"uppity" poems
the racist lesbian
who once called me
an uppity ******
who forgot where I came from
just had a baby
in West Virginia
who will grow up
without a father
or any mother
to support his escape
from a hick-ass town
if he even wanted
so I can't laugh too hard
and I say God Bless
'cause that's what they say
where I was raised
and if I walk around college
calling that white trash
it would only mean
that she was right
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
My smartphone got an upgrade,
now, between us, things are tense:
Siri, knowing she's superior,
has abandoned all pretense.
I asked Siri to hail a cab
when I was in New York
She told me I was getting fat,
and advised me I should walk.
Often Siri drops my calls
proclaiming I'm a bore.
(True, she's heard me tell that tale
a dozen times before.)
I wrote a *** text" to my love
while walking in the park.
Siri sent it to my mother
and thought it quite the lark.
I bought this phone because her apps
are very useful things,
Now I live in constant dread
each time the **** thing rings.
My Smartphone got an upgrade
and, between us, things got terse,
but we're married by the contract
for better or for worse.
I should have bought an Android phone-
I'm sure we'd get along-
My iphone's much too uppity-
something's Siriously wrong
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 7:59 AM UTC
This is a song to celebrate banks,
Because they are full of money and you go into them and all
you hear is clinks and clanks,
Or maybe a sound like the wind in the trees on the hills,
Which is the rustling of the thousand dollar bills.
Most bankers dwell in marble halls,
Which they get to dwell in because they encourage deposits
and discourage withdrawals,
And particularly because they all observe one rule which woe
betides the banker who fails to heed it,
Which is you must never lend any money to anybody unless
they don't need it.
I know you, you cautious conservative banks!
If people are worried about their rent it is your duty to deny
them the loan of one nickel, yes, even one copper engraving
of the martyred son of the late Nancy Hanks;
Yes, if they request fifty dollars to pay for a baby you must
look at them like Tarzan looking at an uppity ape in the
jungle,
And tell them what do they think a bank is, anyhow, they had
better go get the money from their wife's aunt or ungle.
But suppose people come in and they have a million and they
want another million to pile on top of it,
Why, you brim with the milk of human kindness and you
urge them to accept every drop of it,
And you lend them the million so then they have two million
and this gives them the idea that they would be better off
with four,
So they already have two million as security so you have no
hesitation in lending them two more,
And all the vice-presidents nod their heads in rhythm,
And the only question asked is do the borrowers want the
money sent or do they want to take it withm.
Because I think they deserve our appreciation and thanks,
the ********* who go around saying that health and happi-
ness are everything and money isn't essential,
Because as soon as they have to borrow some unimportant
money to maintain their health and happiness they starve
to death so they can't go around any more sneering at good
old money, which is nothing short of providential.
4.5k
Hey Duckity
Cheer uppity
Fear of life
Can turn to strife
The grass may be greener on the
Other side
But they lied
For where you are
Is just as far
As where you may need to be
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 11:18 AM UTC
What failures
oh the failures of leaving home at seventeen
of living and thriving as a minority foreigner
of working and studying to post-grad levels
of maturing wonderfully and being up and decent
of loving and marrying and creating a good home
of no crime, no debts, not a drunk, not a player
of no stained reputation, no borrowing or theft
of being easy-going, nice and friendly, an all-rounder
what failures
the failure of being successful and capable in grace
the failure of doing so well a white neighbor burgled
the failure of saying that's not right, you're rotten thieves
the failure of standing up to bullying thieving mobs
the failure of being gangstalked and destroyed
the failure of being an educated professional black
the failure of being a solid, courageous, wholesome man
the failure of knowing you can't do wrong and get by
Ladies and Gentlemen
these are my failures
Its all there in black and white
its the failure of being a minority
In the british democracy of the Socialists
for it is greed to work hard and be successful
its a failure for blacks to aspire and do well when your white
neighbor is a drunken, welfare dependent waster and thief
And Blacks beware, for if you dare tell them to go change
you will be stalked, hounded, smeared, defamed, humiliated
harassed, bullied, slandered, sabotaged, and basically driven to
suicide or a breakdown
They manufacture Failures to reflect their own failures
They call it Trading Places and dish it out to 'Uppity' Blacks
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 7:40 AM UTC
If I could draw it -
but I was never an artist.
What a picture that would be -
my family.
And maybe if I could trace the lines
I could better understand
how I came to be--me.
But I can't separate the smells
and sounds
and touch of it,
pencils can only go so far.
And there are the scenes
that I can only imagine.
The ones that happened
decades before me.
I see my grandpa's smiling face.
I don't remember him
as a brawling drunk
terrorizing his family
after world war II.
Granny smelled like powder
and liked men
though she would never admit it.
She talked a lot
but I don't remember ever
hearing any thing worthwhile.
The one I can't name.
He hurt me in the dark.
Mom Glass, the bootlegger,
who took her grandaughters
on Sunday trips up the mountain
to buy moonshine.
She wore red underdrawers
and she didn't care who knew.
Mammaw, who gave me words.
Who didn't know I was a refugee
but always welcomed me warmly.
She taught me the beauty
of being earthy.
No prim or proper uppity
girls fishin in the creek.
That one brought tears.
I miss her smile.
There are so many faces.
Voices.
Memories.
All contributed something
to the poem
I haven't written yet.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 9:14 PM UTC
They ain't got *****
They can't have *****
Ugh they always go to Starbucks and order a frappuccino **** them rich uppity white ******* get on my nerves."
They all listen to One Direction and 5 Seconds of Summer,
"I really wish I had white girl hair."
All white girls have to be this, have to do that,
This is my average day at school.
It's not true.
I know because I am a white girl
But I'm not your "typical" one,
I listen to Pantera and Phish,
I don't "always" go to Starbucks.
And I have an *** thank you very much,
I'm not rich,
I'm not poor,
I have the same anatomic structure as everybody else,
I don't need to be singled out for something that isn't true about me.
White people aren't the only that can have stereotypes made about them.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
The sun is bursting apart frightful apparitions surrounding me
its coming as always but not to theaters because they are closing down.
Plastic and plaster making it stay fresh for awhile because it always has, why stop? It might be ok to not think about it for just a short time-forever. And thats ok with me, guy over there is distracted by some **** chica...hes hopped up on latina.
and we almost all like to chomp on M&Ms; and sink our nails deep down in. Those uppity ****** up little pieces from the peanut ones drive you mad but u still eat them. Cracked up like beheaded musical singing monkey skulls.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC
next to the apple tree lay a stool- -
"climb to the top branch and
you'll see what it feels like
when the God's come
around to blow
you down."
she knew I was in love.
she knew I wasn't
much
face painted
like the uppity winds
of winter
our cheeks touched
my cheek now wears her
make-up
(fake blush)
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
Look, I found a new book to read,
This is a book of nonsense, indeed,
Titled, "The Amicable Divorce",
I did snicker and chortle, of course,
Who wrote this? Some toff,
I sit and read and scoff,
I wrote companion lit.,
Equally full of blip,
"Improve your kids' English,"
Real vivid vocab., that's the way,
What this witch wants to do to them,
Only one way to handle abusive men,
"Uppity, uppity, shove broomstick uppity."
"The Amicable Divorce"? Heavy, heavy,
Look, a brand new book to read,
"The Amicable Divorce", nonsense indeed.....
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
I broke the beer bottle
as a metaphor for my emotions--
the realization she was leaving setting in.
There was nothing romantic between us.
Just a friendship--
two people, sharing
dead seal dark humor
& common hatred of being idle.
She stayed in the hospital with me
after someone added something "special" to my drink.
We'd only met five hours prior.
You can't find that type of karmic green kindness
laying idly on a sidewalk or in the mall.
If only she weren't such an uppity *****
I'd miss her even more.
I'd be at her goodbye party
right now, sharing bourbons
and yucking it up.
But she makes me feel
so ******* uneasy--
hence, I'm staying here,
drinking craft beer and honoring
her friendship by a pouring one out.
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 2:09 PM UTC
Slip the knife in to feel incredible
Uppity old fiend
Consumate and scheme
A ragged representation
Reveal yourself offscreen
You ain't all what you used to be.
Dopamine disconnect
Reprint the picture
Surrealist architect
Initiate surrender
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 12:18 PM UTC
trying to write good stuff but some body on here wrote some thing
hurt my feelings bad. in letter i read from another poet on hellopoety
been doing big net search cause the letter said what we all writing is
bad poem writing, letter said most folks **** at writing and had a
uppity way of telling us they leaving cause we don't write good
been doing net search cause i wanted to know what peotry wrtiing
was and what i write is poems and got some likes on some of them
and one trender. found short meaning of poem when i googeld just
now. A poem is expression of feelings and ideas well my words are
poems that i write on hello poetry site like every body on this site doing.
now i think i don't know if i want to write no more poems on here.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
making a playlist titled you you you
taking a pill at the **** zoo
******* fools wasted on the pavement
chasing waists on the pavement
i'm tired of these ******* games you're playing
tic tac toes on the cusp of my aortic valve
**** hippocratic oath falsifying fingerprints
i am to you, just an oddball goodfornothing sonofabitch
semi-sweet curvature of the lungs
tar-coated nail-biting feminist *****
some uppity analyzing self-righteous bore
well **** you, too, then
**** you, too
i'll do alright in the world, got some chew
that i'll spit out a rhyme with, all that hullabaloo
i am those whos, on a dead *** dandelion making wishes on elephants (such buffoons)
and finding that donkeys are nothing but mumbling tools
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 6:36 AM UTC
Mumpity, flumpity, flickety flo,
Skippedy, whippedy, whatate is so.
Nannity, sanity, banality more,
Appity, slappity, slippery ore.
This it the language of garrilous gores,
Plumpity, uppity, nackity nor,
Willowby, silloby, mackity, lore,
Sit by the window you hippety ***
Africaty, molassesity, whoppity wo,
Laughity, screetchity, eachity sore,
Walk in a willow and trees are abore,
Sit by the window you willowby store.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
Ha oh weee
swings
signs cries lovely voice you decide on that
shirt
yellow
my favorite
intricate
she wears
tank top
and she is well
filled out
to her
she
smiles at me
I uppity
ruppity
cafffeine
at a cafe
chocolate bars
paintings
nice hat
do you like it
I like that part
funny
hee hee
sunflower
for you!
for me:?}?????
yes!
ahh
smell!
okay
rolling in the blades of grass
ice cream afterwords
popsicle
itching your neck
Sunflower
SUNFLOWER SANG:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iM4gJiov5eo
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
I am the ice sweating in the
midst of a surreal desert.
I rise as a wave in unbelievable
imagination of ravished lunatic.
A jingled chortle
of thundering sky,
a contemplating flower under bodhgay.
I am a mere rogue
tattering at the flowing time
in the ruined temple of life-
hearing the obscene truths sung by cracked skulls.
I sprout as a black cat in darkness
letting the reality to shudder
transcendentalising fantasy.
Sowing soul in the unlimited land of poetry
i water my emotion.
I am the silence of swaying lamp
the inevitable stream of its resonating music.
The songs sung by a million stars
the warm glow puffed by the moon
fills my soul with fluid of purity.
I am a pillar in a church
burnt by a ranting fire
punched by a vehement wind.
I vanish in the fugitive mist
varnish the blazing creature in oppressed slave heart.
I am the space between the doubtfully raised hand
of a poets pen tip,
i am his colorful idea
that has power to devastate the earth.
I howl with dogs
on my knees
in the streets letting everyone to watch my insanity
with uppity sarcasm, superciliously and pitying my senses.
I am a shrilly shriek articulated involuntarily
by a labor carrying 100KG weight,
cruelty of giggling pain in his heart.
I am the suppressed tear
screaming in a lovers eye
trembling tone
of last heart beat.
I am the idea of uncertainty
in Heisenberg's theory
i am that tone of Einstein's piano
which tugged the nerve
that can pronounce E=mc2.
A myriad universes flow in me
as i am smaller than an electron.
I am unbelievable
irrevocable
i am poet.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 5:48 PM UTC
What's the jungle doing up so late?
How's the afternoon a blinding night?
Why did all of God evacuate?
Who's the fire gonna wake up now?
Where you headed?
Let me tag along,
Now is not the time to **** the cows,
But we've crossed our hearts through lines they'd drawn,
So my faith is sleeping on the couch.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 5:33 PM UTC
Homeless. Crazy.
Everything is smooth.
No,
no one really knows enough.
No one cares enough, or gets it.
Close to charity,
all is oppressive.
Keys on treble, wishing
everything was ******* brilliant.
My planning is a bet that
it all comes part unevenly.
Yeah,
neon smokescreen,
lime green cigarettes,
and I'll leave you to carry
that sentiment on your
shoulders.
I hope you feel empathy like
a child that's ****** the bed;
warm and embarrassed,
take as a symbol of
habitual weakness.
Take it like a pill with tap water
that sticks in the throat like a brick.
Next door to inhumanity.
Every day is slightly
darker
than the last.
**** forgot the punchline…
something about how daylight fades
and darkness falls.
If we could all be so clumsy and respected.
A "feared klutz."
Anyways.
All the geniuses are dead,
and I hate most writers;
Snarky, uppity, *********
They're all dirt now.
I passed a man who spoke gibberish,
but ended his mush mouth with some
statement about getting food.
I told him, "I got nothing on me."
I lied. Of course I ******* lied,
I had almost $270 dollars in my wallet,
cash.
I don't even know
what I'm supposed to do with the money.
Just **** it away, I guess.
Start looking for another handout myself.
I can see the lines-
washed out, skillfully ignorant or oblivious
&
whoever said I was a loser first,
won the grand prize.
Some truth in the
universe.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
with gratitude shallow
and three legged horse,
the broken is lucky and kin,
with meat more than sallow
and set offling's course,
the track's making room for some sin,
I'm stuck in the knowing,
the gravemarker's mill,
at best, a false uppity-chin,
a groove for the mudder,
and Degas for the paint,
a noose off the jump
for the win.
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 4:59 AM UTC
for when the **** hits the fan
hes got his umbrella
a forty five calibre ******** repeller
so when the ******* and queers
all them uppity fellas
tell the good ol boys
muricas goin ta hell
he can ring libertys bell
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 12:15 AM UTC
I always like people
Who are not right for me
They see me as clingy
And uppity property (of the wayward sea)
So they cast me overboard
(Watch me drown)
Unless I get them first (last)
Then I'm just a ghost from their past
Scars in a row: one. two. three?
God help me.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
Won't someone come and decorate my rather large country estate
I asked the butler to renovate.
he asked for the going rate
which I can't afford to pay.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
At a drive through window
I saw a man cross the lane
Limping
In clothes not fit for the cold
Looking half-crazed
And all alone
And on the verge of something terrible
From depression
Or addiction
Or both
Or god knows what
Or how many reasons
I told my wife that I was thankful
Because, without her,
I could easily see myself in that man
That wild-eyed, shivering man
Who knew only hard truths
And so seldom has good news to tell
Often with more troubles than thoughts
To handle them all
Looking in a mirror
And seeing yourself truly as you are
Can shake a person to their core
She didn’t say anything, my wife,
But later she cried, I think
Because she knows how much misery I carry around
And how close I am to something terrible
From addiction
Or depression
Or both
Or god knows what
Or how many reasons
My love
I did not mean to make you cry
You do not have to
Without you
Where would I be?
Where would my cold feet
Find warm fire?
Where would be the nourishment for my insides?
Where would I be limping along?
Where would I be gawked at
By some uppity ***** in a Toyota
Eating food I wish I could have
And thanking his lucky stars he isn’t me?
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 9:37 AM UTC