"unauthorized" poems
The Revolution will not be pay-per-view,
Streamed online, or listed in the TV Guide,
The Revolution will be LIVE ON AIR
Rush seating No reservations First to come are first to serve
The Revolution will not be monetarily politicized,
the Revolution will be patronized
Next, On the World Today Network: Revolution This Way Comes
The Revolution will not be a mutually exclusive for
CBC, BBC, CNN, YouTube, Facebook, SnapChat, or Instagram
The Revolution is more than digital trolling,
It will be a Counter-Electronic-Magnetic-Pulse
Do you have your passport for the Revolution?
The Revolution is unauthorized
Written for and by all the people
The Revolution is radical, hands-on, and requires assembly
Batteries are not included and there is no manufacturer’s warantee,
The Revolution will be uncomfortable for those living in leisure
For it has been bred to cause the Elite displeasure
Revolution 99% Uploaded
Press [ENTER] key to initiate collective action
~
NM 10/17/15
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 3:17 PM UTC
Did you know that if you leave your car in your driveway,
With the keys in the ignition,
And someone sits down in the front seat like they own it, and drives away,
You are the one who is liable for theft?
They can drive that sucker to the coast.
They can burn the upholstery with their cigarettes. They can bring their friends into the back seat, and fill the compartments with their refuse, and **** and they can leave it ruined in front of your house, or crushed into the median on the highway, or left in disconnected pieces under an overpass.
It will be called, “unauthorized use of a vehicle.”
It will be called a “misdemeanor.”
But you left the car running.
Weren't you kind of asking for it to happen?
They said,
This,
(Gesturing to the skirt which fell to two inches
above my kneecap),
Is like that.
If I walk outside of my house in jeans and a t-shirt, or a long dress with thin straps,
Or with my chin tilted out,
Or with long eyelashes,
Or with full lips,
Or with my hips swaying when I walk,
It's like I left the car running.
It's like I invited them to force their bodies into the front seat.
In their minds, or with their hands, or with their lips to anyone who would listen to them.
Little girls in leotards become like unlocked car doors;
Where men can burn their cigarettes into their skin,
Or stick their fingers in
In plain view of their parents,
And told to let it happen,
Quietly.
It isn't theft,
It's “a medical examination.”
What did they expect?
It isn't a theft.
She was just as guilty of negligence.
It isn't really a felony.
It's not THAT BAD. (Stop being so dramatic.)
It's the unauthorized use of your body, for a time, or one night,
or every time you close your eyes for the rest of your life,
Sure-
But you left the car running.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
There are metallic, life-like statues of human figures scattered through my city, often on park benches. You must look twice the first time you spot them, and sometimes, each time, as they are so nat-ural, that they fool the retina image of man.
The traffic light,
red to green,
yet my limbs,
froze fruit solid,
release catch stuck,
unflippable,
somehow plastic freezes,
mobility skills rusted
by December's hampering
cheeky cheeks,
a seasonal reddish copper
discoloration of the extremities,
a harmony of no sensation
A comet stuck in
pedestrian neutral,
collided/jostled by
starry eyed
Fifth Avenue
street walkers and tourists.
my presence sensed,
touched, yet avoided,
unnoticed,
like streetlight,
lamppost, mailbox,
I am, a body,
at rest,
unseen
but on display
in the art gallery of
Manhattan's Lost and Found
In the section of the paper
where the
unimportant local news is
sliced n' diced
into single paragraphs,
of human interest,
tidbits, amuse bouche,
items of
major minor interest,
The New York Times
reported the discovery of an
unauthorized lifelike
bronze n' copper sculpture.
eyes of polished nickel,
heart of stained steel,
rendition of a man
so lifelike y'all do a
triple take, smile,
take a cell photo,
phone a friend
his embodiment can be found
on the rounded corner of
Columbus Circle, @59th St.,
where you enter Central Park.
upon a bench,
man clutching Sunday newspapers,
a pair of scissors,
coupons cut,
scattered at his feet.
a homely but comely,
****** expression,
one of bewilderment.
A tiny plaque on a brass plate,
at his feet,
hints of his progenitor and human origins.
Artist: Unknown,
Materials: Organic Metals
Title: A Living Finish
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
Same old drudgery,
Papers fresh for grading;
Topics, seldom new,
If honestly presented,
At least encourage worth
In form, in format, in tradition.
Plagiarism creeps up,
Always shocking,
The unauthorized changing
Of voice, of tone, of diction,
Not unlike the sting of a ruthless needle,
The drip of a hollowed, poisoned fang,
The bite of frost, burning a tender cheek...
Sadly familiar, this strident pang.
All hope is lost.
Anger sets in,
Trust wilts,
Hope fades gray.
In plagiarism, the fool's truth lies;
To belie one's honor is to watch it die.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 9:06 PM UTC
I envy you because you have both parents
But you mistreat them
I envy you because you were given a chance for education
But you bunk classes just to smoke drugs
I envy you because you have a roof over your head
But you choose to throw unauthorized parties
I envy you because you have something called a “room”
And yet you’ve turned it into a *** lounge
I envy you because you are fertile but you keep on taking abortions
I envy you because you have a high ***** count
But you mistreat your children
I envy you because you always have food on your plate
But then you complain on how it tastes bad and you throw it away
I envy you because you have a grand mother
Yet you say she lacks wisdom and is boring you with her endless fairytales
I envy you because you have clothes
Yet you complain and say you want ripped jeans and ripped t-shirts
I envy you because you still have your face and it isn’t ruined
But then you are busy destroying and covering it with makeup
I envy you because you’ve got a chance to celebrate Christmas
But you complain on how it always takes place at the same venue
I envy you because you do not know life
Yet you you walk around mocking people like you own the world
I envy you because you are not me
I WISH I HAD THE PRIVILEGES THAT YOU HAVE.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC
A leaf, a leaf, how queer to think
That trees discard their precious leaves.
While people fear their thinning hair,
A tree’s lifeblood glides through the air.
A child awaits the coming fall,
“The leaves, mommy, they’ve lost them all.
I’m bald and bare, these trees are me.”
In silent death, she grins with glee.
A leaf, a leaf, how queer to think
These trees release frond in a blink.
A mindless shelling to the wind,
The Trees of Winter, **** and trimmed.
That child finds herself a friend;
In naked bark, she can pretend
A tree can shelter her from rain
That showers down in forms of pain.
A leaf, a leaf, how queer to think
These children’s minds form paper links
Like leaves that twirl through steady breeze.
A little girl with brown eyes sees
A future where tree branches sway
In Barren Land, an air’s melee
With wooden fingers shaking hard.
A tree so scared to break in shards.
A child’s dream is soon realized
To be her life; unauthorized.
“These trees, mommy, they shake like me.
Why must strong leaves from these Trees leave?
Why does my hair fall from my head?
Did God make me so sick I shed?”
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
I stare at blank pages and laugh at our similarities
Emptiness
A blank slate could be something admired
But what is paper really worth without some sort of marking
Whether they be markings of seemingly irrelevance, marks give meaning
But empty is a cup filled with nothingness
My pages may be blank but they are not clean
Them
They each have left their marks just not with ink
My book is mine but they have added in their part
Marks, sure, I can hide at first glance
But glances become stares when the story is intriguing enough
In what appears disorganized damage, there is an order
First
She took my book in her hand without asking
Skimming through the pages of unauthorized territory
She leaves behind a crinkle on every page from her careless game
But I suppose the book is my responsibility
What might be worse, I handed the book to the next
Second
We wrote together the present and the future
Forever leaving an ambivalent past
I don’t know if she ripped pages out completely leaving a hole
A gap where promises once were
She may have simply removed the ink
Magic
A simple flick of the wrist and the words are faded
How can a page filled with hidden words hold more emptiness
I try to begin to write over these pseudo blank spaces
But my body is crippled from what I see as I stare, and I laugh
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
Festering cycle
no cure
no remorse
Enjoy the pain
the hateful shame
laughing
crying out
my bitter contemp
No compensation
No shelter
the burdens my own
The grief and disbelief
A magnificently unrealistic
Illustration of illusions
Manifesting and dwelling hallow in me like stones
A shameful weight
Holding me hogtied ****** dry & raw....
I have no words
no tears shed,
miserable awareness,
while darkness & blissful unconsciousness...
Please consumes me
as this unauthorized
swollen massive fleshy member
continues it's assault
in & out of me. .
Always Me Ayeshah ™ ®
K.A.C.L.N ©
All right reserved ®
Copyright 1977 - Present
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
A dog is outside just sitting there
food was left nearby
but dog just stands langidly
outside looking in
in it's hometown Kemah
the dog won't move nor bark
it's whining and whimpering
For too long a time the dog waited outside the red steel rddbba spare room building
where the master of the house
gets in a daily basis to write a love letter waiting for his first love to arrive to read them BBA/RDD.
naturally dog just sits there watching other women getting in there reading unauthorized his love letters
but dog dears not bark
fearing they might call the pond
the animal control to cage and
euthanize even
the winning dog outside looking in, understands something that
others inside there looking out
know too well to keep dog outside
looking in to die thinking victory
that it is too late to get inside the red building or to be taken in as a family member a pet to be loved protected
taken to the bet
for first aid to tend dogs old and new wounds given a collar a name
some bones toys and a bedding.
it's believed some people are
like big dane dogs arriving at the right time to a home not built for them and forcing their way in free to roam
begin to discover treasures never saught by it's original rightful intended ownner now outside looking in.
This battered smaller breed circus bagabund dog langidly looking in
forever waiting for the master
of the house to run out to pet feed protect the long awaited pet
the left behind
because it simply
seemed not to able to bark or to follow or beg for it all within time.
this circus dog whimpering
shivering cold
outside looking in
might just be the spirit soul
of the one who loves you
the most in this whole
wide world true love.
~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
03/18/2020.
Mar 15, 2020
Mar 15, 2020 at 1:14 PM UTC
I wonder if fire can burn so hot it turns white,
And your heart begins transmutation,
An involuntary, unauthorized transition,
From something familiar, to something alien,
And you are all together mystified.
*You rely too much on the kindness
Of those known to be unkind*.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 2:22 AM UTC
it's like how can I start fresh
if I can't erase
hating everything I seem to create
stray to think different
but my soul is caged
hidden under floorboards
are the ideas I make
but I feel calm and at home
in the darkness
feeling cold and lethargic
but creating art
with my fingertips
alone with the hopes and the gods
I illustrate pain
in slow and graceful strokes
tirelessly knitting an infinity scarf
cooped up in a small room
with my mouth sewn shut
I lyrically piece together scraps of
the thoughts inside my head
to write an unauthorized version
of me instead
working steady without pause
till the ink dries up
words spilling out truths
of my purest disgust
I am the artist whose painting
to begin with was fake
I am the unrooted vine that grew
despite its wilted fate
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
no unauthorized
****** cinnamon, that is
all the **** we need
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 11:49 PM UTC
*There’s a famous town that does not exist
It’s in new York state in the Catskills.
It is name Agloe.
It’s a paper town.
Put on the map in an insignificant place.
To protect the mapmakers in 1925
from copyright infringement
By unauthorized reproduction of the map.
I followed a map once all the way to
a place that did not exist.
I travelled slowly to it
Mile by mile.
I loved the thought of living there.
I even fell in love with it.
But it turned out to be a paper heart.
Filling a space where the real heart
Should be it had no feelings or love
It was paper just to look like a heart
to outsiders like me.
So after all the tiring journey
to find it.
I found out It never existed.
Just like Agloe
On the old paper map.
But Agloe never
broke anyone’s real heart.*
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
I sit in a burgundy leather chair at work
Hoping that I don't get fired.
But I tried downloading an unauthorized program onto my computer
And a pop-up with the word ********
Flashed across the screen when I went to check the baseball scores.
Maybe I will forsake this whole ******** life
And run off into a hermitage
Heaping ashes on myself, prostrated before a cheap wax statue.
But on some level what I'm really doing
Is avoiding responsibility.
I'm dreading the drive home, to be honest
Because I know you will greet me with that fiery anger
That paradoxically gives me an ********
But also breaks my heart.
Maybe I can just walk in the door
***** preemptively sealed in a yellowed Mason jar,
And say,
"Just stay right where you are, Steve."
"We don't want any trouble..."
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 4:54 PM UTC
The Information Superhighway - Please Use Alternate Route
You have read your allotted quota of
Free articles this month to read more please
Subscribe or sign in you the supplied the wrong
How to supply this site the server is asking
For your user name and password warning
Your user name and password will be sent
Using basic authentication on a connection
That isn’t secure unauthorized this server
Could not verify that you are authorized
To access the document requested
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 3:34 PM UTC
UBB UBB 1! Cp 50 g 1-3 UKBTBB
the hormonal gene (75) 104, uncultured (UBB tone)
Glycine max. 17 17 17 at 5:00 pm UBB UBB bacteria
and the bacteria is similar to the human development
of Oregon Omega. The animals that belong
to the marrow of mice find out.
Textile manufacturing is everything.
This is because the police are able to team up favors
H20 H2A, HHH, cause and effect. Up to three lines.
In this case, however, the amino acids is to treat
drugs for example Alzheimer's disease, planning
and others in the United States. Bb.a. / UBB
human contact with the disease. UBB UBB PDB
1aaargh! Ping PDB PDB RCSB PDB format that
UBB, el-50-S, B Parental Holo getting out of dross
(75) 104 17 High Card UBB Books Nimh Keratin
card. 17 17 cornpowder (UBB) to man to man,
human genes and human physics 16,380,798 Bipy
pl. Yellow 16,382,745 BP (200) 633 PBB Klerken
Ignatius Josephus Klerken ... PNG;
Education day symposium on the oral bacteria /
AIDS, protocol / protocol, protocol P0CG47
NM_001281717 NM_001281718 NM_001281717
NM_001281718 Example. Uruguayan researchers
are one of the strongest proteins.
Sometimes pesticides defines a common
server and the server common server.
Bubibu bacteria and virus has been
detected with the virus and bacteria.
Okin produced HMAA (H2A)
in the HMAH (NHH). However,
it also participates in the process
of Ubuntu. In order unauthorized
application of three or more numbers,
is three-dimensional. The plan is complete
and the final virus, hydrogen cyanide
protein from plastic foil. Another Healthy
patients of TB patients are also associated
with the UBB + 1 protein associated with
Alzheimer's disease. Examples of the disease and poliions.
The disease is hegemony
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 7:20 PM UTC
Earth is sleep in sound tonight
Yet in the eyes of stars well up oceans of sadness
The streets are filled with undenying yern to live
The smells of blood courses the air
In the young and old
Not a silent completion
Not a singal comfort in a drink nor a shot of ****** to behave lively
Only death awaits in alleys
Darkness falls in dead end roads
The earth is sound in sleep tonight
It tells stories of humen nature changing and exchanging gifts for the weak
No child lay still in thier beds
No mothers arms are full but empty with weary heartbreaks
Fathers cry in rage of self pitty and drive to another rage to prison bars
No glory here In the sound of night
No hope nor will to dream but to **** the sun
And all that is left are the stars that shed little light
Still not giving up on these children who cry in the night.
© Copyright 2013 S.T. PARISH Rebel of Eden
Unauthorized copying is prohibited.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
And if smoking is suicide //in bite sized bits, I'm suicidal//
Loving is heartbreak in little pieces// light as paper or heavy like boulders, so I'm broken hearted//
Alcohol is consequences, a lack of judgment and mistakes in liquid form//
so I'm thoughtless//
pill are mixes of melding ideas//
in calculated formulas//
so I'm synthetic//
and I ask, what off it?//
causes hell is hell//
and life is life//
and I'm used to using//
used to abusing// so I believe// I am above this//
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
He appears in the mirror behind me
and lifts my hair as I brush my teeth.
Kisses the back of my neck
with a lingering brush of lips.
I close my eyes tightly as I can,
try not to flinch away from this
unauthorized intimacy.
And I don’t know when we reached
this place where intimacy must be
Authorized,
stamped with approval,
but here we are and my mind is
screaming at the violation.
My arms tense, eager to
push away, resist, escape.
I rinse my mouth and hastily
slide right out under his arm
before he pilfers a goodnight kiss.
Everything is the same,
every press of skin or lips or words
but nothing feels soft and tender
as before.
We are entirely too close,
breathing the same stale air of the apartment.
I suddenly need the cold air and the
familiar smoke in my lungs
so I dart out the balcony doors.
I inhale shakily and see all the
dark windows of my neighbors.
How can they sleep with the restlessness
and the stifling air that I am sure permeates
the entire city, hell, maybe
the entire country.
I don’t know, but I do know that I
need a ******* cigarette, so I
light one and set it between my lips.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
Long before I noticed you, you selected me,
and there you set in motion a star-crossed destiny.
I miss so much the playful rhythm of our countless conversations,
and the spark I felt each time we’d jinx a phrase, sans hesitations.
I miss the sweetness of your voice, once ever-present in my mind,
and now the recollection of that reassuring rapture I cannot find.
* I see you; still, I see you:
I see you sitting on the outskirts of my thoughts throughout the night,
and your expression is unwavering: please give up this fight.
Solitary moments bring me so much fear,
as I know if I thought long enough, I would bring you near.
Wrapping your everything around me as my gestalt,
and rebuilding us piece by piece with not one fault.
I realize, in peril, I could wish you back into my arms,
for I secretaried all your nuances, your soul, your charms.
What joy to spiral down and acquiesce to my obsession,
and spin my life around a faux-world of a secret, strange transgression.
Our dialogue would resume with near perfection,
and would cultivate within me that lost affection.
Boxed-up artifacts and memories would produce intoxication,
but once unleashed would in time transmute to devastation.
My neurons and synapses were shaped by every expression of your love,
and it’s now impossible to undo a decade’s etchings and rise above.
* Even as the months have s-kate-d by so quickly,
I now realize that during our first innocent adventure together,
Emily was prophesying to me:
“I love you all, everything –I can’t look at everything hard enough.”
In her death, she became aware… and now so am I.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 10:14 PM UTC
There is a self-assurance when driving alone in a car,
A broken leather bag tossed in the passenger seat, sunset at his back,
Sweat pooling under his shirt at the valley below his chest;
Earbuds pressed as far as they’ll go in
Blocking out violent winds as he goes over a perfectly photographed bridge
Fog rolling in over waves and through the painted orange beams of streetlights
He is living in someone else’s fantasy:
dressed to the nines,
the eights,
the sevens
Counting down shirt buttons to the way his belt sits a little too loose around his hips,
Black undershirt and unauthorized jeans smelling like stale convenience-store coffee
And strange sanitized emotions that unkempt grocery stores bring to mind--
He is beaming and
Expressing the love he has for this moment in the purest way he knows how.
He doesn’t believe that it is a singularity, an expression of a single thing
A tangle of words that knot into something unnervingly detached from
What he knows how to wrap someone else in with trained fingers
Under the guise of practice
Love is something he has found is undefined
He is not sure he believes in a staying love.
It comes and goes as it pleases in the moment,
It is the word he leaves reserved for the way yellow makes him feel;
How he felt when he saw green as green as green could be through rose-tinted glasses;
The steam rising from named coffee mugs, light streaming through windows;
It is the word he felt when he fell asleep entangled in someone else’s arms and legs
Socks kicked off at the ankles,
And in the sudden realization that he wanted soup;
In seeing painted purple pauses in thought scattered across his chest and shoulders;
In moth wings and bee stings, in smiles and kissing curiosity
It is an emotion he can’t take ownership of
Rather, it is something that dunks him into a washing machine and
Cleans him of the exhaustion that sinks into the minds of men who don’t cry
Honey-colored bubbles rising from bent fingers and wide eyes
Like jellyfish that don’t know any better than to pop when they reach the surface
Of water below a perfectly photographed bridge.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 2:45 PM UTC
To approve or
to punish one
for warranted
or unauthorized
actions
Another double
meaning verb
contrived to confuse
or give meaning
so conversely I
have SANCTIONED
this poem...
right or wrong?
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 5:21 AM UTC
And when one sins a little and falls into sin: He gurgles chocolates down his throat with unauthorized methods, giving one-person cakes the ultimate honor of such sublime and sublime passions as being in love! To become one: Flour, water, eggs with an immortal yet metaphorically changing dough body, mouth-watering, bohemian distillates, can be created for rebirth! - One can and feels conceived, the subtle, superstitious details do not yet form - only at the cost of hard work -
the whole and thus the re-created Universe is sanctified: A bite of only tastes, smells, and thoughts - a redeeming noble task: To rename people into unity, a common wavelength, if possible!
In the rumen of abundance in the furnace, on the wedding bed of flame-caves, the flame gave birth to millions: diligent yeasts again, they could recreate even man-made dough. How many uplifting and special miracles does it hold, and how many more can the waiting, the well-deserved fruit of our patience, unfold?
And how the dough shape fills and swells: it resembles the condition of blessed mothers, while its waistline increases in a curved curvature, and it is exciting, as if only the Sun was caressing. You see, there will be plenty of good, and the dated universe will be carefully highlighted, with due maternal tact; be careful not to crack your existing cartilage,
and they are dressed in a heavenly garment of sifting powdered sugar, which is falling like snow, and it sweetens as many tiny ***** of true pearls as the sieve sifts! "We're still waiting with a scurrying worried stomach." In the attic of our mouth, in the meantime, the charm and the fried bride were served directly to our table!
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 12:41 AM UTC