"thwarted" poems
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
Alone into Rainy, twist a Dai clove, pattering rain, wind lingering foot Yuhuan, lengthy dark gray rain curtain hung plaintive, oblique rain splashes dusty track marks, those rainy season, those day's dependent, those nostalgic every night in this late spring rain, scraping completed my cold lonely, rain turned into a long and narrow alley Resentment, thwarted flows into atria, cool diffuse through the apex. Do not turn around in your mind of the day, I count, chatter thoughts of you, and for your Ai resentment, Acacia entanglement, filled Chu pain, no know what to say, but unfortunately does not help, once the owner of the rain falling, once clouds drifting sea oath, I never touched your warmth, sigh Lane is a rain: Wife - Why shallow edge. (yiwu export)
Came alone intersection, waving a monotonous right hand, held in our left vague shadow, the breakdown of the raindrops bounce dust, Red rain, your shadows, swaying like a willow in the rain erratic, like a hard rain exhibition wings flutter Ling heavy, like rain, pedestrians hurry hurry ...... once Pengguo footprints Bingqing appearance of your hands, had led a faint in the rain blessings Juyi Peng broken tile rain dream, comfort our goodbyes, we pay homage to the past. Acacia is the way the dust, whisk Yang is confusion of resentment, lost pain.
This year's rainy season to refresh my mind, I view Acacia dream dreams, the pain, resentment cut into the rain, stuck into the soil; tears into the hands of deep stone, sank; to have a bunch of rendering painful injury worry text buried in the memory, so that resentment heart of the sea to swim, let the pain out of the bone marrow, dusty track once marks, wound treatment desolate, firmly stand in Kuwata, enterprises no longer envy sea water. (yiwu export agent)
Let love and hate, love and hatred, grace and resentment, thinking and pain in the rainy season falling, drifting in the rainy season. I left alone a pool of water, the flow of soulful call. (Yiwu buying agent)
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:03 AM UTC
I started on the rooftop
The empty sky above was all I had
And all I needed
It was pure
Like a blank page
Waiting for a story to be written
But at the first sight of clouds
I fled to the top floor
There were fun and simple things on the top floor
Like Pokémon games
I got red, white, and blue
The monsters seemed so banal and repetitive
But nobody else would acknowledge it
Sending me into a dragon's rage
I tried using flamethrower on Charmander
Ending in futility as I ran out of burn heals
I looked out the window in frustration
Rain was falling outside
Inside
Patriotism was buffeted by the hail
So I devolved into a lower level
Going further down this building
For ***** and giggles
I found more ****
Less giggles
On a floor with a TV displaying the news
I was eager to learn about the world
Only to learn everybody hates each other
And nobody talks
Or cares
And the smartest person in the room
Is the one I agree with the most
Unable to view the tokens in my mind
As anything less than treasure
And those who try to persuade me otherwise
Are thieves
My spite steals tranquility
Like the persistent storm outside
My solution is shelter in lower levels
My experimentation on communication
With the general population
Had rained on my playful parade
But I felt very comfortable on a floor with friends
Until they saw through my charade
Discovering my emotions in disarray
As the people who made me love this building
Made me curse it's walls the more I loved them
I searched for the peaceful embrace of solitude
Once the storm outside transformed into a typhoon
I found that solitude
In a tiny bare room
With a syringe and spoon
I was unaware
That room was an elevator
That lowered me down the concrete void
As the hurricane outside rattled me violently inside my box
Trapped and lacking all agency
I resigned myself to wherever the elevator chose to take me
After the elevator finished pulling me into the basement
The tsunami seemed to cease
But I was buried under debris
I had to burrow out of my tomb
The dig was tedious and *****
My perseverance was heroic
But triumph was thwarted
When I reached the surface
To discover only wreckage remained
And when I looked up
I saw the building I inhabited
It's damaged facade
Made it clear
I would never visit those floors I missed on the elevator
Above my building
Hangs an empty sky
It's purity is a lie
The page was never blank
Just constantly written on and erased
To lure innocent readers into a tome
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and loneliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees, those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough falls to where the electric line banishes, connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 9:02 AM UTC
474
They put Us far apart—
As separate as Sea
And Her unsown Peninsula—
We signified “These see”—
They took away our Eyes—
They thwarted Us with Guns—
“I see Thee” each responded straight
Through Telegraphic Signs—
With Dungeons—They devised—
But through their thickest skill—
And their opaquest Adamant—
Our Souls saw—just as well—
They summoned Us to die—
With sweet alacrity
We stood upon our stapled feet—
Condemned—but just—to see—
Permission to recant—
Permission to forget—
We turned our backs upon the Sun
For perjury of that—
Not Either—noticed Death—
Of Paradise—aware—
Each other’s Face—was all the Disc
Each other’s setting—saw—
5.5k
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation . Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and lonliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees,those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough delving where the electric line banishes,connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
Deeds not words!
They cried in their protest
Marching on Parliament
Intent on their quest
To the corrupt politicians
Who recorded their struggle
But denied them the vote
And left them to juggle
Their lives that equaled
Less than their brothers
Where they had no rights
Not even as mothers
As wives they were thwarted
Their wages their spouses
They worked long hard hours
And still kept their houses
Tea on the table
Washing hung out
The children looked after
To their husbands - devout
They stood up for their choices
The injustice they faced
Were imprisoned & tortured
And fired in disgrace
Children were taken
Away from their mothers
Who were labelled as mad
Their opinions were smothered
Yet still they continued
To rally & fight
Secure in the knowledge
That they deserved rights
That equaled the men
That ruled their world
So they took up arms
And fists were curled
When one was killed
That brave young girl
Who in front of a horse
Her body she hurled
Votes for Women
Her banner announced
So simple & honest
The message pronounced
To hundreds of people
Who just stood & stared
As her breath left her body
The women prepared
To fight their fight
Be true to their cause
Take down the men
And change the laws
So thank you to those
Brave women of old
Who did what they did
Without being told
We now have the right
As women, to fight
Without risk to our freedom
And stand up for our rights!!
(C) Pixievic 2016
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 5:35 AM UTC
Deep beneath the earth a companion flows as liquid into his soul, filling every curve, slip and crack.
86 fathoms below, a man is filled and unchained from his solitude
creating a place for the mind to swim in one infinite breath.
Swimming to the surface
Thunder roars, lightning strikes: releasing him from beneath. He climbs out.
There she stands in front, electrified. From head to toe, she inflames him, illuminating the night sky.
The man approaches, thwarted by his ambition and
left into stasis, as he watches her.
Frozen, her eyes lock onto his.
Enduring, he learns her true feeling.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 9:13 PM UTC
When two people, so different in taste, look at each other from across the dance floor, a secret sparks out of their eyes like electric rays of romantic notation. Words have yet to be exchanged, but the slow steps towards one another make time slow to an unearthly crawl. Those dancing are nothing more than hues of grey, for the two ash-stricken lovers cannot see more than those they are attracted to. Hearts pound to a rhythm that can no longer be found within the upbeats of the swaying samba. As she longs to be in his arms, he stops only inches in front, his breath caught in his throat. The increasing amount of love being released from just his simplistic gaze makes her want to run as far as she can. With him of course, though it is not a realistic approach to the turmoil surrounding their troublesome secret. A secret that increases as he gently slides his fingers against her cheek, resting the palm of his hand on the back of her neck. Feeling the contrasting temperatures of the cool evening and her racing heartbeat, her head begins to get foggy with the vision of love that is shortly about to engulf her every fiber. The kiss, so gentle and sweet, brings back the times of innocence that was not thwarted by the interruption of time and changed lives. If only they could run away…
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
Memories, memories,
Demons destined to remind!
Memories, memories,
Extricate them from my mind!
Alas! They echo toward me
As ripples in the brain.
Evoked by love and roses
They prickle me insane.
Oh, I remember…
*The hour summons a restless, withered afternoon
During which I succumbed to ravenous decay.
I desperately chased feelings like an unhinged loon,
Swifting through my pond in fear, panic, and dismay.*
Impeccable beauty
& fanciful expectation:
I was thwarted by both.
Each summoned its own
Distinct, rolling shadow.
Oh I remember…
*I was washed forth by whistling tides of tomorrow,
Clinging to a heart I could not own or borrow.
My feelings, whisked in transit, dizzied by the fray,
Yearned for second chances to conquer yesterday.*
Gelid gloom would
Permeate my heart,
Tearing me apart.
Haunted by a feeling
I could not possess,
I drowned in
Darkness.
Oh I remember...
*Loneliness was chronic; slowly it tapped time;
My life become a poem lacking voice and rhyme.
As silent afternoons would coalesce into years,
My dreams burst into smoke & hope thawed into tears.*
Memories, memories,
Are nothing more than that.
Memories, memories,
**** **** ****
I do not wish to remember,
But dare not to forget
Moments that once plagued me:
Moments I regret.
*No matter how strong be my will,
These memories will haunt me still.*
Oh how I wish not to remember...
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
This sherry trifle with clotted cream,
that tray of sugar cookies there.
My best laid plans to lose some weight
are thwarted by this time of year.
I shouldn’t go for my arteries’ sake
to Holiday parties with frosted cakes
As it is, I can inhale
chocolates quicker that I can Kale.
Each holiday brings treats and beers
and another roll of fat appears.
Perhaps before I’m too far gone
I ought to switch to Ramadan.
While not convinced about the rest
Self abnegation should be stressed.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 5:36 PM UTC
Elevate the sound
Slowly and surely
you have to listen
smell, taste and touch
the music
Alcohol? Yes.
Drugs? Yes.
What kinds? All kinds.
60 people in a room w/ worn out walls
an unwanted male is followed by hecklers
the matriarchs have had enough
and bull him to the door
He doesn't want to leave
the party is just beginning
The clowns follow him
like wild hyenas
He fights like a lion
targets the clan of the matriarch
the young and weak
is it correct to aim the violence on the weak
because the strong is of the opposite gender?
Is it right to abuse the rule
Woman: the untouchable
People being to watch
w/ their dying spectators eyes
in another section a large male confronts the house owner
They begin their violent dance of limbs
Swarming bodies collide
violent outburst
chaotic music to accompany
I scream a devils scream
fighting everywhere
Another matriarch
she jumps on the crowd
using a whiskey bottle for a club
dancing on top of the twirling bodies of energy
A pit-bull barks aggressively
people start to jump out windows
everybody is way too high
The fighting stops
with the arrival of cops
nobody listens
their vision of authority thwarted
nobody is arrested
narcotics present
amphetamine fuel
We burned a cross in a large fire half an hour earlier
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
66% is the Devil Point...
I have 6 courses abandoned at 66%..
The greatest power Devil has is not temptation,
It is boredom and procrastination
It is the mid-point sway...
It is the collapse of the pre-frontal cortex,
when we reach half-way through our goal,
when we are too far from our starting point,
and too far from our ending point,
We don't know why we began,
We don't know where we will end.
So the Devil point kicks in at 66% completion,
And makes us procrastinate, makes us feel "meh"
Brave thru it, ye fellow warrior,
Just do the tiniest bit needed in a day,
Just tie your shoes laces and half the race is won
Make a cup of tea.. and the article is written
Clear some clog in the room, and the painting is done..
So, to bump over that comfortable resting point...
that lethargic 66% mid-way stop,
pamper yourself with something momentarily
and just do ONE small thing every day
'Cause I promise you this, when you have inched to 80%
you will be fuelled again with images of victory
all doubt and disbelief and lethargy will be thwarted
You will forget pain and other creature comforts
You will cruise through the finish line..
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 5:48 AM UTC
I really wish this wasn't my most read poem, it was a ****** experiment of mine that doesn't have much behind it. Oh, well...
I,
Not
Too
Pleasant
Every
Sky
Feels
Joyous
In the
Near future, watching
Them
Play
Everyone
See, it's time to
Feel happy and
Just right.
Inside where I stay
Neither happy nor
Thwarted by their accusations of
Perdition.
Everyone else
Smiles but him.
Forget it,
Just forget him.
Interminable are the
Nights
That
Pain brings.
Eternal are the
Scowls
For dark ones like you.
Just forget it, let's play.
Et Cetera.
Interminable.
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 7:52 AM UTC
Fate, the absolute tyrant -
Brings me to my desk,
And I sit down to vent
This infernal night,
As prose or verse,
Or utter hogwash -
My wasted emotions -
Which some termed rhapsodic.
I promised myself not to cry -
As the day would dawn,
And I'd wheel down the aisle.
Making myself fall prey -
To another trade
Of cash and silver and solid gold,
A car and bungalow and so much more
- Of which in detail, I wasn't told.
Though I was called a beauty
Who could leave people dazed,
With two curvy dimples,
That lit my pretty face.
People never touched me
And would look at me with shame
Tell me I looked fragile
Once they knew I was lame.
I grew within four walls -
Comfy cushions and space
And it wasn't my legs, feeble
That restricted my pace.
It was love from parents
Siblings' scorn and care
That kept me from the wisely world
To go outdoors, I never dared.
I grew up crawling on my limbs
And seeing people walk
I never wished for them to stop -
Only prayed that they wouldn't talk!
For it was not their legs, I longed for
I reveled for what I was!
I only hoped they applied thought
Before pitying, how crippled I am!
I grew up watching the world go by
Each day and night would fly
Fantasizing with what I had been blessed -
My free and 'abled' mind!
I dream of a world - filled with trust
And friends who would 'walk' with me
Who would talk to me for who I was
And not offer sympathy!
I wished for love,
And found mine, divine
In a fairy tale -
Ironic indeed!
I sang love songs,
Wrote mushy poems
Painted wild dreams -
All to him, which would eventually lead.
You must have known this little boy -
Though a flaw, he did make history.
"Pinocchio", he was fondly called
And was known as a puppet with zeal!
It was not his quest for love that struck
Nor his zest to live
For it was his gait with wooden legs,
In which I could identify me!
But my dreams were thwarted
When to a man, I was entrusted -
(Or rather, on me thrusted)
One - with no love, but legs instead.
Along with blessings
For him to take along
Ample gifts were bestowed -
To keep us betrothed!
And now I await
To be proclaimed his wife
In the presence of a world
Which always kept me deprived.
It will be dawn
And I will soon be gone -
Yet I will yearn
For my Pinocchio to return!
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 10:21 AM UTC
You like my bird-sung gardens: wings and flowers;
Calm landscapes for emotion; star-lit lawns;
And Youth against the sun-rise ... ‘Not profound;
‘But such a haunting music in the sound:
‘Do it once more; it helps us to forget’.
Last night I dreamt an old recurring scene—
Some complex out of childhood; *** of course!)
I can’t remember how the trouble starts;
And then I’m running blindly in the sun
Down the old orchard, and there’s something cruel
Chasing me; someone roused to a grim pursuit
Of clumsy anger ... Crash! I’m through the fence
And thrusting wildly down the wood that’s dense
With woven green of safety; paths that wind
Moss-grown from glade to glade; and far behind,
One thwarted yell; then silence. I’ve escaped.
That’s where it used to stop. Last night I went
Onward until the trees were dark and huge,
And I was lost, cut off from all return
By swamps and birdless jungles. I’d no chance
Of getting home for tea. I woke with shivers,
And thought of crocodiles in crawling rivers.
Some day I’ll build (more ruggedly than Doughty)
A dark tremendous song you’ll never hear.
My beard will be a snow-storm, drifting whiter
On bowed, prophetic shoulders, year by year.
And some will say, ‘His work has grown so dreary.’
Others, ‘He used to be a charming writer’.
And you, my friend, will query—
‘Why can’t you cut it short, you pompous blighter?’
2.4k
Yes, I was in Thailand prison for many several months for visa overstay
Then deported, my plans were thwarted to teach school to help dek dek (Thai word for children)
What the hell heck?
Why the penalty? I'm not the enemy!
The weird thing I saw was the nicest guys were in prison camp too, what bad did they do?
All the inmates were good to each other; an odd array of global brothers
It was fun to play bamboo broom guitar like I was the jail house rock star
"Play some more rock-n-roll for us!" they would shout.
Felt young, no mirror to see my wild un-flattered looks
Wrote my best songs on empty pages in old tattered books
The Thai warden was nice to me, gave me coconut cookies for free
(He had no front teeth!)
I made each man jump and work out... Kids age 16 to amputee
All cheered for my creativity...
The day I was released, they all rushed to cry to say our farewells and goodbyes
I had more fun in Thailand prison then now that I am back in USA, funny huh?
Camaraderie is a true commodity!
God bless Thai children who told me they loved me, while USA kids throw rocks at me!
True story
D. Clare
I love Bangkok #1
Am Dop Nueng!
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
When he was a youth of fifteen or twenty,
He chased a wild horse, he caught him and rode him,
He shot the white-browed mountain tiger,
He defied the yellow-bristled Horseman of Ye.
Fighting single- handed for a thousand miles,
With his naked dagger he could hold a multitude.
...Granted that the troops of China were as swift as heaven's thunder
And that Tartar soldiers perished in pitfalls fanged with iron,
General Wei Qing's victory was only a thing of chance.
And General Li Guang's thwarted effort was his fate, not his fault.
Since this man's retirement he is looking old and worn:
Experience of the world has hastened his white hairs.
Though once his quick dart never missed the right eye of a bird,
Now knotted veins and tendons make his left arm like an osier.
He is sometimes at the road-side selling melons from his garden,
He is sometimes planting willows round his hermitage.
His lonely lane is shut away by a dense grove,
His vacant window looks upon the far cold mountains
But, if he prayed, the waters would come gushing for his men
And never would he wanton his cause away with wine.
...War-clouds are spreading, under the Helan Range;
Back and forth, day and night, go feathered messages;
In the three River Provinces, the governors call young men --
And five imperial edicts have summoned the old general.
So he dusts his iron coat and shines it like snow-
Waves his dagger from its jade hilt in a dance of starry steel.
He is ready with his strong northern bow to smite the Tartar chieftain --
That never a foreign war-dress may affront the Emperor.
...There once was an aged Prefect, forgotten and far away,
Who still could manage triumph with a single stroke.
2.3k
I decided I'm goin in.
Yall dun' slipped up and left me with a pen.
It seems lately I been under-drinkin'
Over-sober over-contemplating what's been really happening.
I'm usually a lot more subtle.
I give the benefit of the doubt like I'm a Catholic priest absolving niggas' sins.
Confusing my honesty for reckless abandon-in
To your chagrin, just hecause you're unable to comprehend.
You don't move through this world in the shoes I'm in.
I bet no ones ever called you a sub-human.
Did that election make YOU question all your caucasian friends? Their motives, their thoughts, biases,
Lookin for Microaggressions?
Now those relationships are withered at the ends and it depends on larger hearts and open minds to try and mend and re-begin?
Because someone you love insulted ALL your kin.
Supporting someone who blatantly hates them.
Tunnel vision.Could only see what they wanted Sanctity of life only applies to babies aborted
Christians were thwarted!
How someone with a thumbs up from the Ku Klux have anything to do with what the Lord did?!
Granted, the deed is done and hey the truth is out!
They were wolves in sheep's clothes till the Pres. Came out
in broad daylight
He basically made it awright
to grossly generalize a race AND do so in plain sight
Now ALL the racist crazy folk are poppin at the mouth.
On social media like the 50's in the segregated south,
Spewing hate behind a screename sittin' on they mama's couch
'cept we millenials are rowdy and we'll roll up at yo house.
How's it 2017 and we still schoolin' folk?
Gotta tell you Black lives matter cause you actin like we dont.
In retrospect, it was for the best cause now we ALL woke!
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 1:57 AM UTC
Clicking heels announced her presence
in the deepening gloom
where they hid
crouched like cats awaiting their prey.
She stared through the charcoal air
where
they lay
as she clipped closer
to their hungry eyes and teeth.
But when within reach
she spied their glowing glances
and thwarted their advances
with a simple singular phrase
one they would recall for all their days,
“You are already ******
Though this would be armor for few
what the predators strangely knew
was that Wendy Howling
gave no thought to their groping greed
for she lived by a higher creed.
And in the end,
when they mounted her motionless flesh
and grunted grotesquely in the doomed dark
Wendy Howling felt no pain
and she knew struggling would be in vain
for her words were true—
their sorrowful souls dug their way through her
to a hell from which they could not be saved
and her tears were not for her wounded womb
but for their eternal doom
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 6:05 PM UTC
He took his lass to the local flicks
By heck he was so very eager
But when his hand slipped down her back
She said, “I smell Swarfega.”
Not so easily discouraged
He went and scrubbed his hands
But when he got back to try again
She’d gone, and thwarted his plans.
They didn't have mobiles in those days
Further contact there couldn’t have been
So he went to the pub and stood with his mates
And bragged about the heaven he’d seen.
The tales those young men told…
©Joe Wilson – Bragging rights, 1950’s style…2014
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
I serve you not, if you I follow,
Shadow-like, o'er hill and hollow,
And bend my fancy to your leading,
All too nimble for my treading.
When the pilgrimage is done,
And we've the landscape overrun,
I am bitter, vacant, thwarted,
And your heart is unsupported.
Vainly valiant, you have missed
The manhood that should yours resist,
Its complement; but if I could
In severe or cordial mood
Lead you rightly to my altar,
Where the wisest muses falter,
And worship that world-warning spark
Which dazzles me in midnight dark,
Equalizing small and large,
While the soul it doth surcharge,
That the poor is wealthy grown,
And the hermit never alone,
The traveller and the road seem one
With the errand to be done;—
That were a man's and lover's part,
That were Freedom's whitest chart.
2k
One day my mind, which is chaotic tried to recollect the past
Yes, I need to do this....
After a breakup my mind is really worried
And now it has crash landed into the world of words .
How? why I'm like this?
May be this is the reality ;
It is like a splatter film, appalling and dreadful .
How did you turned my world upside down ?
Even a single word of "love " could have defined me
But now not just the whole poem.
The whole world thwarted my efforts
Break up with cruel “homo-sapiens” is like a big crambo !
You were ready to make agreements
Put your ***** "cool" signature
On the sheets made with my blood
What happened with all that love letters ?
Now all that has ended up like a scrounging note
A promise that you had never accomplished!
It is too late my dear.....
Even the prayer "sustainable " will never save you.
Now accept the reality ,
From Rio to Paris nothing has changed
But I have changed a lot.....
I have lost almost everything.
I will not protect you anymore
You will repay for all the atrocities
This is not just the curse of your ex,
This is the grudge of being unfortunate
Only because I was in love with you.
Are you still longing for more ?
April twenty second will always be cherished
The day that has been put aside by you for me, isn't it ?
Oops, again I forgot...
The day created in my name for you,
To fill your annual report sheets .
My dear it's time to pay for your sins
Before that I bid you goodbye.
©malavikavipin
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 5:39 AM UTC
A life lived in black and white. No time for middle of the road. Lines drawn straight and narrow. Passion, only with rules. Love, only as stated. A heart filled with admiration, adoration, and caring. Nothing missing from the list of "supposed to". All boxes checked off. I's dotted and T's crossed. Perfect on paper, perfect to onlookers, perfect in bed. Never a thought of something missing. All boxes checked. Not able to settle into a life. Unable to blur the lines. Must be good, always good. Mistakes happen, but not on purpose. Not by choice.
Always the good one
Right is the only option
Mistakes...still happen
Before we fully become, life is full of confusion. Who we are and what we do are enmeshed within our surroundings, our perspective, our emotion, and our lives. Pulled together, yet fighting every step of the way. Beyond our understanding of purpose or passion. Afraid of everything we are as yet unable to understand. Trying to get through to the next phase without falling too hard.
Peers skew vision
Rules confine the innocent
Love hides unnoticed
Grown into a life of checks and balances. A nice life, a good life. Loved by many, yet alone. Always alone. Able to love, willing to love, believing love is what is being lived. Unseen circumstances. Friendships remembered. Longing, pulling toward one another. More than passion could ever be. More than who we thought we were. The need to be right, to do the right thing, is stomped unrecognizable by emotion. The past melts into the future. Is a life unfulfilled, yet loving, enough to maintain, or is love supposed to be so full of passion that it takes you outside the box?
The thought of a life
A love left unrealized
A world in a cage
A chance to live in happiness. Fires burn in body and mind. No sorrow, no regret. Pushed by one into another. Two hearts alone run to each other. Holding fast to all that is real. Yet casualties will line the road forever tainting all that could be good. Checks and balances. Pros and cons. Does one give up happiness to maintain the perfect facade, the perfect family, the "perfect" life? There is no perfect. There is only what is. The possibility of happiness could be short lived. Hearts broken and bridges burned. Broken families, broken lives. Happiness could be tangible. Happiness could be real. Pros and cons. What price shall be paid. When should love lose and happiness not be a goal? Choices, pain, there is no fairness. There is no black and white, there are no boxes in which to fit.
Straight and narrow life
Checklists, I's dotted, T's crossed
Thwarted by passion
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 10:51 PM UTC