"teleprompter" poems
I like immigrants, immigration. Legal immigration,
Jane passionately corrects. Actually my goal is a borderless world.
Gathering the neighborhood like family.
The men discuss sterilizing welfare mothers. I say You're working
around the edges,
humanity has exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet,
even those with jobs. And spouses. And houses.
Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass,
two baseball teams of children playing in it. Safe from Pakistan.
News photos of Muslim refugees, women in blue robes, biblically
carrying children away from holocaust. The fundamentalist army
not far behind, beheading sinners, sure in its righteousness
as the Holy Roman Empire.
Somehow Joel Osteen the evangelist comes up
while talking about how the Catholic Church is irrelevant in North
America,
even Latin America and Africa are going evangelical.
Izzi likes Osteen, awesome extemporaneous speaker, no teleprompter,
up from bootstraps message. My wife says he's probably Jewish.
Fortunately no one claims the Holocaust never happened or slavery
was voluntary.
What is the carrying capacity of the planet?
In China is it each couple or each adult that gets one offspring?
As life expectancy and standards rise,
family size diminishes. We draw together into greener, tighter cities.
The children of three monotheistic religions, atheists and agnostics
play in city streets, work farm fields, explore forests, deserts,
grasslands, space.
Two ancient female poets: Enheduanna and Sappho
are a revelation. The clarity of their complaints:
lost lover, lost city.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
PLEDGE TO NIGERIA
By: Adigun Temitope Idealism
From between heaven and earth stand a perilous place
Where poverty kicked us on face
Tears stand as our drinks
Where hunger eat up our meals
Our pain is a poisonous laughter
Where sadness becomes our daily activities
Where hardship becomes our ambition
And sorrow our career
Still, we need to pledge to Nigeria
Blood, bone and oil,
Are the pedestal of earth
Where killing is a lifestyle
And ****** a hobby
Where humiliation becomes our take home
And misfortune our store-house
Where graduate works by the road-side
Where poverty is titillating and titivating before the mirror of our land
Yet we need to pledge to Nigeria
Pledge to Nigeria
Even when the birds refuses to sing,
When moon dims its light,
When our days turn into nights
When sun fails to shine
And flowers refuse to bloom
When life fails to give reasons
When dreams refuse to forgive
When the weep inside birth the smile outside
When tears wash hope from our sight
Nigeria must still be pledge to
I pledge to Nigeria
Not to be one if the ambassadors that sing the National Anthem with a teleprompter smiling at them in a shameful tears
I pledge not to be a naked masquerade dancing at the village square
I pledge to steal government money for the poor when I become the President
I pledge to be loyal and not betrayal
I pledge to fight off vices and calamities with my pen
If democracy must to end
I pledge to go crazy to stop it to the end
If civilization was to make us stupid
I pledge to swim in stupidity not to be civilised
I pledge, I pledge
©2015 Adigun Temitope Idealism (Deacon)
#Muse #PurposefulPoetry #BPM #IIB #Asaplanet #ThoughtAndSociety #Poetfreak
blackpridemagazin.simplesite.com
@blackpridemag1
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 3:11 AM UTC
omnipresent sick to my ******* stomach
dressed in mosquitoes that are woolen
like the lining of my english ******* and
coated in a complex mixture of secreted proteins
i follow the screen of the teleprompter as it storms,
blue and brilliant behind a mess of optical wiring.
lip and teeth
theres bile at the base of my throat
threatening to bust with each greased second
as my brain becomes nauseated by the snow-drift
of sentences burning the back of my eyelids.
i've never believed the things i read
so now i'm mute but spitting, spiteful and unoriginal
visualizing their greyhound decapitations in high colour.
nearly implying transit to our friendship or something
that would only churn the stomach like rich food after famine
so yes, i am the cruelest female of august
shipwrecked on the front porch with the lamplight raining in my mind
and i'm asking the moon as it rises like a solemn word
why i'm sick all the time, sweating
from everywhere but my tear ducts and
waiting for several breeds of cold to attack my corpse
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
Change
On the horizon
Pockets are empty
Black meets blue
In hues of the pain of yesterday
Change
In hand
The vending machine's empty
Six miles out of reach, out of juice,
And out of gas
Change
The television channel
Vapid Anchors are empty
Teleprompter madness
In full make up and air conditioning
Change
Her mind
Her heart is empty
Abused by the fallacy in the word love
On the lips of liars
Change
Of venue
His smile is empty
He feels the souls too deeply
There is no one here to notice the smile isn't real
Change
A life
The Child's eyes are empty
The streets are kinder
Than the junkies who sold him for a fix
Change
The world
The people are empty
Media drones brainwashed
Into apathetic zombies
That is how to stop
Change
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
His hair is poofed, 8 out of ten
Teeth polished soft white
Back is naired, nails all clipped
Underwear still clean
He is bouncy and blathy
A brassy baritone rips across the set
Co-anchor all Xanaxed and blonded
Can’t feel her glowing red mouth
About to show their favourite clips
Starving umber skinned babies
Distended bellies, chopstick arms
Fly clouded eyes, light fading
Mothers with vacant grey faces
Collapsed buildings, bodies sprawled
Terrified animals dying
Video Head man turns to the camera
Mouths the teleprompter tales
Without meaning
Can’t feel his heartbeat
He’s thinking about his *********
Of 17 year old Crack babes locked in his suite
‘N Just as he starts to get jazzed up
The lights go down and he knows
He knows
He’s just a digital clown
FFFTTT…
The electrons are gone.
Songs of the Illustrated Zombies 2010
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 5:04 PM UTC
Jan. 22nd, 2013
The bird tweets, but not for you.
Like a teapot screaming with no one to remove it;
Your voice is like a teleprompter on a fuzzy station telling me the evening news
But it's not as if you are hallowing out my bones with every word
The rings of age on my trunk are colored red and blue when you were there
but now green with life and growth and care
and I can't figure out if I'm completely full of ****
or if I'm just over it.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
Why?
Why do people treat us as fools?
As, if we are a dummy in the room.
Who hadn't notice a pretty woman using her ways to get ahead?
Even, if they very talented.
Same with some of the men.
Oh, we see it in life's in many ways.
Still, they treat us like dummy instead.
Why?
We see in the sports world.
Where many ladies are gorgeous?
And like men reading a teleprompter.
Are they their for other reasons?
Then to be treated like a model trying to hook the male.
We notice the male charmer using his skills.
To flirt with the females to seal a deal.
But, we are treated like dummies instead.
In a way we can relate with them.
We just don't wants to be used like them.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 10:20 PM UTC
Hate not Trump.
Hate not his supporters.
Yes, many are great out coming bigots.
But pay attention to the image you see.
And this alone tells you everything.
They mainly older whites close to his age.
THIS ALONE TELL YOU VARIETY OF THINGS.
Many only feel secure around their kinds.
Around others they strictly insecure.
But know when to speak and when not too.
Some would support segregation in a heartbeat.
For many can't stand the accomplishment of other races.
They still living in the days of their youth and not in the present of a changing nation.
Hate not the clown who barely can speak?
Even when a teleprompter is before him.
And he has the nerve to attack President Obama.
Then a highly educated man scares him too.
So to others in society, this isn't new.
Hate not the man speaking like a fool.
We need some to laugh at every now and then.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 12:13 PM UTC
Take a look at all of you down there
So sure of yourselves
So full of the hustle-bustle of life itself
Never stopping to see what could be
Potentially the greatest things of your lives
Jutting through the stream like hot knives
No all simply let life pass them by
Not seeing all the things
Looking you in the eye
And will watch even when you lie asleep
For the final time
You all think you’re hot ****
All hit and no miss
No questions
All answers
Obsess with self worth
Convinced that you’re dust with a value
Just because a god you’re not even sure exists told you so
When the urge to **** is gone
What’s the difference between you and the dirt you walk on
You all rise and fall like the waves in the oceans
Like a glissando of smoker coughs
New ideas are thrown against the scoffs and scrutiny
Of those obstinate practitioners of organized ignorance
You are the only one who should impose sanction on your life
Not some pretty news anchor
Who nods at the teleprompter with total belief
You all chase after superficiality like a poor animal
At the snap of some fat fingers
Call yourselves Pavlov’s pet
You fattened the hand that feeds you yourselves
Have you met the total of life’s offer
Have you looked at yourself in the mirror
And not seen cheap narcissism winking back
Self-imposed limits are acceptable to live by
A moratorium of thought is not
You have free speech
Now learn free thought
Explain the intricacies of a fast food drive through
To the children of Darfur
Explain how you didn’t want to learn how to finish your schoolwork
To the little girl who can’t afford to buy pencils for hers
She will tell you with chagrin how she aspires to be a writer and a poet
But can’t afford the books to help her help herself
You express yourself by exerting as little effort
While she isn’t able to put in the effort to express herself
It’s the ultimate irony
Religion ceased to be the ****** of the masses
When it got it reached one-million views
You all can ask where do I get off
And I will only smile and tell you how I am just like you
I watch the same TV
Eat the same food
Wear the same clothes
The only difference is you can be different
And by simply choosing to do so or not is a step in the right direction
You are your own Atlas
Carry your own world
Anyone else is just liable to drop it
Nov 20, 2010
Nov 20, 2010 at 11:38 PM UTC
she will always begin with a pause,
her eyebrows will lift the wrinkles of her forehead,
exhale.
sharp stare.
she will always open with some battered phrase,
something to the effect of "we need to talk" or
"is something wrong?"
i slide a sigh.
roll my eyes
off to the
distant side.
she will always hope the drama of the event
will scare me into a newfound commitment,
it did the first few tries.
look to her play-tears.
read them like a teleprompter.
she will always use *** as the scapegoat,
condemning me for my high crimes,
my dwindling light of real integrity.
read her my
polished response.
she will cry for the remainder of her waking state,
we'll open our eyes only to find,
ourselves tangled in one another,
sweaty from the weighty night.
she won't be crying.
and we'll be in love again.
over and over and over
and over and over and
over and over and over
again.
May 13, 2010
May 13, 2010 at 12:58 AM UTC
When Donald Trump gets up to speak, you simply never know.
Will he seem sane or ludicrous? Just which way will he go?
Will he stick to the teleprompter, presidentially,
or rant his way to la-la land, lost in a fantasy?
Will he just share the facts and make his statement strong and clear,
or ramble, lie and shout and spread division, hate and fear?
When needed, he reads from the script, but looks like he's in pain.
He'd rather spout what's in his head, no matter how insane.
So when we all see ****** Trump, it's plain to see the fact,
that Presidential Trump is just an unconvincing act!
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 9:38 PM UTC
Tomorrow is you, you, you day, doomsday, Tuesday, too-soon day,
But for now, we have headlight heartthumps and stars in your eyes.
We have oceans of asphalt where we sail in shopping cart man o’ wars.
We have frizzy hair where moonlight hides and kisses on our magenta lips.
Tomorrow is for you, by you, with a special guest appearance by you.
Teleprompter notebook clutched in non-regional fingers
as your throat flies over the early morning traffic for the eight am report.
Tomorrow is to die for, lie for, try for, because you need it, seed it, want to be it.
We have place, we have lace, fingers traced over the skin between the lines.
Tomorrow is lentil spectacles, vision impaired, nightmares in mirrors that are closer than they appear.
We have scarves, secret sensuality, subconsciousness, sovereign sometimes and their armies of selfish senses.
Tomorrow is springtime revolution, noodle-nooses and ready, aim, fire reanimated dreams.
We have the means, the torn seams along the moments when we know what we want.
We have what seems to be the day, the day, the holiday, the you-day.
Tomorrow is every day.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
Is it just me?
Or some feel close to what I speak?
Why?
Do reporters concentrate on DJT twittering thumb?
When many of us know it not him but someone.
If, he can't read a teleprompter before him without pause.
Are, we suppose to be buying into this nonsense he's on twitter?
Patience, he doesn't have.
Which means one of the minions writing under his tagline.
Pay attention closely, how all the newsgroup report this stupidity that DJT writes this on the social site.
Really, people, this man isn't so bright.
We very aware DJT Jr. just as dumb too.
Maybe he should let the other siblings speak.
For when he does he create more headaches.
Then the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
But we aware that DJT isn't writing all the tweets.
Even if they can't spell.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
Politicians
are simply
socially sanctioned con-men
(and women)
with taxpayer salaries
and a teleprompter.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 7:52 AM UTC
I would rather a leader
who is willing to laugh in the face
of his enemies,
as they spread their ridiculous lies.
Than a teleprompter reading Eunech,
with empty space between his thighs.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
War is declared on the 8 o'clock news
By the dead-eyed ghost shoved in front of the teleprompter
The artists marched on the throne of God to vindicate their suffering
and called it alchemy when it turned to gold before their eyes
On wings of wax they kissed the sun risen high on the sky
and then ****** the night away
And they went and told it on the mountain,
They preached it into the sea
And held mass in abortion clinics and asylums,
And delivered brimstone sermons on the street corner where they sold opiates and muscle relaxers,
9 dollars 10 cents a pop
A Crusade on Wall Street!
And a Jihad on Main Street!
And the nihlists selling barbecued ribs on the side
Revolution! A maniac wielding a megaphone like a Molotov cocktail!
All of creation destroyed and recreated with almost historical accuracy
They called it justice atop the gallows and called it tragedy when it was in private
The writings on the asylum wall held comfort and good tidings, this time at least
And at least Hell lit a fire to keep away the cold
So the artists marched on
Awash in their Midas glow
************ into oblivion and forgetting to shower
Bringing God to his knees,
Crying for peace to the domed ceiling
With 50 dead spirits waiting in the wings
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
*She's focused on the sea
I think I'll call her Miriam this
morn , she's right sure of her
place along the shore
The ocean is a teleprompter , a
memory barometer , a gauge of the past ,
something that'll last
A living photo in a seized thought process ,
a pretty blue gown in a beauty contest
Best of luck to all the Miriam's on the beach
I pray thee peace and inner strength* ..
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 8:31 AM UTC
a whisper to the side
a tingle up my spine
a teleprompter in my head
that i forgot to mind
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 12:07 AM UTC
The Trump thank-me rallies continue
As Trump hops from state to state,
Expecting applause and adulation
From loyal fans who congregate.
Trying to sound presidential
Is a challenge for one ill-equipped
To speak without a teleprompter
And sound articulate when off script.
To Trump press conferences
Are useless, senseless rigmarole.
He is more comfortable
Tweeting and being an Internet troll.
But how he loves his thank-me rallies!
He can stand on the stage and address
All of his vague promises
Without questions from the press.
Cheering crowds of people show up,
Praising Trump's theatricality.
Funny, many supporters share
The man's alternate reality.
- by Bob B (12-14-16)
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
One day I wrote in my sonnet
Life is a very beautiful poetry
That lures curious minds like a magnate
and entices it to commit poetic adultery .
I reckon every man is a natural poet
So whether you live as a writer in the country
Or universally recognized as a laureate ,
Every man is the true embodiment of poetry .
Life , poetry and nature are so harmonious
Because they'll capture , stir and evoke emotions
It's like when hummingbirds gets curious
Their songs gives out inspirations .
Whenever life gets tough , poetry continues to flow
As sista Maya Angelou said '' write and be creative !''
Even in the dark your words can glow
Be stoic and see life from a poet's perspective. ''
Poetry measures life's angles like geometry
So call poetry the teleprompter to life
based on this I say therefore life is poetry
and poetry definitely lives in life !
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 2:50 PM UTC
he, the lone teleprompter,
it rings, the voice, still, silent
he calls, always, I answer
our minutes, then forbidden
by all, who grovel, hidden
alas- they won't take my love
serendipity, it drips
rose fingertips, and winter
it arrives, each time, too late
a ballad, perhaps essence
bittersweet recollections
who we were, your bruised children
who we are, long forgotten
intertwined, a shared thought
remember, how we forgot?
Dec 18, 2023
Dec 18, 2023 at 2:54 PM UTC
Took my pen, and pad
away, life's scripted, just read
the teleprompter...
Kelly McManus
Jun 5, 2019
Jun 5, 2019 at 12:41 PM UTC