"streak" poems
The globalization
Once thought to be an important aspect
To connect the world
To diverse the world
Has been only a part success
And of course, a success to be
In a way people are connected
In the enchanting world of ours
Rising the common world consciousness
Rising and rising and rising
A day by day and day
The knowledge domain, a gigantic trip
Profoundly majestic experience uplifting people
Remarkably
All over the world diminishing the differences
Differences humans suppose to believe
Differences that drew humanity backwards
The differences mostly set by identitities
Identities in terms of nationality
In terms of religion, caste and creed
As we observe, differences softening them boundaries
A good thing as seen
Manifested due to globalization
Only possible due to global reach
Just possible due to connection in large scale
Diminishing are those differences as they don’t fit
Don't fit to the consciousness of the world
To the rising consciousness of the world now
More the fire it sets the plank to burn faster
Happening for good for sure, I believe
On the contrary differences too
In the verse of diminishing the truth
It contradicts the positivity
As see in the world today is extremism
Yes extremism happens to exist
If it exists for a long period
A whole long period of time
In the years to come
Is definately calling for absurdity
Which humans may not want to percieve
The adversities of the impact of globalization
Leading a chance for the high level corporates
To the world to have access to the marketplace
All over the world
Leading to a state of consumerism
To the people
People becoming more and more consumers
They are being brainwashed
For them to buy goods
That global industries produce
People are running after the products
****** consumers
****** sheeps
Those multinationals
And shark headed corporates
Are producing and manufacturing
The high headed corporates
The pigs are manipulating
Are brainwashing people
The sheeps are diverted towards it
The people
The only agenda is to gain more
And more profit only
By making the people slaves of themselves
And slaves of their products
And believe it
Coke and Pepsi may be
Right hand and a left hand
But the Coke and Pepsi both are the same
The very debate which is better is
Helping the corporates to sale
By making their brains washed away
Consumers
Sheeps
Brainwashed
In a sense they are enjoying
The debate they argue upon
And they are unaware
And they are manipulated
Knowingly and unknowingly
More often knowingly
****** sheep slaves
Another adjoining thing
most of the governments in the world
Are being run by the aid
Of the corporates
Only have a selfish agenda
And strategy to sale
Products, thoughts and philosophy
More and more and more
****** pigs
Brainwashing minds of the people
The sheeps
Having a streak of global consumerism
Selfish bunch of pigs
And the brainwashed sheeps
Say hell ya
F***king hell ya
F***k off
Get out'a here
****** freaks
Pigs and Sheeps
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
Planes streak across the wide October sky–
The sun is setting–
Contrails stream behind them,
glowing scars of the evening.
The highest ones, they exhale the day’s gold,
pure and sharp
like fields of August wheat,
dusty and late-summer charred.
Redder and lower ones hug the skyline,
No cloud to catch them,
Fall like meteorites,
the slow burn of a dwarf star
Memories never print so vividly,
slow burn sees fast death,
Reds, golds and what's between,
A brain is all catch-and-release
So afterwards what should be left of this?
Not but an umbra,
Impressionist beauty,
A mere relief of its source?
Beauty’s slow fade is not the tragedy,
–rather the reverse–
That we fade to beauty,
To never hold it in full.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 5:09 PM UTC
the electricity runs through our veins
and past the street signs we rumble by
in the car you stole, we go fifty above the speed limit,
the roof of the car is the noir sky above
and the midnight rain pelts our upturned faces
the dancing drops of water drip onto our smiling lips
the sound of the sky collapsing
echoes the flashes that streak the sky,
the flickering light casts paved roads with a brief brightness
(as if god were wearing light up sketchers)
the lacy brallette that wears me
gives me the bravery to stand up in the speeding car
the velvet pants that ripple with the wind
drink up the nighttime rain
and the rare headlights race past us,
heading into homes and hearts
the mellow playlist that connects the aux cord to our ears blasts
so loud, we can no longer hear our insecurity
the mascara that once clung to my eyelashes
now streams down my face.
on a two way street,
we drive down the middle
unafraid in the face of direct dangers
so unaware of the towering empty skyscrapers
and instead highly exhilarated
from the street signs we drive by
too fast to read the blocky lettering
the road signs glint, smiling as we wave and reach towards them
the cigarettes you smoked are thrown through the open window,
still smothering slightly.
i can still taste the smoke on your lips
and your hand tucks my hair behind my ear
and as the wind objects and inhales
unreal in the hazy a.m. car trip
the tunnel rushes towards us,
and we both hold our breaths,
as if breathing would contaminate us.
the lights that glint, cast a yellow-white glow
and for once, i see you for who you are
a boy too buzzed to feel
a kid who only felt "sort of"
a person who couldn't heal
and a lover who could never give love
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 3:34 AM UTC
A streak of his tail, the laminations of my soul
Is today still day or has night kept busy
A third no more, he's hidden the signs
That dragon waits while the woman gives birth
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
I’m working to unwrap you slowly
To form you up like a theory
To create a habitat for you in my head
My steps grow wider when I see you at the end
Lying, lounging, an old lion
Afternoon sun low and tired
Rays and shadows streak the road like enveloping arms
As I grow closer, you project even further away
I just long to reach you
Rest my head against your ***** and
Sleep against your softness like a pile of feathers
To rest at last.
But at times I think I’ll never reach you,
As I approach you reflect even further away
I wonder that this road is endless, thinning into the distance
The black wires radiate into the air above me
Mutating my simple DNA into something else entirely
A sole purpose survivor, a solider
The cause is more desperate now
They’re buzzing to each other above my head, talking about me
Their scrutiny banging between my ears
The dust becomes a new layer of me, with incredible thirst
Just fields of dehydrated dandelions, just nothing
They soak up the liquid from everything
With their chemical and electrical waves
The fields are screeching as they shrivel up, like dying children
Now it’s all yellow, beige, and far away
It’s all so tiny against the horizon,
For all I know, your silhouette has become a statue by now
Just this long stripe of dirt I treat like a passageway
Just a ladder to a final place of rest
I’m desperate for a stop in my trudging motion
But I know I can’t lie down in this unworthy sand.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
So young, He engraved the Law in your fledgling heart,
Covering your mind with the depth of His wisdom.
Why, no language exists that could translate its art!
Hopeless to assess its perfect scale and freedom.
The Law is His breast milk you sip fervently,
Howl in agony; your stomach digest it not.
Fathom submission, son of depravity,
To merely **** is short; apply what has been taught.
Sets of teeth sprouted in your gums like white pebbles,
Overdose with confidence, sleep without a sword.
Stars in the woods they seem, Alas! Wild, wild eyes of wolves!
Fight the fine fight of faith, shine light on the world.
A state of armed conflict, His Law against your Flaw,
Just a streak of insanity in the family.
Epitome of crossed swords, yet who will win in awe?
Glitch in your body, vow in its supremacy."
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC
she is
a very naughty girl
she never follows
policy to the letter
she always
does the wrong thing
she needs some discipline
she's proficient
at defying the law
she knows not how
to get the message
she doesn't
listen intently enough
she fills many charge sheets
with her misconduct
she is a girl
with a streak of wickedness
she has all the hallmarks
of someone who is naughty
I speak of Ursula
in the above list of bad deeds
and there is a hope
that her bad deeds
can be quickly remedied
the hand of an authority figure
will bring her back into line
as she has too often
strayed from that line
whence appropriate corrections
are implemented
all her behavioral problems
shall be circumvented
then and only then
a change will eventuate
and she'll no longer
be showing her bad traits
really naughty girls
such as Ursula
can become more like
a pleasant seaside peninsula
watching her radical transformation
shall be a sight to see
so we'll keep our eyes focused
on what Ursula shall soon be
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 6:13 PM UTC
Perfection
Is constant.
It’s everywhere
And in everything.
But our perception of it is not.
For us,
Perfection is fleeting.
It comes in small doses
Like a shot of tequila.
It shocks on impact
Then warms from within.
Perfection lingers
For as long as the good feeling stays.
The problem?
We know that shortly
The liquor will wear off
And the world will again be *****
Smelly
Ugly
Imperfect.
But you…
You stay.
You stay past the buzz
Past the next-morning feeling
Past the hangover
Past the fog.
You’re still here.
You’re still perfect.
Because what people don’t get is that since nothing is perfect,
Everything
Is perfect.
Perfection isn’t a shot of tequila
But a long
Tall
Drink
Of water.
Perfection is a breath of fresh air,
Or maybe even stagnant,
Because perfection
Is everywhere.
Perfection is that tree over here
That lake over there
The crazy blue streak
In that girl’s light brown hair.
Perfection
Is constant.
It’s the waves crashing
The river flowing
The clock ticking away every moment we spend together,
Glowing.
Perfection
Is your mother telling you it’s time to come home.
My father telling me to hang up the phone.
Your best friend taking a year long vacation
My history suddenly obtaining clarification.
Perfection is learning
From stupid mistakes.
Perfection is holding hands
Through all the heartaches.
