"taboos" poems
“Yorkshire! Yorkshire!” I hear the EDL scream,
as if somehow the county, relates to their regime?
Trying to push on others their far right views,
and tainting Yorkshire with their taboos
cos Yorkshire to me, is whatever the **** I want it to be,
I do love a bit of local pride...
maybe to revel in the comfort it provides,
and even though stereotypes say we're tight,
as well as stubborn, argumentative (they're prolly right),
But I'd rather that, than be uptight,
like a stereotypical southerner might
I recently read a quote from Stuart Maconie,
“England has a bottom half,
but there isn't a south, in the same way there's a north”
The North in the south means desolation,
A cultural wasteland with deserted stations,
a place built on violent, aggressive foundations,
With mid summer Arctic temperature fluctuations,
Nothing that comes close to a nation....
But that's not what I see,
To be from the north means good fish and chips,
with tomato sauce and vinegar, it's glory on the lips,
I see people willing to lend a hand,
A honest chat about the weather as you stand at a bus stop
that you never planned,
It doesn't matter whether it's a cob, bun, bap, barm or roll,
Or that the north was ****** over by the outsourcing of coal,
Or your opinion that we're all just sat on the dole, drinking tea out of a ***** bowl.
We should still all have a similar goal,
To have a good time,
and not hurt a soul
Sometimes I do like to revel in the divide,
but I'll always welcome people from the other side,
Acceptance is not sin,
and if you let it,
it generally ends up with a win : win
What's Yorkshire to you? I haven't got a clue... but come sit down so we can have a chat and a brew! And hopefully we'll both learn something we never knew.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
Starting from today
I’m a free bird again
Paving a new way
Free from hurt and pain.
Spread my wings
Set to rise and fly
Clear of these feelings
All tears have run dry.
Aches are like taboos
Silent, unspeakable and painful
Scars are like tattoos
Exist, real yet beautiful.
Tomorrow is a new day
Start a new chapter
Until the hair turns gray
Let’s live life better.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 8:31 PM UTC
You're a flower-child,
spread on the bed with
flowers stuck to your little
head,
with Ginsberg & Whitman on
the shelf & feminine mystique
dripping from the
ceiling.
Moon-lady,
Venus,
tides rising & crushing
the shore,
while I snuggle
my flannel for warmth,
trying
not to be a bore.
Framed pictures as you
reminisce on when we
were younger &
untamed.
"We can still be untamed,
we've been framed
for uninsanity!"
But you call me a fool
& put your
porcelain head in my neck
& I feel foolish.
In the damp light of a cloudy day,
muscles aching, waves
crashing,
uncontrollable urges.
Stranded in the pregnant
belly of a ***** secret city
drawing
the red rose of secret union
& we are sheltered
in the ****** warmth of the
blankets,
cocooned like little monsters.
The calming ocean
& the calming whispers
& the tiny kisses
surround me, blot out my thoughts.
You sing me to
sleep & run little
fingers
through my knotted hair.
Your tiny dollar store
Buddhas belch incense
over
the backdrop of your perfume.
The wind chimes
twinkle & whimper on the
porch where the swingset
rocks in the rain.
"I wish you weren't
engaged but I don't mind
breaking a few taboos."
You laugh like a soft mad fairy
& look down
at your phone & I turn over
on my naked side.
You laugh a funeral
giggle & I know I should have
worshipped you sooner
at the pillow-altar.
Show me Heaven without
death &
the Garden of Earthly Delights
devoid of sin,
show me your sharpened fox
grin &
the way sunset ripples
at your breath,
I will show you sacrifice
& the hidden light
of our lives
in the damp of the night.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
procrastinating is my hobby,
ask
someone if you don't believe me ,
baby i lay around
as i please
&
work at my own leisure,
incredibly you fail
to understand i am me
and
i love more then like the way that i am- gorgeous courageous
coco golden skin,
painfully
i know you feel the threat of
my momentous appeal
keeps
you you & yeah you -- mystified.
guaranteed your days are filled
with shock and frustration,
haa haa hee
how very exciting to me seeing your not as experienced as I,
unlicensed to tame what i'd never give
freely,
repetitiously you've played the game,
failure must be a sweet pill sallowed whole huh?
adequately i compel my strengths -- my naivety makes
my appeal that more interesting,
call me uniquely imperfections
rarely made in to what many can never comprehend,
my life is my dialogue to my very own daily soap opera
la di da da-- it's more then my sultry walk
as i pass you on bye.
in this corrupted jungle
you have to win or be inhibited by
what others may call taboos,
whew weee your so serious,
chasing prey only to tease-- lingering doubts?
catch me-- i bet you can't.
innocently the line's been crossed
yet
speak not of what should be!
only-- this--
is what you'll know ; procrastinating is my hobby!
I Am The Lioness!
(some may be lost on what i wrote&say; but ok lol)
Always Me Ayeshah
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 8:38 PM UTC
Over existence of such a woman
With her faith had grown more not gone
Inside there's a life of overjoyed power
The power that will cry out loud up in a tower..
Fed by the world's grievance and despair
Trying to hook up with its little winged pair
How was life became such unfair?
Like a treetops falling right at the tip of her hair
She was once too in a womb before
Then she taste life's bitter fruits and more
Then she commit herself to a paradise in which they've made
A childhood reborn is the price she have to pay..
In the darkness of her inner desire
She created inside her womb a hundred folds fire
Never minding what are the rules and what are the taboos
She whisper her a song in her moments of blues..
There's a fragile crystal on her inner side
Building a melody so soft like a mellow tide
Against others will she remain so strong
Hiding her sadness in a blissfulness of her song
Then she lighten up a heart of stone by such a flickering fire
An anguish had lost and the madness of desire
And they follow her footsteps in a mystery of myth
That once a child is born it will wash her feet..
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 4:39 AM UTC
What is a **********
But a woman
Who partakes in joy with another
A person who provides acceptance and pleasure:
Both emotional and physical
Despite being called *****
What is a **********
But a woman
Who nurtures and loves another
A person who provides pain and pleasure
For those in need for a strong hand to the light
Despite being called "crazy *****
What is a pornstar?
But a woman
Who has the courage to bare her body to the world
A person who provides guidance and desire
To those exploring their sexualities
Despite being called ****
What is a *** worker?
But a woman
Who breaks society's taboos
A person who does what she loves
For those who love her for what she does
Despite being called "disgusting"
*****
****
"sloppy"
And so much more
What is a *** worker?
But a woman
Who is beautiful,
strong,
empowered,
and a truly liberated woman.
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 8:54 PM UTC
The night was comfortable,
branches lightly choreographed a dramatic reaction
to the conversation beneath…
spoken words breach the midnight hour by 2,
and words are in place of sleep.
They speak,
but still pretend to have something worth to keep
In silence now, no reaction.
Walls and thoughts collide
and they see the infraction.
In a quick succession of contact,
blood boils
intuition becomes submissive.
With the steam of these midnight hours
rises away
the taboos of love and loyalty,
as intoxication devours
any human decency.
Breathing softly now;
with eyes that berate the truth
hiding behind the midnight-hour lies,
they instigate innocent massage wars
desperately wanting
neither knowing
how they plunge underneath
these unbreakable ties.
Now speechless
they grasp one another
speaking devilishly with eyes
and even louder
with the toils of their hands.
Why do you run from surreptitious lies
and hide behind your eyes?
Say this is how you feel for one thing
then when it’s around
wear a disguise?
Helpless you act
toward desires that you conspire to
You lit the match
and now you must put out the fire.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
The Artist
is one who is not satisfied by the lies of society
nor have they ever been,
nor will they ever be.
The Artist
is one who reflects back the so carelessly discarded toxins of society
so has it always been,
so shall it always be.
The Artist
is not satisfied with what has been created, no matter the beauty
so must it be
for more beauty to be made.
The Artist
is not one for rules and regulations
nor is he one for Authority
unless that authority is the Creative.
The Artist
is the harbinger of God
not in that he is of a particular religion,
but in that he reflects the Divinity of reality
even if in his own twisted, satirical way.
The Artist
is one who is compelled to imagine;
who is compelled to challenge the norms
as well as the taboos
of their time
The Artist
is a Prophet
of the Godself.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
That Old Drug Checklist? Completed. No Shame. So get over it.
(It's rather colloquial, however, revealings as well. This is what I said to a boy from driver's ed who wanted to be my boyfriend... So I tried to scare him off. Hahaha. Rationale a la 15-year-old):
Maple: It's not exactly something I talk about, ever, because it just demonstrates my insanity. But, I want to try everything. Every substance, every drug.
Justin: Um, why?
Maple: Why not?
Justin: Well, cause it’s bad.
Maple: If you believe in good or bad, right or wrong. I don't know what I believe except that we're all robots of each other and nothing matters anyways.
Justin: Hmm, that’s a different way of thinking about it. I think that curiosity isn't bad, just be careful. . .
Maple: I don't know if I am, but, meh. Is there really any good reason to do anything?
Justin: Umm, no, not really. It’s what you feel, not what others feel. Well. . . just be careful.
Maple: Safety is a conspiracy.
Justin: Why do you say that?
Maple: Think about it. You can insure everything you own, walk on the right side of the road and follow strong Christian morals that give the illusion of safety, as if you’ll go to heaven if you’re good and hell if you’re bad. But, with one fire, one plane crash. . . well it's all gone. The entirety of you. And who even knows if there is that insured heaven anyways?
Justin: Hmm, you know I think that the way you think is very interesting and mostly true, I mean, nothing is ever completely safe. You can't always be careful, but I also think that you should use this and try to live life to its fullest.
Maple: Thank you. But what is living life to it's fullest? Everyone always says that, but what does it mean?
Justin: Well, like you, I know that what you’re doing is unhealthy, but your not afraid to try different things. You experience more then anyone else, cause most people play it safe in their comfort zone.
Maple: Exactly! Always judging but never trying. Society has made these things into taboos, but are they really? I know that getting addicted is a terrible idea, but everything in moderation. Why always sit on the sidelines making assumptions behind whispered hands and backs? Why not jump into the game?
Justin: Yep, that’s right. You can't sit there say that’s bad or you should do this if you haven't done it yourself. Because if you haven't, you don't know what it’s like and you’re being hypocritical.
. . .
Maple: Um. . . Says the boy who just told me not to do drugs “cause it’s bad.”
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
Down dark alleys
Which meanders deep in the midst of cities
One would find the best kind of people
Labelled as "outcasts".
It is down these dark alleys
Where the darkest thoughts are shared
Where the "taboos" of society can be found.
Secrets shared are kept
Promises said, never broken.
The best things are shared amongst all
So is the worst.
Bustling with activities
Down the alleys
Warm smiles exchanged
Along with heartfelt feelings.
Dark alleys without light
Are aflame with love
That one can never find
In the hustle and bustle of a hectic city life.
Though poor in terms of material possessions,
They're rich with all the necessities,
That are needed to live a real life.
(c.c)
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
“I have something for you to remember me by,” said Tim.
He held a little foam Hippo – the lone play animal supplied by the loonybin to patients in need.
It was brand new – just as every Hippo looked – and I wondered why he’d chosen something seemingly impersonal in comparison to his other, odd gifts.
However, what he did next made his hippo – my hippo – absolutely ideal. To people like Tim and I, that is.
For, to my astonishment, he casually took the toy in his hands, twisted, and ripped it cleanly in two.
He ripped off its head, which he gave to me, whilst he kept the body.
I will never get rid of that mutilated, foam hippo head. For he understood what no one else had ever come near.
In this way – perhaps – Tim and I became synonyms. Synonyms for what ignorant perceptions would later christen ****** or merely, crazy (the latter - coined by those who remain too depressingly colloquial to invent unfounded diagnoses).
These epithets, catalyzed post personifying such societal taboos as Tim or I committed, follow me still, and have yet to disperse.
A criticaster disaster, personified.
Yes; in this way – Tim and I became synonymously insane.
•
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 7:22 AM UTC
Allow me to be bold- brave prying eyes and bare all. Allow me to tamper with excommunication- to tempt ostracism- to tease trouble by talking of taboos... speaking of shushed subjects- oh, society's little secrets, the ones we're all willing to share. Allow me to expound on the lessons parents never wanted to teach- the lessons children are so eager to learn. The very act- the very word- that induces giggles, inspires poets, excites lovers, and makes or breaks "true bliss."
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns." -V.N
*** a word constructed of three of the twenty-six letters that make the English language go round. On their own, quite harmless, but collectively- a jaw-dropping, blush-inspiring, shush-provoking combination. *** the ultimate caricature of love and all that is romantic- oh, just look at this tangle of thorns. Tangled- because we have turned the beauty into a beast- taken "the two will become one"- and rationalized- two will always be two- Not you, me or me, you. No, nothing bad can come of this.
*** used to make lies beautiful and truth obscured. Sold in society- the promoter of skin- condemned in the church- discouraged as sin. All the while, teenagers are toppling around- neck deep in lust- desperate to be loved- fumbling- tumbling into the open arms of the ultimate outlet. *** a shallow solution to a deeper problem- a gift given, unwrapped, re-wrapped, and given again. Allow me to attempt to untangle these thorns- when does making love become wrong?
When it makes heroes into harlots and turns the righteous into romantics- when it complicates the uncomplicated? When it manipulates insincerity to seem sincere- liberates itself from simple mathematics, why, the more the merrier, and forgets three's a crowd? Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, allow me to be ridiculed- expose myself as a hypocrite and define: It is when *** is misconstrued as a mere act of "love" that it becomes a crime.
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 3:18 PM UTC
We live in a society that is reluctant to hold individuals accountable for their actions.
They did this to him because of his smile.
They did this to him because he was in the bar bathroom a long while.
They did this to him because of his clothing style.
The environment can create stimuli and stressors which trigger predispositions.
Predispositions of behavioral tendencies to make bad decisions.
They did this to her because they saw it on TV.
They did this to her because nothing comes for free...
or at least easy.
They did this to her because of how they were raised by mommie.
However, at the end of the day, you have ****** autonomy.
Physically responsible for your own actions,
you have damaged another human...
being.
You don't want to accept you could do something so heinous to another human's ****
or ******
Morally responsible to actively educate,
yourself.
How to live in a world with other humans whom differ from you.
People who you may not completely understand.
She said no, but things happened so fast.
Kept go-ing on, not for long he didn't last.
He might have been interested at the start of the night,
but wasn't trying to be perceived as putting up a fight,
resisting what his assailant created, his forever tragic night.
I'm not big on the concept of 'deviant behaviors' or 'social taboos.'
Certain things however, you should know what to do.
We violate others' rights, freedoms, privileges, happiness, mental stability, and personal well being.
And For What?
It doesn't matter if you're gay, like metal music, or get drunk, because
We can't blame the color gray.
not tomorrow nor today.
Don't sit, just stand, get up and say.
Advocate that **** is wrong every innocent second of each precious day.
more clearly defined, not merely social constructs within a particular society.
Long story short; **** is Wrong. Get and Give Consent. Be Safe as well.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
I live
in a world
where a man's tears
must be valiant warriors
dressed in full regalia
polished to such a finish as to be almost invisible
just to exist
where they must wage war
against taboos and stereotypes
cliched replays and replayed cliches
"real men don't cry"
"tears make you weak"
But they don't see the strength it takes
for me to let this go
and let the tears flow
d d
o o
w w
n n
my cheeks
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 2:46 PM UTC
tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap
Shhhhhhhhhhh
drop your pen and drink your inks
stop your words from polluting
the clean slate minds of the youth
let them memorize the ancient rules
This world can't read what you're writing
Arrange a funeral and bury your thinking
Make it quick and be silent
Don't let them know that you're different
You can write? Good for you.
Now go and hide, or else they'll come here too.
tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap
Shhhhhhhhhhh
How dare you write
against the tides
about your views
about the lies
about the news
and prostitutes
and ****** abuse?
This world is cruel,
don't overthrow
the rule of men
who can only write
tap-tap about women rights,
tap-tap and the social issues,
tap-tap and the silent taboos,
tap-tap and the rich and the poor,
tap-tap and about the schools
which are producing
brain-washed fools.
tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap
Shhhhhhhhhhh
Don't you know? They heard you too
Run for your life, they're chasing you
To erase your words
and silence your voice
To suffocate you
In your own mind
tap-tap, tap-tap
You're still standing here, asking me why?
Well, you're a threat
to what they possess
the power above all
the power to play god
to decide how we'll live
and where and why
and decide how we are going die.
You're still too young, you haven't seen
How they hide behind the walls
of their own fragile masculinity
and show their strength to scare you away
Ironic how it reflects their own image.
tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap
Shhhhhhhhhhh
Now here they are, calling you names
with ***** meanings that they have made
They're pulling you down,
dragging you around,
making sure you'll never make a sound.
tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap,tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
I know
I know
Oh, I know
How hard it is
to suffer all this
a punishment
of their own ****** sins
It makes me wonder
if they even will
punish the angels
on the last day
for writing
down
their *****
*****
mistakes.
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 6:44 AM UTC
The murmur of the sly hours seize
Panting the breath into violent grief,
Love that disdains
Leave anyone in despair.
True link thus detests,
All things in the world disdains
Other than dear ones loving heart.
Love must ever be known for sincere
That sincere love looks upon
Mutual striving towards each other
And the intensity of love looks upon
Being upfront in and out
With no taboos
In sweet surrender.
And the language of love looks upon
The cravings to meet each other in the eyes,
Desperately seeking to tell the love
And stare at each other until communicated
And love be spoken as they meet
And retreat in sweet dreams
Like shining stars.
Love is of the kind related to mind.
Falling in love is such a wonderful feeling;
It shines like a diamond
Inside of the mind.
When heart is broken, love is more cruel
Than diamond particles slowly gaped in
And times merriment forsaken.
If love is not timely sought,
Pain will never cease
And pangs of death imminent.
Love is not a gossamer in dew’d grass
But a magic web of encircled kindness.
Love is of the kind related to mind.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 11:37 PM UTC
I want to feel your lips pressed against mine
as you moan my name
while I surrender a smirk
after you fall to my neck
and form rose petals above my shoulders,
I want to hear you speak
when it’s late and no one’s awake
when it’s you and me
beneath the trees and the towers
as we look from below
captivated by the canvas above us,
I wish to stay by your side
when you tell me you must leave
for your job or your mother
and I wish to linger as well
when you plead for my company
as I ignore my family.
If it weren’t against tradition
I would plant flowers on you
every time I’d think of your lips
and if it weren’t for our religion
I would sleep beside you
in the most innocent of the phrase
and literal in the sense
to stay by your anatomy
as our souls fly to the sky,
I am reluctant to enunciate these words to you
in worry that you’ll see me
the same no longer
because I hide behind a veil
through my speech and my stance,
the swaying and rustling skirt
when I find myself dancing
steps away from you
as we stroll by the beach,
Now I know this may not concern me
but if I were to speak
and unzip my censored language,
I would tell you
that I crave you
and your mind and your body and your soul
and I want you, all
with your scars and your moles
and the crooked smile
which forms above your chin
as you paint your lips
against mine.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 6:36 AM UTC
Well it must be true it's on Facebook!
So much is said that isn't true
He did that and she flew the coup !
Like this, like that it's all the same
You wont cure cancer or heal a child's pain
Follow a cause or like a page
It's intellectual blackmail in a cyber age
So how did we get so wrapped up
Zuckerberg has sold us a pup
It's an imaginary world with no taboos
Who's with who and what they do
No truth of any, in most of it
It's a collective pile of bovine ****
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
Life: "There are days when we are open to beauty."
Some of them are not.
Life is a marvelous
Cat playing with
It's pray.
With us.
Praying.
For us?
Sometimes I love
To be taken
By it's sweet surprises.
Me thinks: "Taboos are there to remain intact!"
Tragically
Obedient
To the law
Of Attraction
We dance as infatuated
Dervishes dressed in trousers
Flowing forth. Toward each other's all pervading
Persistent exoplanets orbiting 'ur private passions: :
Knowing it' self, its potency
Penetrating our thoughts
Mighty male:
"Might
I
Satisfy You?"
I'm such
An obsolete
Amethyst, good for lucky charms and ready made domesticated potions.
Imploded desires rise and fall
Within the invisible canopy
Of our dreams and glances
Watch us!
They rise and fall
Magnetized
Elated Chalices
Rise and fall
Luminated
Fulfiled
Flawless
Unbreakable
Like legends
Love!!
Legends love to be loved
In silence
Of our hearts
Heard and ingrained
Deep within our souls.
In this modest mode I pretend to be
Bemused by little things tossing
And turning me around
Just to forget
your presence
And to remember
Your immortal spirit.
I yearn for you!
Surpressed passion is all I have;
And blue heaven arched upon
Spellbound portals. Sheer
Kan devour my hide in
Seek in the shade.
Moist
Of the first creative act
Blows the raven away
Along scented mahogany
At the modest shelter
Of our habitual insanity of
Sparks and stars
Bursting into
Flames. . .our
Suppressed desires. . .
Merging
~˘
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
Rebellion has many paths
to tempt unwitting youth
and none of them are new at all
to tell the sorry truth
Though every would-be anarchist
would wish it left unsaid
John Harrow makes the signposts
with a top-hat on his head
When picketing the fellowship
a friend of mine declared
"You have to know your enemy
"To have him running scared!"
dismantling the sacred text
he'd bought the day before
for every penny that he owned
from Harrow's Bible store
The scarlet headed lyricist
sent shockwaves through the nation
shattering taboos
and knocking lumps from the foundation
But Harrow wasn't shaken
by this fiercely blazing star -
he'd trained the stylist, named the songs
and sold him his guitar
A buzz is running through the streets
as people take them back
and occupy the land
in global pacifist attack
But wait - before you celebrate
the fall of governments
With factories in Vietnam
John Harrow makes the tents
Cos protest has its limits
the establishment agrees
we're free to go these tested routes
like window-bumping bees
You make your point, you go back home
another day will pass
and half-full or half-empty
Mr. Harrow is the glass
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 11:21 AM UTC
Every night from dusk until dawn
Fantasies of a promiscuous angel
Cradle my heart with great solace
Serenading me with salacious whispers
Originating from the world of the sexually elite
The delectable foundation of this woman's shape
Glided across the majestic incandescence of the moon
Her skin moon bathing in the marvelous afterglow
Her provocative body was like the tree of forbidden fruit
One could simply look but was never allowed touch
Deep inside I was desperately dying to taste
Of the nectarous heaven of her lustful treats
However I inhaled the aroma of her hypnotically ****** scent
For it was airborne and suckering me in with remarkable ease
Injecting me with an elixir of opulent passion and zealous elation
This charming woman gives me taboos of a cutting edge nature
Always leaving me upon my knees crawling back for more
Oh, foxy woman forever you may haunt my fantasies
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 4:43 AM UTC