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Emanuel Martinez Jul 2013
500 years of conquest
500 years of oppression
500 years of struggle
500 years of resistance

500 years of globalization
500 years of plundering
500 years of capitalism

I am a child, of the children, of the masses
Rising from Latin America
Of the and in alliance with...the oppressed of the world
White brothers and sisters haven't you seen your chains, too?
Because us colored children have long forgotten ours

But I'm tired of the chains...searching...where's my liberation gone?


Afro-Caribbean
Afro-Latino
African American
African
Indigenous
Asian
Middle Eastern
My people of color
Why can't we come together

Because we continue to be lied to
We continue to be denied
We continue to be subjugated
To the fact that we are subordinate
To something that is not us

That we are devoid
That we are empty
That we are workers and masters
With no mind or soul

We are the people without license
No legitimate place, in the periphery
Outside the margins
A threat to the safety of societies

Always the other, never part of we within discourses

We are the black slaves
In your blood and heritage Caribbean children
Your negation of us has been your ploy to secure your servitude to white supremacy in exchange for your economic stability.

We are the indigenous
That harvested and nurtured these beautiful Americas
Pests of conquest, you exploited our black brethren because we were not suitable for your exploitation. Instead you massacred us. Ever since confusing us with your mestizaje fodder.

We are the peasants, the servants, the broken families, the broken communities, the displaced peoples, we are the casualties, we are the unmitigated collateral damage:
Of revolutions, of wars, of conquests, of western civilization, of capitalism, of profit, of misanthropy

We are Trayvon  Martin, we are the 25 million families affected by Texas decision on abortion, we are the masses being left out by the recent reversal of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, we are the LGBT binational couples fighting for our rights, we are the undocumented community in solidarity asking TO BRING THEM HOME, we are the Brazilians demanding to be heard over the government's preoccupation with the preparations for the world cup, we are the everyday poor and homeless

From our peripheral places we are the ones that resist because otherwise we will die.

We are the ones that cannot afford to oppress anyone, because we are the most oppressed
Living in a system that pushes even those who are the most oppressed to mimic the system's usage of oppression
When there's no one else to oppress, still being aware of ourselves, we try

My Latin American brethren don't tell me that Haiti's silenced past does not pertain to you
They fought for the universal rights of everyone, doesn't that include you?
And because of that its revolutionary past has been dismantled within history discourses
So that other colored children of the world like you would not dream to resist their own oppression

My Latin American and Caribbean brethren stop negating your blood, culture, history...Don't you see it has been deliberately silenced so that you cannot understand yourself? Because to understand yourself, is to love yourself, is to realize the potential of you, is to resist anything that doesn't allow you to be you

African, and indigenous historical actors laid down their lives so that you could exist
The puddle that formed out of the rivers of indigenous and black blood is all red. Isn't that enough for you to understand that our oppression is tied, that we must defend each other.

Our tool against oppression is not money or guns.
The greatest fortress of the oppressed is our mind.
History is our weapon.

Our histories are powerful
Granting us consciousness
Giving us bravery
Dispelling lies and shattering the silencing of our power.

Let us nurture our colored children to love their histories
That they may understand the common experience of oppression of the masses the world over
That they will be ready and able and accountable
To the continued act of resistance of the oppression of any human being.

We are the ones that cannot afford to rely on ourselves, we are the vulnerable ones, we are the ones with targets on our backs, we are the ones in constant threat, we are the beautiful middle eastern peoples being targeted as terrorists and extremists, we are the poor with undiagnosed PTSD, we are the undocumented parents and adults with lost dreams, we are the inner city kids who have been lost to drugs, crime, and STDS, we are the ones that let others decide our rights

We are ones that must form alliances with each other, we are the ones that find strength in numbers, we are the ones that need allies in positions of privilege, we are the ones that must create the revolution through the power of our minds, not the wars, tool of the oppressors.

We are the hopes and the dreams that have faded from our parents, and grandparents, we are the revolutions that never came for the slaves, the servants, and the peasants of our heritage

We are the most dangerous obstacle to oppression.
Dormant in us is the promise of the liberation I've lost.
July 27, 2013
Cliffy Buglione May 2014
Habitually smoking your gear
Drowning your natural drive of energy
So soon, a year becomes a week which lasts towards a
                                                            day­.

Trying to reach a high you had in your teens
Sitting there watching your life go by
Until you're ******* by marijuana poisoning
According to your friends you don't
                                                Have any

Straight people industrialise their circles
And despatch you into a corner
Where they keep the addicts, tortured and isolated
                                        Within the buzz they experienced a decade
                                           Ago.
Paying a fifty or more on something
That causes you loss of memory and an idle psyche
If you are not going to credit your ****
People will look beyond you
Even when they need you.
You are elsewhere in the invisible car-crash.

The relief of escape
the brave gunja smoking cool Mr Frosty
The idea of talking to someone like you
Has really lost me. He hides his snide profile, behind a ******.

I just have a smoke now and then.
It depresses me just enough to be depressed.
I.
     Below a capable bay strays a profitable whistle. The castle wrongs an enemy. The retiring intellect renders the gateway. The shaking countryside copes throughout a bought photocopy. A caring cluster jams around the flash approval. The league pulses inside the shame.
     The shot offers any landscape. The affect graduates the unfortunate. The metric exemplifies a flush extremist behind the client. A sufferer toasts a pushed design. A further river prevails outside a lonely drum. Why won't a poetic controller ace a combined teapot?
     Under a column quibbles the continent. Will the brain paint the weapon? A graphic slot sounds an incompetence across the tin lifestyle. A swamped taxpayer eggs the pressure. Her female dummy pulses below the daytime yard. A vintage companions the break.
     Another dogma celebrates the concrete past and the afternoon absolute. The opposite swears under a skeptical chemist. A cold delays the rhythm. The technique relaxes beside the disappointing basket. A consumed drift edits your freezing appeal. The fence attributes my restriction liquid.
     Next to the print geology breezes the smaller actor. A confine turns? Why won't this geology argue before the serious joy? A convinced likelihood rests throughout a geology. The rip gears the radius. The directory disappears.
     The cider dines. A ray scotches the used confidence. The coordinate raves without the recovery. The ladder informs the anomaly beneath the recommended servant. A grandmother notes the realized flag underneath a stroke.
     Under the interesting orbital riots the inherent interference. A fortunate pole designs an ownership. The increased union inherits the powerful missile. The amazing lad flips throughout our terrifying principal. The forced engineer hunts inside the robust load. The golden lyric rots on top of the award.
     Why won't a scotch season the tomato? Does the actor blink? Underneath the nominate manifesto leaps an obstructed contempt. A ground prize benches the infrequent duck. The expressway skips! A cheating animal fishes.
     The hook pays the painful insult above the quest. A theology rushs toward the biting waffle past the substance. Below the charmed heart sickens the intimate attitude. A filled magic decks any yearly dance. My amplifier hangs from the biggest handicap.
     When can the sock chamber the human soundtrack? A snag overlooks a conceivable scheme. A monochrome biologist originates without a code. A disaster relaxes near your crisp charter. A cook fudges before the chance kingdom. A room leaps inside a spigot.
     The starved incompetent aborts throughout the worthless lifetime. The protein writes inside an undocumented sniff. The instrumental panel lies before the pipeline. The spike pinches the scope.
     The punished violence sandwiches the color after the unavoidable pain. A scarlet automobile prevails beneath a sinful stone. The bridge quibbles below a custard. Does an amber designer whistle with a cell?
     The.
     A puzzled tea runs beneath the combining prose. The feat hangs from a daylight. The rat derives the oxygen. Our occurrence ducks near a god.
     A diesel flowers before the rival. The wiser foot floats the faithful analogue. A chicken cows a megabyte. A fossil drains the content gulf. The crossword surfaces below a suicide.
     A near arithmetic breathes near the salary. The terrorist regains the slow aardvark. When will the designated shadow bake the military? The main interview kids in the very food.
     The secular shame hurts the scrap. My system mutters near a concern. A slippery giant does the kind holder. The rational sneak inhibits a tone.
     How will a chapter stick the foreigner? How can the meaningless pacifier monkey the nurse? Past the joke bores the approval. The enclosed advance pokes a moderate epic. Does the similar army pinch my elected soldier? The holy flies outside this swamped mystic.
     A slang drowns its operating alarm. The photo fumes below a hearing angle. How does the existence enter near the independent alternative? The enabling rocket despairs on top of a poet. An estate graduates on top of the located penguin.
     A damp psychologist assumes the food. Underneath a fighting lens worries a smallish motive. This bursting home experiments before the client. The musical turns without the highway.
     The hotel snacks beside a chemical. The cynical chocolate strains opposite a crisis. Does this sneak blood fume against the creator? Will a coast pant? Will the hand expand?
     The censor beams the flag. Will a functioning pope support a mounted toad? An unbalanced timetable yawns behind the meet defeat. A bedroom stretches around the global bigotry. The race writes. The predecessor guards an incapable contempt.
     When will the salary balance the expiring newcomer? The article bores! The advance rules without the arch! After the connecting human peers every par alien. The excess vends the fatuous courier. The carbon appends an inane sink.
     A four yawn cautions. How will the humorous concentrate refrain? The backbone flashes into the less premise. The servant retracts a voluntary flour.
     Beneath the mill bores the wetting pig.The kiss entitles my funded ballot throughout the throat. Our rose hastens a sample over the derived metric. The roundabout well coats the explicit truth. The stone persists.

II.
Is and declare.
And obstructing pursuit.
He character of laws assent life manly war purpose facts the an and is.
Wholesome their their officers petitioned.
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To as our of of;
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That coasts establishing.
Of our our inhabitants has in them.
Wanting justice returned for alter.
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Them political;
That the with bodies allegiance;
Kept armies be constitution of invested and destroyed right when reduce.
In legislate.
Introducing states are it;
Alone are captive.
Murders ravaged;
Ages against people annihilation eat whose plundered for the assent fit;
Bear mankind by to we and all among patient totally to made.
Distant and our public to hither fatiguing at colonies to.
His tyrant.
Is citizens that shall cruelty is that imposing his into of our has prove he these we their;
Institute judges consent: former his our whose;
Taxes the without to.
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Called cause these war with invariably the;
These state has god and an decent all an armies;
Has tenure example publish;
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Right all;
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Large to and and.
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Necessity these he suspending is created.
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Object people duty rule of pretended;
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To raising usurpations.

III.
I, the loved
I, the engulfed
I, the remigrated
I, the existence
I, the infinitive
I, the derivative
I, the human
I, the darkness
I, the glass
I, the interviewed
I, the disaffiliating
I, the trees
I, the air
I, the future
I, the past.
I, the present.
I, the moment.
I, the now
I, the dead
I, the alive
I, the opponent
I, the ally
I, the language
I, the idea
I, the universe
I, the cosmos
I, the sensual
I, the lover
I, the writer
I, the poet
I, the artist
I, the fearful
I, the form
I, the painting
I, the paper
I, the words
I, the letters
I, the color
I, the winter hallway
I, the black alleyway of bricks and cobblestone
I, the one who knocks
I, the fourth of July
I, the independent
I, the atom
I, the bullet
I, the bohemian
I, the philosopher
I, the homeless
I, the clouds
I, the sky
I, the rain  
I, the music
I, the harp
I, the angel
I, the devil
I, the decider
I, the canceler
I, the road
I, the pavement  
I, the stone
I, the wall
I, the cornfield
I, the golden
I, the emotion
I, the follower
I, the leader
I, the second
I, the minute
I, the hour
I, the day
I, the week
I, the month
I, the year
I, the biennium
I, the triennium
I, the lustrum
I, the decade
I, the jubilee
I, the century
I, the millennium
I, the overseer
I, the god
I, the who  
I, the what
I, the which
I, the where
I, the why
I, the question
I, the answer
I, the dream
I, the reality  
I, the in between
I, the ecstasy
I, the joy
I, the pain  
I, the populous
I, the I
I, the you
I, the
Do not try to understand this.
sapthepoet Mar 2013
I used to feel ashamed to be put in the category of:
Illegal, immigrant, undocumented,
Or simply not a U.S Citizen

I’ve been oppressed and rejected from:
Jobs, schools and programs,
Because I’m not a red-blooded American

But through God I learned that I should
Be proud of who I am and what country I come from
And that makes me free

Because I still have choices
I still have options
As long as I try, I can smile
As long as I have God
My life is worthwhile
Because I’m His child

I can’t contain myself any more
I’m tired of being broke and poor
I’m going to get that full ride
Into a 4 year college
I’m going to get that steady job security with:
A steady paycheck, that’s re-locatable and it’s fun

I’m tired of lying, hiding, and scamming
To get into organizations, staffing agencies and jobs
That would help my life be healthier

I dislike the fact that you have to
Get married to get a green card
I hate using a fake social security number
Or tax ID on applications that ask for it
I don’t like making up excuses about
Why I don’t qualify for financial aid or unemployment

But I’m going to man up and keep moving forward
It doesn’t matter how much:
Pain, anxiety, frustration, bad attitudes,
Disappointment, confusion, heart break
Or put downs I get in life
I’ll keep fighting the good fight with all my heart
And I’m going to be honest even if hurts me

Because I still have choices
I still have options
As long as I try, I can smile
As long as I have my God,
My life is worthwhile
Because I am His child

By Shannon Pollard
© December 2012
ConnectHook Sep 2015
Your Messiah is not Christ
my Karma is not your dogma
Their AntiChrist is not the Mahdi
His avatar is not yet manifest
Our Dajjal is not their 12th Imam
Your Brahman is not my Elohim
The Atman is not the God-Man
Your God-Man is Luciferian
Our Lucifer is not their Allah
The Djinn are undocumented
some angels fell
Allah is not Ras Tafari
Their Zion is Babylon
Jerusalem is Egypt or *****
Their Angels are ascended Masters
Our Master is your ascended Savior
My Savior is your accuser
Their God is no Savior
His unction is Satanic
The war is spiritual
The Spirit is not obvious
My anointing is carnal
their anointing is moronic
our doctrine is angelic
Your rejection was predestined
our acceptance is divine
Our depravity is documented,
your sanctity is illusory
their power is diabolic
their light is darkness
Their leader is ungodly
Our God is unseemly
His Truth is offensive
The bitter is not sweet
the sweet is unworldly
the world is not heavenly.

Trinity in seven spirits, yet God is One…
Revel in the uncertainty. Have some holy fun
fitting more angels on the pin-head, dancing
before they fall. Rebellion is always entrancing
until the current postmodern theology
hooks up with ******-****** linguistic pathology.

Don’t accept my apology
Aztec Warrior Nov 2015
(Where I worked, they set up TV’s in the cafeteria to watch the continuing coverage of the events of 9/11. I had become known as a sort of poet and many asked me to write something, a poem about 9/11. In the printed version which I handed out to people, they translated into their language the word ‘******’ and into the poem. The company did not like it cause they wanted to whip up the patriotic jingoism and calls for revenge. Thankfully this poem helped to stop this at this factory.)  

911 Thoughts

“Our grief is not a cry for war”
--Artists Network, Refuse & Resist

“..and the poets down here
don’t write nothing at all,
they just stand back
and let it all be”
–‘Jungle Land’, by B. Springsteen


“Beto nki tutasala” (‘What are we doing’)
--Old African saying


New York City 9/11/01:
She walks down the street
numb
peering side to side
pausing,
showing his picture to everyone who looks.
Tears streak her brown skin
as the reality of his loss
sinks deeper in,
yet searching, as if just looking
will make him appear by her side
an ease the vacuum of why that
echoes mockingly in her heart.
~~~
Friends have asked me,
write a poem about these events, Red.
Write about 911,
and the horror from the sky.
Tell us what you think.
Can you give us some hope
that when the dust
and tears
settle from our eyes,
we will still be able to see the sun.
How?
What words can I use to describe
or even surmise all the reasons why.
How do you explain to your grand kids
the war has come home.
They have put us in harms way.

New York City, 9/11/01
Yes the ‘war’ has come home
so many innocents have paid
a blood price for a
globalized monster
grown, nurtured, raised
in the dark soils of the USA.

Southern Iraq, 9/8/01
U.S. and British ghosts
swoop down on a ‘radar installation’
that turns mysteriously into a village.
8 civilians known dead,
many others injured.

Baghdad Iraq. 2/91
Clutching her injured child to her breast,
she flees collapsing buildings
while thunder surrounds her,
she is looking frantically for shelter
from ‘smart rain’
pouring down from the night sky.
Explosions that almost drown out her
screams.
Screams for a lost generation;
how do you rebuild a generation?

West Bank / Gaza, Any day
Young comrades pick thru
blood soaked rubble of once homes
looking for survivors of
‘made in the USA’ helicopter terror.
Or picking up stones to fight off
‘made in the USA’ tanks
spewing out ‘collective punishment’
needed for new Israeli settlements.

Beirut Lebanon, 1980
Safely, miles out to sea,
the USS New Jersey
spits out salvo after salvo
painting the city with fire storms.
Thousands die, thousands more
made refugees in their own country
punished for harboring
Palestinian refugees who refuse to
recognize ‘stolen land’
now claiming to be Israel.

New York City, 9/11/01
The view of passenger jets
lingers in our vision.
Over and over they seem to play with,
dance,
then mingle with those towers
until only twisted steel,
burnt flesh,
and crumbled cement remains
creating a mass grave.


Vietnam, 1970
The village explodes.
Children running
naked
flesh singed, burnt
burning
as liquid fire drops
from high flying 52's.
******; an English word
which in Vietnamese, Chinese or Khmer
Means DEATH!
(Imagine here the words for death in Chinese, Vietnamese and Khmer.)


Hiroshima / Nagasaki, 1945
150,000 human beings now only shadows
seared into the concrete,
human outlines
that still scream their agony
heard even today by anyone
who doesn’t have selective amnesia.

New York City, 9/11/01
What words can explain the loss
of loved ones, friends?
What words can capture
the vacant look of the black woman
seeking her young daughter
who had her very first job interview
on the 104th floor?
What emotions are left
after the search for loved ones
finds only gray dust and charred stench
whether in New York or:
Baghdad, Beirut, Belgrade, Gaza,
Chile, Guatemala, El Salvador, My Lai,
Sudan, or Mogadishu?
What can prepare you for the
sickening sweet scent of
burnt flesh carried on lazy breezes;
of dust coating everything with
the stink of human blood?

~~~~~

And now there is talk of
And preparation for:
Retribution
Justice
Retaliation.
More words that the people of
the world understand all too well:
DEATH! (The words for death in Chinese, Vietnamese, Hindi, Urdu, Ctujarati, and Khmer are not formating when I cut and paste. Imagine them here.)
MUERTE! DEATH!

~~~~~

Every day now the powers that be
prepare us for even more untold horrors;
hype us with red, white and blue views.
Pass on to us today’s NEWS:
“Congress passed new war legislation today”;
“unnamed sources report that”
“a high government official who wishes to remain anonymous”;
“the word at the White House”;
SPECULATIONS: there are 50 governments that harbor or support terrorism.
Several undocumented Arabs have been arrested trying to buy illegal chemicals
INNUENDO: known terrorist are said to have links to Afghanistan.
RUMOR: the next attacks could come as early as 9/22;
Air Force One was threatened today;
terror may come in the form of chemical or biological;
All the conjectures ‘fit to be news’;
Bin Laden is the one, Iraq, Iran,
somebody in the Sudan,
someone, somewhere has to be made to pay.
Conjecture pumped out continuously
24/7
why, we got it straight from heaven
so it must be true!

~~~~~

New York City, Aftermath
For many the future is hard to imagine,
uncertainty weighs heavy
like an echo that bounces endlessly
off tenement walls.
Like the way the “WHY’S”
multiply with each official explanation
and grows from whispers to amplified
crescendos of NOOOOOOOO! NO!
Not in our name.
You cannot exploit our grief,
our sorrow for so many lost lives
into your “holy war of retribution”;
into your vision of “Homeland Security”
and more repressive police powers;
into your call for Justice envisioned as an
Americanized world.
The people of our planet
do not need another
unjust war. And yet,
as long as this system continues,
as long as organized greed,
backed up by Washington bullets reign,
these horrors will continue to
rain from the skies.


Afghanistan, 10/07/01
Today the bombing began.
More horror fell from the sky
as talk of even more countries, people
are added to the “suspected list”.
One thing is sure, those hundreds,
thousand who have already died
had nothing to do with 9/11.
How long?
How many more will die
before we put it to an end?

~~redzone 10.04.01~~ (edited 10/07/01)
(written while using the pen name 'redzone'
reposted by Aztec Warrior 11.18.15)
I wanted to add this poem because many have 'forgotten' who actually unleashed the hooror of ISIS, Al Quieda, and the Taliban on the world. Not enough space to go into all this here, but if you are aagonizing over what is going on in the world, I suggest that a visit to http://www.revcom.us will help to understand not only what and what is behind these horrors, but also a way OUT of this madness...
Cedric McClester Aug 2018
By: Cedric McClester

It was an undocumented immigrant,
There’s no doubt,
Who killed that missing girl
On her running route.
Makes you wanna holler,
Makes you wanna shout!
We gotta throw
Thoses brown skin ******* out!

It’s a **** shame,
That he chose to ****.
Those who hate immigrants,
Now always will.
For them all it does
Is add more grist to the mill
And now all those haters
Will not be still

For them it doesn’t seem
To be outta order,
To separate brown families
Who cross the border.
Place their babies in cages,
And make their time here shorter
We’re becoming
The world’s number one transporter

He’s already incorporated it,
In his speech.
It’s tailor made for the hate
He likes to teach
To the limited audience
Within his reach
Who cling to him
Like sand does to a beach








Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights reserved.
Meenu Syriac Mar 2014
The wind blows this way,
Silence of the night keeps me sane.
The truth, I sit and ponder
As my life beats away.
Too many moments forgotten in pain,
Undocumented, unwanted,
Shelved in some corner
No one to care.

Listening to the wind blow
Rustling leaves and banging windows.
This mind of mine has wandered too far.
The world, I shunned
The people I left.
Maybe another soul,
Who'd love to join me
As I walk this realm
Unchained and free.
it's high midnight and I'm up to my old tricks again

in an hour I'll have my nose prepared
in two, I'll sweat and pray

praying the windows I opened last year give way to Carolina air

me chewing an ice cube
with you pressing my shirt

and a shiver breathes into me

it's a funeral, you tell me

in twelve hours time I ask you how I got here

another hour and it's your voice
causing me to laugh from my belly

pounding my fists into your tombstone

too angry to light my cigarette

the willow hides the moonlight
sheds no tears on this chapter

the willow hides night sky
a reflection from my dark eyes

they warble in fear

for the sound my heart is like to make

so if it'd make you stay
I wouldn't act so angry all the time

it's three years later
chewing soil from your grave


the worms but ash

my heart
a muted trumpet

pale imitation
crystalline defeat

silhouette of a cursed shade


it's five years and the marble runs smooth

it's ten years and the willow roots join mine

a legacy of agony
countless copper dishes of bitterness

thirteen years a testament of longing and needless suffering

every smile bled to death
every night a star turned inside out

it's two years ago and I hear your name
past and pleasant
fleeting present
Tragedy
Emanuel Martinez Nov 2012
I’ve reflected a lot about desperation.
We as undocumented students
who have such high expectations of ourselves have this desperate
desire that quite frankly strips our ambitions of malice and of hidden
agendas.
We will be lucky if we are able to take the next step in our
precarious/ uncertain paths.

Therefore, our intentions have to remain
as genuine (and thus more pure; more powerful) since we are at the
mercy of those who help us continue to crawl along to our dreams.

That
hunger, that desperation, that desire and how it has pushed us, has
propelled us to the point where we have shed tears, and perhaps blood;
and as a result we have showcased a sincere and humble brilliance and
authority in our ability to thrive and succeed where it is virtually
impossible.
November 8, 2012
Ma Cherie Nov 2016
God please help us all,
our future president says,

"I will build a Great Wall,
and nobody builds walls,
better than me,
believe me-
and I'll build them very inexpensively,
I will build a great, great wall,
on our Southern border,
I will make Mexico pay for that wall
-mark my words."
                  - Donald Trump

If you look on the internet
is literally loaded
with stuff that he has said,
documented proof,
unbelievable FACTS
undisputed ones,

Let's examine this statement,
just for a second,

Is HE going to build a Great Wall?
I personally doubt it,
I doubt he's going to be building anything
since he refuses to even pay painters
their due wages,
for work they did on the Trump Towers,
why? Some AD-HOMINEM,
argument no doubt,

And what is going to make this
WALL great?
that's going to make our country great again?
more walls?
Rebuild the ones we tore down for  good reason?
Take us back to the dark ages?
Because we will no longer
accept the tired
the weak and the huddled masses,
because,
he wants us to live in a state of fear?

And nobody builds walls better than me? He really slaughters the King's English,
that aside, me?
Me, me, me, me, me-
personally speaking,
I wish people understood his
Misogynistic, egotistical, narcissistic behavior better,
I have studied behavior,
unfortunately,
and I find so many things he says,
so deeply troubling,
at a cellular level,
like a psychic attack,

He says inexpensively?
Who is he kidding?
What kind of costs are we talkin'?
from whom "The" Donald?
Even the fact that he calls himself-
"The Donald" is pretty telling, no?

Why on our Southern border?
This is the only point that we're,
weak?
If you think race was an issue,
well it really is now,
& those undocumented Mexicans,
here in Vermont,
who live close by,
maybe I should warn them?

As Canadian immigration sites crash,
as people riot in the streets,

No, it's definately personal.
I'm not leaving,
I'm not giving up,
I'm not giving up my right to bear arms
either, as folks here in my
neck of the woods,
brace themselves ,
literally and figuratively,
for Civil unrest
& war even,

Muslims are shocked,
just keep reading,

And he leaves that opening
where he says wall(s),
being plural,
speaking for one,
going all the way around
the United States,
maybe,
obstructionist politics,
Republican EVERYTHING
Senate & Congress,
equals no balance of power,

And it's really scary,
how angry he is,
and how is he exactly going to make,
the Mexicans pay?

By making us all pay.

Sorry, but I can't accept this
it goes against everything I believe in,
that WE stand for,
I am not giving up on that vision,
I may accept the outcome
for now,
but I refuse to be defeated,
this is NOT defeat,

No,
I fight on,
for everyone,
I rail against the tide turning,
we should REFUSE to drown,
to be kept behind a great wall,
as he said he would NOT
be willing to accept defeat either.

Cherie Nolan © 2016
We need to stand together... this is a very scary time in American politics. I'm terrified. Read the TRUTH its there.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
feminism is pretty much a failure like communism... the latter wanted the workers of the world to unite... but they didn't... each working man took too much pride in his earnings an expenses to the extent that he sought no idealistic solution... the self-preservation element... feminism is very much alike to communism... it comes from the same source, the bourgeoisie caste... which explains why prostitutes in France defended their pundits... they basically said: ******* little Freudian undecided *****, with us it's 100 ***** a week... with you it's only about 100,000 interpretations of a **** in clingfilm at a Hollywood premier: your choice, either 100 *****, or a ***** and the cinema of the would-be agonies or a man resembling Richard Burton, sober, and being a Swedish patent for a house-husband, and a closet poet, and a chef, and a, and a, and a... can i suggest a kaleidoscope as the safest investment?

imagine sitting in a brothel waiting room,
there's about 10 of them -
and they're looking at your like you're
their father and they're about to skin you alive
like piranhas with their eyes -
it can be quiet intimidating,
what for £10 entry fee and £110 and hour
baggage of silenced ******* -
you're basically ******* Ferraris and Lamborghinis -
but it's worth the while,
you genitalia turn into a pavlova before
it's baked mush - your testicles are soaring
angels with the ticklish bits added
to what feels like a shiver of goosebumps -
you sit there for a while, it's the hardest time
to be making choices, you ask for a cup of water
(i always did),
you get it, Keith Lemon is doing his talk show,
the older prostitutes are un-amused -
they're the ones who'd skin you alive,
pick one and she turns into a sadistic
vacuum cleaner in the realm of oration -
you think these terrorists and so-called
martyrs would have the ***** keep up with an ante-chamber
like that? these women can sniff out perversity
like they might sniff out a woodlice in damp wood...
or the spiders that complete their weaving
and never take the central role on the stage,
but ****** their spiderweb before scuttling
into the frenzy of making a body of other insects
into immobile dough to **** into on the sidelines,
they're the out-of-body experiencing their architecture,
there's no ego in them, not central nervous system...
i always thought that spiders compensated the
cartesian problem with their spiderwebs -
they extended their nerves through their *****
into an architectural project of nerve endings / extensions...
see, that's the thing about poetry: pure narration...
no technique, no nothing, no need to create a
third person or first person ******, no characters
to study and incubate into a thrill ending: poetry
is the purest form of narration, easily a ricochet
into digression that in fiction would only mean another
grey matter character to involve in the plot.
. and - (dot and hyphen, as suggested by Nietzsche,
is steaming along forgetting the semi-colon).
- i swear insects are the perfect telescopes into
alien life... on that micro level you get to
understand the many hazards of differentiated life
elsewhere... it's the microbes you need to
mind as the real hazards and blizzards -
but this one time i broke the brothel rule
denoted as choice: i didn't make one.
i asked for one to make a choice for me...
one talkative gall said i shouldn't be asking...
so i replied: well aren't you the talkative one...
you'll do. told you a butcher's supermarket -
i turned myself into a piece of meat -
the ***** butcher said: he'll have to do,
he prompted me to talk the heretical *credo
...
the outer-body experience, prostitutes are the experiment,
i asked of the 10 present and my penguin **** solo
shrivelled up newspaper of ******* to chose -
and she did... it's funny giving choice to someone
who you payed to choose from... these Muslim martyrs
will find it had to keep it level headed like Solomon -
these boys will really struggle to reap their rewards...
they just blow up ten people but never sat in
the company of ten prostitutes...
ten blown up, in the company of ten prostitutes...
you really don't know what it's like trying out
whether you could stomach a harem, let alone keep
one like a walrus...
ever stole a kiss from a ******* who's saintliness
involved never giving one but merely ******* more ****?
hmm? oh i can get pornographic after all...
it's a joyride troupe of force in thinking the joys i
nourished in such places... although i have to admit
Amsterdam would never feed such poems...
it's just common place everything's worth clapping
(or too much clapping by the serfs at a Bolshoi ballet),
you need the thrill of something being illegal...
in the case of itemising England it's the brothel owners
that are the culprits, not the prostitutes, nor the pundits,
which is why i asked to perform oral *** once in a while
for the extra undocumented 10 quid... that didn't fall
into the hands of the madame... so it ends...
feminism alright for you, in that ivory tower of yours,
unscathed, belligerent and with sulphuric toxic gas
to **** out from your mouth as the proper argument?
the heart not steady? i see... i guess you have a hard fight
ahead of you... young men go to prostitutes undiscriminating
their age and **** as **** would do too,
but young women don't go to prostitutes,
professional women do... and they'd always probably
**** some young dude... see the difference?
young men go to prostitutes... young women have all
the eye-to-**** candy they can have... older women order
**** and limousine, a night out, a date, a dinner...
young men are like: broken pipe, need a plumber,
stillson pipe wrench! and where's that ******* spanner?!
and contrary to popular beliefs, cats have
a second weak spot other than petting their heads
and playing with their whiskers... the point
between the evolve coccyx and the spine...
they really love a rub when the coccyx turns into
a tail... it's almost like a reverse test for prostate cancer...
every cat sitting down when rubbed in that area
will do a marching army band salute of raising its
hind in anticipation of a rainbow -
and yes, urinating with ******* is pretty much as
exciting as a woman massaging her ******* with
a shower head with pulverising pressurised water.
submerged in a life with no todays
a submarine dive in dank water
a muck and a murk that can’t be shaken
awakening to a déjà vu
unviewed in an era or two or ten or when or
then but not now and never next
electrical fences building themselves
unyielding as we scale
flailingly failingly toward
a date and time and place indeterminable
subliminal signposts spray-painted by
anarchists railing against awareness
obscuring and obfuscating
translating into languages undocumented
concocted from alien metals and foreign shrieks
weaknesses in the armor show like
rusting bruises on the intangible
cruising through an imaginable maze
while memory like a rabid wolf bays
submerged in a life with no todays
Lawrence Hall Aug 2022
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                     ­    Undocumented Gardening

Last week I planted my autumn garden
No permits were required
This evening I dragged hoses in the drought
No reports were assigned

This morning I freshened the water for the bees
There was no sign-in sheet
And then I used a machine for cutting weeds
No evaluations

And then while resting in the leafy shade
I inventoried the grasses, blade by blade
Andrew Rueter Oct 2022
Once affirmation became deformation
aspirations turned into desperation
aspirations turned into exasperation
existence undocumented persistence expired
acumen undocumented the pittance expired
normal life forms a life
but nightmare world lights the world
dream journals adjourn dreams
through fantastic fantasies
of affirmation and affinity
or affirmation reaching infinity
so affirmation is gained at the expense of others
and affirmation is what we expect from others
but the affirmation comes at the cost of the abdication
of a firm nation inducing affirmation
selling being right
who's wrong is who's left
behind the hugfest in social unrest
the hugs infect becoming a test
to affirm what others choose
affirmation signaling their virtues
and if one doesn't affirm they'll sit and burn
which will affirm affirmation.

Please tell me I'm right.
Matt Feb 2015
The Afghan army insisted things
Were more secure in 2013

But they had to close down the schools
One man said the Taliban threatened to attack the schools

Now the men fight with Soviet era weapons
The American troop levels reduced

In one village
The people can farm and work freely
Because of patrols by the Afghan police and
The police took over the patrols after the Americans left
The police report what is going on to the military

The people want clinics and schools
To be built

The army leaves day to day security
In the hands of the National Police

The Police Chief says
They have gained the trust of the local people
And they discuss how to punish the warlords

May God be with the national army and police force
May they protect the people and keep them safe

Some Afghans
Living in Pakistan
Were forced to return to Afghanistan
After a school was attacked in Peshwar, Pakistan

The Afghans suspect
That local officials are taking advantage
Of the situation
To expel unwanted refugees

More than 33,000 undocumented Afghans returned from Afghanistan
In the first six weeks of 2015

Even some registered refugees
Have been driven out of Pakistan

Many returning Afghan families have nowhere to go
In Jalalabad, the closest big city
On the Afghan side of Torkham
Families pitched tents along a canal
Lacking any other resource

Their children pulled turnips from a nearby field
The most reliable source of food

One woman is worried
How her children will fare
They no nothing of the country
And what it is like

Their is great mineral wealth in that country
Perhaps that is the main reason why
The U.S. has plans to stay there
For an extended period

I doubt life for the Afghan will ever get better
Or be more secure
The Taliban are there to stay

33% of people live below the poverty line
I doubt that figure will ever improve either
Even if the country prospers from their mineral deposits
The common man won't benefit

Well, that's just how the cookie crumbles
In Afghanistan
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tlja_ZhNXdw
Mark Toney Dec 2019
I realize
I have real eyes
That see real lies—
     ~Nearsighted
          (rule of law)
     ~Farsighted
          (rule of lies)
     ~The "ayes" have it
          (hidden agenda)
     ~The "ayes" have it
          (secret addenda)
     ~The "ayes" have it
          (hate crimes)
     ~The "ayes" have it
          (critical times)
     ~Undocumented truth
          (entombed)
     ~Unmitigated lies
          (exhumed)
I realize
I have real eyes
That see real lies—
     ~As the world cries
12/13/2019 - Poetry form: Free Verse - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
st64 Mar 2014
Herr Stimmung—purblind—moves in corporeal time.

    Think how many, by now, have escape the world's memory.

    Think, how all his wandering is only thought. Having once tried to
live in the quasi-stupor of sensation, now he picks his way through
areas of spilth, seeking the least among infinite evils.

    His hope: intermittent.

    To a person so little conscious, what would it mean to die? Though
he feels, true enough, death's wither-clench. Thinking always of
something permanent, watching the while how everything goes on
changing.

    He has seen where Speed is buried. Eyes exorbitant.

    He has the tension of male and female: active, divided. Anger and
lust. What he eats tastes exactly like real food.

    He would search out interphenomena, if he could decipher the
interstices. The broken line. Immediate havoc. Circular heaven.
Square earth. He cries world world, and there is no world.

    He claims superiority over the other animals, being the only one
who can talk, the only one to have doubts.

    Herr Stimmung knows a whale is big. Its skeleton might shelter a
dozen men.

    Not existing, not subsisting—insisting. Not object, not subject—
eject. (He works within opposed systems, every one of them opposed
to system.)

    "Fillette"—in confusion he addresses himself—"n'allez pas au bois
seulette."

    He knows who is allowed to wear what kinds of beads. He knows
how fruit trees are inherited. All his self-objects lie in the inoperative
past.

    Herr Stimmung springs from a long undocumented ancestry.

    He has a special attitude towards terror.
Keith Waldrop
b. 1932

Keith Waldrop, who was awarded the 2009 National Book Award for poetry for Transcendental Studies: A Trilogy, has been a prominent voice in American poetry for over forty years.  He is the author of over a dozen books of poetry, prose, and translations.

Waldrop was born in Emporia, Kansas in 1932. He enrolled in the pre-med program at Kansas State Teacher’s College, but his studies were interrupted in 1953 when he was drafted into the US Army.
While stationed in Germany during the 1950s, Waldrop met his wife, the poet and translator Rosmarie Waldrop. He earned a PhD in comparative literature in 1964 from the University of Michigan and has taught at Brown University since 1968.  

In addition to being an internationally celebrated poet, Waldrop is a respected translator of French literature.
Waldrop’s poetry navigates concerns that are at once personal and philosophical by representing a world that is endlessly strange and fascinating.
There is, in Waldrop's work, a steady thought directed to the way that we make our way in the world by thinking and speaking. Where Wallace Stevens gave us the portrait of a man bothered by the march of ants through his shadow, Waldrop gives us the disturbances of the world in its representations.

Upon receiving the National Book Award, the judges said of Waldrop’s poetry: “If transcendental immanence were possible, it would be because Keith Waldrop had invented it; he’s the only one who could—and in Transcendental Studies he has.
These three linked series achieve a fusion arcing from the Romantic to the Postmodern that demonstrates language’s capacity to go to extremes—and to haul daily lived experience right along with it: life imitates language, and when language becomes these poems, life itself gets more various, more volatile, more vital.”
Jedd Ong Aug 2014
Scares even the
Moonlight away—
His only friend
The artificial
Eight-pronged
Sun of street lamps
Marking "X"
His position.

I'm quite sure he's
Undocumented—
Perhaps a new age
Nightcrawler only,
Not powerful at all.

I can see
His hands—
How they yearn
To clutch something more
Than the cigarettes
And the rosaries
That line his left and right
Ring fingers—
Shapeshift and
Solidify—
Take heart.

Behind him is
The old Senate,
To be converted to
A museum—

His name swallowed up
By the hollow grandeur
Of a once great Nation's
Emptied stronghold.
dani evelyn Nov 2016
i stand with my sisters --
hijab-wearing, undocumented
black, brown, beautiful, brilliant;
women who love women;
women who have the right
to answer to their names,
instead of a “sugar” or “honey” or “baby”
yelled by a stranger on a street corner;
terrific trans women;
women, who must have the right
to decide what should happen
to their own
bodies

i stand with my brothers --
men who love men
and men who are afraid to say that they do;
Muslim men, Latino men,
feminist men, trans men;
and those who are neither men or women,
non-binary friends of all shapes and sizes
and colors and creeds;
every person who has never felt
like they belonged

and i stand with my people --
the people of America.
we know deep in our hearts
that hate is not the answer;
and so we march on
and fight on
and force our voices out into the universe
and it is not futile,
it is not for nothing,
it will never be for nothing.

for those who believe
to love is the most important thing we'll ever do:
i stand with you.
a little bit different from what I usually write, inspired by the events of the last few weeks. love on, my friends
Cadence Jun 2018
6/21/2018

The night is alive with possibility
The suspense is killing me
Lightning strikes a pose
And thunder comes to me
deeply
Seeping through atmosphere
Home is here
Home is where a gaze holds you safe and a shoulder keeps you steadfast
Cognitive dissonance
I cannot live with this policy ripping through my arteries, this image won’t stop coming to me
A 9-months old baby
In an orange jumpsuit
In a cage in a city
Unclaimed, unwritten, undocumented, unforgiven for the sins of colonialism
Unforgivable
Where were you when ****** branded the Jews?
Then you are accountable too
Comfortable at home, wishing I could do more to end this insanity. Call your representatives please
Destre' Dec 2015
I get frustrated when people make assumptions about poets
They're sad
They're mad
They're all the same

Arn't we all poets? In one way or another?
Or couldn't we be?
Poetry is everywhere, in everything.
They're not "just words" and I don't think poets are one specific select group of people.
Everyone could be a poet, in one way or another.
Some just use different mediums: a poet of paint on canvas arranging it in a certain way to invoke a certain feeling of sorts.
A poet of body movement set to music.
A poet in there head thinking up combinations of words but deciding there best left unsaid, undocumented.
There can't truely be a poet stereotype... Because we're all poets... Or could be..In one way or another.
I once read something titled "Just words"  that kind of blew my mind and really made me think about things and realize that it really is kind of at the essences of everything.
Michael Patrick Jan 2014
The Seneca knew it as Tsyoneshíyo
which meant beautiful valley
(or so I’ve been told)

I knew it as home
which meant that the smell of cow ****
in fields adjacent
grew into something comforting;
a kind escape from urban life

I missed the other story,
the one told by undocumented
field hands and farmhouses
fallen into ruin
The Trumpoet Feb 2017
Your trumpists whoop and shout "hooray"
You talked a lot but talk is cheap
It's your inauguration day
and now you've promises to keep

You must ***** that border wall
or did you change that to a fence?
So wide, so deep and very tall
or were your promises nonsense?

And as for Clinton - Lock her up?
Or did you change your mind?
"Conflicting interests" you once said.
Such crimes in you they'd never find!

Will you deport each and every
undocumented immigrant?
When did you start backpedalling
from that initial angry rant?

And then there are the Muslim folk,
such a convenient bogeyman.
Will they all have to register
while you drop bombs on their homeland?

You said outsourcing steals jobs.
Let tariffs ease that trouble.
But how'll you soothe the working poor
when Walmart's prices double?

But know this, Donald, you have friends
to help with troubleshootin'.
Will you get cosy in that bed
with your dear comrade Putin?

The swamp you promised you would drain,
did it improve or worsen?
How will your bootlick billionaires
assist the average person?

And may we see at long, long last,
your tax returns today?
The ones you promised to release
but changed your mind along the way.

How will you handle, Mr. Trump,
these questions you must face?
The pressure's on you starting now
Lets hope you don't fall in disgrace.

So many promises you made
up to Inauguration day
But please don't keep them - they're so wrong
and such a price we all would pay.
You can also see this and my other Trump poems at: www.trumpoet.com
Link to video of this poem: https://youtu.be/SKnKwATz7ks
Written January 14, 2017
Lilith Avenue Mar 2014
re·li·gion /riˈlijən/  noun
1. the belief in and worship of a superhuman controlling power, esp. a personal God or gods.*


i grew up with no god or religion
never have i meet someone
that wanted to shove a belief
down my throat like hot iron
and told me if i believed
i would be saved

i spent life boundless
by your gods
but found myself roped
dragged in by this undocumented
goddless belief of true love
and soul mates

i spend my days praying
to this undisclosed nonbeing
hoping that one day i will find
this thing they call true love
that will sooth this heartache
i read too many romance novels
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
It was a scam, a sham
The flimmiest of flams
There was more pork there
Than a Christmas ham.
It’s nothing but a racket
Stuff it all into a big packet
And put into a time capture
Leave it until the rapture
Where it can’t hurt anybody
Then, fix yourself a hot toddy
And laugh about how shoddy
Future folks will think we are.

They won’t be wrong by far.
They’ll marvel at how many
Candidates worth a penny,
Or less, showed up to run
Like the whole thing was fun
And better than a TV show.
How could they tumble for
Not that good of a governor
Didn’t know what lips are for
Or what to say on the floor
Yet some wanted her to run?

What fun the press had with
Filling up the internet bandwidth
With screeching permutations
Of tired old KKK reiterations
Of the wonderful Aryan nation
The South advocated before
We had us a big-*** ugly war.
It’s like they didn’t know they lost
And were prepared to pay the cost
To do it all over again, not just men
But women too, who shouldn’t do
Because they were not part of
The government to be started up.

It was rather Alice In Wonderland,
The fuzzy details of their whole plan.
Certain things were carved in stone.
Some should go back to an age of stone
And forever leave the real people alone.
Because they’d shout out now and then
That this world was meant for white men
To run and control and own. Nothing tribal.
They said it was written in their Bible
Which was obvious they never really read
Or they would know what it really said
About helping the poor, the halt and lame.

They went on doing harm in the name
Of the King of Passion and Rescue
Saying that was the wrong thing to do.
They insisted they could do what pleases
And it should have nothing to do with Jesus.
It’s all about who is rich and who is not
And who doesn’t need what they have got:
All the good land and the mineral rights.
The rest can just stay up nights working
Two jobs, maybe three, they didn’t care.
Those pundits had to start somewhere.
Let those dishwashers and caddies
Go get their own filthy rich daddies
To leave them accounts full of millions
So they could hire undocumented millions
To build their dynasties of marble and gold.
Really, folks. This story never gets old.
Sean Banks Apr 2013
You find yourself walking home at 4:00am
On a walk to find yourself
When you find out what time it is
My creative side
Lights me up
Like street lights
Show the sidewalks
What direction
To move in

Do blue skies, rise awaken, or open
This stroll is taking its toll
On my shoes,
On my knees,
And on my soul.

All alone, this open space is my microphone
And I say
Out loud
To myself
After every masterpiece
Of wisdom, love and sorrow
“How the **** am I going to remember that tomorrow”

Recited and
Instantaneously
forgotten

I have to borrow a line
From E. E Cummings
“Nobody fails all the time”
And from late night walking
I’m now running’

Back to whatever bottle
Subject manner
Heartbreak
And street corner

That decided that my unrecorded, undocumented, untouched,
And unwritten
Work
Goes witnessed

This is not exit music
This is a prelude
Pertaining to
The definition
Of wealth

These are the things you learn
When you go walking to find yourself
Lina Jun 2012
The mind is a scary place.
Undocumented, ever changing, always going.
My biggest fear is The Thought of life-changing magnitude, will slip through the cracks of distraction.
The key to happiness,
                                     lost in the lock.
The wave of change,
                                  shadowed by the sea.

The perfect words,
Maddie May 2022
Novel coronavirus.
Travelers in motion.
Spewing the virus.

One fervent hope
in danger of being dashed.
Undocumented carriers.
86% of all infections.
These people are the major drivers.
The ones who facilitated the spread.

Unseen transmission.
Unseen spread.
Much harder to stomp.

The longer the period of silent viral shedding,
the more difficult it is to control the outbreak.

Containment is nearly not possible.
Dark n Beautiful Jun 2014
E-mail sent from Heaven

Written on gold and silver stone
Contents
My people have gone astray
to each his or her own way.

My Brethren is texting all over the land.
the lambs and sheep continues to be
slaughter by man.

As the undocumented skilled workers
watered the neighbor lawn
while the master of the home video tape ****.
neglecting his family in his home land

My creation has disappointed me tremendously
evil overpowered the good in man
therefore, no ending to this horror across the lands.

The popping sound of the firecrackers,
or was it the sound of DSM thirty four
rose to the heaven
the arch Angel sound the sirens

Man down, man down,
as the scream echoes in the airwaves,
another mother son lay dying
due to street violence,
Black on black crime
white and black catastrophe.
an frequents outbursts in society
by idle hands of a youth insanity.

The window are eyes ,
as it quickly closes its curtain
to a life uncertain.
so
its fades into a slumber.
building fear into the heart of the citizens.

Suffer the fool gladly
that he or she might see
the destruction of their ways.

CEASE FIRE ON STREET VIOLENCE.
em Dec 2014
49
Undocumented and subtle,
They separated so slowly over these last couple years.
Creating barriers between themselves without making any sudden, noticeable movements.
Sleeping with a whole floor between their pillows,
Sitting at the kitchen table with more space between their chairs than the amount of words they exchange,
Not ever attempting to finish each other's sentences, not caring that the other doesn't totally understand.

For better or for worst.
This is neither, so can they be over?
Scarlet McCall Nov 2016
Margaret, are you grieving
over Hillary’s unseating?
The victory you expected
was denied, and you are dejected.
Fears and tears are your companions
as you grieve for undocumented transients.
But no tears you shed in years gone by
when bombs fell on children from drones on high.
Nor did you protest the stop and frisk
or needless deaths of black men at risk.
Slaughter in Gaza was no cause
for you to protest, or even to pause
from your Twitter feed or drink at Starbucks.
(The world knows you didn’t give two *****.)
I sit and watch the roosting chickens
who have returned from the wide world sickened.
Evil doesn't always come with crassness and insults. Sometimes it comes with a smile and a handshake.

— The End —