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"symbolic" poems
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea. At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate. This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land. “Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment. Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement. Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused. Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control. The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed. In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
0
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
Municipal Gum
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea. At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate. This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land. “Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment. Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement. Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused. Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control. The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed. In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
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9
Here is the inimitable Jeff Buckley's poem, "My New Year's Eve Prayer," which he performed live at Sin-é in Manhattan, NYC, in 1996. "You, my love, are allowed to forget about the Christmas you just spent stressed out in your parents' house. You, my love, are allowed to shed the weight of all the years before, like bad disco clothes. Save them for a night of dancing ****** with your lover. You, my love, are allowed to let yourself drown every night in bottomless wild and naked symbolic dreams. You, my love, in sleep can unlock your youth and your most terrifying magic; and dreaming is for the courageous. You, my love, are allowed to grab my guitar and sing me idiot love songs if you've lost your ability to speak. Keep it down to two minutes. You, my love, are allowed to rot and to die and to live again, more alive and incandescent than before. You, my love, are allowed to beat the **** out of your television, choke it's thoughts and corrupt its mind. **** **** **** **** the ************ before the song of zombiefied pain and panic and malaise and it's narrow right-winged vision and it's cheap commercial gang **** becomes the white noise of the world. Turn about is fair play. You, my love, are allowed to forgive and love your television. You, my love, are allowed to speak in kisses to those around you and those up in heaven. You, my love, are allowed to show your babies how to dance full bodied, starry eyed, audacious, supernatural and glorified. You, my love, are allowed to **** in every single endeavor. You, my love, are allowed to be soaked like a lovers' blanket in the New York summertime with the wonder of your own special gift. You, my love, are allowed to receive praise. You, my love, are allowed to have time. You, my love, are allowed to understand. You, my love, are allowed to love. Woman, disobey, when little men believe; You, my love, are Rebellion."
0
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC
My New Year's Eve Prayer by Jeff Buckley
Here is the inimitable Jeff Buckley's poem, "My New Year's Eve Prayer," which he performed live at Sin-é in Manhattan, NYC, in 1996. "You, my love, are allowed to forget about the Christmas you just spent stressed out in your parents' house. You, my love, are allowed to shed the weight of all the years before, like bad disco clothes. Save them for a night of dancing ****** with your lover. You, my love, are allowed to let yourself drown every night in bottomless wild and naked symbolic dreams. You, my love, in sleep can unlock your youth and your most terrifying magic; and dreaming is for the courageous. You, my love, are allowed to grab my guitar and sing me idiot love songs if you've lost your ability to speak. Keep it down to two minutes. You, my love, are allowed to rot and to die and to live again, more alive and incandescent than before. You, my love, are allowed to beat the **** out of your television, choke it's thoughts and corrupt its mind. **** **** **** **** the ************ before the song of zombiefied pain and panic and malaise and it's narrow right-winged vision and it's cheap commercial gang **** becomes the white noise of the world. Turn about is fair play. You, my love, are allowed to forgive and love your television. You, my love, are allowed to speak in kisses to those around you and those up in heaven. You, my love, are allowed to show your babies how to dance full bodied, starry eyed, audacious, supernatural and glorified. You, my love, are allowed to **** in every single endeavor. You, my love, are allowed to be soaked like a lovers' blanket in the New York summertime with the wonder of your own special gift. You, my love, are allowed to receive praise. You, my love, are allowed to have time. You, my love, are allowed to understand. You, my love, are allowed to love. Woman, disobey, when little men believe; You, my love, are Rebellion."
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46
I fall in love with everyone, I'm falling hard for you. You aren't something easily found, you're rare, and real, it's true. You've traveled such a rugged path, but through the trials you grew. This isn't all just simple math, it's souls and spirits too. The future holds what you can't grasp, but you can see it through.  And when I place it on a graph, it all adds up to you. Scatter plot the present and past, you'll end up with the new. But isn't music, secretly math, that follows certain que's? No! Music represents our love, for all that may ensue. It's symbolic of our emotion, either happy or blue. It's what I feel, that prompts my life, with what I need to do. The sounds i hear, release my fear, and in my heart imbue. A fire, I could never start, without some help from you.
0
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
Inspired Fire
Static, memories Emanating, separating   The postcard- perfect Still life speaks From its storied past. Invisible, to drift Among   The florid aphorisms, Ending in Deleterious debris, Aftermath of The inevitable. Empty room, echo hollow Tabula rasa - Carpet clean, quite candid in it's Return to callow. Consciousness athirst, Absorbing phenomena Effervesce, inquisitive Ideas foment, Sealed inside a question. The what - Against the narrow Scarcity, And fatigue of should. A tender malleable Youth, Betrayed, under An assumed decorum - Residue of truth, Flattened emotion Privations of a self Unheard; Misplaced affirmation, Buried pathologies   In architecture Fear manifests symbolic. Harboring apathy The lunacy of pious Pedigree, Import contagion, Fetters of benignity Doubt and indecision   Into ****** Cognizance, Fallow spirits Seep fumes of decay, Credulity bleeds a human stain. Social edifice, inoculated   Heirs of neurosis; Palpable, sensual pain And transience, though Tacit - remain, Our haunted history, The blind hyperbole, Maudlin Forbearance, this haven, A portrait Of immaculate condition, Nurtured with precision Under sterling pretense. Provincial domicile - House beautiful, Savage irony - Unseen treasure Innocence unabridged, Faces, tiny creations; Compliant vessels Wounded,   While modernism murmurs   Its promise. Brave New World, In a late model sedan, Domestic ranch on a Corner lot, Suburban natives, Silence means security. The misunderstood Speak louder - Consumerism beneath     Unvarnished ambition, Never could Repair the brokenness within... © 2011 & 2018 W. S. Warner
0
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 5:38 PM UTC
Hollow
Static, memories Emanating, separating   The postcard- perfect Still life speaks From its storied past. Invisible, to drift Among   The florid aphorisms, Ending in Deleterious debris, Aftermath of The inevitable. Empty room, echo hollow Tabula rasa - Carpet clean, quite candid in it's Return to callow. Consciousness athirst, Absorbing phenomena Effervesce, inquisitive Ideas foment, Sealed inside a question. The what - Against the narrow Scarcity, And fatigue of should. A tender malleable Youth, Betrayed, under An assumed decorum - Residue of truth, Flattened emotion Privations of a self Unheard; Misplaced affirmation, Buried pathologies   In architecture Fear manifests symbolic. Harboring apathy The lunacy of pious Pedigree, Import contagion, Fetters of benignity Doubt and indecision   Into ****** Cognizance, Fallow spirits Seep fumes of decay, Credulity bleeds a human stain. Social edifice, inoculated   Heirs of neurosis; Palpable, sensual pain And transience, though Tacit - remain, Our haunted history, The blind hyperbole, Maudlin Forbearance, this haven, A portrait Of immaculate condition, Nurtured with precision Under sterling pretense. Provincial domicile - House beautiful, Savage irony - Unseen treasure Innocence unabridged, Faces, tiny creations; Compliant vessels Wounded,   While modernism murmurs   Its promise. Brave New World, In a late model sedan, Domestic ranch on a Corner lot, Suburban natives, Silence means security. The misunderstood Speak louder - Consumerism beneath     Unvarnished ambition, Never could Repair the brokenness within... © 2011 & 2018 W. S. Warner
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84
Dearest Destined Jewel,                                          Of longest heartfelt yearning, Bestow on thee, Hamlet awaits, Ophelia picking flowers, Magnolia branches speaking, Beautifications of Spring. Supreme buds of new life,  Magnoliaceae of Queen bees, An enterprise of wonder, Symbolic child's enchanted play, Faeries in flight whisper attractions, Fondness, Les fleurs du mal. Ample blossoms, Bosoms of delight, Devouring light, Little birds sing, Nestling, Chirping a languishing cacophony, Blissful unawareness, Nature nurture the soul. A slip then fall, Nearby church bells distract, Into abyss fallen, Elevated body all at once, Floating amidst flora, Drowning, Petticoat woven dress, Resting on fresh valley water, Immersion, No contention, Hamlet awaits. © Sia Jane
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Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
Ophelia drowning
Oh1 Durga, the symbolic victory Over the worldly evil You can **** any devil And you are the most benign As you are divine Shiva (goodness) is your inseparable half Mahishasura’s ( Man’s evil) death Is your valour’s proof Goodness and valour are made For each other It is paradoxical that Man stands for goodness And woman for valour But it is true in divine parlour Hindus believe in Durga’s divine force Even others can not deny the cosmic source Even the staunchest atheist Can not deny the women’s collective fist
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Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 4:43 AM UTC
Vijaya Durga,the divine force
Gendering Woman ******* Beautiful, anatomical part //  Ugly, anatomical part Natural, pleasurable             //   Burdensome, loathsome Female Symbolic                //    Femme Symbolic MALIGNANT                             HEALTHY fearful, tearful, wretched     //  joyful, hopeful, euphoric, bereft, wept, grieving          //  embryonic, rapt, relieving leaving, loss                         //  believing, gain m a y b e - d e a t h                                            r e - b i r t h                                                    BI-LATERAL                                              MASTECTOMIES Operating Theatre SURGEON                                         ANAESTHETIST cleaning/ cutting/ knife/ scalpel   //   doping/ unconscious/ airway blood / tissue                                 //   hypotension loss/ damage                                 //   shock drains                                             //   sinus rhythm stitches                                           //   pain deadening tight binding                                 //   reversal drugs                                      POST-OPERATIVE a l i v e                                                a w a k e draining, bound & stitched               draining, bound & stitched                                             DRAINED                                        ~ UNBOUND                                        -- UNSTITCHED – Empty chest                                                    Flat Chest FREEDOM from Disease                               FREEDOM from Dis-ease © M.L.Emmett
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May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
Gendering Woman *******
Gendering Woman ******* Beautiful, anatomical part //  Ugly, anatomical part Natural, pleasurable             //   Burdensome, loathsome Female Symbolic                //    Femme Symbolic MALIGNANT                             HEALTHY fearful, tearful, wretched     //  joyful, hopeful, euphoric, bereft, wept, grieving          //  embryonic, rapt, relieving leaving, loss                         //  believing, gain m a y b e - d e a t h                                            r e - b i r t h                                                    BI-LATERAL                                              MASTECTOMIES Operating Theatre SURGEON                                         ANAESTHETIST cleaning/ cutting/ knife/ scalpel   //   doping/ unconscious/ airway blood / tissue                                 //   hypotension loss/ damage                                 //   shock drains                                             //   sinus rhythm stitches                                           //   pain deadening tight binding                                 //   reversal drugs                                      POST-OPERATIVE a l i v e                                                a w a k e draining, bound & stitched               draining, bound & stitched                                             DRAINED                                        ~ UNBOUND                                        -- UNSTITCHED – Empty chest                                                    Flat Chest FREEDOM from Disease                               FREEDOM from Dis-ease © M.L.Emmett
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28
The greatest demonstration of freedom in the history of the nation. Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. A great beacon light of hope. Seared in the flames of withering justice. One hundred years later, the ***** still is not free. We’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. This note was the promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white, men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Now is the time to make real promises of democracy. Now is the time to make injustice a reality for all of God’s children. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the ***** is granted his citizen rights. In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. You have been veterans of creative suffering. Go back, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. I say to you today, even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. A deeply rooted american dream. A dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” I have a dream where little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the context of their character. I have a dream today! That little black boys and girls, will be able to join hands with little white boys and girls as brothers and sisters. I have a dream today! The rough places will be plain and the crooked places will be made straight, “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together." This is our hope. This is the faith I go back with. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children --- black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics --- will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old ***** spiritual, “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”
0
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
Freedom and Equality - Found Poem - I have a Dream Speech by Martin Luther King Jr. - School Project
The greatest demonstration of freedom in the history of the nation. Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. A great beacon light of hope. Seared in the flames of withering justice. One hundred years later, the ***** still is not free. We’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. This note was the promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white, men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Now is the time to make real promises of democracy. Now is the time to make injustice a reality for all of God’s children. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the ***** is granted his citizen rights. In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. You have been veterans of creative suffering. Go back, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. I say to you today, even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. A deeply rooted american dream. A dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” I have a dream where little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the context of their character. I have a dream today! That little black boys and girls, will be able to join hands with little white boys and girls as brothers and sisters. I have a dream today! The rough places will be plain and the crooked places will be made straight, “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together." This is our hope. This is the faith I go back with. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children --- black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics --- will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old ***** spiritual, “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”
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27
Upon the wings of doves it was pure Their purest white Feathers Glided, Floated, Nestled Its clearness, Its symbolic touch Upon my yet to be woken heart, For this beauty showed what was In front of my eyes, Feathers did come down like snow Not only touching mine, Awoken, Revived, Vitality Sprung forth, emotions were flowering Everywhere, My heart was touched By a feather of purest love, That is when our eyes meet, I saw a feather Caress your loneliness and we Were transformed from Solitude, Seclusion, Sorrow To hearts that were now awoken, The true feeling stirred from inside, To love at first sight, We were like the feathers Our hearts had taken flight, We were in love as white feathers fell, The symbol of love had opened our hearts To what was always Within our now flourishing hearts.
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Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
Doves Feathers Awoken Love
Arriving at the entrance of the ancient temple the white rabbit covered his ears. Shattering glass from a high-pitched vibration he leaped away from a falling chandelier. “I must find our beloved Harvest Moon." The white rabbit said to himself. With stern affirmation, a dark fog churned then into the vortex he was consumed. He stopped at the entrance of the temple courtyard; everyone was frozen like statues. "What has she done to all of you?" He cried, then pulled out a magic rune deflecting a hail of daggers. The white rabbit looked up at a floating cocoon and saw the shadow witch hovering over the temple roof. Pale skin and veins glowing red, she was draped in a black tattered robe. With a sinister look and a Crown of Fire on her head the shadow witch spoke. “White rabbit, white rabbit the Harvest Moon is dead!" The white rabbit took leaped back then cried out. "This cannot be so!" Then he pulled from his bag a magic scroll and read the words written in gold. "I ask the wind to protect me from this dark magic despair" Then he conjured a circle of trees in a water globe. The witch streaked across the air and swung around her jet-black hair. Then she commanded an infestation of spiders to climb inside the trees and explode. Barricading himself inside a magic bubble he was protected from the onslaught of shrapnel. The white rabbit grabbed the water globe, leaped into the air, and disappeared in a puff of amber smoke. The shadow witch pulled out a blood-red pearl and murmured an incantation. "Clever white rabbit, I shall find you in the invisible world" The white rabbit snapped his fingers then magically appeared behind her. He snatched off the Crown of Fire from her head then whispered the following words. "How dare you use dark magic on me!" She jumped in fear spinning around, then summoned a devil hound. The white rabbit raised the water globe and merged it with the crown. A shock wave of light pulsated in the air then the witch menacingly yelled. “Take him down!” The white rabbit saw in his peripheral view the hound lunge to attack. But he was too cunning for this, with a symbolic wave and a vigorous slash the hound was severed in two. The shadow witch glared, then cried out. “We shall meet again white rabbit; I promise you I'll be back!” Then she summoned a fiery cauldron and vanished with a blinding flash. The white rabbit ran inside the temple and approached the Harvest Moon. He stared with eyes full of tears and sorrow at a beautiful princess with hair long and blue. A beautiful creature he so desired, the love he had for her was true. He opened his bag and pulled out the globe which was now encased with the Crown of Fire. "I brought you a gift from the shadow witch" Then he smashed the globe and with a flash of light, the Crown of Fire was finally free. The white rabbit held the princess and spoke. "I have always served you because I love you and now, I command you to come back to life!" Then he placed the Crown of Fire on her head igniting a ring of light. The white rabbit looked down to see the Harvest Moon Princess opening both of her eyes.
0
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
The Crown of Fire
Arriving at the entrance of the ancient temple the white rabbit covered his ears. Shattering glass from a high-pitched vibration he leaped away from a falling chandelier. “I must find our beloved Harvest Moon." The white rabbit said to himself. With stern affirmation, a dark fog churned then into the vortex he was consumed. He stopped at the entrance of the temple courtyard; everyone was frozen like statues. "What has she done to all of you?" He cried, then pulled out a magic rune deflecting a hail of daggers. The white rabbit looked up at a floating cocoon and saw the shadow witch hovering over the temple roof. Pale skin and veins glowing red, she was draped in a black tattered robe. With a sinister look and a Crown of Fire on her head the shadow witch spoke. “White rabbit, white rabbit the Harvest Moon is dead!" The white rabbit took leaped back then cried out. "This cannot be so!" Then he pulled from his bag a magic scroll and read the words written in gold. "I ask the wind to protect me from this dark magic despair" Then he conjured a circle of trees in a water globe. The witch streaked across the air and swung around her jet-black hair. Then she commanded an infestation of spiders to climb inside the trees and explode. Barricading himself inside a magic bubble he was protected from the onslaught of shrapnel. The white rabbit grabbed the water globe, leaped into the air, and disappeared in a puff of amber smoke. The shadow witch pulled out a blood-red pearl and murmured an incantation. "Clever white rabbit, I shall find you in the invisible world" The white rabbit snapped his fingers then magically appeared behind her. He snatched off the Crown of Fire from her head then whispered the following words. "How dare you use dark magic on me!" She jumped in fear spinning around, then summoned a devil hound. The white rabbit raised the water globe and merged it with the crown. A shock wave of light pulsated in the air then the witch menacingly yelled. “Take him down!” The white rabbit saw in his peripheral view the hound lunge to attack. But he was too cunning for this, with a symbolic wave and a vigorous slash the hound was severed in two. The shadow witch glared, then cried out. “We shall meet again white rabbit; I promise you I'll be back!” Then she summoned a fiery cauldron and vanished with a blinding flash. The white rabbit ran inside the temple and approached the Harvest Moon. He stared with eyes full of tears and sorrow at a beautiful princess with hair long and blue. A beautiful creature he so desired, the love he had for her was true. He opened his bag and pulled out the globe which was now encased with the Crown of Fire. "I brought you a gift from the shadow witch" Then he smashed the globe and with a flash of light, the Crown of Fire was finally free. The white rabbit held the princess and spoke. "I have always served you because I love you and now, I command you to come back to life!" Then he placed the Crown of Fire on her head igniting a ring of light. The white rabbit looked down to see the Harvest Moon Princess opening both of her eyes.
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26
The first thinkers were poets Naming Mother Earth Beginning symbolic thinking Of nature, death and birth Though themes are often repeated Love, Beauty and God Poetry in the guise of Religion A prophet or a fraud The poet resurrects the Primitive Through allegory and similes Disarming the unknown like explorers Sublime Prophets and Visionaries They must lay bare those treasured images That must be expressed Unraveling and revealing the sounds At each soul’s behest Encompassing the entire Cosmos So lyrical the beat The poet’s excitement flows outward Laid at the Reader’s feet So original, individual She won’t examine or explain Letting go the festering feelings Disturbances in her brain He exposes his dark, wounded psyche Just to release and express Such capacity to see and compare Hyperbole at its best I love, I hate, I suffer A special dance in rhythm and rhyme The poet as a buffer Lessening the pain and sting of time Laden with symbol and feelings She gives you sweet relief From something urgent, revealing Confusion to belief Through a cinematic kind of seeing The poet purges to transform By leaping through Alice’s looking glass She never was one to conform Quite intolerant of convention Just like The Mad Hatter His passions immune to all logic In syncopated patter Jamming up the poet’s mind Struggling for expression Seeking order out of chaos An infantile regression Cleaving to his imaginary world The poet breaks out into words Creating sound paintings to be unfurled So his own agony is blurred She succumbs to storms of passion With instinctive techniques Rhymes and rhythm still in fashion Out of hand flows mystique The poet mines from his unconscious The Reader is not blind For every single line and symbol Means something to the mind Causing an inner liberation Enlightenment or flight It is a matter of life and death When darkness turns to light.
0
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 6:55 PM UTC
An Ode to Poets
The first thinkers were poets Naming Mother Earth Beginning symbolic thinking Of nature, death and birth Though themes are often repeated Love, Beauty and God Poetry in the guise of Religion A prophet or a fraud The poet resurrects the Primitive Through allegory and similes Disarming the unknown like explorers Sublime Prophets and Visionaries They must lay bare those treasured images That must be expressed Unraveling and revealing the sounds At each soul’s behest Encompassing the entire Cosmos So lyrical the beat The poet’s excitement flows outward Laid at the Reader’s feet So original, individual She won’t examine or explain Letting go the festering feelings Disturbances in her brain He exposes his dark, wounded psyche Just to release and express Such capacity to see and compare Hyperbole at its best I love, I hate, I suffer A special dance in rhythm and rhyme The poet as a buffer Lessening the pain and sting of time Laden with symbol and feelings She gives you sweet relief From something urgent, revealing Confusion to belief Through a cinematic kind of seeing The poet purges to transform By leaping through Alice’s looking glass She never was one to conform Quite intolerant of convention Just like The Mad Hatter His passions immune to all logic In syncopated patter Jamming up the poet’s mind Struggling for expression Seeking order out of chaos An infantile regression Cleaving to his imaginary world The poet breaks out into words Creating sound paintings to be unfurled So his own agony is blurred She succumbs to storms of passion With instinctive techniques Rhymes and rhythm still in fashion Out of hand flows mystique The poet mines from his unconscious The Reader is not blind For every single line and symbol Means something to the mind Causing an inner liberation Enlightenment or flight It is a matter of life and death When darkness turns to light.
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64
I took a walk in La Goulette yesterday From the “Bridge-of-the-Casino” to the port. The things I saw on my sun-bathing way So simple they were, here is a report: II Sea snakes under a blue bridge did frolic As hardware stores displayed paint in their windows. The water snakes performed some dance symbolic And the paint braved the dark rust from a distance. III And I, hastening to my liquid address, Shot a side look at a man in a dress, And hoped the blue water in the White Sea* Would wash the wound bleeding in my memory. © LazharBouazzi, 16/11/16 (revised Nov. 17)
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Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC
The Walk (revised)
Today is the festival of colours. We,Indians, sprinkle colours on friends Nature is replete with beautiful colurs. Life is a mixture of many emotions We turn red when we are angry and we become greenif we are jealous Red stands for change and valour White is symbolic of peace and purity Green symbolizes harvest and prosperity Yellow is considered good omen Saffron means sacrifice black is considered an evil The leaves are green The human blood is red The Ripe fruits and corn are yellow milk is white and the sky is blue Nature and life are inseparable Different colours tell different things May the festival of colurs bring Happiness and prosperity in this trouble torn world!
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Mar 19, 2011
Mar 19, 2011 at 3:38 AM UTC
HOLI, THE FESTIVAL OF COLOURS
I would rather be hysterical than vulnerable to what most people call love. I would rather couple with strange women on an Amsterdam getaway than let one more man try to own me. I prefer to ignore my own psychodynamics in favor of endless talking cure analysis and occasional astrology cult ****** that promise to speed my eventual evolution from wounded *** object to invulnverable starchild. I don’t need a Beverly Hills shrink to tell me my narcissism and depression and squeaky voice are symbolic of never having the power to set a boundary between me and my father who doted over my puberty with slobbering praise and veiled lust. Everyone who knows me for more than a week sees my father throwing me financial bones instead of apologizing for what he did and the more I take his money the freer I feel distanced by automobiles with dark-tinted windows, a house with a skull and crossbones doormat, a silver .45 under my pillow and not one single ex-boyfriend about whom I will ever say a kind word. I have created emotional and psychological invulnerability; all men are now my father and all men pay the price of never being loved by me and I pay the price of never being able to let them love me. Now I just play with partners and when they inevitably start to use the “L” word I start to run inside and I bounce off the walls and mirrors of my own emptiness and I go on a photo safari to Africa where I pretend to understand the meaning of life and I put out restraining orders against the men who insist that I explain and I have come to rely on legal and monetary fences to protect me from the truth about my deep loneliness. I’ve never had an ****** never said I love you twice to the same person and I think as long as the money’s there I won’t have to.
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Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 11:33 AM UTC
The Lovesong of Bertha Pappenheim
I would rather be hysterical than vulnerable to what most people call love. I would rather couple with strange women on an Amsterdam getaway than let one more man try to own me. I prefer to ignore my own psychodynamics in favor of endless talking cure analysis and occasional astrology cult ****** that promise to speed my eventual evolution from wounded *** object to invulnverable starchild. I don’t need a Beverly Hills shrink to tell me my narcissism and depression and squeaky voice are symbolic of never having the power to set a boundary between me and my father who doted over my puberty with slobbering praise and veiled lust. Everyone who knows me for more than a week sees my father throwing me financial bones instead of apologizing for what he did and the more I take his money the freer I feel distanced by automobiles with dark-tinted windows, a house with a skull and crossbones doormat, a silver .45 under my pillow and not one single ex-boyfriend about whom I will ever say a kind word. I have created emotional and psychological invulnerability; all men are now my father and all men pay the price of never being loved by me and I pay the price of never being able to let them love me. Now I just play with partners and when they inevitably start to use the “L” word I start to run inside and I bounce off the walls and mirrors of my own emptiness and I go on a photo safari to Africa where I pretend to understand the meaning of life and I put out restraining orders against the men who insist that I explain and I have come to rely on legal and monetary fences to protect me from the truth about my deep loneliness. I’ve never had an ****** never said I love you twice to the same person and I think as long as the money’s there I won’t have to.
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49
Our lives are a Jenga masterpiece, a collage of self-interpreted debauchery that we have been told is the work of R.F. Is it necessary to destroy ourselves for the things that we desire? Why do I have to be symbolic of an Irish dome of the rock? (have you ever touched the rock?) (has anyone?) I am tarot prophetic in my loathing of our distorted level. I am chronic mime gestures on the West Banks of the Jordan. We are rouge lipstick smeared across blue collars and twisted pretzels lounging citrus grove clean and sad. I am just a man. We are just people. The buildings are just Lego's we have crushed and spent combating azure tides to stand ourselves straight against that last wall... but I love you still, despite.
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Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
(engineer)
there is a darkness that the silver song of soft illusion lights in symbolic equivalents of images real it is a light brutally interrogative magnifying with dazzling rays the breakage at the jagged edges of the world and lays hostage to impersonation that resembles fragments of smashed oval shaped mirrors reflecting pieces of broken brown terracotta soldiers and causes the eyes to hurt with a watched inner holocaust of disturbing coloured detonations, implosively autonomous given to a deceived departure a departure from reality given by the advocacy of ideological rationalism that sees three kings with blood on their crowns in amplified convulsions call mustre for disturbance, disorder, destruction and death as blood stains the Balkan streets and all emotional impulse is volatilized and a sinister, stuporous, stagnancy stalks the land where sustaining minds are subject to a brutal insensitivity that dazzles on the edge of a spiral vertigo it is a light brutally interrogative magnifying with dazzling rays a vocabulary of incoherence like the rancid stains of ***** that inhabit the jagged edges of the world
0
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
Crimean War???
365Nectar #46 The High Priestess of Soul Fri. November 8, 2013 10:38 P.M. Deep in the distance dancing upon the horizon a deeply distinctive voice defies definition bending genres to her will clearly breaking boundaries an exiled priestess wails louder than ever silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues Little Girl Blue lettin' it all out with a wild as the wind Sinner man just tryin' to feel good absolutely refusing to be misunderstood a strong-willed priestess turns tempermental tunes into blazing beautiful harmony putting a revolutionary spell on you belting emotional songs of freedom and spirit Peace of Heart Nectar of Truth just in time to do what you do... an exiled priestess wails louder than ever silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues. Born to a preacher handyman and housemaid minister a gospel pop fusion diva emerges from the Glory of Love a strange volatile fruit blossoms into young, gifted, and Black spitting storms of spiritually smoldering Black Gold from a silky soul that scorches the earth an exiled priestess wails louder than ever silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues Masterfully mesmerizing Black rock Blood and Candlesmoke a fiery flow of tangy, tantalizing and titillating under a fog of duality genius bears two heads vibrant and intricate a saucy songstress swings with passion and honesty an empowered diva breaks down and let's it all out just energetic expressive jazz injected with well composed folklore live at Ronnie Scotts an exiled priestess wails louder than ever silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues From Newport to Baltimore an exiled priestess feeds forbidden fruit and hypnotizes the masses with tantalizing love me or leave me alone torch songs a powerful Four Women high on Lilac Wine blush from Broadway Blues Ballads in Baltimore See-line woman goes to hell to save Little Liza Jane and shelters in Barbados Cotton-eyed Joe feeds Brown Baby controversy behind Blue Prelude Did it move you? Yeah... Hell yeah.. it moved me too! Mr. Bojangles wave bye bye to a Blackbird in chilly winds that don't blow while willows weep something seemingly symbolic of soothing to an African mailman in Central Park and an exiled priestess wails louder than ever silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues The High Priestess of Soul caged but still singing shivering sensations from stubborn sweetness under sweet strings that sharply spill and scatter strength to the sorrowful that daily dine and devour silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues.
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Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
The High Priestess of Soul
365Nectar #46 The High Priestess of Soul Fri. November 8, 2013 10:38 P.M. Deep in the distance dancing upon the horizon a deeply distinctive voice defies definition bending genres to her will clearly breaking boundaries an exiled priestess wails louder than ever silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues Little Girl Blue lettin' it all out with a wild as the wind Sinner man just tryin' to feel good absolutely refusing to be misunderstood a strong-willed priestess turns tempermental tunes into blazing beautiful harmony putting a revolutionary spell on you belting emotional songs of freedom and spirit Peace of Heart Nectar of Truth just in time to do what you do... an exiled priestess wails louder than ever silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues. Born to a preacher handyman and housemaid minister a gospel pop fusion diva emerges from the Glory of Love a strange volatile fruit blossoms into young, gifted, and Black spitting storms of spiritually smoldering Black Gold from a silky soul that scorches the earth an exiled priestess wails louder than ever silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues Masterfully mesmerizing Black rock Blood and Candlesmoke a fiery flow of tangy, tantalizing and titillating under a fog of duality genius bears two heads vibrant and intricate a saucy songstress swings with passion and honesty an empowered diva breaks down and let's it all out just energetic expressive jazz injected with well composed folklore live at Ronnie Scotts an exiled priestess wails louder than ever silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues From Newport to Baltimore an exiled priestess feeds forbidden fruit and hypnotizes the masses with tantalizing love me or leave me alone torch songs a powerful Four Women high on Lilac Wine blush from Broadway Blues Ballads in Baltimore See-line woman goes to hell to save Little Liza Jane and shelters in Barbados Cotton-eyed Joe feeds Brown Baby controversy behind Blue Prelude Did it move you? Yeah... Hell yeah.. it moved me too! Mr. Bojangles wave bye bye to a Blackbird in chilly winds that don't blow while willows weep something seemingly symbolic of soothing to an African mailman in Central Park and an exiled priestess wails louder than ever silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues The High Priestess of Soul caged but still singing shivering sensations from stubborn sweetness under sweet strings that sharply spill and scatter strength to the sorrowful that daily dine and devour silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues.
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90
I got a haircut a couple months ago Just after I had the worst possible month of my life And I guess it was almost symbolic Because I was cutting ties and knots in my hair with what I had been killing myself over for the past year.
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Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
Haircut
Fashion’s symbolic sensuality draws eyes, stir passions and maybe even resentments! =] Of course, maybe you’re above worldly conceits, above fashion. YOU, go through life as unaware as sinless Adam and you’re excessively handsome, or pretty, obviously. But for the rest of us - fashion is the medium of our beauty and God created Paris for fashion. We’re pretending we’ve come to Paris (our immediate, pandemic safety-pod-family) for a family reunion - but REALLY, we’re on safari - a freshmen, college-wear, “back to school,” ensemble hunt (for meeeeeeeeeeee!). Step 1 (there’s only 1 step) - go to the Rue Saint-Honoré. This year, I like-like Anna Molinari - most of the ready-to-wear daily-trash I snapped-up is hers - all hers. It didn’t start out that way - but she sould me on an uncharted course at first sight. Other designers seem to be pushing old-lady-looking floral prints this season. Eeuw! Why?? DIAF. My gran-mère (grandmother) told me - 6 days ago - as she attempted to tame my run-away hair: “You need to be unpredictable, petite beauté, not some comely young automaton. Then everyone will find you interesting and watch to see what you do next.” Thank you, gran-mère - I’ll settle for looking interesting any time.
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Jul 30, 2021
Jul 30, 2021 at 8:42 AM UTC
fashionable
I Am Waiting I am waiting for my case to come up and I am waiting for a rebirth of wonder and I am waiting for someone to really discover America and wail and I am waiting for the discovery of a new symbolic western frontier and I am waiting for the American Eagle to really spread its wings and straighten up and fly right and I am waiting for the Age of Anxiety to drop dead and I am waiting for the war to be fought which will make the world safe for anarchy and I am waiting for the final withering away of all governments and I am perpetually awaiting a rebirth of wonder I am waiting for the Second Coming and I am waiting for a religious revival to sweep thru the state of Arizona and I am waiting for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored and I am waiting for them to prove that God is really American and I am waiting to see God on television piped onto church altars if only they can find the right channel to tune in on and I am waiting for the Last Supper to be served again with a strange new appetizer and I am perpetually awaiting a rebirth of wonder I am waiting for my number to be called and I am waiting for the Salvation Army to take over and I am waiting for the meek to be blessed and inherit the earth without taxes and I am waiting for forests and animals to reclaim the earth as theirs and I am waiting for a way to be devised to destroy all nationalisms without killing anybody and I am waiting for linnets and planets to fall like rain and I am waiting for lovers and weepers to lie down together again in a new rebirth of wonder I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed and I am anxiously waiting for the secret of eternal life to be discovered by an obscure general practitioner and I am waiting for the storms of life to be over and I am waiting to set sail for happiness and I am waiting for a reconstructed Mayflower to reach America with its picture story and tv rights sold in advance to the natives and I am waiting for the lost music to sound again in the Lost Continent in a new rebirth of wonder I am waiting for the day that maketh all things clear and I am awaiting retribution for what America did to Tom Sawyer and I am waiting for Alice in Wonderland to retransmit to me her total dream of innocence and I am waiting for Childe Roland to come to the final darkest tower and I am waiting for Aphrodite to grow live arms at a final disarmament conference in a new rebirth of wonder I am waiting to get some intimations of immortality by recollecting my early childhood and I am waiting for the green mornings to come again youth’s dumb green fields come back again and I am waiting for some strains of unpremeditated art to shake my typewriter and I am waiting to write the great indelible poem and I am waiting for the last long careless rapture and I am perpetually waiting for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn to catch each other up at last and embrace and I am awaiting perpetually and forever a renaissance of wonder
0
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI
I Am Waiting I am waiting for my case to come up and I am waiting for a rebirth of wonder and I am waiting for someone to really discover America and wail and I am waiting for the discovery of a new symbolic western frontier and I am waiting for the American Eagle to really spread its wings and straighten up and fly right and I am waiting for the Age of Anxiety to drop dead and I am waiting for the war to be fought which will make the world safe for anarchy and I am waiting for the final withering away of all governments and I am perpetually awaiting a rebirth of wonder I am waiting for the Second Coming and I am waiting for a religious revival to sweep thru the state of Arizona and I am waiting for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored and I am waiting for them to prove that God is really American and I am waiting to see God on television piped onto church altars if only they can find the right channel to tune in on and I am waiting for the Last Supper to be served again with a strange new appetizer and I am perpetually awaiting a rebirth of wonder I am waiting for my number to be called and I am waiting for the Salvation Army to take over and I am waiting for the meek to be blessed and inherit the earth without taxes and I am waiting for forests and animals to reclaim the earth as theirs and I am waiting for a way to be devised to destroy all nationalisms without killing anybody and I am waiting for linnets and planets to fall like rain and I am waiting for lovers and weepers to lie down together again in a new rebirth of wonder I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed and I am anxiously waiting for the secret of eternal life to be discovered by an obscure general practitioner and I am waiting for the storms of life to be over and I am waiting to set sail for happiness and I am waiting for a reconstructed Mayflower to reach America with its picture story and tv rights sold in advance to the natives and I am waiting for the lost music to sound again in the Lost Continent in a new rebirth of wonder I am waiting for the day that maketh all things clear and I am awaiting retribution for what America did to Tom Sawyer and I am waiting for Alice in Wonderland to retransmit to me her total dream of innocence and I am waiting for Childe Roland to come to the final darkest tower and I am waiting for Aphrodite to grow live arms at a final disarmament conference in a new rebirth of wonder I am waiting to get some intimations of immortality by recollecting my early childhood and I am waiting for the green mornings to come again youth’s dumb green fields come back again and I am waiting for some strains of unpremeditated art to shake my typewriter and I am waiting to write the great indelible poem and I am waiting for the last long careless rapture and I am perpetually waiting for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn to catch each other up at last and embrace and I am awaiting perpetually and forever a renaissance of wonder
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typewriter rhythm clacking away new beats tempo exchanges computer lab concerto fair-weather phonetics hunt and peck symphony symbolic of the system poking at inmates pecking at the enforcers attempting to gain an education -- floating above the ruckus offering research aid I sit at the desk seeking only to enlighten service work for those suffering servitude serfdom post-modern slavery complete with subsidies scamming the con-men -- white house looks best through prison barred windows
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Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
glimpse into my workday
A string of words that flow like the rivers, Showing enough thought to provide the shivers. Reflections of the poet within, The type thrown out in the garbage bin Or the type framed and hung on the wall. There's a poet within us all. Not all are eager to show their inner poet, But would rather let it set sail As rivers stream from their eyes Due to the symbolic lie They believe, making them pale As, with their sorrow, they wallow it. Patronizing executives and farmers Believe their exterior would be shattered If their inner poet let slip. Once somebody gives them lip, They harden as if it mattered And equip their shields and armors. The Spartan with the inner-Athenian Would be killed by his friends If they knew who he was on the inside. This fills him with fear. He keeps his ears open to hear If anyone is coming as he hides So his poetry will have its end Before this war with the Peloponnesians. Such beauty gone to waste All because this facade of masculinity Everyone puts on to protect themselves From the beasts in this society That would love to shatter those dreams. Artists should gather in teams, Ready to fight this anarchy That would place our poetry on the shelves, Collecting dust with haste. Collecting dust with haste.
0
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 6:19 PM UTC
The Spartan with the Inner-Athenian
Red flags in the beginning are easy to turn into little sticky notes, notes for later that sometimes lose their adhesive and fall to the ground much like my current tolerance for ****** dudes The first known use for red flags was by the military to indicate they’re ready for battle, unfortunately I’ve seen enough red flags to start the next world war I should’ve known When I came back from Arizona and he said “you must’ve cheated on me because your ****** feels different” Not because he’s insecure or because he doesn’t know trust or because he’s trying to assert control I should’ve known When he asked if I “had a problem getting wet because it seemed like that was a thing” Not because he doesn’t know foreplay (side note: **** doesn’t teach you foreplay) or because he doesn’t actually turn me on or because fun fact!- women can be turned on and not be wet I should’ve known When he said “if you shaved, then I’d go down on you 24/7” Not because he was scared that choking on my ***** hair reminded him he’s with a real woman that grows hair and humans inside her and ideas and opinions and strength and my body is not yours to give me ultimatums of I should’ve known When I asked if figuring out my pleasure was a burden and he answered “actually, yes it is” Not because he’s too lazy to actually want to pleasure anyone but himself or because his only ****** education ended with a .com or because no one has ever expected more of him I should’ve known when he said “What I want out of a ****** partner is someone that wants me inside of them as soon as possible” Not “inside my soul” or “inside my thoughts” or “inside my memories” or “inside an intimacy he will never know” I should’ve known when he said “Let me show you how Rachel did it” Not “this is how I like it” or “can we try this?” or “opening your ******* mind to how another human being moves around you” I should’ve known when He spit on my ****** the universal sign for disrespect Like I deserve the same fate as tobacco swollen cheeks Like my ****** is your spittoon, am I the end of a tobacco session or a fancy wine tasting? these things matter Now I find it symbolic men are taught to spit while women are taught to swallow Swallow our reactions Swallow our feelings Swallow our voices Swallow his releases Swallow his spit Swallow us whole When you see a red flag do not ignore that it means battle This battle is not a healthy one, this battle will leave you bruised Uproot this flag and take it with you to remind yourself You can lose every battle and still win the war 11/28/2016 Amanda Powell
0
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 8:59 PM UTC
Red Flags
Red flags in the beginning are easy to turn into little sticky notes, notes for later that sometimes lose their adhesive and fall to the ground much like my current tolerance for ****** dudes The first known use for red flags was by the military to indicate they’re ready for battle, unfortunately I’ve seen enough red flags to start the next world war I should’ve known When I came back from Arizona and he said “you must’ve cheated on me because your ****** feels different” Not because he’s insecure or because he doesn’t know trust or because he’s trying to assert control I should’ve known When he asked if I “had a problem getting wet because it seemed like that was a thing” Not because he doesn’t know foreplay (side note: **** doesn’t teach you foreplay) or because he doesn’t actually turn me on or because fun fact!- women can be turned on and not be wet I should’ve known When he said “if you shaved, then I’d go down on you 24/7” Not because he was scared that choking on my ***** hair reminded him he’s with a real woman that grows hair and humans inside her and ideas and opinions and strength and my body is not yours to give me ultimatums of I should’ve known When I asked if figuring out my pleasure was a burden and he answered “actually, yes it is” Not because he’s too lazy to actually want to pleasure anyone but himself or because his only ****** education ended with a .com or because no one has ever expected more of him I should’ve known when he said “What I want out of a ****** partner is someone that wants me inside of them as soon as possible” Not “inside my soul” or “inside my thoughts” or “inside my memories” or “inside an intimacy he will never know” I should’ve known when he said “Let me show you how Rachel did it” Not “this is how I like it” or “can we try this?” or “opening your ******* mind to how another human being moves around you” I should’ve known when He spit on my ****** the universal sign for disrespect Like I deserve the same fate as tobacco swollen cheeks Like my ****** is your spittoon, am I the end of a tobacco session or a fancy wine tasting? these things matter Now I find it symbolic men are taught to spit while women are taught to swallow Swallow our reactions Swallow our feelings Swallow our voices Swallow his releases Swallow his spit Swallow us whole When you see a red flag do not ignore that it means battle This battle is not a healthy one, this battle will leave you bruised Uproot this flag and take it with you to remind yourself You can lose every battle and still win the war 11/28/2016 Amanda Powell
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By Arcassin Burnham Did you ever consider segregating, The good ones from the ******** The devils and gods, With trending honorables, Or symbolic presses, Call it lame meetings, Random trending would be my guess, I'm ******* crazy, In reality I need a physical test, Fail it then then turn it in, Then tell every in class their all ******* pests, Like I said I don't need your pity, Nor your sympathy, It was the end of me, But also the beginning of the new me, I will never rest, I just need some time to think, While this blows over, Being hated by many, But no luck with clovers, Violent black kid in America, Do I sound like a good person, Mistake me for a fool, Leave you with one of my curses, So strum away lady, Cause I'm not listening, I'd rather be frozen in block of ice, Then be trending.
0
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
"Lady Guitarist (Hp Diss)"
all things are useful, bulbs bring light , denote ideas, good intentions, spent, collected. cotton hankies, frayed hold the books, yet those with nylon, stretch the skin resulting in red and soreness. shy away from dangerous commodities, use the best, those tradtional artefacts which are gentle on your soul, bring light. wipe your nose clean. sbm. today we have added notes for your interest. A HANDKERCHIEF (also called handkercher or hanky) is a form of a kerchief, typically a hemmed square of thin fabric that can be carried in the pocket or purse, and which is intended for personal hygiene purposes such as wiping one’s hands or face, or blowing one’s nose. A handkerchief is also sometimes used as a purely decorative accessory in a suit pocket. When used as an accessory to a suit, a handkerchief is known as a POCKET SQUARE. There are a wide variety of ways to fold a pocket square, ranging from the austere to the flamboyant. The material of a handkerchief can be symbolic of the social-economic class of the user, not only because some materials are more expensive, but because some materials are more absorbent and practical for those who use a handkerchief for more than style. Handkerchiefs can be made of cotton, cotton-synthetic blend, synthetic fabric, silk, or linen. Historically, white handkerchiefs have been used in place of a white flag to indicate surrender or a flag of truce; in addition to waving away sailors from port. King Richard II of England, who reigned from 1377 to 1399, is widely believed to have invented the cloth handkerchief, as surviving documents written by his courtiers describe his use of square pieces of cloth to wipe his nose.
0
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
. light bulbs and handkerchiefs .
all things are useful, bulbs bring light , denote ideas, good intentions, spent, collected. cotton hankies, frayed hold the books, yet those with nylon, stretch the skin resulting in red and soreness. shy away from dangerous commodities, use the best, those tradtional artefacts which are gentle on your soul, bring light. wipe your nose clean. sbm. today we have added notes for your interest. A HANDKERCHIEF (also called handkercher or hanky) is a form of a kerchief, typically a hemmed square of thin fabric that can be carried in the pocket or purse, and which is intended for personal hygiene purposes such as wiping one’s hands or face, or blowing one’s nose. A handkerchief is also sometimes used as a purely decorative accessory in a suit pocket. When used as an accessory to a suit, a handkerchief is known as a POCKET SQUARE. There are a wide variety of ways to fold a pocket square, ranging from the austere to the flamboyant. The material of a handkerchief can be symbolic of the social-economic class of the user, not only because some materials are more expensive, but because some materials are more absorbent and practical for those who use a handkerchief for more than style. Handkerchiefs can be made of cotton, cotton-synthetic blend, synthetic fabric, silk, or linen. Historically, white handkerchiefs have been used in place of a white flag to indicate surrender or a flag of truce; in addition to waving away sailors from port. King Richard II of England, who reigned from 1377 to 1399, is widely believed to have invented the cloth handkerchief, as surviving documents written by his courtiers describe his use of square pieces of cloth to wipe his nose.
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