrow
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC
The Mind-Slaves
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking.***
Why do we treat Obedience with more reverence than we do Critical Thinking?
(CONTROL)
***Obedience is not a ******* acceptable substitute for Critical Thinking.***
Obedience is not inherently bad, but unquestioning Obedience is tantamount to Fascism.
To Terrorism. To Americanism. To Consumerism. To Militarism. To Racism. To Sexism.
Obedience can never, ever stand in place of Critical Thinking.
If you want to get immersed
in a true story:
live your own life.
That is, of course,
unless you've allowed it to be set up
in such a way
that it is no longer
a true story.
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not an acceptable ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
Obedience is not so much your friend as is Critical Thinking!
***Obedience is a ******* marionette string for those in power!***
***Obedience ***** up Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* virtue unless you're a Slave!***
***Obedience is not a ******* virtue unless you're a Servant!***
***Obedience is not a ******* virtue unless you're a Tyrant!***
***Obedience is not a ******* virtue unless you're a Fascist!***
***Obedience is not a ******* virtue unless you're a egocentric power-hungry ****
***Your Obedience is not equivalent to your ******* worth, nor is your ******* wealth.***
The number of people who idolize you is not a quantification of how good you are!
Obedience is a way to circumvent Critical Thinking!
Obedience is a way to usurp Critical Thinking!
Obedience stifles Critical Thinking!
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
***Obedience is not a ******* substitute for Critical Thinking!***
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
It is raining outside,
Everything wet,
Soil, tree, terrace, flower *** gate, wall,,,,
But aridity stifles inside,
Head, heart, hand.....
Like the fruits of silk cotton tree,
Cutlery ruptures thought
Humanist is slaughters on the street.....
But slayer forget that
In extreme dryness
When fruits of dry Cotton silk tree explode
It’s diffuse
Germinate in wet soil
and grow everywhere,
Humanist will emit all over again!
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
she whispers. "hey."
"hm?"
"you're my boulder."
he chuckles. "what?"
"you're my boulder. you're
stronger than a rock. you're
the one who keeps me
from losing myself. you're
the one who keeps me
grounded. you are my boulder."
he grimaces. "but if i'm a boulder
then i'd crush you...i would
hurt you."
she laughs quietly. "well then, you're
a gentle boulder. soft and fluffy and
all that stuff."
he stifles a laugh. "so do i just have
a bunch of fluffy green moss
growing on me?"
she nods. "you're
my big, gentle, sweet, moss-covered
boulder."
he smirks. "well...
then i guess you're
my pebble."
she looks into his eyes. "how so?"
"you're my pebble. you're
small but not easy to break. you're
seemingly fragile but you're
stronger than you look. you're
part of me and you're
the one who can either break me
or make me whole. you are my pebble."
she smiles
and he wraps his soft green sweatshirt
that he's wearing
around her
shoulders. "mine."
she murmurs. "my boulder."
he whispers. "my pebble."
and finally,
both of them
are found
as they gaze at the stars
and into each other's eyes.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 10:53 AM UTC
The cauldron bubbles and sputters and pops.
Odors from a foul witches' brew
Fill the mansion. It's called the Nightmare
On Pennsylvania Avenue.
A ghoulish warlock babbles gibberish,
Spreading deceit, anger, and fear.
He summons his lackey ghouls to his chamber.
They bow to the ghastly profiteer.
Their incantations reverberate
Through the rooms and down the halls.
The din stifles the voices of reason
And bounces off the windows and walls.
Witches assisting the grisly assembly
Grovel and spew nonsensical chatter,
While friendly ghosts, horrified,
Grab all their belongings and scatter.
The leading warlock raises his staff
To silence all the ear-piercing shrieking.
"Our work here has barely begun,"
He shouts, "in a manner of speaking.
"We have a lot more poison to spread
To circulate anxiety and doubt.
All we must do is stir the ***
To give them something to worry about.
"Fan the flames of division and discord.
My techniques are tried and true.
Keep 'em guessing; then you've got 'em.
And then you cater to the chosen few.
"We have more rivers to poison,
Coastlines to alter, lands to sell,
Coffers to fill, coffers to rob,
And voices to quiet. Welcome to hell!"
The glowering sycophants dance and cheer--
Thirsty for blood, eyes agleam.
"Dishonesty is the best
Policy," they fervently scream.
Oh, it's a frightening Halloween night
When one's worst nightmare comes true:
The gruesome, macabre, spine-chilling Nightmare
On Pennsylvania Avenue.
-by Bob B (10-31-18)
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
On the lawn in the court,
on the bench by the bush,
pipes are singing cacophonic rhythms.
Breezes, on becoming aware of said tune,
gather to dance
and trade their burden treasures
Once wearied by translucent celebration,
the breezes turn home
carrying echoes of song and gifts.
The piper stifles his tune
and leaves the court,
which returns to equilibrium
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 3:51 AM UTC
This girl doesn't care that it's August. She will wear her snow boots because she likes that they light up.
This girl doesn't care there is no music. She will dance where she wants to the music in her mind.
She doesn't care who is watching. Or who disapproves.
I wish to be more like her.
I wish more were like her.
I hope no one stifles it out of her.
No, "Sit still"
No, "Calm down"
No, "Be embarrassed"
Be you.
Be like her if you're inclined to.
Be a dancer in the street.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 9:53 PM UTC
I am selling away these board games,
The Sorries, the Troubles, and the Twisters
On which I struggled competitively with you.
My yard sale stifles the lawn,
Pours over my patio and infiltrates my porch swing.
I am selling each game piece, each memory,
Each pair of dice and their two-sided arguments.
They are thrown from my mind once they are carried
Away by strangers who thought them a bargain.
I am selling our immature conflicts,
The jail in my Monopoly
And the alarm clock in Don’t Wake Daddy.
Even Candy Land for me is age appropriate no longer,
As you continue to barely meet its mental requirements –
“for ages 3 and up.”
So I am selling away these amusements
Stacked firmly upon cheap plastic tables,
Feeding my palms with the richness of your absence.
Perhaps your game of Life will entertain one of my buyers,
Taking your cardboard words of wisdom
With an appreciation that I no longer have.
I wish them luck with their future mind-Scrabble,
As their pursuits will be a Risk yet unknown.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 11:37 PM UTC
I'm not taken aback by the beauty of the sun or moon.
But that's okay, at least I've learned in time that there are very little differences between objects labeled mine and days considered wasted time. Entitlement is a false concept paralleling a religious purgatory.
That's not the point anyways. I'm left with unbearable heat and a pool of thoughts best resembling some sort of molten pudding left out in the sun for weeks of stifling inattention.
Let it just be known that the smell was not my intention.
Regardless of what fills your nostrils ephemerally, keep in mind that this stench haunts me perpetually. It's apathy towards my sensitive skull stifles me. It's as if I was able to just shake off these shadow-inducing invaders like a bad habit. But no matter how much you try to **** a shadow, it's always there following you. Breathing on you. Casting oxygen upon your neck until there's nothing but sweat and fear left to expose.
With such an affinity to what darkness lies behind me, there are few words to authentically compose.
How can I continue? How can the beat stay in rhythm and my words stay in tune when I'm a butterfly stuck in a cocoon? If these hollowed walls could speak I bet they'd entertain the idea on meaningless entrapment.
Go now. My words for this horrid state of mind have run dry. They do nothing but mask themselves and then exponentially multiply.
So leave me for the beauty of the sun and the moon. I'll never wish anything more than a simple, concurrent release of everyone from his or her respective cocoon.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
My friend published a book
of collected Scots Proverbs.
200 pages and more, filled
with countless ways of saying
"Don't show off."
And that precious wisdom,
generations in the making
percolated through smokey thatch
in dismal dripping glens,
Tattooed into tenement bricks
with the soot of dead industry,
added to the diet
with the excess salt and saturated fat,
Paving the roads
on which all ambition travels south,
And fizzing through the lager
on its way to the head
Now hangs around the kids
like the stink around an ashtray
and stifles any pride
they might invest in themselves.
They will pass it on
with their genes
and their endless disappointments,
despising anyone who rises
above the station
at which they are
eternally delayed.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 4:15 PM UTC
one day my turn will come
I will be freed of all that stifles
free with all others
in the blink of an eye
utterly changed to live eternally.
Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 11:36 AM UTC
little peach colored amphetamine
allows reality
to be a dream
uncertain if it prohibits meaning
or stifles raw creativity
it's hard to decipher when without it
there seems to be no purpose
no motivating factors
are present in its absence
naturalistic existence
e x t i n g u i s h e d
by addictive dependence
lacking attachment to actuality
solely pieces of speed can calm me
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
Like the V shaped pattern
of wake lines
behind a boat
the angle
between us
has stretched out far
The two arms of a chevron
have been forced
to let go
and I dream of the vertex
all of the time
When you are not the woman
of anyone’s dreams
Fridays become best
for cleaning
and folding
clothes
from three months ago
They become best
for dreaming
incognito
of serving
a man’s conscience
in bed for breakfast
It is the type of silence
that has carved the ******
back into my body
It’s left the fingers
searching
for what stifles
the neck
I comfort
my *******
pressing hard
on the button
below the belly
Until I am a sour fox
without blood
And what good is that rug
than to wipe your feet on
Stationary
I’m dead and
Swaying
like a rocking chair
in my bed
And for the love of god,
I cannot soothe
the cry after I
******
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 7:03 PM UTC
Unfortunately you are not for everyone. Not everyone will like you. Not everyone will love you regardless of what you do and how nice of a person you are. Not everyone will vibe with your energy and not everyone will understand and support you.
Even though it is a bitter pill to swallow at times don't let it make a turmoil of your emotion and deplete your energy. Because your time and energy is so much more precious than exhausting yourself by shapeshifting to pander to the whims of others, moulding yourself to fit in every where and hence retaining no shape to call your own.
Choose not to sacrifice your uniqueness to succumb buttering up their bread. To Be selective with your energy by politely waving them goodbye to stand by your values and lifestyles that most deeply resonate with you. Choose to take social risks regardless of the awkward glances and haughty whispers. Choose to not care of what others think to the point it stifles your ability to take risks and disrupt your social satisfaction.
For there is nothing more liberating than to not waste your life allowing the faultfinders to dictate your actions. To seek to align your actions with your heart. To stand up for something, to do and believe what brings content regardless of it being disliked. It is beautifully candor being your authentic self.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 6:50 PM UTC
Living in the city, exposes us to inner-city life
Life and death dance with each other.
Maples Road, Elm Street or Pine Avenue
No such trees shade your way.
A tress falls a child falls, R.I.P.
The forest is now a wooden coffin.
Trees planted are young and sickly.
Buildings and not trees offer shade.
The streets are like a cloudy rainy day.
Cement and asphalt stifles the grass.
Cops walk the beat, whistles blow
Sirens, honking horns, gunshots,
Tires screeching scream for attention.
Gangs are rebels with a cause, to be free
Try to listen for the heartbeat.
Life in the city can be life and not death.
Listen, can you hear! A child is calling.
Look can you see! A baby is crawling
A blade of grass grows in the cracks.
The inner-city is alive with a new beat.
Life can grow, life can thrive
Let's gang-up for a cause to free
Let’s tap to the beat we call life.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC
Some think that a well thought out compliment
Is the best gift to give me.
What they don't know is that it stifles me,
Buries me under yet another layer of self doubt,
Wondering yet again, “What if I fail them?”
What if I'm just a fake, a fraud?
What if suddenly I wasn't so amazing, so perfect?
I love to be treasured,
But what happens when everyone
Finds out I'm just fool's gold?
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 9:57 AM UTC
Looking for an exit in life, perhaps other option that is rarely available. Time travel, utilitarian way to modify the past and the future.
Trapped in a matrix of flesh and bones controlled by my encephalon, it controls every part of my daily life, from breathing and blinking to helping myself memorize.
A feeling of antipathy in life that could never bring me happiness.
The inculpation for the misapprehension in my past relationship and future.
What does a man like me to do? How can one display their philia when they're not certain of that emotion?
My endurance in this life is on a perpetual edge. I perceive with attention toward happiness.
A deprivation I share with others. An absent of happiness.
A happiness of dominance; a switch that is only controlled.
Today he can be happy; switch ON. Next week he can be unhappy; switch OFF.
I walk on egg shells in this relationship and have to be careful that it won't break. I'm sad and lonely, this is what I get and deserve.
God nor I could change this, but I don't see it happening during my remaining life.
Stifles with silence deploying infantile plots. A day at a time I enunciate as my composer easily is un-maintain.
Hidden arcanum among a number of these unidentified entities lashes out at me discreetly.
Posing no threat I conceal the pass deep in the abyss in an unmarked grave sealing off the hippocampus that only the Creator can breach.
Unannounced the gravestone is turned my past is breached which I assumed that only the Beneficent can release.
Once an inhabitation, but no longer my domicile. Set aside and noted as a lost monument.
Ascendency barbarous with words of articulation fatal to ones self esteem, grossly spoken enslaved. An inclination to the predisposition of my life.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 5:46 AM UTC
Constant beeping
Stifles many's sleeping
Get up! Time to go!
Don't be late for work!
Even arriving a minute tardy,
Makes the boss berserk.
Suit, check
Briefcase, yes
Clamor on to the bus
Cup of Joe, got it
Manila folder, find it!
Gee, the boss'll make a fuss
When you think you're in the clear,
Uh oh... rush hour is here!
Stuck behind a geezer, ******
Acceleration pedal, jam it!
8:01...
Oh hell, you're done.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
Starless eyes
Ragged and forbidding
Teeth of tears
Flamed and striped for fear
The flesh is an illusion
Repugnant as it is revealed
Savage winds carry me away
Constrains me when I die
The curse of annihilation's
In circles I can't keep
A shroud that stifles the delicate truth
The departed in white discomposure
In pain I flee
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC
Hand lacerations
Are absolutely no fun.
Especially when on
The dominant hand
But somehow the slash
In two fingers,
The spread of pink in dishwater
The dark red welling up
And spilling over
Somehow through the
Majority of calm after a
Brief freak-out
Somehow this stifles my
Desire to mutilate
This horrendous lust that
I do not want and
Barely can control
So now my handwriting
***** my fingers hurt,
These cuts are a nuisance
But my repugnant hunger
Has been tamed...
What's wrong with me?!
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 9:53 PM UTC
What is this hold upon me?
It constricts and stifles every thought that appears,
with a chloroform rag drenched in discontent
Mild perfectionism, if such a thing, and procrastination leave me
frequently wondering where the time went
The questions I ask myself repeatedly
never receive answers with credibility
A rhythm with no rhyme; a melody in offset time
A misty meaning behind glossy eyes
that I’ve tied together with endless lines
of verbose attempts to explain my mind
No feeling is palpable, no imagery fabricated
Only an idea of what could be,
of what I cannot grasp,
and what I cannot convey
So I’m left with this clouded mind
jostled by ambivalence
(this word ceases to elude me)
on a maladjusted playground,
teetering and tottering on the fine edge
of sanity in this bleak reality
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 12:17 PM UTC
Panic stifles, suffocates.
My throat feels dry; a clump,
that brings disquiet in,
sticks there like a hull, a twig,
and moves its sharper edges
along my trembling soft insides.
"Get out!"
I would scream,
"Get out, worries and my fears.
Remain, serene feeling."
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 7:56 AM UTC
caught in a trap
i look for an escape
it stifles me
it binds me
it does not let me speak
i'll break free though
i know its weaknesses
the trap is love
and the key to open it
is love itself
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
02/08/2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 2:33 AM UTC
What pretty words flow,
From carpel tunnel hands!
Fingers click clock on keyboards,
Time sifting like sugar.
Creativity ebbs and flows--
Like the gentle rock
Of cerulean tide,
Lulling soul after soul to sleep.
The smell of arabica,
And chicory soup
Stifles surreptitiously--
(Twentyfourseven)
With admiring eyes
I glance down at the stark white background--
My bones ache for the lush black ink
To be my own words!
But until then I'll sit at the bottom
Of this empty poetry well,
Chain smoking and longing
To be on that **** front page.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 2:07 AM UTC
The evening seems to sing,
Choirs composed by currents
In obscure keys of humidity.
A lone songbird takes the lead,
Percussion provides ensemble trees.
While the very air we need to breathe
Suffocates, stifles, tries, and succeeds
To bleed the breath from laden lungs.
Throat pleads, begs, and bargains
To demi-gods and heathens,
Deities and demons,
Every creature beneath this sun.
Let this molten grip
Slip
If just for a note,
A beat,
A pause from the pressure.
Silence is a treasure
To be savoured not measured.
Sweet cadence of relief.
Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 4:02 PM UTC