"vested" poems
All that we know maybe distorted
Or a methodical manipulation
Where truth is obfuscated by few
Which spreads like an epidemic
Words used with vested interest
For us to play a role given to us
Memorizing the scripts, to deliver
Speeches with someone else’s ideas
Thoughts and feelings engineered
To suit the machinations of few
With sinister ideas to play with the mind
A conscious and intelligent manipulation
Bereft of the tools of our own judgment
Our perception is not even ours
For the mind has been violated
With the scheming and methodical manipulations
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
Lately, his patience runs thin.
Onerous burdens, born in mind,
Vested into he who allows them.
"Exhaustive, yet necessary," he sighs.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 5:01 AM UTC
Your leadership is like the air,
With presence, only whispered,
You live far & further,
Furthest from our hands can find,
Your haste has filled our hearts,
Hating you like hell, that highly feeds on flesh
What else will I compare your leadership that hurts,
Better the typhoon wind that destroys quickly and leave, than your leadership that destroys slowly over years
What else will I compare with your leadership that destructs.
Better the lion that kills only to live for that day,
Than your lingering greed of wealth that outweighs your weight,
Taking all gain, from all day five
They say, the world has wealth for all to live well,
But not for you, one vested with immense greed!
What else will I compare, a leadership that is great with greed.
Better the drought and famine that withers our wealth, with equal measure across
But with humility of nature,
leaving pieces of trace, to rejuvinate all again,
Than your leadership that is out to loot all,
Lending little to your loyalists,
Leaving none to the rest
Your leadership is like the air,
With presence, only whispered,
You live far & further,
Furthest from our hands can reach,
Your haste filled our hearts,
Hating you like hell, highly feeds on flesh
What else will I compare your leadership
Better the typhoon wind that destroys quickly and leave, than your leadership that destroys slowly over years
What else will I compare with your leadership that destructs.
Better the lion that kills only to live for that day,
Than your lingering greed of wealth that outweighs your weight,
Taking all gain, from all day five
They say, the world has wealth for all to live well,
But not for you, one vested with immense greed!
What else will I compare, a leadership that is great with greed.
Better the drought and famine that withers our wealth, with equal measure across and humility to leave a apiece, than your leadership that is out to loot all, lending little to your loyalists.
Better the diseases that kills with slow eating the body, with no prevention and cure than your leadership that
etter the diseases that kills with slow eating the body, with no prevention and cure than your leadership that
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 9:25 AM UTC
Many have heard that “No man is an island.”
And over most circumstances, no one has control.
So I ask you… “Have you found purpose for your life?”
“With your identity, are you fulfilling your role?”
Escape the snare of delusional grandeur,
for God Almighty has an assignment for you.
Are you prepared with your life skills
and has your Kingdom mission come into view?
Previous individuals came to you (before me)
and broke the fallow ground of your heart.
Has the message of Salvation burst within you?
Are you wanting to serve, but have not started?
Has the “sown seed” inside you… been watered?
Are you on the verge of a spiritual epiphany?
Do you require wisdom, guidance or experience?
Can you determine, why you’re unable to see?
The grittiness of human interaction serves us
as “sandpaper of life”, softening one’s spirit.
We’re to learn from each other, apply God’s Word
and strive to live life… without earthly limits.
Having vested interests in others
helps us to sincerely love one another;
walking in Godly unions and relationships,
bonds us as Christian sisters and brothers.
Remember the complete story of Queen Esther,
whose success was possible by efforts of Mordecai.
Become involved in the ministry of destiny helpers…
For Christ promised to meet our needs against His Supply.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
1 Cor 3:1-10; Esther
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
1 Kings 15:24- "Then Asa rested with his ancestors and was buried with them in the city of his father David. And Jehoshaphat his son succeeded him as king."
Hand passes baton
Race not about runners
An objective not at odds
To something further than singular
It is about the passing
Dedicated motion
Maintaining of
Exchange at maximum speed
Invigorating something else
Notion of familial
Virtues vested
In a completement
Of the passing on
And a carrying of values
So well learned
From another before
And His trust given
Rewards of a relay
Are plural
With an instinctual handing off
Of Faith
In a mentor before
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 5:15 PM UTC
The black, iron God arm punched
placid-blanched clouds, and dangled
cat cable down to lemon-vested men
with chalkboard faces.
*Basic algebra, today's date, daily
syllabi, God-fearing anecdotes,
and the evils of homosexuality.*
Fornicating with other dudes
is like moving Jesus' rock
with your condom'd *****
Let sleeping dieties die.
We find them buried deep beneath
**** ceramics by T.V. criminals,
rapists, murderers, buzzers, free-
lovers, angelheaded sweethearts.
They have nearly four dollar souls,
barely enough for a Wilpo dinner
at Hepburn Diner. #2 breakfast
with one cup of Columbian cartel
coffee with a pinch of whole milk
to take the edge off, so he won't
be gripping the booth vinyl when
a "freedom" flash cop car passes.
Police cruisers are just bigger bicycles
that we're afraid of, sporting cereal
box baseball cards in the spokes.
Cops were the kids that needed help
their first time fresh off training
wheels. Training academy training
them for low-speed cat chases through
flower beds.
Sweet daffodil, you didn't have to die
like this. You could've drank straight
from the pitcher at a stranger's dinner
party potluck, seen the guts of a New
York highrise, shared the coke left
beneath a woman's botched nose job.
You could have been more than this.
You could have been more.
You could have been.
You could have.
You could.
You.
You, daffodil, stamen-down
in Miracle Gro and dog ****
could have been more.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
XXIII
Methought I saw my late espousèd saint
Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave,
Whom Jove’s great son to her glad husband gave,
Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.
Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint
Purification in the Old Law did save,
And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heav’n without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
Her face was veiled, yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined
So clear, as in no face with more delight.
But O, as to embrace me she inclined,
I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.
2.1k
Mechanical reactions
slither through the cortex,
Binding our beliefs into
a solid jellied mass.
The peons go without a care,
wisdom is not their share,
only to be appeased
in the short term
is their game.
Yet the one who dances freely,
Gracefully fluttering down the walk,
gets stared at and gawked at,
Ridiculed and mocked.
The program
does not recognize the patterns
that are involved,
and the programmers are just too vain
to change the program's
stiff and rigid brain.
So while the programs interact,
the dancer keeps on dancing,
sensibilities in tact.
She notices the patterns,
the snide remarks behind her back,
the stares, the whispers, wonders,
of the program's capacity cap.
How she wishes just one
free person could truly understand
what it's like not to be a robot,
but a compassionate human.
Seas of judgement, seas of motion,
Seas of jealously and hate,
motivated by confusion,
in this altered AI state.
One day there is a person
walking out of sync,
the rest of the people shrink away
from the lone independent freak.
Free thought and new ideas
Are poison to their wires,
new data it can handle,
but independence acts like fire:
Burning through the program
like an arrow with a purpose,
piercing through its hardened heart
rendering the program worthless.
The boy who parted the sea of monotony
found this dancing girl,
and together created a barrier
shattering programs with a twirl.
By the power vested in me,
I command you to think,
Think twice about your actions
or you will find that you will sink
Into a sticky, jellied mass
where your thoughts will cease to think.
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 12:18 PM UTC
Emerged from the forest of before,
lying out here on nature's open floor.
Hushed silence descends on the crowd,
astronomic anticipation deafeningly loud.
And an audience of many a twinkling light,
an audience of burning green eyes keep us in sight.
The spotlight is trained on a boy perched on a red box,
He ignores the creaking seats and the rude whispered talk.
The silence is blessed,
as Jupiter smiles down from above,
As the grass tickles our cheeks,
Necks arched
We need to behold it.
Clasped in embrace, lips coiled in fear,
Something is stirring, monsters of society rear
Ugly heads to turn away,
Their anger, their fright, their life...
is on display
A star gazing ****** new to this universe,
new to the way the galaxies converse.
New to the language of this astrology,
I now write previous lives eulogy.
Even though this masquerade leaves us dissuaded,
its lines ensnare us, to overlook mumbled words
and taut stagnant blank faces.
This dancing boy cries out in many voices,
now he's loud enough to be heard.
And then we see it and it's in the sky,
I don't want forever and I don't want why,
I just want to hold stardust in my hand,
To recall, remember, rewind.
As I will never understand.
In front of our eyes, they speak the final words
linked together by their unity.
One does not surpass the other,
and in their eyes we find serenity.
Who cares what you are
Under a star
Who cares how you feel
Because nothing is real
There's always more than you or me,
the world is bigger than what we see.
It's not just our stretch above,
there's more to accept and more to love,
And two hands on either side,
lead me to open my heart. Open it wide.
To swallow the stars and swallow the sky,
Swallow this terrible tragic lie
Whole.
Looking into portals to Heaven or looking into
the realms of the mind,
Whether someones is listening,
up there- I solemnly believe to find-
That someone is "vested in your success".
SO OUR LOVE ALWAYS
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 6:28 AM UTC
ha ha!
a ha ha ha ha ha ha!
sorry... i sometimes
get the giggles...
you know that jeffrey dahmer
biopic?
ha ha ha ha!
i'm laughing,
because i'm authentically just curios...
who was the inspiration
for the film,
Napoleon Dynamite?
who?!
ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
are, you, sure,
that Jeffrey Dahmer wasn't the muse
are you, sure?!
ha ha ha ha!
doubt it...
seriously doubt it...
NA(H)PO(H)LEO(N)
DYNAMITE...
what a "vague" similarity...
with a Jeffrey Dahmer...
**** it... let's go full **** -
DJ REBEL & MAHOMBI
ft. SHAGGY...
but... ha ha ha!
i love the fact that Napoleon
Dynamite was borrowed
from... ha ha!
ah ha ha ha!
the Milwaukee cannibal!
please tell me
when Albert Fish pops up...
esp. with the scene of
injecting needles
into his groin
before sitting on the electric chair:
i'm guessing for the added
O in gasping for...
anything but air.
it's still sinking in...
it's nighttime and i'm...
seriously trying to avert laughing
out-loud...
how there's connection...
reciprocal points
of
vested interest culminating in
pristine Abel...
and his shadow, Cain...
now...
if Jeffrey Dahmer wasn't the inspiration
for Napoleon Dynamite?
then Pinocchio elongating nose...
wasn't the basis for a *****
i must always be wrong,
it would seem.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 7:59 PM UTC
Universe vested within and galaxies scattered beyond,
A moon child fathoms her demise.
Dec 5, 2022
Dec 5, 2022 at 4:26 PM UTC
Shy cup of Latte 🍵
Shy cup of Latte, savor of mine
Sat with ease as unto a regal saucer--
Upon my heart's amber throne
Hearth to a grandeur sublime
That trembles the first bright gleamer,
Of the early morning sun.
Portions enchanting proceed--
From your pearl purple scepter
Bade on high,
Onto lofty summits of lovesome regard,
To reign my walls for ages untold,
As Empress to a citadel ever yours
Violet petals doth my path carpet
Gracing my careful fervor stroll--
Onwards,
Upward
To the edge of your sweet repose,
By the smooth rims, encircling
Your gently steaming streams of splendid love
In a bid to peck a sip so healing--
Kiss your froth in heartly devotion
As unto a ring queenly royal,
Of she whom upon my love delights,
Let mine soul be merry in this stead,
With its essence to joy in this blessing
Ringing spurts of gratitude--
and whispers of promise
I sound in chime to myself
"I, then --
Be an endless song
To which I ever call for her hand in dance."
She, then --
Be my heaven-vested cistern
My shy cup of latte
A fountain cup so sweet
It never ceases to pour.
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 5:06 PM UTC
Seasoned Love's silent discourse,
Dusk of the long distance,
Beneath the mantle of lament
The peak bloom, gnawing decay,
Obscure
The weight of favor;
Annealing fire, moulded by
Winds of duration
Unfastening the raw surf of sorrow.
Incipient caprice, theft of occlusion
Colored by common defiance,
Vile tremors of privation-
Native enclave,
The province of
Vacant, age-eaten elucidation.
The tangled weave, pathos and ethos
Vested
Interior acquisition,
Furrowed paths of countenance
Evincive and drawn,
Affinity found, inhabiting the palisades
Of Immersion.
A furtive glance harbors
The trained gaze whose
Immanent flame-
Emergent
Serous source,
Imbued piercing latency;
A taste of
The fountainhead.
Unprobed theater of the absolute.
Thin supple pith
Identity sealed in skin
Perambulator of meaning and
Lineaments of cure.
Bearing the image of ubiquity
Perceives in the other,
Immortality.
Sacramental Eros,
Subsumes the
Capacity to treasure.
©2013 W.S. Warner
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
What is LOVE ?
Is it a Lust?
Is it a Obligations?
Is it a Vested interest? Or
Is it just a Emotion?
It's all about the Perception
of Love giver and recipient !!!
It's all about Situation
when it happens !!!
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
Bending to the moon forevermore the waves collapse against the shore,
The push and pull a rhythmic tantrum abiding by natural cause,
A sparkling realization to the infinite balance vested beyond our reach,
A tale predestined transcending script and linguistic compression,
Oceans galore.
Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 9:48 PM UTC
Perfect is worthless seen through the eyes of a serpent
A word I'm sure is uncertain, spoken from any one person
I've come to realize earth is a curve of choking emotions
Seventy one percent ocean but see, the fire is the potion
We keep a flame in our hearts just to keep away the commotion
Forsworn and broken, stuck to a preconceived notion
We heat the coldest of parts but we don't foresee the explosion
We've chosen hate over love and we let our minds remain frozen
We're hopeless roamers and loners subject to being torn open
We stumble through the black, hands splayed blindly groping
For some sort of hope although we're lost in the ***** mess
Of pretending to be alive, free and full of alertness
Too often we keep our hearts rib-caged and vested
Let nothing come between our minds and this message
A vestige of optimism found underneath a veil of depression
But being hopeful for a future is a subtle transgression
To the laws of the present where we learn only one lesson
"Sever the bonds between eyesight and connection"
Dissecting human nature and replacing it with technology
Follow me I'll show you our true psychology
We seek a light in a cave but digging used archaeology
We advance not through screens, but 'forward ideology'
We accept a flawed system and in return are plagued harshly
By the 'gods' of the world because 'goods' are placed sparsely
Mark my words, the hand of time is our only true opponent
We believe the hand of 'him' to be the earths advancing component
So we fake smiles and play this game but we don't own it
We just bought it of the market that we created unknowing
Listen because I am showing independence in words
Not trying to preach, I just want you to learn
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
Arbitrary numbers scatter her mind's surface,
Operationally stunted she scurried,
For no deviation could solve the turmoil vested within,
It was hope vested in the cosmos,
An escape adorned in constellations,
The unwinding of a student.
Dec 5, 2022
Dec 5, 2022 at 3:48 PM UTC
The wood was beneath, warped
With age, as the worms crept
Falling into the gapping chasm
Of petrified air. Ingested upon
Shattered bone, was the ragged
Wanting beneath.
The stone was polished, kept
As if newly left. Never was
Their needing for never were
Clothes tattered, they dined
Upon pigeon heart and entails
Of pedigree cat.
The Woman, of both below and
Above, vested wording to the
Ever breaking of parched skin and
Bone.
Those of wood and worm, clawing
Ascending through dirt, what was
Left of flesh pealed upon roots and
Stone, now only ragged cloth and
***** bone.
Why must we of the earth suffer,
The indignity of dirt while those
Above treated differently, we are
the same are we not, death is
Universal rot.
Then those of marble spoke up,
You are not like us for we are of
Death but we are of flesh,
Parched but whole, we are of
The clean, while you are of
Earth festering and rot.
"Silence"
"Still your airless voices"
"Each has a valid point"
"But my children of decay let me explain"
My children of earth you exhume
Yourselves each day, this shows
Strength for the journey you take,
Hardening you resolve.
You are neither filth or below,
Your strength is what others
Should look up to, you are pure
Of the mortal coils of flesh you
Are flawless in death.
My children of stone, what can
Be said, you cling to life, but
That time has pasted, you
Linger upon flesh that is but
a moment from dust.
Time in earth has made your
Brothers and Sisters strong,
While yours are weakened
The weaknesses of above, my
Commands are simple their
Must never be two, death is
Singular we decay as one.
What was pasted, those of marble
Stripped of parched decadence,
They were now pure as those below.
Feast as others on that which crawls
Nourished by mother earth.
The woman of bone, wood and stone,
Was a fair keeper and the only
Marble that graced was that which
Named those who slept below,
They were pure of mortal coils
They where the dead of bone.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
i.
A black vested barbarian
From the land of Corinth;
Garbed in snowy himation
Travelling the Filipino drench.
ii.
Twas, I was not use to this land
There's only a dry and wet season;
Mine black snake Boot's
Protected me from venomous poison.
iii.
This ground as mine own
Untamed primal eye's;
They Pierce through the wilderness
Phantom's passeth through thy body, it's their energy as a high.
iv.
Tis I was greeted
By an aboriginal watcher;
I met her mother, who wanted me for her daughter
I Gaveth mineself to this young queen, mind full of wonder.
v.
As tis I hath joined, this clan of beautiful native's
I consecrated mine Reyna's amour', as we became related;
Whilst we danced, around the fire her mother hath built
The Filipino bead's around mine neck read " Jane", meaning self.
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
I try not to heed news that yells at me that everything is going to ****
I do, however, read lots of news that leads me to the same conclusion.
Though I do care
how current events impact my fellow Humans,
I wish to form my own genuine opinions
based upon objective information;
Is that really too much to ask?
Seems like it.
Objectivity in Journalism is a dying breed.
Media doesn't like Objectivity anymore;
not since the inhuman atrocities of the Vietnam war
were so enthusiastically televised.
Now it's all sensationalism and demagoguery
and who **** X is ******* this week
and that's how they want it;
for, you see,
we, the People of Earth,
are far too dangerous
with accurate information
and a bit of vested interest
in what happens upon this,
our sole World
our soul World
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
The Difference in those who are charged and graced the authority of the people and the city and states to defend the weak, protect the innocent , serve and protect and even enforce the Just laws that are n the books, with descretion are this, Any officer that harms and abuses the power vested into them is truly a PIG yet, let this not be confused with the True Blue, The officers that truly protect and follow the very same laws that they enforce, these my Friends are L.E.O.'s and yes very much Lions of the Good and True heart.
So let us not find fault in the Good hearted men and women that are fighting the PIG's whom have not only abused and harmed the very innocent and perceived guilty and have caused grave crimes that are in measure of hell its self but they have caused the same harm on the very men and women that serve faithfully whom are LEOs and dare not think that these good LEOs and their families have not had the same crimes done unto them or their families, for surly they have some where at some time and probably worse. So remember I support the True Blue LEO's and their Families, and back them as they take down the PIG's that have ***** and pillaged the very people that bestowed the authority they abuse.
PIGs in Zen Lyrics Below.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EyxcFzVmtgg
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 5:41 PM UTC
Am I to be an anemone,
with florescent blue petals,
chalky stamens hid inside,
dwelt within my calyx,
I have waited impatiently to break free,
dusted in vibrant blue.
I digress, for I am not an anemone,
Find my only friendship in bees,
stripy buzzing vested bees,
For I am a lady locked up,
I am beginning to gush.
(C) Livvi
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 7:53 AM UTC
He pounded coffin nails
With a hammer forged of fear
Every word of spite nailing in and holding
Badged and vested
Death and bullets resting in his gun
But still frightened by this woman
Standing proud
Whom he could not bully
Nor subdue
Hammer, hammer, hammer
Testimony to the judge
That in all his years
He had never met a woman like her
Who acted like her
No respect
No fear
Of course not you fool
You charged into the camp
Of Boudicea
Come to **** and pillage
And fell beneath her sword
Hammer, hammer, hammer
You can lock her up
But you can never bury fear
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC