"syphilitic" poems - Hello Poetry

walking down park amsterdam or columbus do you ever stop to think what it looked like before it was an avenue did you ever stop to think what you walked before you rode subways to the stock exchange (we can’t be on the stock exchange we are the stock exchanged) did you ever maybe wonder what grass was like before they rolled it into a ball and called it central park where syphilitic dogs and their two-legged tubercular masters fertilize the corners and side-walks ever want to know what would happen if your life could be fertilized by a love thought from a loved one who loves you ever look south on a clear day and not see time’s squares but see tall Birch trees with sycamores touching hands and see gazelles running playfully after the lions ever hear the antelope bark from the third floor apartment ever, did you ever, sit down and wonder about what freedom’s freedom would bring it’s so easy to be free you start by loving yourself then those who look like you all else will come naturally ever wonder why so much asphalt was laid in so little space probably so we would forget the Iroquois, Algonquin and Mohicans who could caress the earth ever think what Harlem would be like if our herbs and roots and elephant ears grew sending a cacophony of sound to us the parrot parroting black is beautiful black is beautiful owls sending out whooooo’s making love ... and me and you just sitting in the sun trying to find a way to get a banana tree from one of the monkeys koala bears in the trees laughing at our listlessness ever think its possible for us to be happy Nikki Giovanni, “Walking Down Park” from The Selected Poems of Nikki Giovanni. Copyright © 1996 by Nikki Giovanni.

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May 17, 2013

May 17, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC

nikki-giovanni

Walking Down Park

walking down park amsterdam or columbus do you ever stop to think what it looked like before it was an avenue did you ever stop to think what you walked before you rode subways to the stock exchange (we can’t be on the stock exchange we are the stock exchanged) did you ever maybe wonder what grass was like before they rolled it into a ball and called it central park where syphilitic dogs and their two-legged tubercular masters fertilize the corners and side-walks ever want to know what would happen if your life could be fertilized by a love thought from a loved one who loves you ever look south on a clear day and not see time’s squares but see tall Birch trees with sycamores touching hands and see gazelles running playfully after the lions ever hear the antelope bark from the third floor apartment ever, did you ever, sit down and wonder about what freedom’s freedom would bring it’s so easy to be free you start by loving yourself then those who look like you all else will come naturally ever wonder why so much asphalt was laid in so little space probably so we would forget the Iroquois, Algonquin and Mohicans who could caress the earth ever think what Harlem would be like if our herbs and roots and elephant ears grew sending a cacophony of sound to us the parrot parroting black is beautiful black is beautiful owls sending out whooooo’s making love ... and me and you just sitting in the sun trying to find a way to get a banana tree from one of the monkeys koala bears in the trees laughing at our listlessness ever think its possible for us to be happy Nikki Giovanni, “Walking Down Park” from The Selected Poems of Nikki Giovanni. Copyright © 1996 by Nikki Giovanni.

64

God had a green card But cannot get back in the gate. The Bricks are thick But not so tall, I think God may need to scale the wall. Are we safe in structures gated Must we stay in this prison Where women are hated. Our bones are hidden in tunnels. Where has my mother gone My sisters have disappeared, been Abducted into a cult; Suspicious Disinterest displays their guilt. There has been nothing to report. Maybe she has run away To find a new God, Someone has Touched her, she was not safe there In her own bed, in her own home. Some Blackman- Chanted hate lyrics At her; Encouraged by their overseers. Asian cultist cursed her in the womb. In India they ostracized and brutalized Her melanin, Queen of England, a ****** watches through syphilitic Eyes without concern. Beautiful cocoa,vanilla, and mustard Babies sold or married off to smelly suitors for *** before puberty; mere Children, march and are showcased For the wicked pleasures of men. But should I call them men? Remember we once ruled this planet Remember once we bore your beloved sons, Now we work and twerk our bodies As we answer to your perversions We no longer dance to bring rain. We slide down poles reluctantly Displaying our pain. My mother is crying for me My sister's are crying for me. God will ignite the lamp of justice God now has her green card and shall Return us "Back to our Spiritual selves. We dared not become too ripe, though We must remain agile or we be thrown away Like rotten fruit, never to be seen again God now has her green card and Will return us back to our Spiritual State. Once again - You shall call us "Heaven". Woman, who created man in her womb.. Became the enemy of man, and has been cast off. We cannot testify with ovaries or inverted testicles. Soon there was no natural preference No perspective of gender has man ! Procreation ceased,the ****** forever Banned to bear ovarian fruit. We who remain alive wait. Awaiting a Foreign God who's eager to Receive her green card, and save us from our fate. From the hands of a wicked system We are doused in the agony of acid Women perish, For the mercy of death we pray. My mother is crying for me My sisters are crying for me. God will again ignite the lamp of justice God now has her green card; And shall return us to our spiritual state. Remember we once ruled this planet, We bore your unloved seeds, who You've turned against us; We shall Return them unto our bosoms....And Once again, you shall call us " Heaven" ! © Vicki Acquah

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Oct 28, 2015

Oct 28, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC

AllrounQueen

GOD NEEDS A GREEN CARD

God had a green card But cannot get back in the gate. The Bricks are thick But not so tall, I think God may need to scale the wall. Are we safe in structures gated Must we stay in this prison Where women are hated. Our bones are hidden in tunnels. Where has my mother gone My sisters have disappeared, been Abducted into a cult; Suspicious Disinterest displays their guilt. There has been nothing to report. Maybe she has run away To find a new God, Someone has Touched her, she was not safe there In her own bed, in her own home. Some Blackman- Chanted hate lyrics At her; Encouraged by their overseers. Asian cultist cursed her in the womb. In India they ostracized and brutalized Her melanin, Queen of England, a ****** watches through syphilitic Eyes without concern. Beautiful cocoa,vanilla, and mustard Babies sold or married off to smelly suitors for *** before puberty; mere Children, march and are showcased For the wicked pleasures of men. But should I call them men? Remember we once ruled this planet Remember once we bore your beloved sons, Now we work and twerk our bodies As we answer to your perversions We no longer dance to bring rain. We slide down poles reluctantly Displaying our pain. My mother is crying for me My sister's are crying for me. God will ignite the lamp of justice God now has her green card and shall Return us "Back to our Spiritual selves. We dared not become too ripe, though We must remain agile or we be thrown away Like rotten fruit, never to be seen again God now has her green card and Will return us back to our Spiritual State. Once again - You shall call us "Heaven". Woman, who created man in her womb.. Became the enemy of man, and has been cast off. We cannot testify with ovaries or inverted testicles. Soon there was no natural preference No perspective of gender has man ! Procreation ceased,the ****** forever Banned to bear ovarian fruit. We who remain alive wait. Awaiting a Foreign God who's eager to Receive her green card, and save us from our fate. From the hands of a wicked system We are doused in the agony of acid Women perish, For the mercy of death we pray. My mother is crying for me My sisters are crying for me. God will again ignite the lamp of justice God now has her green card; And shall return us to our spiritual state. Remember we once ruled this planet, We bore your unloved seeds, who You've turned against us; We shall Return them unto our bosoms....And Once again, you shall call us " Heaven" ! © Vicki Acquah

73

games like small children fire like the hell pit relentless stupidity disgust and aching soul all the dogs are black barking and biting chewing to the bone syphilitic like groupie ****** sycophantic like talk show hosts skies of swine and rivers of dirt that can't flow people undervalued fighting and clawing for a morsel to take home dreams like night terrors opportunity like a flu vaccine black hole emptiness always night but never peaceful militant peacekeepers targets all lined up wrangled into old chains longing for the end for the end of the world trying to bring it ever closer just to hold it tight

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Apr 14, 2015

Apr 14, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC

alberttheinsider

"skies of swine"

games like small children fire like the hell pit relentless stupidity disgust and aching soul all the dogs are black barking and biting chewing to the bone syphilitic like groupie ****** sycophantic like talk show hosts skies of swine and rivers of dirt that can't flow people undervalued fighting and clawing for a morsel to take home dreams like night terrors opportunity like a flu vaccine black hole emptiness always night but never peaceful militant peacekeepers targets all lined up wrangled into old chains longing for the end for the end of the world trying to bring it ever closer just to hold it tight

25

Life’s ostensibly dead weight pulls downward, maddeningly consistent in its campaign to fell him. Its moribund song is maniacally hummed by he who seems to mourn with his limbs as he walks, Soul skulking petulantly as suicide-bees formicate wildly beneath his scalp; He dreams of his post-mortem feast. Gazing intently at his doodle-strewn bedside wall, Cringing as he reads those scribbled aphorisms he had erased the day before, He wonders if the bees were ever really there in the first place. He writes, *‘Ire-inducing idleness. Vapid, vacuous days; He is man’s antithesis, ****** from sentiment. His is the syphilitic brain of one filled with disdain For all those who threaten his thinly-veiled comfort, The thespian of truth, he’d play the faux jumper.’* The elevator comes to a halt. Exiting, he sees someone has left the door open for him. Climbing cautiously to the roof, he is met with an angry gust upon stepping outside. The solemn timbre of T. Yorke resounds as he drunkenly stumbles across the pebble-laden surface, And as he sidles along the ledge he realizes that nothing is infinite.

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May 26, 2016

May 26, 2016 at 12:10 AM UTC

markaddison

The Faux Jumper v2

Life’s ostensibly dead weight pulls downward, maddeningly consistent in its campaign to fell him. Its moribund song is maniacally hummed by he who seems to mourn with his limbs as he walks, Soul skulking petulantly as suicide-bees formicate wildly beneath his scalp; He dreams of his post-mortem feast. Gazing intently at his doodle-strewn bedside wall, Cringing as he reads those scribbled aphorisms he had erased the day before, He wonders if the bees were ever really there in the first place. He writes, *‘Ire-inducing idleness. Vapid, vacuous days; He is man’s antithesis, ****** from sentiment. His is the syphilitic brain of one filled with disdain For all those who threaten his thinly-veiled comfort, The thespian of truth, he’d play the faux jumper.’* The elevator comes to a halt. Exiting, he sees someone has left the door open for him. Climbing cautiously to the roof, he is met with an angry gust upon stepping outside. The solemn timbre of T. Yorke resounds as he drunkenly stumbles across the pebble-laden surface, And as he sidles along the ledge he realizes that nothing is infinite.

17

Chinese say cursed is that glowing up in times of change Childhood: sunny, monotonous, always limited But predictable and warm With a face of our sacred syphilitic Soon to be desposed. Gramps the ****** he was, enjpying the forms of his son's whife Shame wasn't his thing, neither was it my dad's So he blinked, joked and turned The other way Grandma the saintly creature always a leader always so moral When she read her bible, gave me sour aftertaste To last through the years. Gossiper lady could start a war Raising me an enemy to my own father. Why? I still don't know. Uncle: the beautiful and charming creature of the void Pleading begging blinking with long eyelashes For treatment with what he was supposed to be treated against Those beautiful gator tears... Later - school, idiotic teachers, Peers proud of crawling, the lowest wins! Disillusionment started to sink in. Are you still thinking? Weird! No hopes, no dreams, no identity No culture, no history All thrown out the window Music, values, inspiration and the rest Revolution mades like to clear out space for the new beginnings Starting from the point zero. Could have been neanderthals. Slaves couldn't fix themselves some freedom They only saw in movies. They went with the flow - papa government will feed, treat and raise cattle that we were. Are you questioning still? Get in the line! Looked up to crime and punishment To learn my true heritage All made sense, especially the urge to flea. Could not breathe the airless any longer Felt frog growing in my chest ******* out aspirations and infusing fears Learned helpless buddied up to crows And abandoned buildings. And a joint on the edge of the roof was one thing To make me feel alive. Almost married one day then awoke With a startle packed bags Five hundred bucks in my sock And away I flew. To learn you never gain without a loss

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May 13, 2016

May 13, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC

l-seagull

Ruminations of a gypsy

Chinese say cursed is that glowing up in times of change Childhood: sunny, monotonous, always limited But predictable and warm With a face of our sacred syphilitic Soon to be desposed. Gramps the ****** he was, enjpying the forms of his son's whife Shame wasn't his thing, neither was it my dad's So he blinked, joked and turned The other way Grandma the saintly creature always a leader always so moral When she read her bible, gave me sour aftertaste To last through the years. Gossiper lady could start a war Raising me an enemy to my own father. Why? I still don't know. Uncle: the beautiful and charming creature of the void Pleading begging blinking with long eyelashes For treatment with what he was supposed to be treated against Those beautiful gator tears... Later - school, idiotic teachers, Peers proud of crawling, the lowest wins! Disillusionment started to sink in. Are you still thinking? Weird! No hopes, no dreams, no identity No culture, no history All thrown out the window Music, values, inspiration and the rest Revolution mades like to clear out space for the new beginnings Starting from the point zero. Could have been neanderthals. Slaves couldn't fix themselves some freedom They only saw in movies. They went with the flow - papa government will feed, treat and raise cattle that we were. Are you questioning still? Get in the line! Looked up to crime and punishment To learn my true heritage All made sense, especially the urge to flea. Could not breathe the airless any longer Felt frog growing in my chest ******* out aspirations and infusing fears Learned helpless buddied up to crows And abandoned buildings. And a joint on the edge of the roof was one thing To make me feel alive. Almost married one day then awoke With a startle packed bags Five hundred bucks in my sock And away I flew. To learn you never gain without a loss

48

Sometimes I sit in light And stare at the white. Stabbing into the blue and black Sometimes red Sometimes purple Not knowing what to write But still knowing the feeling Is the hardest thing to put right When hidden messages bubble away And lurks in caves and corners too distant to say I dislike the game I dislike the play I dislike the victory of Idea all the way As it goes I will still have less to say In one year two year or three or even four Wrote words of fancy In muffled grey noise Try to coax out shapeless love And fold out furrowed landscape Pin down stupid symbol Wheel out old metaphor Use rhyme all the time And never fall in front of the stubborn old law It's a problem with the structure Its in the letters of old How can a meaning become new Or a message so bold It can't be original Nothing ever is But perspective lives on In its own dreary fizz Over and over The battle never ends Between pen and paper Between young and old Between idea and nation The paper always the victim never the winner nor the muse or even the killer Language indeed is the oldest sinner.

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Jan 8, 2018

Jan 8, 2018 at 8:42 PM UTC

adam-robinson

In Defence of a Syphilitic Muse

Sometimes I sit in light And stare at the white. Stabbing into the blue and black Sometimes red Sometimes purple Not knowing what to write But still knowing the feeling Is the hardest thing to put right When hidden messages bubble away And lurks in caves and corners too distant to say I dislike the game I dislike the play I dislike the victory of Idea all the way As it goes I will still have less to say In one year two year or three or even four Wrote words of fancy In muffled grey noise Try to coax out shapeless love And fold out furrowed landscape Pin down stupid symbol Wheel out old metaphor Use rhyme all the time And never fall in front of the stubborn old law It's a problem with the structure Its in the letters of old How can a meaning become new Or a message so bold It can't be original Nothing ever is But perspective lives on In its own dreary fizz Over and over The battle never ends Between pen and paper Between young and old Between idea and nation The paper always the victim never the winner nor the muse or even the killer Language indeed is the oldest sinner.

40

In what order, should I read my Nietzsche How the **** should I try and reach ya Try to communicate, accused of tryin to teach ya Beyond good and evil, now I’m a preacher Havin’ fun with Friedrich Sic erat scriptum Syphilitic reasoning Dominus vobiscum Philosophy, Biology doesn’t feature After all, we’re all despicable creatures Battery farmed, intent on goodness All of us failing, except for Jesus Exercising mind control and thought patrol What were you trying to teach us? The purpose is to procreate No additional features.

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Oct 24, 2017

Oct 24, 2017 at 3:43 PM UTC

Nirwanda

Havin fun with Friedrich

In what order, should I read my Nietzsche How the **** should I try and reach ya Try to communicate, accused of tryin to teach ya Beyond good and evil, now I’m a preacher Havin’ fun with Friedrich Sic erat scriptum Syphilitic reasoning Dominus vobiscum Philosophy, Biology doesn’t feature After all, we’re all despicable creatures Battery farmed, intent on goodness All of us failing, except for Jesus Exercising mind control and thought patrol What were you trying to teach us? The purpose is to procreate No additional features.

16