"subjection" poems
Perfection
The subjection of one’s interjections
Based on the world
The world of today
Can you change what you think
What others have to say
Were interconnected but not in connection
With a convection of perfection that inhibits rejection
Or constant correction of certain parts or sections
That people fail to mention for their own protection
Believing a misconception to gain desired affection
Wasting their discretion for a false obsession
Thoughts of concession and encouraging suppression
This is just one dissection of perfection
It is but one path, one direction
But this should lead to many other questions
What about succession from the term perfection?
Is it needed to drive people to higher ascension?
Maybe one day society can undergo a social resurrection
Where creed, religion, race, freedom are not held in contention
No more crimes, no need for detention
Everyone is happy, no more thoughts of depression
Everyone can be comfortable with their own reflection
Hopefully this dissection can leave a lasting impression
And drive home the need for a universal intervention
To stop and think what it means strive for perfection
For you may have it wrong upon further inspection
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 2:45 PM UTC
objectification is very much a cul de sac,
it's a one way street...
to objectify is to
allow an animate object a
confirmation of an all-pervasive control...
objectification =
the inability of an object to become
a self-serving subject -
no hammer ever managed
to self-serve itself into a role of a screwdriver...
to be objectified is to have no
self-serving subject, i.e. a self;
how can a woman ever be "objectified"
when she subjects herself to both
the object (that's her body) and
the subject (that's her mind) -
or, objects to the object stated -
whereby by "objectification" there's
a reinforcement of being subject to the object...
her body, which reinforces her
subjectivity -
when man is prone to objectification,
as pronouncing his extended members,
a woman is prone to subjection -
irony on the ob- prefix,
wasn't it ever reverse infatuation?
sure, not all the subplots appear
in being "objectified" -
but at least being "objectified"
does not equate to being subject to a man's
will...
if you can't deal with
the "extremes": is being "objectified" as bad
as being subject to a niqab?!
besides the point,
i can't believe that one animate thing can
make another animate thing objectified -
in the purest sense of:
deeming an animate thing
inanimate to be: a thing observed
without a self-serving self-aware ******
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
I sought satisfaction in stupid sheepishly and shallow strides.
Scared subconsciously, I swallow and sustain substance for pseudo self esteem strengthening.
I seemed of in service to slumber and stinging sadness, shots sank like ships, submerging into the sea of my swarthy stomach in seconds.
I somewhat sympathies as a sailor, sweating, struggling and swimming in slipping sobriety saturated in my sulking style.
Scanning swarms of serial swindlers, striking sculptures stances of self-doubt.
I stammer in a storm of slurs, ******* down my safety, stopping myself at the stoop of the saloon I see a seductive silhouette staging the space.
She stroke my sight, standing sanguine in scarlet, soul sold in high heels.
The smoothest sculptures in seven square miles were subjugated into scree and I was ****** in submission.
Stubborn staggering suitors, stand shaking silently as she is stopped by sharks stalking and snarling sycophantics.
So straightforward in suggesting their secret starvation to strip sensations, seem by seem, like a sub-par **** cinema scene.
They step and speak short.
She smokes off, stranding the scree in smoldering slaughter.
Its sad this soul-less sanctuary soaking up sorrows.
So self inflicting, and so satisfyingly side splitting.
She sported her spurned, scorned off into sadistic solitude and stained sticky stigma, sobbing to sleep.
So spent from simple stocked, stored and supported senescence of ceremonial subjection of ****** status.
I savior my sincerity, and stretched out of this strange stadium of stooges.
So long scarlet sanguine I sang softly, as she stole my sight suspiciously in sync with hers.
Sacrificial seconds split from smearing stolidity to sharing a smile.
That's simple satisfaction, so I seen scripted in sitcoms and shows.
Supporting sapiens in stasis to see sappy stunners on screen, to stare snoopy, as stabs and slashes strike socially into socialites of so called sanity and sovereignty.
To sweetly pay salvage as slaves of soppy studio slander.
Such is this sorry Saturday night, I am solidified in sedation.
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
Mechanically he put out his best press
Straightened his yellowing pages
In spite of little pieces flaking off
Like dandruff
Ow !
His spine was not as strong
As in younger presses
He bathed and used aftershave
But still he had that musty air about him
He lay claim to nervous fame
As he fidgeted with the book markers
About to be given as gifts
For her , his blind date
She came in fresh in expectation
Her beauty made him full of dejection
Her cheerful voice proved
to be more than exhaultation
He fumbled for the first sentence
Of subjection , but
Managed only to say
"Please ! I'm just an open book to be read"
She eased over
And ran her fingers over his cover .
down his bindings ,
then inside his yellowing pages
She sighed ,
with pleasure ,
"Yes , this is my perfection "
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC
A delicate crimson rose endures
The snow and winds of winter's grasp
And closes up and wilts a while
Until Summer sun it finds at last
In this world of unrighteousness
Where brutes and ogres' egos roam
And selfishness abounds like weeds
She exists in shattered form
With silent seething disilusion
And saddened, unrequited love
Maddened by the unjust acts
of those who advertized their “love”
A vain and self-indulgent god
Did sieze himself her mind and oath
Presiding as the demons do
In hidden acts pronounced as gross
Enduring the madness of matriarchs
And the hostility of tribal gang
Where smiles of familial welcoming
Turned into savage, jealous fangs
Yet though the bitterness seeps through
And anger permeates her skin
Sweet dignity she still retains
And devotion stll resides within
Her adornment incorruptible
Her spirit mild and resolute
Did not return evil for evil
But stood and conquered it with good
Happy is she who has endured
And in mild subjection did remain
Showing honour to a painful degree
To bring honour to Jehovah's name
And though she stumbled in despair
Yet withstood for righteous sake
Her loyalty, the beast could not sever
Nor divine concsience could he break
For like the rose at winter's end
That bears a striking sharpened thorn
Her petals still are soft and pure
And her soul with beauty still adorned
For the righteous one who sees all things
And whose love she yet retains
Will never for eternity forget
The love she showed for his great name
And should she reach out and beseech
And trust his salvation once again
She would know with certainty
He has never let go her hand
(For my precious daughter, Cheryl, who has been to hell and back)
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 1:19 PM UTC
The staff, who are stuffed full of paper,
stapled, on white,
are to be circulated with minutes,
full of minutiae,
but only the chosen staff will receive such chaff,
intricate, in triplicate,
and the others will have to wait for memoranda,
definitely not grander,
on subjection, objection and rejection
for the weary and unwary.
The brochure on staff conduct
will be grosser,
and superannuation won't be super.
There will be no more staff resolutions,
no revolutions,
so that managers can preserve the status quo
and hasten slow.
Talent is banned,
promotion is underhand,
ass-kissing is in,
no sin,
and perks,
no jerks,
are for the executive few.
***** you.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
1313
Warm in her Hand these accents lie
While faithful and afar
The Grace so awkward for her sake
Its fond subjection wear—
2.1k
There would be no way
To determine it's course
Unshackled
Love, be it called
Screaming without a motive
Dripping in tears
Unrivaled in fear
Underfoot lies hate
Decaying in self deprecating
Beauty
A book
So misjudged
By it's cover
Glorious, and oh
So glorious love
To be set upon
By flights of fancy
Gold, lace and all
To be a spectacle
A beacon of the triumph
Of good over evil
Light over dark
Yin over Yang
Yang over Yin?
Silly ponderous mind
Queer that one
Would meander
Outside the box
Do not forget that poetry
Is only here to
Accommodate your
Flair
Perhaps I
Am the box
To think
Of boxes
Perfect little squares
Perfect exhibits
Of a mistrial
To wander
Look away
To see
To think of subjection
To think...
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
An era has been marked
as we gaze upon a burning sky
reigning with fiery rainfall
spat like bursts of anger
reducing calm lands to
wild orange rampancy.
Seeker I would be
for that final person in our final moment
yet overtaken I am
to the walls a newly traumatized world conjures
Cross once, for a moment
and the end shall bitterly meet me.
Surrounded I become
finality in my isolation
a warmth normally fulfilling
now stings beyond comprehension
one of objective peace knows not
of true pain before subjection.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 3:54 AM UTC
I am useless,
Clueless,
Naive
And foolish.
I am a child
Of chance.
A night of romance.
I am an early-morning
Call,
A surprise to all,
Aren't I, mother?
One that can use no tool.
A waste to the teacher,
Within a school.
Aren't I, father?
A child
'Out of control'.
Seemingly 'too old'
To be consoled.
But alas,
You wish for connection.
How should I know of it?
I am prone to rejection.
Subjection,
To your own mistake.
A choice you made.
The icing on the cake.
But now I am far
Away from your pain.
For I live in worth,
As you live in shame.
Nov 19, 2023
Nov 19, 2023 at 4:03 PM UTC
The rain kept pouring in vain
and no one seems to know the lain
The sorrow of labor lines the root
But the root appears in subjection
For no one could carry the element
Far flung on yonder, long ago!
Come to me with sheer of love
in the passion of dream told long a while
To be true in the cradle of sorrow
keeps the wing of imagination, obvious
No regrets befall the stand of affection
For the sun mixes the rain with bright colors
The moon does not need to fight
same road well traveled for purpose
And when destined for the reality of time
Beseemed by faithlessness renewed
'Abraka da bra' the farmer wails in sorrow
Hope not disparaged as the time tells
Let the beauty of nature not betrayed
with passion the blender carries up the smoke
Beneath the flame of mercy of yesteryears
How true the giver grants to him of goodwill
With appreciation though sometimes convincing
For the sun shines in the midst of rain
How long shall they kick the prophets
cause he gat no voice to cry the woes
Sublime the hours to come forth
With a smile covered in gratitude
Wake up no need for trial of tears
For the sun shines as overshadow.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
Cowards are screaming
Yelling to the point of
Loosing their identity
A big massive fright
An outside subjection
To terror polarization hate
Bring the wake-up calls
Don't wait
(c)near_lane7
Nov 23, 2020
Nov 23, 2020 at 7:03 AM UTC
You claim you are an activist,
but I'm sure you've not done a ******* thing.
Whining on the internet is a new old fashioned fling.
"I oppose the government and the freedom it tries to take!"
While you're drinking decaf lattes and you claim there will be cake.
#Iamafakehipsterdouchefag
Oh go **** yourself.
I cannot take you seriously, you god **** fakes and frauds.
You exist for mere attention and the undeserved applause.
I will not take a side and my mind will remain free.
To the past.
To the present.
And to the future,
it shall be.
To the liberals crying "IGNORANCE"! And the conservatives crying "OPPRESSION"!
I will not be a part of your self full-filling subjection.
So take that mask off and give us a "true" confession.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
Leaves fell
p
er
p
e
tu
al
ly
as we
didn't,
BuT I (your ardent lo>er)
Choose to smite
the indigenous winds and
forests' unpledged palates with
: A Stony Subjection:
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
To see the abnormal in the usual
To spy a quaint sliver of seperation
A stutter of fluidity; fluidity primary
The unknown subjection personified
These idealistic constructions forever permeating
Where currents join in twitching pools, swaying
to let their particles cloister and vibrate with
infusing spasms that dispel and attract-
Creating the magnetism of substance
Blank resound bliss
Drunk on a thousand drops
Vindicated from a thousand poisons
Reborn
at grid dot
Flowing invoice implode
All afterward foreshadowing
Being this precursor
Not an equation to be witnessed with
the surgical pangs of intellect
Arbitrary
Problematic
Instigative
None of this
Something ness
Of the womb sea
Blank resound bliss
without tributaries
though sensing its leaks
After Big Bang of suitor system silt
Wanton to multiply
Rabid and violent
In conquest
of joy and earth
What I bring to light
My depths are dark
Empty is the surface
Empty is my sleep
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
Brought up by the stain of my surnames identity
I wiped away my face to see the mask of my vulnerability
I scrounged up the pieces to make this body whole
So, does this body still seem deficient like its told?
Repetition of mistakes, my benevolence believes
Brought up by love but then left to just leave
like the horizons where too distant for me to reach
thus, I pose pondering whats easy to achieve
Not because ambitions were little and in between
but because the sea bed was given the name beauty queen
Something no one else sees is known to be prettier then me
So, I'm left to subjection, my minds yearning to plead
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 5:26 PM UTC
Life or should I say one big experimentation,
Not a day goes by that my mind ponder,
Lying down my thoughts and diagnosis,
With nothing to do but to wonder.
Trembling from my own insecurities and impurities that enslave my conscious.
Do you truly have the faith to give up what you already own to find out?
To risk and pursue the unseen or the unknown for a better outcome.
Waiting on a sign to release the shackles that binds your mind from procrastination.
Are we living to die?
Or
Are we dying to live?
How do you find?
What can't be define?
Should I leap in hopes of flight to my destiny?
Open my mind to unusual subjection and gradually give the world the best of me.
Where do I begin to end?
Or
Where do I end to begin?
Life seems so simple yet not easy at the same time,
All we got to do is live,
But how do we live?
We tend to over-complicate,
Always wanting more,
Never able to accept as things are,
Is the grass truly greener on the other side?
Not always, but it's greener where ever you water it.
By Sidney and Tien
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
Point A to Point Infinity.
Start out weak,
Grow strong.
Grounded roots run deep
even under the subjection and exploitation of cultural ****
Still, you will your humility.
The divine pours in as you lead the divine into the world and hearts of humanity.
You live,
And you live on.
In the divine, in the collective consciousness
In the hearts you open
In the souls you comfort.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 11:59 AM UTC
Why are we by all creatures waited on?
Why do the prodigal elements supply
Life and food to me, being more pure than I,
Simple, and further from corruption?
Why brook’st thou, ignorant horse, subjection?
Why dost thou, bull, and bore so seelily,
Dissemble weakness, and by one man’s stroke die,
Whose whole kind you might swallow and feed upon?
Weaker I am, woe is me, and worse than you,
You have not sinned, nor need be timorous.
But wonder at a greater wonder, for to us
Created nature doth these things subdue,
But their Creator, whom sin nor nature tied,
For us, His creatures, and His foes, hath died.
1.1k
Confidence is Assertiveness
to Life,
sense of Triumphant
irony to Bitterness
& Heavyness of life.
the sense of Relevance
victory,
celebrating Resoundingly
the Subjection of Bending
the will of Doom........
confidence is Boldness
in Motion.
Guaranteed success
in Life......
cofidence is Clarity
of Thought.
pure Motive & desires
springing Forth from a
clear Conscience......
CONFIDENCE is
virtue of Modesty,
contentment with Life.......
@miamizoliver
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 12:28 AM UTC
Americana, fair Madonna, tell me what's become of you; star's so bright, your war's are polite, as your ripped flag's red, white, and blue. Oh bountiful cities, mountain-told villages; starlit pillages foreshadow your deathly paths. Some books hold secrets, while cake candles burn tricks to cigarettes of nuclear blasts! Afterthought you are oh country tis of thee; so blessed in your filth, your kilts are images of projected misery. Find an Alcove you castleview kings; your tongues will soon be silenced to the non-mindsense you care to bring! Resemble with eachother patriarchs of hatred; national to all stations, you are the one in control. Forget what mother told you? Did you already sell your soul? Instant inhumanness; gratitude for filthiness, they feel for girly magazines. Rescind your rhetoric you false entity of enemies kings. Perch behind the clouds where the guard's can't get you; where pharaoh's confront you, only God knows all time! Subjection to viewest bozos behind bar-reason rhymes. Where are you angel of light? I see your face; or have I taken your place?
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry
©prison poetry
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC
In my head
In my bed
When I'm laying alone
Wondering if I'm in yours
And it hurts me to my core
The fact that I still miss you
And I still want to kiss you
But as time will pass
I'm sure this can't last
Right?
You're neither friend nor foe
I don't know what you are, though
I believe you are something
Ironically
Something not logical
And temperamental in nature
A ticking time bomb of sorts
Just waiting till the fuse burns
And everything bursts
At the seams of the heart
And everything will rip apart
Then come together with such synchrony
That it'll be a little bit scary
But, I don't fret
Because I know I'm better than that
When laying in my bed
Welcoming the feeling
But dreading the presence
Of the image of your face
That I once held so dear
But, I no longer fear
Because I am better than late night romps in your car
And trying to touch something that is so far
Away from me and through with me
But, you are not my enemy
These problems are beneath me
Because I deserve more than a lack of trust
And asking for a massage...was that too much?
I forgave you, yes
But, that doesn't change this mess
Now I'm sober and over
This mess that we left
I'm cleaning myself up and dusting myself off
Because I may have faltered
But, I will always get back up
And in time we'll both see
That you're wrong about me
No logic, only emotion
Well, you can't have a beach without an ocean
But, that's over now and I won't let myself settle for rejection
In this circumstance I won't be it's subjection
I'll only be it's objection
Because I won't stick around where I'm not wanted
And maybe soon I won't be haunted
By you in my head
And in my bed
And maybe soon I won't wonder if I'm in yours
Because soon I'll know that I'm in mine.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
Within this constriction
We define perfection
Perfection is subjection
Subjective is perfection
Dangerous is the definition
Disheartening is the caused segregation
Segregation then leads to dehumanization
Dehumanization brings a solution
A final solution
All from the definition
Of perfection
Of attraction
How beauty is the chaperon
For destruction
Is a cyclic maceration
Of the human condition
How repugnant and inane
Future and past is inundated by a dismal shroud
To be perfect is to accept those who possess your idea of imperfection
Stay open minded, avoid apathy, seek the uncomfortable
Let’s break the cycle
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 2:40 AM UTC
fidelity, understanding
empathy, caring unconditionally
failing descriptors of life's most sought feeling
reason, felt as purpose for existence—love
time spent seeking, sadness at depriving
either youthful bliss or aged wisdom
emotion's hold unconstrained by seniority
consuming our hopes and dreams
those which drive drawn breath
found true amongst family
in peer only seldom
never a nation, only the few
love guiding all, the
key to a perfect civilization
to create a people of programmed emotion
woven strands
DNA's complex beauty
reduced to binary code's rigidity
heartstring circuit wiring
free will replaced by java script exception
not soul but operating system's disaffection
mechanical allegiance
an imperfect love found in robotic adherence
fealty unfettered
good intention forced subjection
creation resultant a society hollow in perfection
an empty hull of truth
love lacking substance, fictitious in merit
absent the tribulation
the moon by which the sun's effect strengthened
loyalty absolute the greater plan
stalwart and without grievance
love free of expectation
a golden emotion impossible to automate
true love organic by nature
fluid in its implementation
dynamic and unpredictable
to understand the value of light
a man must lose himself in the night
a hard road to learn the better way
by the world's cold we might
know a Kingly castle's warmth
the answer to evil's allowance
free will to choose our citizenship
a nation whose flag represents
the most excellent way
meaningless without choice
left led by our own feeble perception
too oft to misunderstand His intention
a perfect love made perfect by imperfection
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
Benign was yet another passer by to predisposed mentality
But both secretly wished somewhere beneath their tempers, demeanors, and myths
For the other to beg pardon for salvation at last; trading their ghosts and their pasts
The men of social civilization, disconnected by strange colors and baffling arrays of advertized trash.. asking where’s the rest of the cash?
So it may seem the wrath of industry, media, and projected reflections
Make trial and test for the all of the rest, connect and digest.
Such was the spoken scramble of this morning in particular. It was no more and certainly no less jovial than what has continually been the subjection of mister Hulton’s consciousness. Often he wondered to what degree of affect had he been lent these sharp-toothed thoughts. For within him a feeling of great unease would settle as his mornings waned ever onward. Hulton; a man, or so he is told, was painted grimly by the colours of intellectual, asocial, endomorphic (in a figurative sense), and partially blind in at least one eye.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC