"voluntary" poems
I like immigrants, immigration. Legal immigration,
Jane passionately corrects. Actually my goal is a borderless world.
Gathering the neighborhood like family.
The men discuss sterilizing welfare mothers. I say You're working
around the edges,
humanity has exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet,
even those with jobs. And spouses. And houses.
Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass,
two baseball teams of children playing in it. Safe from Pakistan.
News photos of Muslim refugees, women in blue robes, biblically
carrying children away from holocaust. The fundamentalist army
not far behind, beheading sinners, sure in its righteousness
as the Holy Roman Empire.
Somehow Joel Osteen the evangelist comes up
while talking about how the Catholic Church is irrelevant in North
America,
even Latin America and Africa are going evangelical.
Izzi likes Osteen, awesome extemporaneous speaker, no teleprompter,
up from bootstraps message. My wife says he's probably Jewish.
Fortunately no one claims the Holocaust never happened or slavery
was voluntary.
What is the carrying capacity of the planet?
In China is it each couple or each adult that gets one offspring?
As life expectancy and standards rise,
family size diminishes. We draw together into greener, tighter cities.
The children of three monotheistic religions, atheists and agnostics
play in city streets, work farm fields, explore forests, deserts,
grasslands, space.
Two ancient female poets: Enheduanna and Sappho
are a revelation. The clarity of their complaints:
lost lover, lost city.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
Are you listening to the whispers? are you feeling scandalised?
Harbouring ***** little feelings that you wanna sanitise?
Walk through the swinging doors of a catholic franchise
Ask em for that sailors knot a black-n-white man-ties
To the pairs of prying eyes his practical rebuke
Is a marital disguise and a tactical puke
Throw the garter ‘mongst the pigeons, the voluntary victims...
Whose single minds are filled with matrimonial conviction
Paired up poets pool their miseries; the price of art
Each miserable synergy - the sum of its parts
Did he swear that he’d hold you ever dear to his heart?
To love and to cherish til your knees did part?
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
There she stands on ceremony all silk and sinew
While the vow evicted from his Adam’s apple continues
To stutter as the panic builds like stifled farts
Til it splutters its devotions on her lady parts
Her eyes sentence you to sit though your neck-hairs stand
She’s the ****** ****** written in the lines on your palm
Old scores squeeze sideways through her gritted teeth
And he takes on the debt of every promise she believed
Hide the love-bites in a polo-neck, your love life in a Rolodex
When the ***** hand of happen-stance runs its evil down your keks
Cos like the indelible digits on your bathroom mirror
Love is for life until you dress it with liquor
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
We are but experiments, seven billion shades of wrong
The clever ones stay celibate, the others pass it on
That’s an easy line to settle-on in present company
Single-riders in the peloton to pick up the debris
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
Look, stranger, at this island now
The leaping light for your delight discovers,
Stand stable here
And silent be,
That through the channels of the ear
May wander like a river
The swaying sound of the sea.
Here at the small field's ending pause
Where the chalk wall falls to the foam, and its tall ledges
Oppose the pluck
And knock of the tide,
And the shingle scrambles after the ****
ing surf,
and the gull lodges
A moment on its sheer side.
Far off like floating seeds the ships
Diverge on urgent voluntary errands;
And the full view
Indeed may enter
And move in memory as now these clouds do,
That pass the harbour mirror
And all the summer through the water saunter.
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face down she rests her naked form
head turned from her lover's glance.
eye's closed she lies and knowingly waits,
(a) loving touch starts passion's dance.
his huge hand moves across her back
with strokes the touch of butterfly wings.
upon her creamy skin so smooth
its path now set toward splendered things.
his pace a slow deliberate score
her passion's breath he brings,
from touch so soft, igniting sparks
with love her breath now sings.
his steady course she knows so well
with every touch as if it's new.
her sparks of passion love's embers light,
love's embers loving hue.
down past her rear with feathered touch
just knowing where to go,
behind her knees his fingers dance
to passion's steady flow.
their hips now in synchronic dance,
love's voluntary ride, she feels his
passion grown so hard,
now pressed against her side.
he cups her breast so gently
as if it were a flower,
its ****** earlier soft and small
now hard with passion's power.
and in her ***** great sparks erupt
her soft and pleasured flesh.
with juices flowing, desire's high
to meet love's natural crush.
now she turns to meet his lips
her passion running high.
with savage hunger she pulls him in
her hunter now the prey.
tables turned their urge well matched
desire holds the pace.
she takes control and guides his love
with feminine stealth and grace.
to places only she could know
where sparks ignite
small streaks of light,
that illuminates her soul.
together they fend love's tempting end
to stay their lover's dance.
to take control and reach their goal
the essence of their romance.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 6:35 PM UTC
-October 17, 2230
White marble and the vitalizing smell of chemicals.
Our light and evenly coloured avenue, straight and decisive, reaches the distant horizon.
And all without trying.
The clear autumn sky, sterile and wonderful is well fitting our day of celebration, is it not!
In front, rows upon rows of men glowing with pride and dressed as myself, (why do I waste paper on the axiomatic….) move swiftly and evenly along to the beat, oh so evenly...
And arms move out and up on every beat.
For our jubilee has come, and a hundred years have passed since the necessary (and by them voluntary!) extermination of citizengroup 3.
Oh, whoever might read this joyous note of mine, what a day to be!
-O402
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
V-is for vowing to never drink *****
While on our voluntary vacation.
We have voiced our verification
In a high voltage volcano
While playing volleyball
And checking our voicemail.
While in this void,
A terrifyingly vivid *****
Who was a model for vogue
In which she wore a V-neck dress,
And ate all her vitamins
Vocabulized with much volume,
Her vow
To always,
Drink *****
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 10:16 AM UTC
Patriotism is normal
alive and well
vigorous
flying high
Patriotism is voluntary
is love of
is love of country
is a love of and devotion for one's country
Patriotism is when love of your own people comes first
racism
more than flag
too often the refuge of scoundrels
Patriotism is as dogmatic as the old
a kind of religion; it is the egg from which wars are hatched
conviction that this country is superior to all other countries
no excuse for stupidity
Patriotism is alive in america
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC
I am a voluntary propagandist.
Run I did a strong campaign.
An enduring campaign for NaMo.
My Facebook pages are successful.
And I feel like a shadow warrior.
I don't need any prize for my efforts.
Mōđī Jī remaining in charge of India's golden future.
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 2:17 PM UTC
Hypocracy Mandatory.
Gullibility Mandatory.
Insensitivity Mandatory.
Obesity Mandatory.
Immaturity Mandatory.
Childishness Mandatory.
Monarchy Mandatory.
Capitalism Mandatory.
Conservatism Mandatory.
Terrorism Mandatory.
Corruption Mandatory.
Incompetence Mandatory.
Socialism Mandatory.
Dictatorship Mandatory.
Militarism Mandatory.
Liberalism Mandatory.
Bhuddism Mandatory.
Islam Mandatory.
Christianity Mandatory.
Judaism Mandatory.
Hinduism Mandatory.
Vedism Mandatory.
Hatred Mandatory.
Anarchy Mandatory.
Jealousy Mandatory.
Nationalism Mandatory.
Fascism Mandatory.
Racism Mandatory.
Lies Mandatory.
Hypocracy Mandatory.
Obesity Mandatory.
Heart Disease Mandatory.
Cancer Mandatory.
Idiocy Mandatory.
Eco-Nazism Mandatory.
All of us Humans.
Of all Five Colours.
Wherever we be.
Whatever we do.
However we "see" ourselves.
What do we call ourselves now?.
How about shallow nitpickers?.
Or celebrity obsessed morons?.
Or religious hypocrits?.
Or Democrats?.
Or Socialists?.
Or Revolutionaries.
Or just plain "nice folks"?.
Or supporters of oligarchy policies?.
Or immature backpackers?.
Or government assassins of integrity?.
Or juicy ***********
Or swift tongued ******** ticklers?.
no matter how many lie dead or injured as a result
of our obfuscation and avoidance.
As if poets have the explanation to life
except in strings of meaningless associated
but fine sounding words.
When "poets" are the voluntary slaves of Mind
and Conditioned Identity..
As if poets had the ***** to go beyond all these things.
As if .
Scrape the Moons suface and you will find a delicate Castello Blue Cream Cheese.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
The scars on your arms
Form the box of my jail cell.
I'm serving a pseudo-voluntary,
Compulsory sentence for someone
Else's hell.
I guess I chose this fate
Despite it being ****** in front of me.
But the illusion of free will
Is a broken façade of
Immaturity.
I suppose I do like you,
But be with you? I don't know.
Your unblamable desire for
Love and affection is something
I can't show.
Because while your world may be Torture, mine isn't heaven either.
With heart flutters,
Stomach aches,
And leaving class for breathers.
The help that I can give,
Is reaching its end.
And whisperings
Tell me to leave,
From nefarious, bitter friends.
Yet when I entertain departure,
The only things that I'm left with are
My thoughts in the shower,
My tears joining the water,
And I remember looking in the mirror
Trying to figure out where I am.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
So you've decided to cut your losses
leave here before it gets any more complicated
and you know I won't stand in your way
love should be voluntary
not a war,
not something I should have to earn
not something I should have to win.
So before you leave,
before you stumble out that door
won't you say something hurtful
make it sting to the core
say something that will singe
and leave a mark on my heart.
Because one day
should melancholy
unexpectedly
breathe life to your memory
I don't want to regret
the ghost of someone
who was gone too soon
like breath
lost on the windowpane of my soul.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
Dropped off in a desert.
Combat uniform tight against me.
Sweat gripping my skin in a desperate plea
For sanity to return, so I may escape.
Gunfire stutters its loud whispers of death against my eardrums.
Explosions drown out screams. My own?
I blink. The dust engulfs my body as I writhe on the ground;
Fetal position my permanent placement.
Longing for the ground to swallow me whole,
To the comfort of death's womb.
Cries of, "Get the hell up! What are you? This is a man's war!"
I get up.
The gun at my side like an old man's artificial hip;
Comfort and support in an unstable land.
I look at the chaos and depravity around me.
This is supposed to be Heaven to me,
Yet the combat boots feel too heavy.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
You’re basic,
a lengthy silhouette
miming the human experience.
Staying up late
to blind yourself,
blinking to the sounds of sleepiness
heart beating to Skinny Love.
What ifs,
pre-recorded scenarios
imagining that first hug.
Contemplate that bottle of pills by the sink
that new film that you want to see,
condensation in the lid of the teapot.
You’re candid,
unsure if all scabs heal
trying to remember when you didn't have a writing callus,
when you slept through the night,
when purple was the only colour you didn't use.
Purify infectious matter,
***** green-blue wine glasses overflowing.
Tinfoil vases and orchid flowers,
melting boxes of 64 assorted crayons.
You’re laconic,
often dying to create,
like the verbose and the wordy
sighing simply to translate.
Missouri gift exchanges,
loose blue jeans ******
stacks of classics.
Tales of the Jazz Age wrinkling
to a slow 50s song.
You’re a try hard
dying to knit,
only true fear is disappointment
burning in the lime light.
6000 voluntary hours
linking syllables to daisy chains,
dropping pesos to foreigners,
hands sandwiched inside
the front cover and the first page
of The Count of Monte Cristo.
You’re basic,
down for maintenance,
compressing the weight of the atmosphere.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
An endless waterfall of emptiness
leave her, love her, hurt her, she does not care
she longs to care but she is covered and bundled in a thick quilt that poisons her everything with “nothing”
something is missing, the tears are missing
she knew she would be okay because of the streams that would flow furiously down her cotton felt rosy cheeks
she knew she would be okay because of the tender most voluntary light tears dancing gracefully across the marbled floor that was her face
but now,
she does not know if she will be okay because of the dessert like dryness of her eyes,
and the solitude her cheeks and lips have felt for quite some time now
something is missing, she is missing
she has been looking for what seems like a million years all over her now pitch black universe for herself
she had colors
she had stars, moons, millions of suns and planets within her
now the color black is the mere most perfect description of everything she has become
the battle between deciding what to feel out of all that she felt is over
she feels as an invisible soul that has passed from our physical world feels;
anger, rage because he is truly incapable of touching those who he stands infront of all day, he cannot do anything about the fact that he is invisible and non existent to all those he wishes to be noticed by
she feels anger, rage because she finds herself incapable of touching her emotions
frustration because tears no longer dance across her face
she feels invisible to her reflection in the mirror because she remembers the image of a person
an actually person
who is able to cry when sad and smile when happy
she is no longer able to show any physical emotion so she sees no reflection
a thick black fog invades her physical body and soul crawling through her eye sockets, her mouth, ears ,nostrils, and pours
it invades her psyche with all its blackness and abducts all the stars, moons many suns, and planets converting her inner universe into endless caves made of millions of tunnels that make love with emptiness and darkness
she has become a maze
beautifully numb, impatiently lost, sedated by absence
she is me, and i,
have been kissed by apathy.
paralyzing me and incapacitating me from myself is what this beautiful demon has done to me
she touched my lips and altered my thoughts
persuaded me into the belief that she would protect me
she told me that if i did not feel i would not hurt
at the time that i fell in love with her i was in a state where i would of taken my life just to end all feelings and confusion within me
she offered her anesthetic kiss,
i took it
as she relentlessly took over me i started to realize…
now i fear it be to late
i know the end to this maze will be the gate to my stars, my moons, my many suns, and planets
and i will run for what now seems an eternity
but i will not give up on my universe
j.e
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
I walk down the pier,
All sea-salt dreams and hand-spun darkness
The buildings are bent from the wind
As are the people inside them
But it is voluntary,
So they still appear strong.
A man sits on a corner
Wearing only his clothes and half-moon smile
I think he must have been born
Before the flood took Kwakwaka’s voice
And thunderbirds were more than midnight cries
Of feathered laughter on the Chinook
I think he must know that for which I search
He calls me over to his barnacle throne
And says in a black-bear voice
“If its fish you want,
Be here before the rain
That comes on the heels of daybreak
And buy from the man with the golden tooth,
His fish are good
And his hands honest.”
That night I dream of lighthouses
And the way the stairs wind like a promise
Out of the toss and turn of the night
And the way they hold boats and the men inside them
All those tangled strings
In a fist of yellow light
And the way that light becomes a phoenix
To those who choose to give the land a second chance
Or a third, when the sea proves more fickle a friend
Than the women who have given up hope
Of being more a lover and less a lion
Than the blue-dress lady with a red-dress song.
At daybreak there is a black bear at a fish stand
His arms are laden with bodies like silver coins
I know he does not fish for wealth
Besides that of the wisdom brought
By knowing your home and purpose.
I think he must know that for which I search
He calls me over
And says in an old-man voice,
“If its love you want,
Be here before the sun
That comes on the heels of the breaking tide
And watch the one true glory of the earth
Give birth once again to forgiveness.”
I believed what he said because I could still see
The sunrise reflected in his eyes
Like a prayer.
At dawn there are two figures on the horizon,
Hand in hand,
Brothers maybe,
They jump into the breathing chaos
Of the still-dark waves
And become the fish that beat in their mother’s chest
Become her heart and her blood,
Her veins and
Her children
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 6:52 PM UTC
We found comfort in compatible chaos.
I just wanted to be drunk for the last four
Or five months of my voluntary exile.
When I was young I was praised for my intellect,
I was inflated and strung out on sheer potential
Without focus.
So I wrote sonnets on the merits of photosynthesis and
Trigonometry.
I ran grammar marathons.
I searched for the artist inside me and found civil war histories.
I came home unsure and afraid of the future.
I came home unfinished and.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 9:32 AM UTC
Voluntary abandonment of self
The offering
Surrendered, Often suffered
Daily suppression
Repressed depressions
The stimulating surge for another's light
The refuge and the motivator
Demonstratively strong, innate or acquired
Inner beauty enhanced through struggle
Outer beauty revealed
in the journey of each line and curve
Made better with time
Reemerging
Stepping into confidence
Unapologetic
Wisdom gained, lessons learned
Archived in her cerebrum repository
Self discovery, discernibly aware
With nothing to lose
Bashfulness dismissed
Enlivening pleasures
Guiding and coaxing another to please
Self satisfying if need
An awakened spirit rebounds
An eager voice is found
A woman
Over 40
Blazing anew.
© Tina Thompson
Feb 18, 2012
Feb 18, 2012 at 10:15 AM UTC
Of perpetual sadness
It is my closet and dearest companion
Speckled writhing snakes of madness
Melancholies gold jeweled scepter
A dark gaunt haunting specter I am
Walking hand in hand with betrayal
The confidant of love
Welcome to my world of voluntary isolation
Playing hide and seek with trepidation
I do not speak
For my mind racing at speeds beyond comprehension
Of these thoughts, I shall make no mention
For they will shatter your beliefs and offend your senses
Welcome to my world
Where sulfur smelling whispering shadows abound
Death hovers round rings of on destiny of his fingers
Waiting watching
Silent patient and knowing
I am a rare painting of violence
Rendered by a greedy vicious hand
Created by a monster who dances behind a smile
That cannot be destroyed
Welcome to my world.
All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby Sept. 13, 2014.
All Material Stored in Author base
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
it’s been ages, since I retired
from the palaces of ambitions and envy
and the centers of power
unyoked myself of all relations
and what is praised as love
but is the self seeking satisfaction
in the other
and removing myself came here
in discrete voluntary exile
built myself
a little home
amongst the mountains and solitary woods
and the humble folk since offer me food
and provisions
for what I might teach their children
of calligraphy and brush work
the years have gone past in non-action and peace;
but here too there is the occasional tension:
a road to be built to the Capital City
demanded trees and woods and two hills;
and the soldiers and distant police turn up at the doors
to inquire who lives here
and why I am alone
but still, the years pass gentle
and my silence and solitude
time offers me
with a smile
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
When the big ball upstairs
Has burnt his day's share
And his little sister
Has awoken to shine
When mechanical birds and horses
Have flown to their nests
And the chaos of daylight
Has given way to peace
When the world's voluntary madness
Dissipates into necessary sanity
And the hot unfriendly winds
Sheath their unseen swords
When earth and sky seem to agree
In the stillness of transient dark
Reviving fast-dying hopes
And healing old wounds
When all hell ceases to break loose
Awaiting the rooster's call...
I merry in dreamland
As my tired body sleeps...
© Raphael Uzor
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
Hot water rushes
from spigot to head; All my
thoughts are washed away
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC
There exists a mystical and quadruple representation of words, which is likened to a dictatorial Superstate, where translation is subject to that which is spoken, heard, written and read within the context of trans-national capitalism.
As we gaze from beyond the glow of the pulsating circumference, we can humbly acknowledge the ludicrous predicament of the many who are ruled by the few.
The parameters of this earthen citizenship may be somewhat characterized by embracing the perceived benefits of the system and a state of financially intoxicated anosognosia. However, as we traverse this metaphysical cataclysm where the majority votes of public arrangement diametrically oppose absolute law and that which is deemed to be reasonable; our compulsory co-operation self-regulates with a cardiovascular beat of semantic propaganda and monopolized dissention, where the relinquished rights of our revered forefathers have been re-written by coercive legislators in the name of socio-political equality.
The philosophy of meaning and political expression both buries into and removes her gorgeous face from the cuniform textures of Sahara catacombs, where we ****** relate and disengage from the **** with tyranny.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
"Although
many of us consider black to be a color, black is actually
defined as the absence of color, hence, Darkness is a place which is the
absence of the FATHER's Light." - Peter R Farley - Where Were You
Before The Tree Of Life - The True History of The Darkness and The Light
It is close to being headless, to be without a father
and how and where do we investigate who or what the responsible force
is?...
It is simply a recurring method, divide and rule
Here in the matrix you have black, brown, white and yellow races
in some places not made famous you have orange and red and blue races
So what is colour? The texture of light perhaps
So then, what is black?
Nothing, void. So then how does one refer to a whole race as nothing?
it's really simple, where there is nothing there has to be something
so the something is revered and valued as significant
and what about the nothing? Well the nothing will be made to serve the
something
But was is not from the void that worlds were created? From thought, now
thought an important factor for the nothing would be denigrated to such
an extent as to not be able to think
so from this comes an inferior race and a supercilious race
Not to blame the supercilious race for it too was manipulated into
having high esteem -
so where are the parents?
You find a black and a white wrestling unconcious of the fact that they
could consciously be cousins
In simple terms, if we are all Light then we stem from the same tree
however with polarization or dualty find we lower degree
and this state imprisons us to hate one another for one reason or the
other
And it is within memory that black and white races have been fighting
for millenia
With this, both races would boast a pride and a willingness to defend
one's culture at all costs
But then as children when do we grow and gather the gods in one room to
hear their views and differences?
When will we rise above demographics to save the human race?
and beyond other races being exploited throughout the galaxies
What would we learn if these members of Councils and Houses were
gathered in one room?
Would we learn that this universe is not perfect?
But then what is perfection?
Hyperthetically, an idea of supremacy and completeness which sets the
standards that all things and people should conform to... That is, as
far as the powers define
It is a responsibility to search within our hearts for what is true and eternal
It is a choice we make to be continually affected by the sicknesses of society
It is a voluntary action to uplift the houses that govern however sincere and well-meaning they may appear
however promises are never kept and human beings taken for granted
It is a soul's obligation to yearn for its liberty such that we too, as Ascended Masters, can graduate and become Renaissance Man.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
My mind became a castle in the sky
Musing together events I know could never happen
Afloat in the ocean
A body of a much bigger form than my own
That of which I am not accustomed to coping against.
But, I manage
And I lay there, with no worry in the world
Of who I may be
Or who I may not
What I can solidly remember
And the pain I thought I forgot
The crisp severity of the ocean on the outers of my skin
A rivalry counteracting the heat my anger is ceaselessly producing
An effortless breath of cold air
And no endurance needed to fight against the current
My head being totally consumed by waves, in intervals
But enough to refresh my inner cognition.
One deep inhale and I can feel you,
Just before I start to slowly fade under
And when I think this can't get any better,
I finally hear it; the thunder.
It's loud, and I've been waiting, and I am scared
But not worried enough to budge
The storm is growing strong above my physical, still body
And with the moving body below me that I want to love so much.
What I can't grasp fully, though, is the way I will not move
I know I am terrified of the consequences,
I'm already worrying
As I have been, this entire time
Time figures out that it's not my body that refuses to move
It is manipulated by my mind.
I am content.
As long as I stay in this opposing body
It reminds me of all of the things I do not have
Rather than the things I do and can't accept.
I am saddened, that my breaths were not voluntary
They were forced by the love I can not feel.
I know it's there, I know it's real.
Reminded by this ocean,
I am very much alive.
And although, inside, I may be broken and numb.
Sometimes, I can be fine.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
i miss you
very much
very often
very frequently
it will never
vanish or even
vaporize
it will just
volumize
more and more
this is
voluntary
i surrender my
vulnerability
coz this love is
visible
this will be
viral
vocal
******
vital
vivacious
viable
even if just for now
it is just
virtual
xo
Dec 29, 2020
Dec 29, 2020 at 4:26 AM UTC