"stringing" poems
Tiredness is overwhelming,
The distress is stringing,
Thoughts expressionless,
Though my writings are endless.
~A.d | 16 Dec 2014
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
Just when I think
I've known the world
I come to the realization
That I've only seen it
Through my own two eyes.
It eats at me
Though I shouldn't be bothered
And yet
I can't help but wonder why.
What do strangers see
When they watch my favorite film
And what do they hear
In their favorite songs?
What do others girl feel
When they knowingly fall in love
With someone
Who's stringing them along?
What do my parents know
When they look at the roads
They've walked down
Many more times than I?
What do babies think
When the world's so unknown
And they can only use their voices
To cry?
Where is the truth
In others' opinions
So very different from mine?
Where lies the inspiration
Of other writers
As they steadily type
Each line?
In the end
There's not much of a point
Unless reincarnation exists.
But frustration prevails
Knowing my eye's the limit
And my curiosity
You see
Persists.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 1:08 AM UTC
Can I write you a love song
I’ll sing it softy in your ear all night long
Blow gently without words on my saxophone
Diamond and Pearls behind the throne
A beautiful ensemble meant for only you
As I give credence too
Take my hand
Cross this journey with me as I sing about faraway lands
Past Egypt pyramids shifting Morocco sands
Lay back my love, allow your mind to silently drift
Feel the enchantment of my piano keys as it spiritual uplifts
I’ll sing love songs of old
A cappella chorus echoed from deep within my enlighten soul
I’ll sing to you about the blues, society’s injustice, and elements of darken storms
Keep your heart warm, while playing my French Horn
Enrapture foretold from this dedicated symphonic poem
A music sheet of percussion, woodwind, brass, keyboard, and strings
Harmony carrying the mind away as the joy of coming spring
I’ll hum your favorite beats, can you feel the crescendo now
Fiddle from the heart by the sweat of one’s brow
Submerge your cerebral cortex, lose yourself in the sultry tunes
Harp sounds bathe of light kissed from the illuminating moon
Destiny overcasts in the lyrics
Fate floating stratospheric
Karma of others handled in the eyes of satiric
Opera, I give you so grand in its grace
French Creole dialect murmured among silk and lace
Sounds of my flute resonant to face
Allowing my Cello sounds to thoroughly embrace
Can I write you a love song
Body and soul serenading soprano to keep you standing strong
My guitar stringing your philosophies along
An equal equation, one plus one equals two
Emotions, feelings, sentiments, its tenor expressed only for you
No compass to my heart, my seasonal love found in hidden melodies
Trombone guiding back and forth breathless as it please
Orchestra sounds
Ascending minds, bodies, souls, pass the opening clouds, divine and profound
The last note sung by me as we gradually come down
Beautiful music embraced, needs never to make a sound
Shh, close your eyes
Meditate on the music for a little while
Hush sweet baby don’t say a word
My heart softly tweets to a mockingbird
If that mockingbird don’t sing
Can I write you a love song created only for your being
As minds are sightseeing
Hearts fleeing
Timpani drums guaranteeing
Entwined of our divine wellbeing
Emotions freeing
Crooning of bodies heard as the day is long
Can I write you a love song
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
My poem is called how to be forced into a talent show.
It's very easy to be forced into a talent show when you're me.
No, I am not saying, "Ooooo" look at me I am Michael Ryan and I am the most talented person in the world.
I'm more saying, "oooo" look at me, I'm such a nice person that I will do your talent show, even though I don't want to.
Yes, that is what I am really trying to say, but not in a conceited kind of way, because that's not me.
I was forced into this talent show from the very beginning.
The very beginning, the very first sign up day.
and I thought "hmm I don't have any talent", and she was like oh yes you do, well of course I believe her.
And from that moment I've felt slightly uneasy, because to be honest she can't be there every day to tell me "hey you have talent."
And to be honest all I'm doing is a SPOKEN WORD poem, which is pretty much just me talking.
What a talent that must be...but not really.
Then my friend tried to jump on board with me to do a duet of a poem, so I was forced even more in to this situation.
But luckily that person changed their mind and so I was just stuck with my original oh you have talents person stringing me along into this over thought situation.
Just to let you know I did eventually try to tell them hey I think I'm not gonna do(but then they cut me off), and told me once again you got talents, and please please please do my talent show.
So of course I can't say no, that's not what a nice guy would do, which I am.
And this is what came to me, how about I just write about how one is forced to be doing this in front of a group of people, even though you already said no soooo many times.
And to be honest this is terrifying, because I just came up with this, 30mins ago.
Even though I sat for many hours thinking what to write, it just never felt well right.
And ugh seriously this is so stressful, that I really do wonder why I am even up here.
I could be sleeping right now, but instead I've been convinced to do this.
And there's no guarantee anyone or myself will even like this.
But sleep, **** I know I would like to fall into that right now.
Just dreaming, peacefully, to be sleeping and not on a stage, being gawked at by some strangers.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
There was a girl and she tried and tried
She would try to fix your broken bones with the bandages in her satchel.
But you looked away and never paid attention.
She’d come to your rescue before you need her too, but you turned her away and sent her home.
She gained a voice in the back of her head, that told her all the lies she felt.
The lies felt like truth, so she listened to them.
She became abused and neglected, so she faded into the background.
She sharpened her knives and took havoc.
But she didn’t hurt you, no, instead she hurt herself because she loved to deeply and hurt so much.
She began to fade away, the scene became quieter and quieter.
You realized something was missing, when you were down and no one was around.
You didn’t know where she was, you didn’t know she was alone in her room, dark shadows around, feeling numb to the feeling while sadness overwhelmed her.
You needed her then and you need her now, but you pushed her away, and now she’s gone.
So you paid her a visit, hoping for a few sweet words and the sympathy stringing, but when you came inside you found her body beaten and bruised.
Because you weren’t there when she wanted you, you didn’t want her when you needed her, so she faded away permanently. Because the person she loved didn’t want or need her so she believed that was her fate.
Now she’s gone and there’s no coming back from this. You should’ve been there for her when she was alive and happy.
There was a girl and she tried and tried
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
We sat at the table, waiting for our number to be called.
Their pepperoni pizza, was our most favorite one of all.
Our number is announced, George is carrying the pizza back.
When close, he decides to act, as though he trips in his tracks.
In slow motion, that pizza, slid so smoothly out of the pan.
George's eyes got big as saucers, he saw the folly of his plan.
There I was in my new outfit, that cost half of my paycheck.
With pizza, upside down on my lap and sauce splashed on my neck.
Amazingly calm, George scooped the pizza up in his hands.
Melted cheese, stretching and stringing, from my pants in gooey strands.
He stood there patting and pressing the pizza back into shape.
That poor pizza looked just like a badly, bulldozered landscape.
It lay there sort of twisted, pepperoni all to one side.
Crust pieces stinking out of it, like a saucy red mudslide.
Then he sat down across from me, silently as if waiting.
I must have looked like a blonde fish, sitting there, just gapping.
Then a chuckle escaped my lips, as his eyes raised to meet mine.
He looked just like a little boy, who just got caught in a crime.
I'm surprised we didn't get kicked out for making such a fuss.
'Cause, next thing you know, the whole place is laughing along with us.
We couldn't stop, there was no way we'd been able.
Not while upsidedown-lap pizza, stared at us from the table
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 7:04 PM UTC
I didn’t love you. I loved the way you loved me. I loved the idea of us, I loved what I meant to you. I won’t ever love you.
I'm sorry I couldn't fall in love with you, I'm sorry for pretending that eventually I would. I know when I walked away I left you shattered. I hope you're okay now and forgiven me.
We had a good thing going I know that's how you saw it, we were perfect together. But we never were. I was looking for a way out before we began. You can put the blame on me, I led you on. All those late night conversations, you know so many things about me that I never knew about myself. We spoke about the future and you always put me in yours but I don't even know where I'll be a year from now.
I am sorry.
It wasn't you and I know that's cliche but you were never unkind or mean, you actually were the nicest, most honest guy I've ever met and I was so lucky to have you in my life for the time that I did. You took the good with the bad, even though there was so much more bad than good. I made you believe things were better than they were and I know now I should've let you know instead of stringing you along. I knew my feelings for you were changing and I tried to ignore it, because you were amazing. You were everything I ever wanted but it wasn't enough, it wasn't real.
The hardest part about this was letting go, knowing you were crumbling inside yourself asking yourself what you did wrong. I received all the text and voicemails and it broke me to not answer but I had to let you go, you needed to know the truth. And to answer your question, yes I did try to love you but love shouldn't have to be this hard.
I wish love was enough to keep me. I wish the love you have for me was enough to fix everything. I feel like I’ve been apologizing for days now and I know they seem like empty words but I had nothing but good intentions. I never meant to ruin you. If I could rewrite this ending believe me I would.
I know its different now but I hope you’re well and you’ll always have a special place in my heart and I know that doesn’t mean much to you because your heart is sitting in the corner of my room where you left it. I know it’s different between us now and you don’t understand why I walked away but you deserve someone who can love you as much as you love me.
What I need you to know is that just because I wasn't the one doesn't mean she isn't out there waiting for you. You keep looking and you will find someone you deserve, someone who deserves you and loves you equally.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed but thank you for loving me.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 5:13 PM UTC
I wish that I
could fall in love
with a female,
for she would make
a far better muse than
the gruff sailors and musicians
and drunks and men
in general that I am
inclined to crave.
to write about
a painted pout or
skin that brushes against
your own like nylon,
sunlight shining through
the window onto a Cupid's bow
and dancing down to
a delicate clavicle, or
black eyelashes that bat
and blink remorse
into your cavernous heart,
to muse over such aesthetic
delights, would be
ecstasy for my poetess heart.
I linger, staring, at beautiful
women, androgynous women,
delicate, feline women,
stringing words
together in my head
over long legs and
hair that flutters like silk,
and they think I'm crazy
or in love with them.
well, maybe I am crazy,
but I crawl into bed each night
with my snarling, gleaming,
mahogany gentleman,
and I love him madly,
my rugged muse.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
I am a bird chair
Bird chairs may have not caught on yet
but I promise you
they soon shall
I work well with a bird lamp
Wave at Window and Book Me
a How-To-Encyclopedia
of bird chairs and lamps
Chapter Four is all bird flags
You know how hot suburban jungle gets
Stringing lights around moon
is not so difficult
When wind is at your back
much easier in a bird chair
And with a bird lamp
Shoe painting is mentioned
in the glossary
just in reference to
sadness your bird chair
might be experiencing
If you wish to re-floor carpet bag
bird chairs are perfect
accompaniments
Big things are happening in bird chairs
Look out for bird jet next
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 11:00 AM UTC
*Do you remember those summer noon times when the sun painted the world with shades of warm butterscotch. We sat stringing daisies together; like unbroken chains of our conversations - that lasted till sunset -
Swirling candy floss clouds, dissolved; leaving hues of soft pink that fused with the periwinkle sky. We'd walk home marvelling at nature's tie and dye.
After all these years you've drifted away like wisps of floating clouds; But the warm colour of your friendship has splashed itself onto the canvas of my memories
..and I will always remember those vibrant summer days that I spent sitting by your side.*
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
I used to write with words
Embodying my individual emotions
In splotches of paint
Now
I write with phrases
Stringing words together to paint a picture
No longer simply splatter paint
...
But a collage
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just "on spec", addressed as follows, "Clancy, of The Overflow".
And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
(And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar)
Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
"Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are."
In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
Gone a-droving "down the Cooper" where the Western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.
And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
And at night the wond'rous glory of the everlasting stars.
I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, ***** city
Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all
And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless ***** of feet.
And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.
And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal —
But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of "The Overflow".
3.7k
The sadness comes and goes, but when it hits me I can't breathe my heart aches. I have never felt so much hurt and so much pain all at once. I broke your heart so why do I hurt? Why am i the one who can't sleep at night? Five years have passed and I still love you more than I could ever find words for. You came back though you say you love me and I just hope you aren't stringing me along. For what it's worth I have more than just words for you. I have a box of memories, I have the sad yet beautiful tragedy we became in the back of my mind. I remember it all. We were young and dumb. I never for a second thought you weren't my fairy tale ending, you have always been my superman. You know me better than I know me a lot of the time even after five years you know everything about me. Honestly losing you again scares me. You brought me out of my sadness. but having you around and questioning your intentions brings me right back in. I just hope I'm worth it to you. because I still love you.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
You weave your stories like the night,
stringing the moon with the stars;
the finest of pristine pearls,
threaded by twilight.
Weaving the finest Varanasi silk
with life as your celestial loom;
laying down gold- and silver-threaded brocade,
dormant gardens burst in bloom.
Your pen is the philosopher’s stone
turning lead hearts into gold;
manipulating structure in stunning stanzas,
inscribing on hearts in italics and bold.
Nodding in acquiescence
the sages of the ages,
will then add your magnum opus
to their papyraceous pages.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
~
the true art of loving is
to never stop touching!
touching, holding,
caressing, stroking...
such is the nature of
love's connection;
a twine intertwined
through touch,
the stringing,
the *********
the fingers that clasp,
that reach out to grasp;
oh marvelous,
tenderest touch!
why is it that
any of us stop?
would we,
could we,
if we really knew?
that touch was a gift
one of the few
that gifts immortality,
gives liberality;
indeed,
would we
ever,
or
never
stop touching?
and God could only
know why
we would ever ask
to be left alone,
cold as a stone,
the untouchable we;
how could we deny
that one, that only
who for our heart longs
truest mate of our soul.
babies need it,
toddlers do it,
children want it,
teens use it,
young ones wish it,
lovers gift it,
mid-lifers pine and
seniors return to it...
there is never
a stage or
a cycle of life
where we should
or ever could
cease to be needing it
ever stop touching
or being touched.
for touch is
love's connection,
the umbilical chord,
a neuron cable,
the neutron bundle,
oh blanket of hope...
it feeds us,
a life line,
an air line
that needs us;
a love line to
the divine
that renews us,
and will
inevitably,
ultimately,
eventually,
totally
hold us,
as we walk
the path through,
eternity past,
present and
what is to come!
for touch...
indivisible from love,
and love never dies;
love never ceases!
yes,
the true art of touching is
to never stop loving!
~
*post script.
we watched so many who loved
stop touching through the years
and then wonder what happened
as embers once hot grew cold.
touch is a gift,
to be shared
and not hoarded!*
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
Unicorn Moments
It was Maundy Thursday, an afternoon so lazy
the words of the passion could sink hardly
for my eyes were on the beading tray
the unfinished bracelet was now awry
off and on, i kept stringing
the garnet rounds and pearls kept falling
no more tiny brass rings to string in between
i had to think of other ways...something
also had to wash away the gray feeling.
Searched inside my bedroom drawers
and found silver flower spacers!
i gloried at the thought of finishing two bracelets
three, more, maybe even an anklet!
Three, four hours had passed, i was so exhausted
i had already showered
the whole bathroom was spotless,
smelling of ^Pandan leaves^ and flowers,
i was so delighted!
Outside the bathroom door, i stopped
spotted the shiny silver spacers! on the bed, i almost dropped
the silence was too loud, i couldn't stand the spacers' glare,
nothing to say, nothing to offer... just a stare...
"No! no way!
i'm fine, i'm okay!"
was that my voice that gave me away?
moment of truth could never be held at bay...
I held the cable wire to start beading
but body and mind were one...refusing
my fingers were limp...a bit trembling
tired, from too much scrubbing.
My finger traces the head of my unicorn figurine
God knows, i have loved this magical creature ever since
but, i'm not sure i even like these new visitors, these
unicorn moments,
they don't come often,
yet, they're bound to happen.
oh, well....i guess i have to be a bit bolder
accept these changes that come with growing older...
when this happens, i try to joke and laugh,
and then people say......."you're tough!"
i answer them with a smile...and a gruff!
Sally
Copyright April 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 7:02 AM UTC
I tried to tint my hair red to light this night
But it is dull and stringing out amidst my plant-stained fingers
I tried to dissolve away the lines upon my skin to glow with luminosity
But they are wedged deep and have left gouges of pin-pricks behind
I tried to exhume the dead and the dry from my face to better breathe
But instead it filmed over stinging and suffocates
I tried to forget you in order to be free of this
But I am not cleaned of you so easily.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
Looking at the times the way these dimes
Droppin' like flies as time goes by thinkin' why?
They living up to a ** status tryna to be the baddest
But forget that you beautiful the way your are
a shining star that's going dim
Tryna impress them ?
But they ain't seeing yo who do believe in?
Me or next man
Setting the masterplan at hand got ****
She fell to the design that was planned
Insecurities rushing cuffin'
to a disease
Invisible melodies stringing her menality
Wake up and stop following these fakes in society
Cuz they don't care about thee
just another bill ya need to seal and ****
These fakes tryna make fame off of a fake name
Only to end up ashamed
Now the next girl was giving her self to the world
Eyes glistening like a pearl yo it makes me wanna earl
She was lusting each scene for the cream and it seems
She can't break away from the siblings
Aphrodisiac beings
spiritually killing
Her soul outta control to many energies swarming a hole
Thoughts dug deeper than an abyss soon to kiss
A gravesite from having to many one nights
Momentarily she's feels good from.the morning wood
And if I could
Change her views but she stuck in her ways
So I guess the pain is there to stay floating away
Me I'm on cloud nine tryna place my self in unison to the sun
an unbecome a fallin' one
Little lost women lookin' for men
To take in can't amend
Their problems but we all got problems
Can't resolve 'em only evolve 'em above the rim
Word to birdie lookin' for the enemies frenzy
See the past I peeped the scenery since the age of three
a golden taste of the coke and Hennessy
Gave me a second chance to glance into the 9th D
A Time traveler wisdom unraveler I'm the savior
Resurrected from death in the form of a fetus
Baby girl wipe ya tears no need to fear
And compare against these buccaneers
Most close their ears so they can't hear
Ya sighs ...bawlin' no stallin'
let's rise
above all of those fallin'..now say...
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
He sat there
on the edge of my bed,
playing with the strings
on his guitar,
stringing me along.
Pulling me closer
with his voice,
beautifully bruised,
carrying me in.
The moonlight complementing
his every note,
every inch of him.
Buried diep.
Lost within a fantasy.
Lost in this room
with a melody,
and a voice
so addictive.
He sat there,
smoke and moonlight,
playing his guitar.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
******* baby-voice-fake,
carrying around that ego of yours
(where'd you even get it?)
stringing your hair into
strands and
straggles,
painting your lips attention-whore red,
parading around those
scars on your arms -
******* try-too-hard-fake,
making noise to make noise,
words that aren't words and
thoughts that aren't yours,
i'm not hearing it.
smiling and then secretly
hateful and spreading
lies
(you were ***** you were molested,
you were exploited, you were robbed)
tip-toed on poser-high heels,
chopping your hair into stunted shortness
(a rat-nest red-chemical version
of mine)
you can **** off.
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
Lazy afternoon rays shaft
Through Spring's full trees;
The wind cuts laterally
Leaving the sea.
Through deck lattice
The grass weaves
A tartan plaid.
Electric lines,
Chimney tops,
Blossoming crops.
I hold out my hands,
Stringing fingers
Through thinning hair.
The artisan
Wove and weaves.
This is the basket,
The rug,
My coat.
Entwine our fingers;
Weave a basket.
Collect your thoughts.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
He is who you want to see at the airport,
half asleep, pastel sweatshirt half zipped.
Half length shorts ending just above the knees.
Eyes matching the green and blue abstract swirls
patterned into the carpet to hide passenger sick-up.
The background to travelling japanese circus photos,
they’ll look back in their scrapbooks,
past the ponies on the baggage carousel,
see him waiting for the delayed international arrival.
Stiff legs tread quietly down grey hallways,
stringing a stickered suitcase along moving walkways,
thoughts caught between continents, in escalator’s teeth.
Tiptoeing over the hot coffee spilled like oil,
the taste of morning breath clinging to the back of the throat,
chalky as chilled ashes, abandoned and unswallowed.
When the taxis are cold and the day’s been worn out,
before it’s even begun; patchy fabric stretched over toes
rubbing thin on the inside of your shoes,
he’ll circle your head like a daisy crown.
To hold the tiny scars on his broad shoulders,
traces blemishes like a mine sweeper,
would be like orange juice at 40 000 ft.
Intimate in a way only TSA agents know how to be,
looking for explosives behind the ribcage, to the left.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 3:48 AM UTC
Days become smaller as nights take over.
You move faster as you go further, away with the sun.
No more warmer as the tension grows stronger.
The air is colder, the breaths are shorter.
Time moves slower.
Your grip gets tighter, as I start to waver.
And everything I've bled for never even mattered.
With you, it's just a sliver, filled with hope, as it grows weaker.
The heart, it withers, and here we are, lost in whatever.
Whatever this is, you keep me here, where I don't even want to be near.
Let me go, I don't want to be lost in you, already consumed by the truth.
Hesitation follows, as you stay leaving me hollow.
There's no light coming through, and I'm losing sight of myself when it should have been you.
So please, stop stringing me along, when all you're doing making the rights wrong.
Nothing gets better; because of you, forever never comes closer.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
You three believe in creating scarcity,
NOT union.
You build HOV lanes for your luxury cars,
caring less how efficient they are.
They roll royce cross your game board,
fuming trails of money.
Bell Atlantic bought Madison Avenue,
you bought all the properties.
Now tenants can't avoid
the traffic or the noise
of an internet rolled in palms
and diced
spiraling
to speed limits
...
...
...
...
and red highways
...
...
...
...
and orange traffic cones that
block hybrid cars,
already swerving
to avoid bankruptcy.
We
STOP
the
STOP
people
STOP
moving,
our preamble crumbles to a
STOP,
becoming a eulogy —
an ideal dumb to power trippery,
after Time Warner and Comcast merged,
allies on opposite sides of the game board.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
together you own pretty much
everyone but Fox and Disney,
(yet have invested in them heavily).
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
your oligarchy is
NBC, Universal, CNN, Warner Brothers,
and now FullScreen,
family-friendly nepotism
that inbreeds bearing
deaf drones bored of flying,
over
Why Beyonce is a Feminist.
or
Why Ferguson was racist,
media's offspring
just keep clicking,
the headline genocide victims
basking in concentrated lamps
for a sliver of attention.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
Now you want the backend buffering,
bulging eyes and emptying pockets
of those Spocked into believing,
hyperspeed was ever necessary.
No choice when the exits are slow
and there are no backroads.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;,
offspring of the
Bell Atlantic Company,
we will not let your
****** populate the internet.
Call it Capitalism,
but your playing Monopoly,
yanking the carpet underneath
to the wood of Tyranny.
You shamed
Bell's invention
by stringing together
telephone
internet,
and
entertainment companies
until you could be lazy.
Monkeys who spent millions
to shriek at government parties
about the communication machine,
a system downloaded so slowly,
we
did
not
act
on
cons
piracy
theories,
when Amazon made online shopping so easy.
Dear Internet Service Providers,
so called ISP's,
WE ARE DONE playing Monopoly.
Our collective voice
will shout blasphemy
on your streets,
hashtagged
net neutrality,
till you're counting pennies.
So empty your Washington banks
cause it's 3 a.m. and
no ONE is winning.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
Give me the sky
And I will soar
Among the mighty clouds
Grant me the wind
And I will fly
Beneath the radiant sun
Dare me to dance
And I will learn
Upon a golden lit stage
Lend me an ocean
And I will sail
Farther than the tides
Make me a promise
And I will trust
Grasping to it forever
Bring me a melody
And I will write
Stringing lyrics by starlight
Join me in life
And we will laugh
Finding joy side by side
Mar 9, 2020
Mar 9, 2020 at 8:06 PM UTC