"visas" poems
Homecoming body:
A grey cardigan strips down,
bonding skin to
night’s air,
penetrating
Chevrolet safe havens
drowned in lover’s spit.
My Mind
thanks Google,
enabling electronic bibles
to leave disciples stifled
with religious quotas,
an excuse to quote us —
“Trouble at the Border,
read the former
court room reporter
working for the,
sensationalized,
through remnants of
blood stains in our eyes.”
Midway through Chapter 1 —
reeks not only of
of *** in the backseat —
but of Venezuela’s shorelines.
Of her high school hallways.
Of the intrigue of the unexplored Mexican neighbor,
her freedom amidst constraint,
where Visas
lease us
advertising campaigns
for maquiladora made lampshades.
Despite their protest,
common sense
lent comparisons,
a consequence
of stories told in reverse.
They hover over Venezuela’s familiar curves,
her long black hair straddling my shoulders.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC
winter's after-the-noon shadow lights,
fused-tinged with early-onset grays,
harbinger of one for whom death
detaches the answer from that question
too soon asked, so long unanswered,
why me?
those gray lights, a violin accompaniment,
mourning pitched wailings unasked for,
yet always in attendance, court courtiers,
feelings of insufficiency, angry angst insects
envy days when simplistic unknown fears
were the worst enemy, never lingering,
for unknowns have no answers and
cannot obtain permanent resident visas
but reality, another matter, mad hatter,
asking repeating what is this, why is this,
even comprehension partial gives
no comforting answer satisfactory logical
envy innocence past, for newer questions now *****
comfort by the lies in the essaying, trialling,
if, but, for, the distractions most affordable,
so grasp the pen that is the envy of thy companions
let the ink wail louder than you,
make paper shed what you have used up,
let envy of lost and found, found, yet still lost,
salve, but not solve, soothe, but not save
in the winter afternoons, those shortest days
of indeterminable longevity, words received,
offer little, but words self-conscripted,
a mortal transcript of pain immortalized by pen, relief will yet be,
for the pen is the envy of all
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
Crúzate conmigo wey and let me dream
No liase que seamos undocuqueer
Al cabo que el amor no ocupa visas
Firma con tus labios el contrato de mi piel
March next to me
Aquí no vale el papel
Propose to me at a demonstration
Kiss me and retaliate at this ******* system of subordination
Baby we are fighting for love
(and against deportation)
No pardon needed here for being fierce
The only paper I need right now is the one embracing this ink
I also need you here
No human is illegal
And love is undocuqueer.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
"Don't work with the Americans."
"Don't help the Americans."
This is what some of the Afghan interpreters are saying
After their poor treatment by the United States government
The Afghan Interpreters are angry
And they have a right to be
After most U.S. troops have left
Some are stuck hiding in Kabul
The Taliban tell the local people
That they are infidels
The Taliban **** many interpreters
The Afghan Interpreters struggle
Only about 30% get their visa
Some only have enough money
To make it to Greece
They live together
Barely any money
No hot water
Persecuted by the local police
One interpreter saved the life of an American soldier
The soldier helped him put together his visa packet
His visa took three years!!!
This interpreter had fought with them for 7 years
Had saved the lives of five American soldiers
Had been the personal interpreter for 12 U.S. senators
One interpreter
Did not leave on a flight approved by the U.S.
He had to leave on the next flight
Because the Taliban was threatening to **** him
Thankfully the U.S. soldier
Had a place for him to stay
And could give him some money
The soldier promised him
He would help him get resettlement benefits
Even though the U.S. government stated
He was not eligible to receive his benefits
Because he did not arrive on a U.S. approved flight
The Vice Interviewer
Learns from the lawyers working for the interpreters
That there is a massive bureaucracy
The Department of Defense doesn't consider them veterans
The soldier tried to get a bill introduced
That would streamline the process
And increases the number of visas
To help the Afghan Interpreters
No legislation regarding immigration was introduced
Because of bickering among Republican members
The program ran out in September of 2014
So now thousands will be stuck in Afghanistan
One interpreter that was interviewed
Was stuck in Afghanistan
Working as a taxi driver
Fearing for his life
Many of the Taliban prisoners
Have been released
Now he fears for his life
He doesn't know what will happen
6,000 applicants
For 280 available visas
As of July 2014
May God bless the Afghan interpreter
Trying to live his life in peace
May God bless the Afghan people
It seems things never change for them
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
a few thousand migrants
from run-down middle American nations
join together for a march
to reach the US border
and apply for immigrant visas
the tiny president
of the great United States
sends out the army to protect
the nation of 350 million
from this terrible threat
the master of fake
playing his power games
on the back of the most needy
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
IS IT NOT THE SAME HEART ANCIENT,..SINCE ADAM AND EVE?
TO THIS DAY AND AFTER ALL THIS TIME, THUMPING ETERNALLY?
BLOODS THINNER,VEINS CLOGGED,BEATING FASTER,DYING SLOWER;
BYPASSED,SURPASSED, STILL IMPASSIVE, STENTED NOW AND STUNTED,
BOILING ANGERS TURNING THICK, SINEWS IN HATE GRINDING TIGHTER,
VENTRICLES IN DISCONTENT COATED, CHILLED VALVES ICY UNCARING,
ARTERIES PUMPING, BEATING TO THE DRUMS OF HATE,RANT AND RACE,
EVER SO OPEN FOR GREED, HATE UNREASONED, THE QUICK BUCK STILL,
WELCOMING FENCES,VISAS, HIGH WALLS DIVISIVE AND BARBED WIRES,
RARELY, SO RARELY, DO WE LET IN, THAT ANGEL STRANGE CALLED LOVE,
ALWAYS TIME FOR A MESSIAH, A SHEPHERD,TO BORN AND TRANSFORM,
LEAD US ALL TO THE BRAVE NEW WORLD,TO PEACE AND MANKIND REAL
BREAK THE FISTS CLENCHED TIGHT, MINDS CLOSED AND SOULS KNOTTED,
MAKE US LIVE, LOVE,SING AND DANCE..EVER FOR ALL AND ALL FOR ONE.
GODS CANT BE WAITED FOR,TOO MANY ARE THEY,REMOTE SO CELESTIALLY
HERE AND NOW, WE ARE THE MESSIAHS,THE GODS,FOR ONE AND FOR ALL.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 3:13 PM UTC
kafijas pupiņas
cita rūgtāka par citu
bet visas kopā tās sniedz aromātu -
manām nasīm nezināmu.
ieliekam tās kulītē
un aizsienam to cieši,
lai neizbirst
un nepazūd
kafijas dārgakmeņi
man tuvie
bet tai part laikā nezināmie.
tie mirgo kā zvaignzes debess malā
es nolieku tos zem kāršu nama
un gaidu līdz brīnumi notiks
un kafijas dārgakmeņi ailidos
kopā ar gājputniem uz siltajām zemēm
izkusīs pupiņas un iekritīs indijas okēnā
okeāns pārtaps par kafijas mājām
un aromāts sniegsies līdz manai dzimtenei
mani kafijas dārgakmeņi
liks man dzīvot un sapņot kafijā
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 10:58 AM UTC
My grandpa who eats steamed sweet potatoes on foothills textured in green rice patties
dreamt up a tall brick house with a black iron gate
barbwires sprung around the tips of the entrance to keep out thieves
right now he wonders how long he can keep fibbing to my mother—
their rotten hut at the end of the massive foothill, not fleeting
monsoons come early, swells the ground till it gave
a landslide takes four people and a child
that day, red stars hung above Tiananmen square gates
grounded bones came in sacks, white cement hauled by green skin trucks
My grandpa who loves sweet potatoes constructs an ivory wall.
after the revolution, the sun peeks out in montages
peering through the smoke
gunpowder stuck to the tank tire roads
black heads roll off yellow tar dirt into a pit
My grandpa gives his best friend one thousand yuan—
visas for my mother and grandma,
His best friend disappears,
writes my grandpa
an apology and, leaves him a large white sack of uncooked sweet potatoes
light tan, severs in half and plops down on the lumpy cutting board,
dusty orange inners, grandpa tosses them in the boiling water
and later, while gnawing down,
he pretends they are oranges for once
Grandpa, who’s kneeling on our dried front yard with a worn out copper pail
waters the salty earth slowly until it sprouts sugar canes
chops one down, breaks it in half, the sun beats
peering through palm leaves
a viridescent river of silk and pale honey
my small three year arms grab a hand full
sliced by grandpa into pieces neatly placed
in a blue flowered ceramic bowl
years later, I chop a stalk down and chew until
English becomes a second language again
and in my twenties, I grab a hand full
sliced my mom into pieces, places them in a weaved basket
made of reinforced bamboo
I put it in front of my grandpa’s grave
in Fujian on the foggy mountainside of a small retirement town.
The edge of the South China coast covered in a thick plastic smog,
I sit on a stone eating sweet cold potatoes with my grandpa facing outland,
a red kneeing sun, barely visible past the trees
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 12:41 AM UTC
*I will travel this world
just show me an airline
that allows payment in poetry
show me where words buy visas
I can be a hero
who restores peace at a battlefield
where the universe is
fighting the war of words
I can soar high in space
just show me where lines
are stitched into wings
show me how to synthesise words into feathers
I can leave my mark on Earth
just have to turn it into
a planet whose species
actually knows a poet's worth
I can move the world
just give me a springboard
where I can stand and spin
the rest of the globe the other way
I can make you proud
just learn to hear my silence loud
even if you don't practically
appreciate that I'm endowed
I can be a president
just show me a nation
whose politics ain't marred
with filth, controversies and lies
I can be whatever you want
just give me whatever I need
give me a people without greed
and I'll find you a Moses or Joshua
,that I'm sure
I can be anything
the ocean, the bridge, the home under siege
the road, the beast of burden that lifts the load
the pathfinder at the Red sea,
if I'm given the rod*
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 4:54 AM UTC
The Feast of the Epiphany This Year
If the Three Kings were to visit today
They’d need the proper paperwork
Passports and visas, and what is the purpose
Of your visit? A check through INTERPOL
A cavity search by rubbery hands
An escort armed with bribes and Kalashnikovs
Through tourists armed with me-phones, selfie sticks
And cardboard chalices, following a Starbuck’s
Searching the East for a wondrous ATM
If the Three Kings were to visit today
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
mana dvēsele man teica,
ka tā jūtas nedaudz iesprostota
tā teica, ka manā ķermenī tai nepietiek vietas
tā laužas ārā
tā cenšas izlauzties brīvībā
tā grib lidot
būt brīva kā putns tālēs zilajās
reizēm ieslēdzot dvēseles mūziku
es zinu, ka tā jūt
tā pazīst savu mūziku
kā gans pazīst savas avis
tad mana dvēsele dejo
tā dejo manā ķermenī
vairs neuztraucoties par vietu,
jo tā jūtas laimīga un pilnīga
laime un pilnība ir salīdzināma ar māju sajūtu
dvēseles mūzika rod šo māju sajūtu
kad nekas netrūkst
esi tikai tu
tavs ķermenis
tava dvēsele
un mūzika
visas šīs lietas saplūst kopā
un tās sauc par
mājām
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
He packed his desire to remain
His state of transforming himself
Into the man that he dreamed of
And has not achieved
He said good-bye with a grimace disguised as a smile
And supplicated to his crucified God on the mantelpiece
For the protection of his loved ones
And he broke through the border
As he could
If the pale moon slips
Through any cornice
Without any permission
Why does el mojado need
To show with visas
That he is not of Neptune?
El mojado has the desire to dry off
El mojado is wet because of the tears that nostalgia evokes
El mojado, the one without documentation
Loads the packages that the legal would not load
Not even when forced
The torment of a piece of paper has turned him into a fugitive
And he is not from here because his name does not appear in the files
Nor is he from there because he went away
If the pale moon slips
Through any cornice
Without any permission
Why does el mojado need
To show with visas
That he is not of Neptune?
El Mojado
He knows your truth through lies
He knows anxiety through sadness
Of seeing a freeway and dreaming of the path
That leads to your house
El Mojado
Wet from so much weeping
Knowing that in some place
Waits a kiss taking a break
Since the day on which you left
If the pale moon slips
Through any cornice
Without any permission
Why does el mojado need
To show with visas
That he is not of Neptune?
If the universal visa is issued
On the day that we are born
And it expires upon death
Why do they persecute you, el mojado
If the consul of the heavens
Already gave you permission?
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
THE ONE.
Were a cosmic One, a whole, and shall be all again,
Cycles are births, lives and deaths, dancing around the one.
Here betwixt a myriad, of real apparent, of unseen change,
To be One is to be ever born, to be a broken many to die.
Be you, be me, be truth, The One can change never.
Once were starry dust atomic, and now cold hard men.
If the real is here and now, so was it there and then.
Nebulous gases and fumes to selves,egos and dollars.
Universal being to visas,borders and fragmented creeds
Evolution, so terribly wonderful, Monkeys to gods,
Mindless to rational, primitive to humans super.
Proud of mind, material, empty of heart, dead of souls?
Aimless we journeyed, still do, reality being change universal.
On shall we go, to newer realities, frontiers unknown?
A billion light years, other earths, unknown worm holes?
Carrying the seedling precious, of the never changing One.
Eternal, kindling faintly under the burdens unreal,
A licking flame, in us all, singeing now and then, reminding,
You, me, us are the One, lest we forget, the unchanging One Real.
All time, all forms, any space and in an ever changing all.. One are we.
MAX CHELUR.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 11:37 AM UTC
Tired and numb
Falling through space and time
Limbo, despair
Life’s cruel, it’s evil, not fair
Ocean of sadness and loneliness
Suffered through, for occasional islands of happiness
Visas there are only temporary
Permanent citizenship is only imaginary
Misery is the default state of life
Eased only by love, best weapon against your mind's strife
Apr 29, 2021
Apr 29, 2021 at 2:06 PM UTC
They're bright pink, so not bought for me.
Smooth surfaced petals curling back
like luxury tactile textiles.
Their shape defining shadows
paint a surface symmetry.
Trusting eager stems stretch upwards
but the ceiling sheds no sunlight.
It's March and these are summer roses.
Short stay visas, not cottage flowers.
A week later and there's wilting.
Petals like used tissues wrinkle,
silk dresses rustling to the floor.
Dark green leaves crumble to the touch.
Stilled life leaves fragrant memories.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
Take a few steps with me
No words
Just hand in hand
Let us walk together for once
It's time to take blame for the raindrops
On your eyelashes
That you can see reflected in my eyes
Was it your hand or mine?
I'll give you reason to breathe
Within you I'll find reason to live
It's time to stop painting one another red
What if your child was mine?
*Come to my house and we'll go on a picnic
To the most beautiful park
So relaxing and peaceful under a bright blue sky
I promise you will want to come back*
I will show you the cornfields
Alongside the roses
My people work so hard
They are most welcoming
*I dreamt of you last night
We were together
You never stopped holding my hand
And we just walked side by side as far as we could go
We walked through your home
It rained but we held on
Seeking shelter at mine
No one stopped you
We just walked straight through
No borders
No visas
My land had your flag
And yours had mine*
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
so, i'm on this page, and i meet my ****** pusher,
sure as hell he's pushing ******
although it's digital, the site / street corner?
allpoetry.com i get to publish 2 poems,
but can't publish more, i have to comment,
and comment positively,
'allo comrade Stalin! then comment on
2 poems, and get this message:
*Congratulations, you've achieved level 2,
and are now an "emerald cat"!
To reach the next level you need:
7 x comments, 1 x enter a contest, 1 x favorites,
1 x edit an item. • What are levels?*
i am not playing candy-crush saga!
i'm not! i'm not even kidding you,
what is this ****
we've been ****** by paedophiles
anonymous?!
please get me off
this ****** grid of the Cyber Pavlov Experiment...
likes and comments and saliva and cookies...
or premeditated minority reports -
akin to Orwell's thought crime gestapo -
god it sounds **** when said: g'eh'sh'tap'oh.
or how to use the internet
akin to deciphering and censoring established
media outlets...
obviously social media
can't replicate socialism, it's a media outlet,
but it can for sure **** off with
all the little capitalistic mind games that lead
to nothing but the Pavlov experiment -
and that was with dogs...
try that with a ******* Gorilla and i'll watch you
cradle prosthetic limbs while
he rips your original limbs off like he's playing
a harp:
then you can rhyme: twinkle twinkle little thumb,
how i wished you were attached to my hand to my arm
to my torso...
that's the same story
we had recently concerning a Mr. Kumbuka...
who escaped enclosure, and proved the a.d.h.d.
complex correlation with exposure to
sugar... ****** drank 5 litres of concentrated blackcurrant
squash replying: i'm mad at the keepers for keeping
me on a diet! i do king kong and you do the frenzied
blonde maiden.
it's still a concern for me that they herded the poets
into an area worthy of zoological inspection,
meaning that they base their worth on
deplorable points system: like they're immigrants
waiting for visas to Canada -
comment, like, blag and blabber your
way into that new country, known to all of us present
as Si S / Silicon State... by my count that's
the 51st, or the secular version of the Vatican.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
I want us to have a little country together
Made up of scratch paper,
Every inch of it overwhelmed with poems and random thoughts.
No wire fences but pens and pencils waiting to be adopted
Taken into the safety of our hands
Not shores or beaches
But open skies filled with imagination and room
Lots of room to think, and question, and ponder
And question, and ponder
And question and ponder
Books will be our passports
Songs will be our visas
No invasions or wars
Only consensual agreements
Our country
Filled with strange people
You and me.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
On January 27,
Holocaust Remembrance Day,
The president signed an executive order.
Our blue skies are turning gray.
From seven countries we are halting
Visas and travel. There's a list.
The countries happen to be Muslim-
Dominated. Get the gist?
The order says it's temporary,
And it will surely have its fans.
But one problem is that the order
Opens the door to further bans.
Trump says it's not discrimination
Against a religion. Don't believe him.
Using language to assert his power,
He's letting illogical thoughts deceive him.
Invoking the victims of 9/11,
He says that the order will
Protect our nation from terrorists--
A promise that he wants to fulfill.
What is interesting to note
Is NONE of the terrorists who were blamed
For atrocious attacks on 9/11
Came from the seven countries named!
They came from Egypt, Lebanon,
Saudi Arabia, and the U.A.E.
But none of those countries are on the list.
What does that say? You tell me.
What a great way to alienate
Our allies with appalling success
And to radicalize more people
Around the world and in the U.S.!
The Statue of Liberty's torch is dimming.
Hardened hearts don't know why.
Look! The date on her tablet is fading!
Wipe a tear from Liberty's eye.
- by Bob B (1-28-17)
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 10:45 AM UTC
the way the sun glides through the sky
with no visas
you go through my mind
with no permission
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 12:11 PM UTC
Cameron is apologetic
having packed his bags,
he has opened a new museum
dedicated to Macmillians government.
Bring back national economic planning.
Every region is uniquely fired.
Hull again a major fishing port
our Royal Navy guatds our fish stocks,
King Coal to fuel our power stations
Visas to come to the UK
it's a priviledge not free movenent.
Draw bridge's up
we remain an island
rather than an economic zone
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
For love, it is mandatory you pay the price of grief.
I’m afraid I’m in treacherous debt.
Swiped love off visas.
more discounts than Mastercards.
50% of your attention only on Saturdays.
What a deal!
At least I had your eyes to myself just for a while.
I knew every second that I was gonna lose you.
Which is why every second mattered,
why every second costs.
I didn’t count every minute like quarters.
I nurtured every hour.
I spent all the time I had on priceless affection.
You can see everything I owe to myself in my eyes.
Pat my pockets feel the left over potential.
Turn over my wallets and try to count the hopeless pennies.
I have nothing else to give.
What about an arm? A leg?
How much more can I give of me just for a little more time with you?
Apr 11, 2025
Apr 11, 2025 at 12:52 AM UTC
Hope you, You God, that you remember you made us Humans,
like all creatures and mammals!
We Humans so, yet, left the Path of Nature Some where,
we stored food and made ourselves Kings and so rude!
We made many wars..., know not why, and killed,
Only had that witness of Blood that we spilled!
Yes then we found things for our way..,
we made something called Money,
yet we only have to live eating what you made from nature's way!
And.. we made many a borders but can not stop any birds across,
we made Visas and papers for we do not see hearts as we all miss!
**** we, we made rules and fails and made something(s) ,
and call it 'International day(s) of this and that,
He and She, that and this.. for all our Guilt(s) !
Save Us GOD, it is time for your attention,
we are just on the verge of Making in Quick,
'International day of Right Click and left Click'!
Oh No! ! Stop us GOD! !
we look at you God, for your attention! ! !
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 6:20 AM UTC