Perfection is black rivers flowing down your gorgeous perfect face
And perfection is knowing there’s nothing we can’t shake.
Because perfection is there
In every code-name fight
And perfection is there
Through every sleepless night.
Perfection is present
On the drives along winding lanes
And perfection is present
When we hide from cars in vain.
Perfection is you
And perfection is me
Because through all our flaws
We’re as perfect as perfect can be.
Yet the world still doesn’t understand that
Nothing is perfection
So perfection
Is everything.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 10:22 PM UTC
a piece of art you are
in your worn out sleeves
and heart shaped eyes
laid out in a bed of cherries
and a field of tulips to share with me
your ocean view windows
that streak the blue sea
and your sheer white pearls
that melt onto me
like chocolate fondue
warm and sweet;
you are the taste, the mouthful
of words that sit on my tongue
get along with your truffle kisses
and your red wine lips
begging for the chateau
to soak in the void
and with a mind shining thought
you traced my back
with the stem of a flower
that went on and on
for the next half hour
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
Another win, another celebration.
Fifteen world championships
That’s inspiration.
But are you ready? For the beast?
Because rumors are swirling
That he’s been released.
Four men are the least of your worries,
Because you’re about to be interrupted
On this golden journey.
You've defeated him once before,
But he is no longer weak.
As he is much stronger
Since he defeated the deadman's streak.
Now he’s coming for you,
And your championship.
It’s not so much another run,
But for the pain he loves to inflict.
So forget Mr. Money in the Bank,
And the four other gladiators.
Enjoy your title run now, Cena.
Because Brock Lesnar is an annihilator
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
Autumn’s brusque wind slices its way through the remnants of summer,
painting maples in hues of brilliant oranges and reds.
Long shadows of late September streak across the last blades of grass,
as fall’s stark contrasts light the afternoon.
The seasonal wind breathes cold with the smell of autumn in the air.
Autumn’s brusque wind slices its way through the remnants of summer,
while cottony clouds in a sea of cornflower blue, slowly slide out of view,
chased down by v’s of geese as they race across the sun.
Helicopter seeds line the sidewalks, green and gold, as others float on the wind,
down to join with cones and acorns awaiting next year’s crop.
Autumn’s brusque wind slices its way through the remnants of summer.
Crows, harbingers of the winter to come, make their sad calls.
Squirrels pause to pack their cheeks with Fall’s fare and scurry to secret caches,
their bulging cheeks filled with fallen nuts and acorns.
Fall greets me with a kiss as summer bows to its chill, as
Autumn’s brusque wind slices its way through the remnants of summer.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC
The wind howls
outside my bedroom window
shaking me
my heart; my soul
it screams
*while you sit there
drinking sweet-smelling coffee
a baby boy in Africa
cries of hunger
and aching ribs.
while you are curled up
under warm and soft blankets
an old and lonely man
wanders the darkest streets
looking for warmth;
a home
while you hide there
surrounded by light and family
with an aura of ungratefulness
you are lost in the rays of your technologies
with a frown on your angelic face
when a weeping woman
shakes and prays
for her gone children to reach Heaven happily
but you dare forget God to a screen?*
my house shakes
from Wind's agonizing words
and a streak of cold
trickles into my haven
along with the words
"what am I doing?"
somehow
my stiff legs reach
a window
and the arms in front of me
pull it open
to reveal no sound at all
where is the wind?
did he leave just as
he touched
my heart; my soul
making me waver?
or does a gust not howl ,
speak,
and isn't heard?
no
the wind was here
for how else did the once-twinkling snowflakes
suddenly freeze
and lose all of their beauty?
no one but Wind
would take the innocence
of such young and beautiful white specks
just as they landed
in this cold,
dark world
no one but Wind
would flare you with reality
enough to make you cry with obliviousness
for this wind; my Wind
he is the voice off all those
who have faced
life's stinging brutality;
him
instead of
hiding under covers
and whispering morbid lies
that
everything is okay
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 8:47 PM UTC
I bought a cruiser bike
instead of a mountain bike
I’m a sextagenarian
not a 30-something
so every morning I pedal
to the corner across from the Ritz-Carlton and the Montage
next to the high-rent Pandemonde Café
and count the Ferraris roaring by.
I never had a Ferrari
but I did buy a ’96 Mustang once
and souped it up with a supercharger
which was around the time
my doctor took me off testosterone
because my prostate specific antigen
was way too high
You have an inoperable prostate malignancy, he said
after the biopsy
You can’t take hormone replacement anymore
It will **** you
And as I lean on my bike
depressed about missing the rush
of another boost of synthetic male hormone
I enjoy watching the Europen speedsters streak by
so proud of themselves
in cars that cost more
than my house.
I used to wish I was them
used to feel like them
when I was younger and charging hard
but now I just utter prayers
for each Lamborghini that goes by
and I say
I hope your car is faster than cancer.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 6:45 AM UTC
Forth flashed the serpent streak of steel,
Consummate crown of man's device;
Down crashed upon an immobile
And brainless barrier of ice.
Courage!
The grey gods shoot a laughing lip: -
Let not faith founder with the ship!
We reel before the blows of fate;
Our stout souls stagger at the shock.
Oh! there is Something ultimate
Fixed faster than the living rock.
Courage!
Catastrophe beyond belief
Harden our hearts to fear and grief!
The gods upon the Titans shower
Their high intolerable scorn;
But no god knoweth in what hour
A new Prometheus may be born.
Courage!
Man to his doom goes driving down;
A crown of thorns is still a crown!
No power of nature shall withstand
At last the spirit of mankind:
It is not built upon the sand;
It is not wastrel to the wind.
Courage!
Disaster and destruction tend
To taller triumph in the end.
5.9k
**** SON
I see your name glisten, your heart races
And with this multikill you will reach high places
scream aloud and build up the streak
Listen to fggts as they critique
MLG m9, Don't play if your noob
hardc0re the only way we do
1v1 m3 if your so tough
Il nock you out, im 6ft and buff
**** dont even try to stop me
Im a genius, im pro, im to mlgee
The more you boast, the harder you'll crash
*** off m9 your just jealous of my ca$h
******* HACKER
**** off scrub you dont even lift
Hubris and Pride, condemned and forsaken
Act like a god, treated like Satan
The game is over, you've won and congrats.
I'm sure your more of a man after that.
mlg for lyfe
yeah right
onto the next game because you're alone
and need people online to call your own
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
I want you to paint me,
and leave your mark.
Use my skin as your canvas,
Make me your work of art.
I want you to draw on me,
make me your personal sketch.
Using implements as pencils,
With each mark that you etch.
I want you to colour me,
in your signature shade.
Rosey pink with crimson red,
Then bid it not to fade.
I want you to hurt me,
as only you can do.
Make me pay for your misfortunes,
Tell me i deserve it too.
I want you to punish me,
show me you’re not weak.
Dispose of your bad luck,
Make my pain your winning streak.
I don’t know how to love you,
if you don’t hurt me too.
I don’t know how to treat you.
I will end up hurting you!
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
Here he comes the big bad monkey banana ****** wit the jungle as his flunky,
Fully equipped with his hundred yard stare and a streak of silver in his hair,
Animals of the jungle kneel to his feets,
Cause he pocesses the strength and swag of 50 fleets,
Not blood thirsty but his thirst varries from figs to berries, here he comes king of the Congo beating his chest like a bongo,
Doughter don't laugh clear his path or feel his raph,
Prime mate top of the food chain when it comes to terror they are one in the same
When it comes to terror he'll make it rain and when terror is spoken bout remember the name GORILLA
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
We watched the NASA rocket launch
Two years ago in fall
Over the grass, under the sky
Behind the ball field's wall.
I raised my hand above us there
And traced a constellation
And while you laughed, corrected me
I scowled in consternation
Then there- above- a streak of orange
Ripping the dim horizon
A trail of light, a touch of fire
Grew brighter, higher, rising.
Your forest eyes, your white-teeth smile
Stretched wider, shown like mirrors
I saw the rocket's upward path
In eyes, so deep and clear.
I could have watched your face for days
Painted in the glow
The fascination burning there
I'd never come to know.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
I dismiss the attention nobody pays,
To the way I stay in games for days,
They say "You're wasting your time away",
But I'll play till I hit the grave,
Cause,
One more level, another point, another match,
Double **** triple **** don't crash,
Every day, getting better, no sweat,
Zero deaths, forty kills, no regret,
Top tier, s rank, winning streak,
Don't lose, don't die, not weak,
Can't miss, gotta win, don't quit,
Flanking, execution, legit,
We've got Contacts, reload,
Spawn traps, implode,
Bringing heavy artillery,
This is the Gamer's Creed.
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 11:03 PM UTC
This is a cold perfect night
The sun switch off the light
Hear my guitar owns the night
I stood on the beam of the light
To give the role for the moon
He reflects It through the dune
There your heart such a stone
See a rock keeps a stone to retain
Then the rock was my silly brain
Such a sculpture looks really fine
Keeps the memory a part of mine
In a hall of the magestic britain
I'm inveterate to cross the line
Carefully she watches how i speak
In a magistic break doesn't bleak
Tired world makes me the freak
A plague of feelings makes me sick
The steak of heart does not streak
The plague is there wouldn't break
So i keep my eyes away of her eyes
No escape from the morning breeze
A viscous fail on her warmer tears
While i'm lost between the aisles
No matter how much hard I do
Can't Escape the reflections of you
You Know my soul keeps crying too
But i can't forgive The sins you do
Destiny keeps our separated ways
Deeds aren't hearts keeps the ties
Author/ Aladdin Aures H.
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 5:47 AM UTC
I felt the sun dip down
As the moon arose
And every pale streak
Of orange purple and pink hues
Clashed through my skin
And danced in my sins
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
I wish I was a Swan with grace and agility.
A bright white streak
of holy earth
that cam from the nesting place of love.
I wish I could die with no one to know
that my death was important.
I would be a Swan,
a beauty,
that a tear would be shed for.
Not knowing who that Swan was,
just knowing
that it was lost.
Aug 23, 2011
Aug 23, 2011 at 9:38 PM UTC
In the amber sunroom the regal canary perches,
Surveying his sun soaked kingdom from a golden throne,
Positioned just below the thick wooden rafters...
They might as well have been treetops.
The weathered oak armoire below, their immovable trunk;
The oversized tank, teeming with exotic fish, his ocean.
Through the translucent shades, the engorged sun turns orange,
And settles on the domes of the distant dragon trees.
Soon the silver haired woman, with "dust in the creases of her face,"
Will open the arched doorway, and into the sultry Moroccan air he will spring
Majestic yellow wings propelling him above the treetops,
Diving towards his vast ocean, circling between the dusty antiques,
Reveling in his glorious freedom, yet always returning,
For that is only the penultimate pleasure of every evening;
She will always call him home with the suculent scent
Of a luxurious dinner: mango, pomegranate, and papaya.
A sharp, tumbling trill disrupts his peaceful musing,
A flashing crimson streak leaves a momentary swatch,
Emanating from the open window, invading his territory and ending atop the amoire.
He refuses to look at her, intent on maintaining appearances.
She comes and goes so freely, innocent of any thoughts for me.
Feathers ruffling with discontent; jumping, leaping without direction.
Seeking the highest perch, closest to being free; only to be confined
By the bronze rods of social correctness, locked with the brass clasp of my own fear.
His little lion's heart becomes a battering ram,
Smashing against the inside of his toothpick ribcage.
Rapid fire thoughts soon dissolve in an attempt to compose
A song that is worthy of her. And so he waits, and watches her turn,
Red wings outspread, escaping back into the evening sky.
That blazing orange ball, finally sinking beneath its own weight,
And the failing strength of the mighty dragon trees,
Now merely blackened silhouettes of their former glory.
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 3:39 PM UTC
Can you hear the cry
of my inner self sentenced to die?
I'm shouting your name
I'm was glad you came
Save me from my own hell
It's taking me, can't you tell!
I can't keep doing this
I can no longer swing my fist
I feel weak
a constant losing streak
I need to see you darling
Your love so startling
But you have walked away
Leaving with no words to say
I think it's time to take
The demons hand, and never awake
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
Red birds flew into my window every day for years, especially during Spring
and I asked my mother
what they were called.
“Cardinals,” she said,
“but I think they’re called to you,
I think—
I think they are for you.”
“Mom, I’ll give that one a name.”
And I did.
——-
I still see cardinals.
The red shocks me,
like a bloodstain in a new house.
——-
When my father almost died,
I was not worried and I did not ask many questions,
only saw his body in the bed, a green-blue-yellow-black mess,
a broken-bone nest,
with sticky pads stuck to his skin, sending electricity to his nerves, lest
they forget themselves.
——-
He had the car turned into a cube, and it is somewhere now,
the cage collapsed,
the rust blooming inside of itself.
The day my father chose to drive into a wall,
going somewhere from 100 to 200 miles an hour (I never asked him), they dubbed him Rocketman.
He flew.
The car toppled and twisted and regurgitated what it could;
it was an illness,
and it could have killed us.
My father is okay.
——-
My father went to an air show months ago to see how those streak clouds are made by planes,
and there was an accident
and he saw peoples’ bodies lying and dying.
He told my mother how he saw hands separate from their owners.
He has not told me these things.
——-
The cardinals have started to scare my father.
He sees them too
like bloodstains in a new house.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC