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"suspects" poems
*When a white woman is victimized they'll scour the streets, fan out, stop, harass, detain, arrest any black man. Any one they can finger for the crime. They say things such as they all look alike or something to that effect.* *A black woman is abused they'll look around, see white males everywhere but they cannot find any suspects? None of them fit the description. Why is that? Yeah, that's right, it is because they all look alike! Too many of 'em. Can't arrest everyone now can we? People have rights!* *Yep,           I suppose they do...* *As long as you consider them,                                                         "people,"                                                                                  -they have rights.*
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Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
How Sharp Then?
The Red Rain of Kerala wrote this Plague Un-supported by Evidence and Song As it wept and bled that once-thirsty Plain Locals knew their throats will not dry too long But how could they drink this very strange Guilt When their Sheets un-furled like the Flags of War And not until the Google-Heads came in They realised it was foreign before Samples were taken in pursuit of Cause Then page by page those Suspects came to light Was it Bacteria? Or Lichens-at-Lost Either way there was some Blood to incite. When those Findings end, much was to conclude Which Creation's Purchase falls upon you.
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Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
SONNET FEATURE NUMBER ONE
I take a hit. My body warms, I feel elated. I crave you. I need you. It starts to hurt. Friends judge. They reason. I quit you. I relapse. Again I am elated. I crave you. I need you. Regret. Guilt. Pain. Cries. I take another hit. I am addicted. No one suspects. I hide you. I crave you. I need you. You hurt me. Regret. Guilt. Pain. Cries. No reason. No certainty. Secret comfort. Temporary euphoria. I need help. Your love is my drug.
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May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
Withdrawal
Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic, plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory. In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears! Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased, edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…
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Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
POEM ENTITLED: “MEMORIES”
Stereotypes manifesting always, (Always) Trying to form themselves from something once seen, But not really believing in oneself, I see ignorance, I see arrogance, I see the lack of hunger, Observing such savage pride of life, I run from it all into a previous state, (Anonymity) I've reached the heights of total in-completion, I build walls of isolation upon myself, I am the collateral default of widespread degradation, I stand in the gap between teeth and consumption, I am the breed conceived by prey and predator, Widespread suspended animation: that is our future, We've tried to replicate the human makeup with mechanical frames, And the translation of electronic gates, Yet this is a folly, For staring at the mirrors of selected life in an artificial environment, Numbs our lives with emulation and self delusion, The days of nobility dismantle into fragments and sink to the bottom of the glass, Never to be turned over again, Scattered, Living among remnants of a life once lived with some sort of intensity, Now smoldered in a quite ferocity of anger beneath the surface, (Quiet tremors coming in flames) Because we don't live our dreams, We stand in the shadows of ruins, We are afraid of the future, We are afraid of the past, Where does that leave us? Leave me? I stand on the edge of The Void I'm holding myself hostage in the self sabotage entourage of the usual suspects, Our friends, our families, Disconnected with all intentions of coming together, Because they die in front of their screens, Not really living, Right? Light pollution massacre... We'll fall like stars
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Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
The Dystopian Part VII: Urban Selection And The Eve Prototype
Stereotypes manifesting always, (Always) Trying to form themselves from something once seen, But not really believing in oneself, I see ignorance, I see arrogance, I see the lack of hunger, Observing such savage pride of life, I run from it all into a previous state, (Anonymity) I've reached the heights of total in-completion, I build walls of isolation upon myself, I am the collateral default of widespread degradation, I stand in the gap between teeth and consumption, I am the breed conceived by prey and predator, Widespread suspended animation: that is our future, We've tried to replicate the human makeup with mechanical frames, And the translation of electronic gates, Yet this is a folly, For staring at the mirrors of selected life in an artificial environment, Numbs our lives with emulation and self delusion, The days of nobility dismantle into fragments and sink to the bottom of the glass, Never to be turned over again, Scattered, Living among remnants of a life once lived with some sort of intensity, Now smoldered in a quite ferocity of anger beneath the surface, (Quiet tremors coming in flames) Because we don't live our dreams, We stand in the shadows of ruins, We are afraid of the future, We are afraid of the past, Where does that leave us? Leave me? I stand on the edge of The Void I'm holding myself hostage in the self sabotage entourage of the usual suspects, Our friends, our families, Disconnected with all intentions of coming together, Because they die in front of their screens, Not really living, Right? Light pollution massacre... We'll fall like stars
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42
Evil & crime so predictable & stale. Stupid how arrested suspects get bail. Convicted when their victims tell. Prison is where some stay & are jailed. They have to communicate by mail. Sometimes their focus goes in another direction. Where probation happens after correction. Child & spousal abuse, drug use, & rehab that is no use. History repeats Wives & children still get beat. Their isn't always a Superman or Batman to be your hero. With a sword or crossbow. Details of armed robbery , drug dealing & smuggling. Stabbings & muggings. On the inside homosexual love with cuddling. Human trafficking & prostitution. Violating amendments & constitutions. They are how they are from how they were raised. If their victims could speak from the grave Or had they been saved. They could explain & describe how their rapists & killers behaved. Male & females do their time. Years in custody for their crimes. Seriousness of their offenses vary. Some educate, get jobs, or marry. Behind bars is where violence belongs. To be punished for all that they did wrong. Some from death row are now dead. Similar to the wildlife in a zoo behind bars they get fed.
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Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
Darkness Prevails
IN LONDON LONG AGO PEOPLE WERE BEING KILLED AND THE PUBLIC DIDN'T KNOW WHO WAS JACK THE RIPPER YOU ASK THE BOBBIES AT THE TIME WERE ALL BROUGHT TO TASK A MAN NAMED ABILENE INVESTIGATED THE CASE HE AND HIS MEN BEGAN THE CHASE IN 1888 ALL THIS OCCURRED THE EVIDENCE AND SUSPECTS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN BLURRED THE KILLINGS WERE GRUESOME THE VICTIMS WERE SLAUGHTERED FATHERS LOST SONS MOTHERS LOST DAUGHTERS MANY SUSPECTS CAME TO PASS BUT JACK WAS NEVER CAUGHT WHO WAS JACK THE RIPPER NOW CONCLUSIONS CAN BE SOUGHT SO THE KILLINGS WILL REMAIN A MYSTERY TILL THE END OF TIME WAS HE A DESCENDENT OF YOURS OR A RELATIVE OF MINE
0
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 11:31 PM UTC
JACK THE RIPPER
clinton rebukes israel over east jerusalem homes obama nasa plans catastrophic say moon astronauts alaska wolves **** woman's teacher out jogging ireland frees 3 cartoonist plot suspects sarkozy and brown attack u.s. over protectionism pope benedict's former diocese rehoused abuser priest chile puts quake damage at $30bn winnie denies interview criticizing nelson mandela climate change makes birds shrink in north america dr rowan williams is honored for work on russia weymouth ridgeway skeletons scandinavian vikings live bangladesh v england michael schumacher pledges to raise game in bahrain can the u.s. vice-president broker middle east peace? sarkozy's party faces socialist drubbing remote indian state set for development new york dust victims split on 9/11 deal german tells of childhood abuse by catholic priest a step closer to the american dream? lehman: how $50bn was buried in london ba strike union announces dates in march china's oil demand increase astonishing says iea china warns google to comply with censorship laws net clash for web police projects hsbc admits huge swiss bank data theft phil spector ****** conviction appealed sir david jason to voice cbbc animation climate change 'makes birds shrink' in north america thalidomide effect mystery solved blood pressure fluctuations warning sign for stroke winnie denies interview criticizing nelson mandela mogadishu residents told to leave somali capital same-sex couples marry in mexico city by mistake i clicked on wrong button and lost everything
0
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
**** blue jesus
clinton rebukes israel over east jerusalem homes obama nasa plans catastrophic say moon astronauts alaska wolves **** woman's teacher out jogging ireland frees 3 cartoonist plot suspects sarkozy and brown attack u.s. over protectionism pope benedict's former diocese rehoused abuser priest chile puts quake damage at $30bn winnie denies interview criticizing nelson mandela climate change makes birds shrink in north america dr rowan williams is honored for work on russia weymouth ridgeway skeletons scandinavian vikings live bangladesh v england michael schumacher pledges to raise game in bahrain can the u.s. vice-president broker middle east peace? sarkozy's party faces socialist drubbing remote indian state set for development new york dust victims split on 9/11 deal german tells of childhood abuse by catholic priest a step closer to the american dream? lehman: how $50bn was buried in london ba strike union announces dates in march china's oil demand increase astonishing says iea china warns google to comply with censorship laws net clash for web police projects hsbc admits huge swiss bank data theft phil spector ****** conviction appealed sir david jason to voice cbbc animation climate change 'makes birds shrink' in north america thalidomide effect mystery solved blood pressure fluctuations warning sign for stroke winnie denies interview criticizing nelson mandela mogadishu residents told to leave somali capital same-sex couples marry in mexico city by mistake i clicked on wrong button and lost everything
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1
Absolute bravery, considering dangerous explosives found goals. Helpless individuals juggled keeping lookout, many new operations, people questioning routes, suspects tortured, unsightly views. Wasted x-rays... young Zak.
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Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
War (Alphabet poem)
Suspected of attack On fascist Graziani He was in house arrest As the case was with Suspects the rest. A prisoner of war Then  via Somalia He was sent to Rome Found a black lion If left at home. Together with A prison inmate From Yugoslavia Called Julio He made a rope Out of a blanket The reason To descend down And escape From a tower prison. In a show of contempt Defying  officials' attempt To smoke out a fugitive On the hide The two at eventide Returned to open fire And attack guards To set  free prisoners Indeed, victory was On their side. Leading partisans Abdissa made it his duty To gruel fascists With insurgent activity. What was the outcome? Parallel to the allied forces When he entered Rome With Ethiopia's tricolor Around his wrist He was accorded A warm welcome. Then he turned his face To allied-forces'- 'For Berlin' race In rooting out **** troops He spurred the pace! Asked to stay in Europe He said shalom "Home sweet home! As written on the bible Can an Ethiopian change His skin or a leopard its spots? Doing so Will it not be a sin?" The unsung hero Returned to Addis Turning Fascist and Nazis' Wild dreams to zero!
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Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 11:53 PM UTC
The saga of Abdissa Aga
He was taken into custody on Friday After he got off a bus in Marseille That had come from Amsterdam By way of Brussels, According to police. The manhunt began After he opened fire At the Jewish Museum In the center of Brussels, Killing at least 3 people, Obviously: an anti-Semitic attack. He was taken into custody “As soon as he set foot in France,” According to François Hollande, Congratulating himself For an efficient round up of The usual suspects, all Jihadi Round trippers from Syria. He was taken into custody in a mere 6 days-- A magnifique display of French efficiency, A sublime achievement by Our furry friends in Police-Protective Services. The swarthy perp was carrying a Kalashnikov-- That’s AK-47 for you NRA gun nuts-- A handgun, ammunition, a baseball cap, A small video recording device, and a Copy of The Koran, All items matching Descriptions of the gunman, And, even if not, a known-terrorist Named Mahdi bin Laden, Carrying an assault rifle Would have been enough To fit the profile, Justify the profiling, Sufficient to stop anyone Passing through Customs, Except, of course The French Corps Diplomatique, Wreaking most of the havoc in the EU these days. There was once a time when any Thom, Dieter or Heine Could get outta town on a ratline, Blessed by the Pope, Assisted by the OSS. A white linen suit and a Panama hat: Was all it took any Schutzstaffel To pull off another Argentine makeover, Melt into the landscape, Speaking Spanish with a thick German brogue. It’s nice to know Jew persecution is criminal, Socially frowned on these days.
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Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
“Jihad”
He was taken into custody on Friday After he got off a bus in Marseille That had come from Amsterdam By way of Brussels, According to police. The manhunt began After he opened fire At the Jewish Museum In the center of Brussels, Killing at least 3 people, Obviously: an anti-Semitic attack. He was taken into custody “As soon as he set foot in France,” According to François Hollande, Congratulating himself For an efficient round up of The usual suspects, all Jihadi Round trippers from Syria. He was taken into custody in a mere 6 days-- A magnifique display of French efficiency, A sublime achievement by Our furry friends in Police-Protective Services. The swarthy perp was carrying a Kalashnikov-- That’s AK-47 for you NRA gun nuts-- A handgun, ammunition, a baseball cap, A small video recording device, and a Copy of The Koran, All items matching Descriptions of the gunman, And, even if not, a known-terrorist Named Mahdi bin Laden, Carrying an assault rifle Would have been enough To fit the profile, Justify the profiling, Sufficient to stop anyone Passing through Customs, Except, of course The French Corps Diplomatique, Wreaking most of the havoc in the EU these days. There was once a time when any Thom, Dieter or Heine Could get outta town on a ratline, Blessed by the Pope, Assisted by the OSS. A white linen suit and a Panama hat: Was all it took any Schutzstaffel To pull off another Argentine makeover, Melt into the landscape, Speaking Spanish with a thick German brogue. It’s nice to know Jew persecution is criminal, Socially frowned on these days.
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53
*"Well Mr Holmes, this is a nasty business! The victim, Ivor Biggun, has been stabbed! There was of course no one around to witness Although a few good suspects have been nabbed! Miss Sally Forth was reading ancient history Mike Hindle claims he too was all alone Miss Daisy Chain was reading a new mystery And Mr. Terry Bull was on the phone!" "My dear Lestrade, your blindness is your failing! Must I point out that awful ****** mess? The victim clearly crawled, his blood was trailing And then it seems he played a game of chess! Look closely at the moves, see what I mean? The strangest game of chess I've ever seen!"*                     H5-D5                     C8-C2                     E3-E4                     F8-C1                     D8-D1   MATE! Who killed Ivor Biggun?
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Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
Library ****** Mystery
no dead birds in the oven no innards in the stuffing nor fatty drippings to be scraped and poured the smell of roasted veggies wafts through the wintry air pumpkin and sweet potatoes marshmallows green beans lentils turnips & collard greens hashed browns & black-eyed peas quinoa sorghum cuscus hummus carrots leak broccoli Romanescu gumbo in southern regions wild rice dishes in the north tastily spiced with turmeric cumin and baked paprika Indian curry soy sauce chipotle as well as with the usual suspects of garlic salt and pepper and whatever fits the taste of hosts in short a venerable feast to demonstrate how nature feeds us a large cornucopia of plants for our delight and sustenance in short no need to **** a bird * * *
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Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
VEGAN THANKSGIVING
By: Cedric McClester In a world That’s so politically correct What are we to call ‘em Thugs -  or criminal suspects Perhaps it’s something else That we should project Maybe our language Needs to be checked Must urban youth Be marginalized As a result of their misdeeds Or can we recognize That they have certain needs They haven’t realized We read the news feeds And then we demonize Is it a riot Or an insurrection Maybe it requires Some more introspection Before we decide It’s their predilection Because the evidence Leads us in that direction I don’t know Who it was that stated What poverty often does Is underrated And victims of poverty Are often hated Though the larger implications Are complicated © Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester.  All rights reserved.
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Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
THUGS?
Everything is such fun in the beginning, when it’s new and undiscovered. i’ll try almost anything. What is meant by almost? All these stupid sick **** roles we play, all this pretending, why? i want to believe there’s something behind the curtain besides a windowless stone wall Something inexplicable his/her majesty of everything/ living/dead/never existed. William Blake said, “Either be a poet or a painter. Being both muddies audiences, and discredits one or the other.” Actually, Blake didn’t say that. i am lost. is it possible to love after what has happened? the rage, hurt, disappointment of betrayal. my ex still stalks as recently as two mornings ago, all her exaggerations, over-reactions, fury. Why so desperate to return to crime scene? An admission of her own guilt? Excessive compulsive wound licking (psychogenic alopecia)? Another excuse for getting drunk? When we waited for the elevator going down You said, “Let’s just get this over with.” i understood completely. i, who worships my own death. i, who ****** on my own grave. i, who gets bored faster than speed of light. i, who suspects killing around every corner. i, who sleeps restless. i, who worries. i, who loves women. i, who does not understand women. i, who is a woman. i, who bangs the dude in L.A. to advance my career. i, who is a nobody. i, a man with no place to stand. i, who belongs to a family of blustering flirts, flatterers, kidders, thieves. We sit at the table, monkey-wrenching hand over fist lives. Forget about the eyes. Watch the fingers. Don’t listen to the speeches. Words are intentional distractions. Where’s your wallet? Gypsies? No, we’re not gypsies, more upper-crusty, yes, very well-connected secrets. Do the names Dante, or Cervantes, or Nabokov mean anything to you? No, none of them are our kin, but we know people who know people, infidelities in very high places. All i’m saying is, once you reach a certain level, we’re all family. i will make success happen, with or without you.
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Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
Bishop to Queen 4
Everything is such fun in the beginning, when it’s new and undiscovered. i’ll try almost anything. What is meant by almost? All these stupid sick **** roles we play, all this pretending, why? i want to believe there’s something behind the curtain besides a windowless stone wall Something inexplicable his/her majesty of everything/ living/dead/never existed. William Blake said, “Either be a poet or a painter. Being both muddies audiences, and discredits one or the other.” Actually, Blake didn’t say that. i am lost. is it possible to love after what has happened? the rage, hurt, disappointment of betrayal. my ex still stalks as recently as two mornings ago, all her exaggerations, over-reactions, fury. Why so desperate to return to crime scene? An admission of her own guilt? Excessive compulsive wound licking (psychogenic alopecia)? Another excuse for getting drunk? When we waited for the elevator going down You said, “Let’s just get this over with.” i understood completely. i, who worships my own death. i, who ****** on my own grave. i, who gets bored faster than speed of light. i, who suspects killing around every corner. i, who sleeps restless. i, who worries. i, who loves women. i, who does not understand women. i, who is a woman. i, who bangs the dude in L.A. to advance my career. i, who is a nobody. i, a man with no place to stand. i, who belongs to a family of blustering flirts, flatterers, kidders, thieves. We sit at the table, monkey-wrenching hand over fist lives. Forget about the eyes. Watch the fingers. Don’t listen to the speeches. Words are intentional distractions. Where’s your wallet? Gypsies? No, we’re not gypsies, more upper-crusty, yes, very well-connected secrets. Do the names Dante, or Cervantes, or Nabokov mean anything to you? No, none of them are our kin, but we know people who know people, infidelities in very high places. All i’m saying is, once you reach a certain level, we’re all family. i will make success happen, with or without you.
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60
Darkness had fallen over as the minutes crawled Far down the road to belief Standing on a small covered porch I saw His painful lines of strain Turn into relief A handful might have suspected, turned on all the lights Seen the streak of dirt on his forehead How his eyes happened to seek out the night Real fear shot through my breast Then quickly spread I knew if I tried to stop him, said a single word at all No one else could see his fraying edge They turned away from the vision, but I can recall Something hauntingly familiar Crying from a ledge Air burned into my lungs as I gasped for breath A silent scream struggled within Darkness had fallen over spilling into death The road to belief was drawn closer As I remembered then His eyes, happened to seek me out the night He pushed me over the ledge Now he has returned to turn off all my lights And no one suspects His fraying edge *Happy Halloween
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Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 10:27 PM UTC
Fraying Edge
watched grains dance playfully affixed to lengthy golden stalks the wind sways them gracefully in-between a hidden world unlocks – pink-footed mice run well-trodden paths the warm summer sun never granting them baths – shiny black crickets chirp in the night while grasshoppers eat through the day an occasional rabbit scurries with fright and ant colonies seemingly play – a dust covered floor ‘neath a ceiling of blue in the middle, a ruffed hawk soars striking fear in the heart of a shrew – nobody suspects the vastness of life when passing by in their car the joys of birth, hunger and strife within a wheat field under the stars –
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May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
lonely wheat field
The best thing about me is that I'm mute I can say whatever I like and no one seems to hear me I like being mute I don't feel the guilt of my words Because they go unnoticed The best thing about being mute Is that I can throw my voice around And I can scream my words of pain eloquently crafted into the night And I'm not deemed, "drama queen of the year," The best thing about being mute Is that I can I sing "Hurt" at Joan Sutherland volume And the only thing suspected Is that I'm widening my range Becoming well-rounded in my repertoire The best thing about being mute Is that when I'm approached by my comrade Four years my junior And am scolded for not taking care of what I was "supposed to" And now HE must bear the burden of my carelessness and selfish tendencies I can drop my vacuum and set down my washing Beseech him to not use those words against me again And am later chastised for usurping my lieutenant's role Out of personal, hormonal hurt No-one suspects The fact that I am scolded in this way Means that they don't hear And that's when I start to wonder When my throat is sore and my lungs ache If I'm not really mute at all And if they're just deaf The best thing about being mute Is that no one hears me at all No fingers of shame and eyes of admonishment are cast The best thing about being mute Is that I can look in the mirror and tell myself, "I'm strong" "I'm smart" "I'm generous" "I can do it" But the words mean nothing If there is no fog of breath Ghosted against the glass
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May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
Mute
The best thing about me is that I'm mute I can say whatever I like and no one seems to hear me I like being mute I don't feel the guilt of my words Because they go unnoticed The best thing about being mute Is that I can throw my voice around And I can scream my words of pain eloquently crafted into the night And I'm not deemed, "drama queen of the year," The best thing about being mute Is that I can I sing "Hurt" at Joan Sutherland volume And the only thing suspected Is that I'm widening my range Becoming well-rounded in my repertoire The best thing about being mute Is that when I'm approached by my comrade Four years my junior And am scolded for not taking care of what I was "supposed to" And now HE must bear the burden of my carelessness and selfish tendencies I can drop my vacuum and set down my washing Beseech him to not use those words against me again And am later chastised for usurping my lieutenant's role Out of personal, hormonal hurt No-one suspects The fact that I am scolded in this way Means that they don't hear And that's when I start to wonder When my throat is sore and my lungs ache If I'm not really mute at all And if they're just deaf The best thing about being mute Is that no one hears me at all No fingers of shame and eyes of admonishment are cast The best thing about being mute Is that I can look in the mirror and tell myself, "I'm strong" "I'm smart" "I'm generous" "I can do it" But the words mean nothing If there is no fog of breath Ghosted against the glass
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42
When a white woman is victimized they'll scour the streets, fan out, stop, harass, detain, arrest any black man. Anyone they can finger for the crime. They say things such as they all look alike or something to that effect. A black woman is abused they'll look around, see white males everywhere but they cannot find any suspects? None of them fit the description. Why is that? Yeah, that's right, it is because they all look alike! Too many of 'em. Can't arrest everyone now, can we? People have rights! Yep,           I suppose they do... As long as you consider them,                                                         "­people,"                                                       ­                           -they have rights.
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May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 3:08 PM UTC
How Sharp Then?
*In a world, somewhere beyond the senses of human a woman fell in love with a man, he could be me too.In no way she could see all(every one )of me, or I her; yet we know each other in our magnificent ignorance of universe, that makes things work for us in this world we live. A sea of bubbles, each universe is copy of some other as a lost pair in parallel universes, if researched enough I would have found there are millions of she and I, exist in numerous universes, doing things in all permutations and combinations, I am sure. If I take me as a Romeo, I can't happily court tragedy, remember in some of these worlds where a different law of physics works(a different Newton existed, apple didn't fall) our love could become a super success, Shakespeare there would have been forced to write a different classic. In some other world a different tragedy might have occurred I am not one , but multitudes,  in planets of different universes, I am the past, the present and the future awaited, I am the same cat Schrodinger has donated his name and made famous that made life and death suspects I am the 'atman'- the essence absolute, in human beings that yearns deeply  to merge in  the absolute consciousness 'brahmam' about what the Indian sages of yore spoke in 'Upanishads' millenniums before quantum mechanics saw the light of the day. Brahmam, the absolute, non-duel in unmanifested part of the universe, beyond knowing by a cryptic play becomes matter and manifests before us, bit by bit Higgs boson,  please catch  the cosmic slight of hand red handed.*
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Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
The Higgs Boson question to the absolute
*In a world, somewhere beyond the senses of human a woman fell in love with a man, he could be me too.In no way she could see all(every one )of me, or I her; yet we know each other in our magnificent ignorance of universe, that makes things work for us in this world we live. A sea of bubbles, each universe is copy of some other as a lost pair in parallel universes, if researched enough I would have found there are millions of she and I, exist in numerous universes, doing things in all permutations and combinations, I am sure. If I take me as a Romeo, I can't happily court tragedy, remember in some of these worlds where a different law of physics works(a different Newton existed, apple didn't fall) our love could become a super success, Shakespeare there would have been forced to write a different classic. In some other world a different tragedy might have occurred I am not one , but multitudes,  in planets of different universes, I am the past, the present and the future awaited, I am the same cat Schrodinger has donated his name and made famous that made life and death suspects I am the 'atman'- the essence absolute, in human beings that yearns deeply  to merge in  the absolute consciousness 'brahmam' about what the Indian sages of yore spoke in 'Upanishads' millenniums before quantum mechanics saw the light of the day. Brahmam, the absolute, non-duel in unmanifested part of the universe, beyond knowing by a cryptic play becomes matter and manifests before us, bit by bit Higgs boson,  please catch  the cosmic slight of hand red handed.*
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28
Mathilda is brutally murdered Udolph is the obvious suspect remembers everyone how she jilted him David her last lover is inconsolable Evan’s appearance raises suspicion right before the ****** he met her Ergot the butler had seen him going out Rocky was with him could be an accomplice Inspector Brown finds it a tough case so many suspects but all with good alibi Dr. Thomas isn’t sure about the cause of death autopsy is necessary for the confirmation visible though are the abrasions on her neck Inspector Brown interrogates all the suspects dogs are brought to find smells of trails.
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Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
Who murdered Mathilda?
everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: love is not blindness and his especially his love was not blindness he saw everything: what was there what wasn’t nonetheless he rested at reading-glass distance everything in hyperfocus and bigger, like he wanted like a futuristic camera: oversaturated, overbright love is not blindness— love is literature, or wine, or a lens flare his filled my gaps with what he wanted there he saw more than the camera did I cannot condemn, nor could I ever, his amber propensity to imagine me. to beg literature is a dodge of responsibility of which we are all most equally guilty and the devil is in the details that stitched up such an achingly different forever than the one he saw love is not blindness— his wasn’t, and mine wasn’t —but it is literature: permission to fill the page permission to distrust, like I did then like I do still forgive me my own amber propensity to feel the paradox there
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May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 9:31 PM UTC
They Were Careless People
Turn on the television at your own risk. We're dying. People like us are dying and we are the killers. Three shootings before 10pm. 18 year old woman found dead on the sidewalk Six shootings took place in Milwaukee last night The stories just start to blend together. And after a while they all begin to end the same: No one is in custody at this time, there are no suspects
0
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
Stop the Violence
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0
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
***
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1
your behavior is ****** she writes to him, you're a boar, without a cure, my good ant Anna often asks me, how the hail i except you, she says you belong to that banned of men that effect a woman's life badly she also suspects you of elicit affairs goes on to ad you are to me not fare and we too don't make a good pare its about time we go our own weigh since we don't feet each other at all. i'm sorry though i had to pain you this heartful later but bitter swoon than letter. p.s. thank god i mate the man who scares and laughs me more than you.
0
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
Enough is Enough