"strived" poems
There came a time in the history of Nigeria when she dreamed for independence,
There came a moment in the history of Nigeria when she groaned to gain freedom from the British;
There came a season in the history of Nigeria when she desired to obtain independence from her rulers.
The moment when she groaned for independence,
The season when she was ready to groam freedom;
The moment when she desired to be independent as a country.
The moment when she seeked her elites to stand up and fight for independence,
The season when she awaited the voice and appearance of her freedom fighters;
The moment whe she believed that independence was ready to answer the call of nature in her country.
The moment when she believed to find freedom and independence which as that missing part of her that made her a complete country,
The season when she trusted and believed in the treasure called independence;
The moment when she hoped and desired to be called an independent and sovereign nation in the history of the world.
The moment when she was expectantant of the mother called independence,
The season when nothing meant anything to her except for the father called freedom;
The moment when she still believe to be an independent country despite foreign exploitations,
with the understanding that she could still stand up on her feet as an independent country.
She believed that someone who understands her tears and passion for freedom and independence,
will arise and fight for her freedom knowing that he will never bear to see her travail in birth for independence.
The elites she knew not but believed was out some where fortiing and preparing themselves for independence and fight for freedom.
Independence she waited for like an expectand mother of a child,
Each step she took was believed to bring her closer to freedom and independence.
She believed in freedom and independence for her country and it's occupants, and not
colonisation and exploitation from the British colony.
She believed in fighting for freedom and independence than dying a coward,
She believed in her elites efforts to obtain her independence and sovereignty.
She expected her elites to stand up and rage for independence to freedom and sovereignty,
which they did when the opportunity and strategy came for them to uphold.
She believed that destiny will bring her independence and freedom,
when the hour of liberation from exploitation comes.
She believed that her pains and heart beat was felt and understood by her elites.
The name independence she was passionate about and the fame freedom she was desperate about.
The memories of colonisation she groaned to erase and the histories of exploitation she desired to filtrate.
The name independence she struggled to uphold and the gain freedom she strived to unfold.
Before her moment of independence,
she strived to make full proof of her countrie's ambitions,
she sort self asset and not self liability.
She seeked and desired independence and freedom from exploitaion which she got.
Her dignity and hour as a country was restored on that fateful day of October 1, 1960 whe she gained and famed her independence and freedom.
She believed in independence and freedom which she got.
The death of her elites and freedom fighters was never in vain.
This is Nigeria At 53 and she is still a sovereign and independent country.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 4:28 AM UTC
The aftermath of poorly applied algebra is a scramble of numbers, letters, lonely coefficients, and an unemployed ninjas. These characters are much like those of a barbershop quartet, where members can either harmonize or simply fall flat. All of this depends on the song they sing and the order it is sung; algebra sings a song of SVSCOS (Same Variables Same Coefficients Opposite Sides) What else can come of bad math? Nothing less than a burning hatred for radicals, imaginary numbers, the saying 'PEMDAS', or maybe the fact that if you're 21 you must stay out the bars. This being said, Algebra 2 is very much like a dream; once you wake up, most of it is forgotten, but also in that it can be strived toward and reached.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
"Always become the one being hurt
Rather than ever hurting another"
Words I have strived to live by
The philosophy left by my mother
I've always tried to live my life
Standing up for what is right
Helping others no matter the cost
Being everyone's shining knight
What a horrible way to live
Even when I was on the verge of breaking
Even when the burden seemed too large
I always took it onto myself
And it was always free of charge
They all need to pay
But lately there is this voice
Echoing from the back of my mind
That is always fighting to take over
It wants to punish the unkind
Maybe I don't want to forgive
Tell me who is that inside me
Those thoughts can't be my own
Even when there's no one around
Somehow I am not alone
Just let me come out and play
I'm trying to keep it at bay
Am I past the point of no return?
I JUST WANT THE VOICE TO GO AWAY
But.... Now....it's my turn
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 5:47 AM UTC
I began to notice the
Fade.
Blotched ink, frayed seams
yet those who can't see
can't care
It was most familiar to a weary box
Which spent weekdays and nights
Traveling
To warm faces and comfort Sundays
I struggled when the
torch of permanent portions was passed to
me. Each word felt unworthy and full of
stain
I always strived for
realism
I used to clutch the cloth
carefully folding and unfolding
fearing the sendoff, knowing the return
would become rare
If at all.
it was a pricked finger and
remembrance
It was right to hideaway
At the time
I crumbled under the stage lights
The audience was expecting
More
All I could provide was
Myself
And like a spoiled child
I still pout
Demanding fame under my demanded
Street Lamps
Faded
Donated
What is, is
But. I do remember. Even if you figure the pants don't fit
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 8:44 PM UTC
In age of old, in time that pass like tides,
When Prometheus lived and Lo! He strived,
As thirsting for Heaven, he climbed its hills, and trees,
Clenching at the Sun, its spark he seize.
The leaves, they warmed, turn bright and evergreen,
As Prometheus, he to fierce fire wean,
Swell lips sip lightning, of the nascent noon,
And divine heat from his hand duly shone,
To Roses, who sing, uprise and sweet rebel,
In bloom to conquer, vanquish concrete hell.
A wish for fire, fulfilled, angered Zeus,
He thought the fire be given, not to choose,
That excellence with fire, laurel his,
"A crime against the Gods Prometheus did."
For glory of the light from Heaven sent,
The hour of his favour now gone, spent.
Smite down the hero, tear ambition down,
Old Zeus, but young ambition wears your crown,
For daring, striving why not badge of God?
The Promethean vision all time hath applaud,
It art of upper world, belong in sky,
Praise Prometheus as fire goes roving by.
Mind gilded by the golden, whirling thread,
You seize from Heaven, through the Earth now spread,
Bringing hope to hearts, life to the dead,
As for forgiveness of the Gods you plead,
For an uncriminal act and sublime deed,
The arrogance of Zeus? Need not to feed.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 3:14 AM UTC
I've been ignored and sidelined.
Denied freedom of expression.
Due to poverty, I was laughed at.
I was hurt, broken, and fought against.
Like a bicycle, I kept my balance to keep moving.
Then I won.
I’M THE STONE THE BUILDER REFUSED who’s………..
Passion didn’t come without suffering.
I strived not to be noticed.
I strived for my absence to be felt.
My intention wasn’t waiting for the storm to pass.
The intention was to dance in the rain.
Kneeling before God gave him ability to stand before anyone.
I’M THE STONE THE BUILDER REFUSED whom against all odds:
Forge without questioning.
Loved without condition.
Cared for people without expectations.
Gave without any sparing.
Shared without pretending.
I'm the same stone that turned to be the corner stone.
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
Days passed without food.
Water was what we had for
Breakfast, lunch and supper.
Seeing a mother crying tears of lost hope
Seeing a child scratching each and every ***
As if he would miraculously find food.
Will it be forever that all we hear, see, eat and touch is Poverty??
Child of poverty, I am.
Dreaming with an empty stomach filled me up for a jiffy.
For a minute I tasted my dream.
For a second I hoped to live it.
I wanted to be in Poverty no more.
With a touch of hope, I dared.
I dared to chase my dreams.
With no mind-forged manacles.
I strived for my belief.
With a touch of God's grace:
Child of Poverty , I was.
Child of Poverty, no more.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
I recall how you tried to peek.
You were there with us,
and you hardly speak.
It was me who made a move,
for us to become friends.
Then something between us improved.
The bond became so tight,
and that was you whom I looked for.
Those were the days it seemed so right.
Your feelings got deeper;
you assumed for more.
Hoping for things to become sweeter.
I began to be opened and it felt good.
I strived for something new, but...
it became complicated and we misunderstood.
Then a day came,
where everything was so silent.
No whisper of each others name.
The feeling that once became mutual,
is now forgotten.
By words, things could become fatal.
No, I don't regret that kind of relation,
for somehow it taught me numerous things.
And by the next time, it won't be another temporary affection.
-Steph Dionisio, May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
Pour one under the table for those who walk outside. In memory of Spalding Gray, for what he meant to me...
Thanks, “Spuddy”, for sharing your inner life. Thanks for having the courage to bring so many troubles into the light. You laughed at your troubles and allowed us a way to laugh at our own. You put a voice to carrying an unbearable shyness or an excess of fear along with us as we go through life. You strived to care when caring was out of fashion and in short supply. Thanks for reminding us that life is the journey, and not only the destination. You wrote a book. You played a minor role in a feature film. Those were some of your destinations. When you shared your journey, you did it with humor, humility, and with love. Thanks for reminding me that storytelling is all around us. Thanks for reminding me that it need not be complex. You were merely observant during your journey, and you shared it through the lens of your own perception.
I learned this January that life became unbearable for you. If only we, your audience, could have comforted you or somehow stemmed the river; the flood that carried you to leave so early. I would like to believe that, once you died, you might be able to hear our collective voice. I imagine that you are able to see the people affected by your work, some inspired thus to create works of their own; tell their own awkward stories, sharing them as you shared yours. I am far back in the line, and I eventually arrive at your table. You flip a page in your spiral-bound notebook and take a sip of water before glancing up inquiringly. I only have one thing to say, really. “Thanks, Spalding. Thanks for sharing”.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
What does the perfectionist do
When they realize
Perfection
Is an illusion.
When everything they've strived for
Is rendered
Futile.
All for not.
When there's nothing left
To achieve
The only thing to do
Is give up.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Four parts, woven together
Uniting all universal truths
What others do with it's powers
Only the future will prove
The first strand displays the world's true nature
Destroying everything it creates
We become unwanted children
Who have learned to incorporate
Killing in our communities
Biting, grinding flesh and bone
Swallowing with guilt free demeanors
Only leaving foul-stenched excretions as evidence
Second Strand speaks of our basic biological anxiety
To deny the terror of death
Imperatively born, emerging from nothing
Given a name and consciousness
Hopelessly abandoned from the beginning
Only to be fated always with everlasting death
Strand three
We hide underneath the
"Vital lie of the character"
Pretend to be shining knights in armor
Who will make us forget our
Unconscious anxiousness of death
We all work to attain prestige, money, and the
Fleeting feel of immortality
Worshiping Gods with clay feet
And when our beliefs are attacked
"Holy wars" becomes the pseudonym for
Our immortality projects
The last strand
All the efforts we put into
Making this Earth perfect
By eliminating scapegoat "enemies" and "evil" deities
We end up making everything filthy
In the effort to make everything right and pure
We turn the Earth's soil black and color the sky red
We strived for utopias, making dystopians
All these actions seem unconscious
But it is not the animals nature or
Evolutionary process
It's just us trying to pretend
We don't have perishable bodies;
Trying to deny death
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
Time is all that sets us free
To all the wonders, that can be humanly perceived
Time is all that binds us
To mundane, almost emotionless routines we have conceived.
Time is the ticking of the clock
That gnaws at us; leaving no immediate mark
Time is the face that has come to mock
It creeps on regardless; you notice it turn light to dark.
Time is the invisible candle that everyone innately holds
It gets lit from the moment we open our eyes
Time is not the wick that gives berth to flame
Rather it is the waxes that burn and then vaporise.
Time can and will never stop
Moments go by with the blink of the eyes
Time..., it does not favour
It isn't biased, it doesn't get swayed by truths or lies.
Time is the entity that governs almost all
It will tell when it deems it's right
From seedling to tree, hatchling to flight
A weakness to strength, the frail to might.
Time is the quest
That we have strived to conquer
Time is all of us
We have secretly craved for life much longer.
Time would only permit
All that I could pen in time
Time will always suggest to omit
So I could capture it all in rhyme.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
As kids
We were taught to cheer for the hero
The picture perfect role model
The one we all strived to be
The one that always found a way to win
No matter what the odds
He always made the decisions
He Should make
And the only mistakes he made
Were ones that could be corrected
So he could keep his perfect image
We cheered for the hero because
When he was faced with tragedy
He didn't drown in sorrow
But instead used it as a springboard
To become something greater
He always saved the day
And everyone who needed
And he never failed to rescue someone
Not even once
So we held him up high
Because that's what we wanted to be
But overtime
We learned that the hero is just a fantasy
He only lives in comics
Because that's where he was meant to be
So we learned to side with the villain
Not because we're evil
But because the villain is more real
More human
When the villain was faced with tragedy
He did what was human
He attempted to swim
In the flood of sorrow
But couldn't swim forever
He drowned
The villain is relatable
He makes the decision
We Would make
He did what he thought was right
Or at least what was necessary
To provide the needs of
Or to avenge
His family
But eventually
He became blinded
To what he did
And he couldn't see
That he was wrong
Because the villain isn't perfect
He's just like us
The villain is human
So we side with the villain
Becuase we feel his pain
We relate with his emotions
We understand his actions
Perfection is something we can't be
So we stopped cheering for the hero
When we realized that's who we can never be
And started to side with the villain
Because he's just like you and me
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC
With strength and hope I embrace the facts of my existance
all restraints have been removed, no more holding back zero resistance
free to ascend to the higher levels that I have always strived
much sooner than I ever planned here I am, I have arrived
through the lies, misconceptions and conformity I have risen above it all
strong and confident moving forward I am walking tall
free to be who ever I want at any moment if I choose
making up the rules of life as I go, no way I can lose
so if you pass me in the street and I seem out of place
it's because that is where I want to be with a smirk on my face
not because I am better than anyone or better than you
it's that I have realized that I am free to do anything I have ever wanted to
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 1:40 AM UTC
rhythm is
comfort
and predictability
stitching my days together
through the notion
of repeating the motions
an illusion of stability,
but no matter the way I
structured my day
no matter the perfection
I strived to attain
no matter how many
unkempt strings I cut away
I think deep down I knew
that life
should be a little frayed
as counterintuitive as it seems
the unexpected becomes
the rhythm of dreams
ripping through the routine
changing the patterns
of what I planned to be
into new designs entirely
so I embrace this chaotic beauty
with its endearing knots and
erratic threading, ready for
living imperfectly
balanced in the uncertainty
is rhythm
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
Through the Great Depression.
We saw couples make it last forever.
Through World War Two.
We know some couples survived.
Let's call it love of a lifetime.
Through segregation era.
We saw couples male it together.
And through it all.
They struggle and strived.
So, what's wrong today?
We hear couples fighting over common things.
Except making love work.
It might be money.
Which when discussing become mine.
Ours, isn't a unional thought.
One can't be the voice of reason.
While the other wants to be the voice of choice.
And they wonder why some couples has years of love?
Those that hadn't nothing during the depression, wars and segregation.
Worked, at earning it.
Not demanding it.
Call it love of a lifetime.
It can be yours.
And it can be mine.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 10:30 AM UTC
With Goal in the mind
you focus your card,
Forgetting days nights
and working so hard,
What ever has come in
the target your way,
You have always strived
to keep it at bay.
Resources are albeit
but skimpy and low.
You Seldom get worry
and never you bow.
While eating and moving
or going for walk,
You put your attention
on measures you talk.
Virtues that you own
not common in mass,
Seldom are found and
tough to surpass.
Perhaps is the reason
why I have regard,
Your focus certainly
deserves this reward.
But often I doubt
your fire your zeal,
Queries comes to mind
this what I feel.
Is it your passion that
makes you work hard?
Or Else is pushing you
jumping the yard?
Since I have also seen
a victim a prey,
In forest jumps hard
when lion on way.
Just see if guilt,Fear ,
doubt and remorse?
are not controlling
your action of course?
Ajay Amitabh Suman
All Rights Reserved
Dec 11, 2021
Dec 11, 2021 at 9:46 PM UTC
In summer's heat and mid-time of the day
To rest my limbs upon a bed I lay,
One window shut, the other open stood,
Which gave such light, as twinkles in a wood,
Like twilight glimpse at setting of the sun,
Or night being past, and yet not day begun.
Such light to shamefast maidens must be shown,
Where they must sport, and seem to be unknown.
Then came Corinna in a long loose gown,
Her white neck hid with tresses hanging down:
Resembling fair Semiramis going to bed
Or Layis of a thousand wooers sped.
I snatched her gown, being thin, the harm was small,
Yet strived she to be covered there withal.
And striving thus as one that would be chaste,
Betrayed herself, and yeilded at the last.
Stark naked as she stood before mine eye,
Not one wen in her body could I spy.
What arms and shoulders did I touch and see,
How apt her ******* were to be pressed by me.
How smooth a belly under her waist saw I?
How large a leg, and what a ***** thigh?
To leave the rest, all liked me passing well,
I clinged her naked body, down she fell,
Judge you the rest, being tired she bade me kiss,
Jove sent me more such afternoons as this.
2.9k
Well, it's almost here
the day that I retire
thirty years of servitude
not quite a funeral pyre
A planned escape
after years of malaise
thinking on what I'll do
starting another phase
I'll open up a glass shop
make some artistic pieces
fused, foiled, stained or blown
creativity never ceases
Maybe I'll make glass ******
something to please the ladies
custom designs and so ******
quality, as in Mercedes
Yes here it comes
for all the years I've strived
it's only just retirement
and yes, I'll still be alive
Turning out a product
designed to give life some joy
sure it's just a piece of glass
a hand crafted well made
toy
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC
*I've been thinking about you
Don't leave me, unknown
I've always strived to see your shadow against a white wall
Don't leave me, unknown
When the sun rise up above us
When the moon shies off underneath our blankets
We own it, love
Don't leave me alone
I've been thinking about you*
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
Once upon a time, I had the zeal of a thief with a mission, I knew what I wanted, I strived to get it, and failure did little to deter me. My heart pounded blood with fire, it acted with a vengeance filling me up with a strong desire, a hope, a future that all will be well, with time.
Time goes by quickly enough. With 24 years on my back, I am still in the same place as I was ten years ago but with less vigor. A state of hopelessness has made a nest in my crib, time seems to drag and I wait for my next big dream to come crumbling down once again.
The God I worshipped before has changed too, I have a new one, one who is more loving and has more enemies, the only problem is, the enemy is winning this fight of souls. I am down the drain of waste, slowly filling my belly with dirt and too distracted with the failure in front of me to spit out the filth from my lips.
I wake each day with a fresh brain, waiting to be filled up but soon afterwards, its filled with past failures, past pains, the past, the past, the past! Now, I know what you are thinking, move on, let the past be the past. I know all about moving on, I moved on from my ex, it took me more than a year but I am glad I let the ******* go (not that he is that bad!) but how can I move on from this? Every day is a reminder of the past, thing is, I don’t have to live in my past to be influenced by it, many times, the past is indeed my present.
The past has a bag of failures packed up to the brim, my present too is always marked with failure after failure. How can I make you understand the state of hopelessness that is eating at me? No, I am no saint, I am no good at many a thing, I wish I was also as good in getting over this, only problem is that it feels like a thousand galaxies have been set on my shoulders for me to carry.
This is what hopelessness means, I have a past that is too strong for me, a present that is dim each day and a future that is so bleak that looking at it only makes me sink deeper.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 7:16 AM UTC
And then we are called Negro’s
and feel like that is so much better.
As if it’s not the same derogatory word
now its just more “sophisticated.”
Used in lyric like it’s the only word that rhymes with everything.
Since its 2010 you think we are not like Emmett Till, but we are.
The only difference is we shoot our own guns and one by one we make our own selves obsolete.
The “N” word flowing out of the mouths of our newer generations as if it’s the government given name stamped on every black persons’ birth certificate.
Like there was never a revolution
Like there was never a fight to bring us up to what is seemingly equal to everyone else.
You are what brings us down again.
Hearing the yells of one black man to another in conversation “can a ***** get…”
(insert a stereotypical ending here)
No a ***** can’t get nothin’. That is what has been repeatedly told to the race as a whole.
Burned into our minds like the branding of a cow.
Each time the “N” word is uttered out of another’s mouth its like a gravitational pull that scientist have yet to discover.
More powerful than any black hole.
Like ***** in a barrel. We strive to keep the others at our level.
Ask Fredrick Douglas, it’s his expertise…
As he was one of the original ****** Breakers; we have multiplied the frequency and have unknowingly become professionals at something we never strived to be.
The “N” word flows out of our mouths and through the air like the historical dance it took to get us here.
The dance we have long forgotten but our bodies seem to react the same way whenever an Anglo-Saxon uses our coveted word.
Like it wasn’t the word they yelled as they made permanent welts on our backs that would last generations
Like it wasn’t what they yelled at us to strip away every individualistic quality
They referred to us as if we were herds
Like it wasn’t their term to begin with. We should let them have it.
We are like the modern generations of our ancestral princes and princesses of Africa.
As powerful as they once were, we have mastered fields that others wish they had a chance to accomplish in.
We were built to overcome any obstacle.Other than the obstacle of getting out of our own way.
It is no longer like the underground railroad.
There are no hounds chasing us through the waters.
****** should no longer be the tether that holds us down
We have the ability to soar like a majestic bird that shall always remain unnamed.
As ****** we are nothing. As African American’s we are an impenetrable strength.
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 12:00 PM UTC
Reflected, an iris of colored contexts that once had reception without spectacles. I signed voluntarily the letters to a name that I sincerely wanted to keep. I tried to limit the lines that divided the print of a written statement of deliverance; a sealed inner sanctum that has remained defunct while displaced of force all along devout of a substance, my words strived to be read ingrained on paper placed in constants among summations of variables clearly he scribed drafts maintaining a patterned complex of metaphors only to contradict the expressions layered, confusing this thinker so that the reader may interpret a plausible audibility for thought looking beyond spectrums of what is to be foreseen
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 2:30 PM UTC
Clearly observing the wicked danger lurking within you…
What a paradox to witness a change of benevolence ridiculed by your truth.
If only you understood what it takes to genuinely smile,
You could move mountains across those magnificent cerulean skies.
Even after our unpleasant confrontations, so cruel and wry.
You deliberately chose to dance around to a distinctive rhyme.
Using your words of trickery, resembling a serpent hissing fear.
You untiringly strived to strike fatal arrows through an artificial crack on my fortified shield.
I gave you only one chance to earn my professional trust.
Then you destroyed it with mendacities absconding from your Machiavellian filthy mouth.
Candidly, after foreseeing your vile pestilence emerging from within.
I erupted in an outburst of laughter to have ever believed in your skin of sin.
Beware, you have revealed an irrevocable glitch that is deceitfully sly.
It portrays tyranny and narrow mindedness, depreciating with every malicious try.
Running cunningly through your veins oozing massive animosity in disguise.
Have you not scrutinized the gruesome language intensely stimulated from your heinously gazing eyes?
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC