"unopposed" poems
The perfect woman
is beautiful, of course
but not too beautiful,
( enough to be objectify-able
but not so much as to be threatening)
The perfect woman
has a voice and a mind
( that she wisely decides
to leave behind)
The perfect woman
should never be heard
( unless she becomes
a part of the herd)
The perfect woman
Is benign and blind
( to everyone's faults
except her own,
which also, btw, she ought to make known,
or god forbid, she'll be harkened a *****
How rude.....)
The perfect woman
Is coy and shy
(changing her demeanor
for a girl or a guy)
The perfect woman
Does nothing wrong (yeah right)
(and still doesn't get
why she can't belong)
The perfect woman
Knows her salad forks and plates
She encourages, she nourishes
She creates,
(she waits, she waits , she waits)
The perfect woman
is an overachiever
(but readily labeled
to be a deceiver)
The perfect woman
doesn't age
doesn't dream or rebel
Oh no, dear no....
none of that outrage
The perfect woman
can be a nymph and a nun
(knows how to not show
that she knows what is fun)
The perfect woman,
is curvy but thin
each angle defined
each strand refined
with a dazzling smile
and a glowing skin
(no matter how she gets it
It's that she gets it, she gets it.)
The perfect woman
Is strong and composed
But when she's patronized
She doesn't resist...
She carries her grace
on her well turned calf
and a delicate wrist
Till it's proper and unopposed
The perfect woman
is cruel to her daughter
and kind to her son
( as she knows what it means
to be a woman
even if she forgets
that she's also one...)
The perfect woman
doesn't want to be free
you see, it's simple
She's come to terms with the very concept
That it's her destiny
Sigh.
Let's say this, let's try....
Here's the gist
The perfect woman
is either every woman
or she doesn't exist.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 9:22 PM UTC
Sometimes I had had to ignore her,
For I had to focus on my life,
So that I could make it shine,
And then on in future make her mine,
Unopposed from the society on the whole,
That included both our families & friends,
But she couldn't just wait for a little time.
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 10:23 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Which means - she’s beyond contempt
Someone to be loathed
An anomaly?
Well if you’re askin me
She’s what every one of ‘em
Pretends to be
A centrist
Who might go either way
On any issue
On any given day
She likes to calls it
A winning strategy
But it’s still selling out
As far as I can see
She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
But with the right pedigree
As everybody knows
She’s very bright
That’s obvious - it shows
Though you’ll find her
Wherever the wind blows
I often wonder
Who she really is
Behind the mask
I’m talkin ‘bout square biz
It’s hard to tell
With the naked eye
How she really feels
Though some of us do try
She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Her popularity
Is always in the throes
We love her one-minute
Then hate her the next
She brings out feelings
That are that complex
She’s very hard
For us to get to know
How much is real
And how much is for show
That’s the question
On many people’s minds
What’s goin on
Behind those closed blinds
She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Who’ll run for president
One day I suppose
She’s very suited
For the life she chose
A prodigy
Who won't be unopposed
There’s so much baggage
In her sordid past
The kind of thing
That usually tends to last
She’ll ascend
But then she’ll drop so fast
Say what you will
The dye’s already cast
She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Who has a war chest
That grows and grows and grows
She’s courted equally
By the rich and poor
With the kind of access
That many would die for
But still she’s baffling
To say the very least
It’s hard to tell
The nature of the beast
And to add insult
Along with injury
Is we don’t know
How she's gonna be
She’s a Republican
In Democratic clothes
Who lost my vote
But that’s just how it goes
When one has trouble
Being who they are
It doesn’t matter
That they’re a rising star
I can’t support her
Under any circumstance
It would be foolish
To even take that chance
Though I do like her
I have to admit
I’ll vote against her
Or maybe I’ll just sit
© Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester - all rights reserved.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
“See herself..?”
‘Who..?’
“Herself.. there”
‘An’ about her?’
“..Cheating on himself..”
‘Sure she.. that one..’
“Fur coat.. no knickers..”
They scuttle out daily wagging their vicious tales,
Through dullness that dampens their every afternoon,
Ignored by their own; an’ threadbare reflection,
******* each spun yarn an’ sheet out to dry,
Stained with every listless memory an’ lonely evening,
Gossip-hungry, they covet the community swill,
Chomping through the random, unopposed untruths,
‘..husband slayer, heartless siren.. tis’ a mortal sin..’
They make no bones of any acquaintance of herself,
With monstrous-eyed chronicles of salacious green,
Such falsehood is kind to the envious an’ bias ears,
Which tolerate any brazen line to a choir of lewd hymns,
They harmonise each lustful lie; the prime accuser,
Conducts a murky symphony of ***** laundry aired live,
The jury silent, mocking whispered an’ ears into the wind,
As the accused sullen-faced an’ solitary suddenly appears.
Herself stands idly ignorant to the satirical sniggers,
The trial by jealously ends, they turn two faces an’ leave,
No fur, no knickers, no time to wish away the pain,
Curtains drawn, truth quartered - the washing hung
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
-o-0-o-
With my two eyes closed, the third sees beyond the edge of the horizon.
Keeping us within its sight, unopposed.
In the center of the energy, I experience an alternate path that has not been disclosed.
Unending, undivided.
You are not alone, this symphony plays for us both, and this Universe we interpret will provide it.
Keep digging, diving, deriving, speaking, seeing, hearing, feeling, believing, sensing.
Unrelenting, still unconditional, yet undeniable, so undefinable, and indescribable...
Yet Loving
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
Merely a color delusion. Usually with shady conclusion.
Each lighter war starts and ends with tons of confusion.
The accusations start flying. One casts the blame, the others left denying.
However I pass most of this guilt onto BIC, who does most of the supplying.
It's merely harmless bicker. Each is only defending their own flicker.
Lay them all on the table so we can end this all much quicker.
A flammable rainbow is layed out. This will help eliminate doubt.
And isn't that really what most lighter wars are about.
Here the truth is exposed. Leaving all unopposed.
Once we sort through the evidence the case can be closed.
What makes this game so fun. Maybe you came with one.
But when you empty out your pockets you now have none.
Or maybe today was your lucky day. Things seemed to be going your way.
No need to worry, that is just how you play.
They all look the same. They all carry flame.
Your only intention was to borrow it yet somehow yours it became.
But your not a lighter thief. You'd prefer the label fire cheif.
Most are unaware they stole it and hand it back in disbelief.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
“When people move-when they travel-they look at where
they come from,
not where they’re going.” -Martin Amis, *Time’s Arrow
*
Let us now take this chance
to praise those dancing demons
of ambition,
whose feigned clairvoyance
of fortune
and exactitudes of fame
burn as the smell of smokey fallow
to the new-retired mare.
Travel, and all its takeoffs,
all its energies in skidding towards
an unopposed truth, makes its mince
by outlining all we ever look for
but leaving the chalkdust prints
of what we fail, at first, to find.
Yes, spaces contrary to the familiar exist
Carnivore cities of grind and result
cascaded above the floodwalls that save
the vagrant’s midnight search.
Coastal clearings of pacific civs,
best kept secrets where trees are still planted
and further kinds of nowhere that you never expected
to simmer with all the prospects of bored and implacable youths
who pine to efface the status quo, which ,after all, is quite the average,
is quite like “HOME”
Though I suppose, we eventually find
whatever space can be considered our own
when everyone grows up and stops
pretending they read Burroughs,
have a lot more going on, or are a lot less busy
than they make out over infrequent coffee meetings
(where it is also admitted
that they brew their own hot beverages,
or tell their own jokes)
Somewhere in the near-space continuum where Travel has
become for us what essentially differentiates
the commonplace in nature from
that most human of neuroses,
the acceptance of a willing to improve the conditional.
And so to Ambition, and its fiery fops who make us refute
steadiness, accountability, the routine of the resolute
Who let our ships of sanctimony attack
implied with the luxury of steering back.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 5:29 PM UTC
They have left us scared
They want us under their
societal pressure
They dont want us together
They are disliking our thoughts
Society doesn't want us
to be powerful
so they can remain unopposed
thus making their unfairness proven.
They want you to conform to them
So you are better kept in control
But no one wants to be similar to another!
Society, has ruined a lot.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC
An empty drinking glass is pressed against a wall; amplifying the voices on the other side. My ear is pressed to the words, ”outside is a secret key” - I can honestly say, “I hear…" Your words, idealizations, sentiments, selected scrawls of graffiti-type promise and viewpoints echo through the wall. Over and over. Championing outsiders…
Are there WALLS WITHIN WALLS? Can we walk through them? ARE THE WALLS ERASABLE? Will the walls tumble down? Will the walls polarize? WHAT ABOUT CRACKS IN THE WALLS? Can they hear? Can we leap over them?
DO WE build them where everything and anything follows and flows?
DO WE build them where something's nothingness tethers vapors with souls?
DO WE build them so molecular melodies of light and dark can collide unopposed?
Are these word walls of dust? Can we move them? Can you angle between these walls? Will the walls speak a wealth of quiet surprises, poems, and meditations? Do walls give birth to improvisation?
Now some of these walls, in their moment are with no rules, self-constructed, circling dramatically, and might prove more resistant to erosion. These are often troubling walls, no voice, no strength of decency, no laughter, which place freedom at stake. That and survival. One can be easily manipulated or yanked by an image of the truth swirling in the brick blackness of the wall. Discomforts relish now. Walls such as these are very deep-rooted and passed on for generations. Yet even those barriers eventually give way once we read the super fine print etched into the wall - a word salad of B.S., idiocy and hypocrisy.
Reach for spray-paint and enlarge your wall… maybe it enhances your world now with colored aerosols of wall portraiture's that capture rebellion and mirth. So many Walls, AND SO MANY QUERIES…
I heard a poem say, “Step out from behind one (wall) and FIND YOUR REAL SELF” – or maybe it whispered “jus walk through that door in the wall.”
Your tightly strung trampoline of words has provided a springboard for me to bounce freely over the many walls we build around ourselves.
by "ooznozz"
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 9:06 PM UTC
Your touch fractures unwound futures,
the softest shock to my system. Infinite
undiscovery radiates off skin like new born
stars skipping straight to supernova. Light
grenades blind, deafen, expose. Truth blurs
focus. We now know what the body is for.
I sabotage and we crash into earth, incinerating
the atmosphere, restarting cycles. We forget our
odd numbered days exist. Our catastrophic collapse
was the best of my life. For a split second I am now
one as He is three, looping unopposed into life
and death like continuous screaming nothing.
For that, I wish I could thank you.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
Lest my tongue be burnt
and all words I loved disowned
as children tossed out
from the mouth that cradled them
to wander foreign countries alone,
I caress from the creases of my fingers
my english,
this full length mirror
a street girl carries crooked
under her arm and breast--
a horizontal slant nuder than flesh
making meaning in flashes.
Where is it going, bumping along?
Jarred and crashing and beaming
like a throwing up or endlessly exacerbated jazz.
The singer who could charm the world
with a humble reed, must indeed
be in love with words,
yet always this english
why is it you hold out in your upturned hand
precisely what you are at once pulling away,
as if no where pleased you to linger
and so you congeal at the table with us
neither shining nor dissipating,
like a dark matter.
I sang for the certainty of mahogany
the solidity of brass:
where you would meld back into lake
be healed to the pond's surface,
permanently affixed to sky
given back to the unopposed silence
where they might remember us in times to come.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 5:53 PM UTC
I try to find what I crave
And soon I see its her.
From myself I need to be saved
To not let this pass in a blur.
This ocean holds the key without contempt,
This grave revives amidst a wake
Of thistles unbound and patterns unkempt,
If only to grasp for heaven's sake.
The seekers find their mystery
In a poetry unopposed,
The voiceless hide their misery
In a sultry book of prose.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC
Your cruelty as a madman will
Not be unopposed any longer.
Sweltering swagger will be your
Undoing,
Sinking you to the bottom
Of the lake.
Ravens and rats and crows
Will feast on your heinous
Bones
Come undone and be unraveled.
Accept your punishment for crimes
Wicked and debased, born of your soul.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC
You gaze at me, assured, composed,
as if your answer, unopposed
would stand against all scrutiny.
But what is clear in your own mind,
as one who sees and yet is blind,
is merely practiced litany.
You cannot see half hidden by
the shadow of the if and why
a nuanced answer signified.
And speaking yet into the air
enchanted by your doctrinaire
opinions that have not been tried -
You will not countenance a doubt
that anyone may have searched out
a truth you have not realized.
But I can see you, I can hear.
Your point of view is very clear.
And nodding silently, I go.
There is no point continuing
when only one is listening.
He will not learn, who only knows.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
In seventeen sixty nine a child was born
in Corsica, Genoa's former vassal state.
Prior to his birth, his land had been war-torn,
Paoli's resistance did his birth predate.
At school, his geometrical talent was inborn,
and he was tutored by none other than Laplace.
For his accent, his peers at school laughed him to scorn,
but fortune would elevate him from grass to grace.
With his much older heartthrob he tied the knot;
much to the chagrin of his own dear family.
For the heart of Josephine he relentlessly fought,
and at Chateau de Malmaison they lived happily.
Later he would choose a military career
that would take him beyond the Corsican frontier.
France's revolution saw to his glorious rise,
when at Toulon, he took royalists by surprise.
To Egypt he led a dual expedition
of a military and scientific mission.
To France he returned and sacked the directory,
taking charge of the affairs of state and treasury.
Europe did contend with him in seven coalitions;
at Austerlitz he subjugated two nations,
at Marengo, Austria on her bended knees fell,
at Jena-Auerstadt, Prussia to victory bade farewell.
At Borodino, Russia met her nemesis,
as her vanquished forces saw their paralysis.
At Ligny, Blucher like a beaten canine fled
with the terribly smitten forces he once led.
Portugal's sovereign lord to distant Brazil ran,
when like an invincible lord he came to his realm.
The emperor he feared, and made no military plan;
thus he paved the way for him to ascend his helm.
But despite his triumphs, his weakness was exposed.
At Rolica, his troops a major set back saw.
From Leipzig he did to Elba's island withdraw,
from whence in 1815 he returned unopposed.
Russia's wintry plains did his grand armee deplete,
making his troops vulnerable to a future defeat.
After the famous battles in which he gloried,
his great ambition at Waterloo was buried.
Feb 17, 2023
Feb 17, 2023 at 7:54 PM UTC
The drops collected
In puddles round your feet
In summation, a puddle
Broken down, just a leak
The fire burned unnoticed
Unopposed for a thousand nights
All together, a tragedy
After awhile, just a sight
White house in the valley
Falling victim to leaves
Once was a haven
Now prey for the thieves
Roads to the west
Leading everywhere and free
Always there for the traveler
For you and for me
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 11:48 PM UTC
A cacophony of bird songs
Shrieking among the firs
Two sparrows roosting on a branch,
Knitted feathers sever and fold
White waters roar through a craggy riverbed,
Alive with the scent of Spring
The hum of hornets emerging from a hollow tree,
A hidden hive
A lonely fawn tramples among the vegetation,
Desperate for a drink
Unopposed, a peculiar person rests upon a severed stump,
Discovering beauty for the first time
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
I don lost this post at solstice
crossed from coast to coast
running unopposed *****
took the pic
exposed it
lost art
took the paper fold it
in part
squares to triangles
chance to lean upon
a square make a rhombus
show no fear
I touch a circle
drop a tear
make a sphere thus appear
my manifested spear
which I hold so dear
like my austere career.
If you HOLD IT, you KNOW it
please take this crane and hold it
assist a wish for the holy moment
Give the dime away
Live a finer way
Life and love
The cosmic drama
Light your stage above
We illuminate
Monday through Sunday
By never
acting my age
cause that’s the way of sage
unattached but still graspin
ripped out books from this page
while I was stuck asking
what’s important
these are my thoughts
but who and what informed it
that’s what I thought....
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
The Cat was innocently
Sitting on the counter
When she noticed
The human noticing her
With a twitch of her whiskers
And a sniff of disdain
Down jumped the cat
Proclaiming her free reign
With her tail held up high
And her chin in the air
The Cat sashayed by
Seemingly without care
She absolutely wasn’t
Plotting or scheming
Cats don’t make plans
They’re only daydreaming
Now perched by the window
Eyes mostly closed
The Cat waits for a moment
When she’s unopposed
Finally, it happens
The humans have all left
The time has arrived
For a dashing, daring theft
Upon their return
The humans will discover
The dinner they left out
Was half-consumed by another
The Cat hasn't a clue
How this came to pass
She would never steal food
Of course she isn't that crass
NCL 2019
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
The empty office hums
as air-conditioned drums
rattle through the ventilation
and I sit idly with time for contemplation.
The day rolls forward unopposed.
As I've read: "So it goes."
With a sigh, I make my tea --
an infusion with elderberry --
but that alone doesn't warm a mind
limping out of tempo with the time.
My soul's too slow to keep this rhythm
of skewed self-perception and idiot-ism.
Know that I'm afraid to express my love sincerely,
because every person I've known I hold equally dearly.
Nothing special exists inside my love,
where no one is treated as below or above.
Now if you pass me on the street,
you'll know me when our eyes both meet.
I'll smile from my core for you
and I hope that you reflect it, too.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC