"wigs" poems
after centuries and centuries and centuries of:
pain and suffering,
chains and ankle cuffing,
segregation and impossible laws,
human degredation and deaths for the cause,
coloured lines and last picks,
work in the mines and barbie-like wigs,
culture termination and the education of self-hate,
fake freedom motivation and penitentiary execution dates,
community sabatoge and destruction of black owned schemes,
settle down for hip hop dialogue and basketball dreams
racial slurs and monkey metaphors,
television blurs and the world shutting doors,
the white man's drugs and melanin filled prisons,
talent that lacks funds and vietnam missions,
death of our black icons and imprisonment of mandela
death of trayvon and others on the death list which could go on forever...
do you have the right to tell "bottom barrels" not to dream to be on the top?
do you wonder why forgiveness is slowly yielding in the world, as if it sees a sign that says it's time to stop?
do they not say we must practice what we preach?
are they not preaching hate?
are they not preaching inequality?
are they not preaching the false levels of life?
is it too hard for the world to practice equality?
is it too hard for the world to live in harmony?
is it too hard for the world to see the similarities in our differences?
is it too hard for the world to live without fear of colours?
is it too much to ask for peace???
- t.m
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC
Sometimes, it takes a rope with split ends,
steep foot holes and time limits.
Red earth worms and a speech- I listen; I [do] not understand
30 second pulses and a swinging braid
always fall for waves of fog, lost in forced discovery
each shoe string is reminiscent, touch opaque cracking
dissolved into the rapids rapidly refreshing moss wigs
heels pressed against soprano rain water
shaking ripples, this swelling log has the answer
I could have made it up the hill
I could have found my way
I could have chosen
differently
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 4:15 PM UTC
before the world i stand as woman, African queen
exotic beauty, strong, tough and resourceful
there in lies the damest of all that bind me to a cruel fate
"Africa, the birth place of mankind"
her daughters, slaughtered,mutilated and, raised to feel inferior
relaxers, skin lighting cream, weaves, wigs, diets
raised by western thinkers, propaganda splashed on the soap box
forced to work for the rich and powerful plastic people
forced watered down music
i dream of a world lead by African queen's
confident in there velvet cream skin
loving afro hair
swagging there bustyness with pride
no more selling our bodies for west
taking pride in being different
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
Moss covered women
beggin' fog man
to grip a cig
from their tangled wigs
(a snarl of emerald branches
& voodoo masks
with plastic flasks,
they grave loot from caskets
& trash.)
Raunchy regulars
calling loogies to duty.
I've been livin' in a tumble ****
with a doctorate for wildebeest.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
Someone asked me the other day
Could I ever date a Transgender girl
I think they expected a No, or Maybe
But a different answer popped out of my mouth
A special friend came to mind
A secret love I have
but mine alone, as she speaks only French
She is transgender, and date her I would
I dream of her nightly
dreams I can't put into words
We trans people speak of masks
Of who we tried to be before
Lying, acting, pretending to be male
With the woman we have always been
Hidden behind masks, confined to a closet
But I know for some it is also a mask
The attempts to look female and pass
To hide the body we hate
To be more the woman that we imagine us to be
But isn't that also a mask
The clothes and makeup, lipstick and wigs
Trying to make our bodies
Match who we are in our minds
This secret love I have, the intimate dreams
I want to take off all the masks
The wigs the makeup the clothes and shoes
I want to be with the person beneath all of the masks
That's who I dream of holding, that's who I long to love
by Lj Mark
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 10:00 AM UTC
1. Her thick brow,
Is only her choice.
A stance against norms.
2. Ribbons and flowers,
All tangled in her hair.
A decorative crown,
But beauty is not defined here.
3. She had many lovers,
Of many kinds.
But promiscuity,
Does not define worth.
4. Drink more than the men.
To dance with a love,
They can never have.
5. Politics are unimportant,
Only the ideas in your mind.
Of equality and charity,
But it will leave somebody dead.
6. Be bold and smart.
Follow your own direction,
Maybe dress like a man
7. When a trolley crashes,
Leaving you wishing for death,
Draw on your bandage.
Don’t let your broken column
Break your strength.
8. Don’t fall in love with artists,
They drink too much,
Cheat too much.
And will break your heart
9. Fall in love with artists,
A musician, maybe a painter.
You’ll never be bored,
You’ll always be drunk.
10. Just don’t let them break you,
Don’t stop painting because you’re hurt.
Don’t give them the satisfaction,
Of breaking your wings.
11. You don’t need anyone,
When you have wigs to fly.
Don’t need feet,
Or anyone else.
12. You probably feel like a freak,
Like the weirdest person you’ve ever known.
But as long as you’re weird with me,
You’ll never be weird alone.
13. Make friends with the past,
With people you’ve never known.
It’ll always be a source of security,
No one can leave that’s already gone.
I look at Frida through her paint, through her words, through the story of her life she has taught me not to be afraid.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
DUDE WHERE IS MY COUNTRY-
Have you ever seen the bumper sticker that reads-
“DUDE WHERE IS MY COUNTRY?”-
While I have and I am asking you-
Dude where is my country?
I think it was stolen my corporate monkeys-
Making us consumer junkies-
Its kind of funny-How corporations with all the money-
Make us feel like we are bumming-In search of materialistically something-
Its almost numbing how they deep drumming products in our face-
Make us feel like we have to buy-Or we will lose the race-
It’s a disgrace-Not the American way to make us feel like we smell bad without that Axe Man’s Body spray-
Or I wont feel cool unless I’m holding a latte-
And my eye glasses read dolce-
Slide a credit card man its okay-
Dig a deeper hole to your grave-
Consumer America I am your slave-
Product buying all day-
Broke as a joke-my money goes away-
My credit cards get their pay-
In minimal monthly payments anyway-
Its like a rat race-Or a never ending case-
You stay in the chase to collect what you make and the credit cards get their cake-
Its great-
Buy things you don’t need with credit cards you can’t afford-
Its all for the money-That’s why commercials go to war-
AND I LOVE IT-
I mean how can you not-A badass commercial where a dude kills a cop-gets the cold-grabs the chick-and doing it all while wearing Gillet Sport Speed Stick-
Its sick that I buy into this shit-A consumer ****** who needs another hit-
Its unfortunate-
But it’s the way it is-
Thank you Hollywood Biz-Thank you Corporate big wigs-and thank you Uncle Sam-
Without you I wouldn’t be the product buying-credit card sliding man that I am-
And before I go-
I ask you again-
DUDE WHERE IS MY COUNTRY???
Richard A. Itskovich
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 4:47 PM UTC
If society was a person
it would be a girl with
perfect hair.
If society was a person
it would be a burden too heavy to bear.
I society was a person,
it would have rotten insides.
If society was a person,
it would be a Rottweiler
or a runaway bride.
If society was a person,
it would be a student
and ideas it would seek.
If society was a person,
it would be as sharp as a mountains peak.
If society was a person,
it would smell like sweatshirts and gigs.
If society was a person,
it would hide behind colourful wigs.
If society was a person,
consider it suicidal.
If society was a person,
its acts would all be genocidal.
Society is a thing,
heinous but misunderstood,
Society is ruined,
like the embers of burnt wood.
We broke it
Not bothered to fix it
Want to know it
Want to change it
Go and understand it
Change it
Break it
Make it
But I’m just a writer,
What should I know about it?
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
Ko Ko to Go Go
a prelude to a kiss
dance with Chubby Checker
lift a slo gin fizz
Head bobs to Be Bop
flip the B Side now
mellowtune in monotone
two ears for stereo wow!
Wonderment of Duke and Miles
swinging kool birthin boplicity
urban crush the hipsters rush
jazz joints cross the city
Firery sax emote a clash
strain ears of credulity
Lester leaps creative heat
nips harden on my *******
Max taps exotic wax
Django's quick pickin
finger snaps flip my lid
lips deliciously sippin
Eurozone a Zen zone
a blue infinitive smokin
big peeps dig don pink wigs
fat spliffs hot token
My new suede shoes
walks west end blues
Pop's cornet got me tippin
his open blast first to last
I like cornbread, barbecue
and fine home jazz cookin
jbm
Oakland
3/12/10
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 6:41 PM UTC
I got a hundred shoes
in pairs, of course
and a wardrobe fit for a Princess
I got the bed
carved with gold trimmings
from the best end of town;
and a range of the best wigs -
all human hair,
third world crop no doubt
but at first world cost for sure
that all took me into bad debt
credit card and all
so when debonair James
asked me to marry him
I grabbed him lips to lips -
now he's paying through his nose
MORAL of TODAY'S POEM
so those of you guys
who are naive
you get caught;
those who are smart
you better use your head
before you put your knees on the floor
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Through wigs and make up,
I pick up slack,
Where you fall,
I have your back,
You lose your rhythm,
And fall off track,
I am perfections,
In which you lack,
I have no flaws,
I have no cracks,
When you lose yourself,
Find Domino Black.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
the Hebrews call the Greek myth of Icarus
by name: Lucifer - i know man is prone to plagiarism,
esp. in the religious realm, the easier the plagiarism
the easier the governing of men -
for indeed the Hebrews claimed
Icarus prior to the Greeks, the former with Lucifer
and the latter with Icarus -
but how i loathe peasants claiming
medicinal endeavours
of knowing only the spotlight cursors
to curate and environmental care of origin
of such negated ease,
they have no knowledge and no power,
their interests in the subject matter
would never encourage them
to run a marathon for accumulating funds
for a cancer charity -
one word answer? ***** they're basically
***** should have engaged in a family
life before you blamed me m.d.!
take your regressive anger and shove it
up your little bee magnet **** to take
a **** like extracting honey - now i'm ******
but look where i'm writing it: on a colour
of defeat - militant heaven of the archangel Michael
sword in hand and Satan defeated waggling a
tongue - isn't that importune to speak of
the current times with the defence of a freedom
of speech subdued by a fear of insult
demanding? monotheism did as much good
as it shouldn't have - and did as much evil
as it should have - and did, crafting the strict
labouring of judaism's orthodoxy -
so for each niqab there came the madness of
a jewish girl's care for wig - translated into
christianity as the donning of wigs in the 18th century,
and the 17th - bypass the concerns of
monotheists and you came across cuisine
freedoms of mandarin, and the colour backlash
sprinkling to a billionth birth, a land
where the homeless have a mother kamadhenu -
and celebrate Holi for chance of extracted mundane
hue of man polarised with fluorescent ivy
and x-rayed orange... or that's how the thing was said.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC
Waking to you in the crook of my arm;
the smell of us lingers in the crime scene
of our room.
This must be the place
Wigs and corsets,
empty bottles and riding crops.
Sugar and sweat,
cologne and *******
Good morning sugar
Eyes flutter and lips part
as juices flow and bloods boil.
This wet and wordless union
knows no boundaries.
We are one, now
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 11:01 AM UTC
are we really woke as much as we all claim to be?
or are we woke to ease our minds, which ain't reality?
of course we've signaled heavy change, i won't deny that's true
but let me have your ear for now, give you another view
are you really woke because you post a rant on twitter,
but bop to Chris Brown's music even tho we know he hit her?
are you really woke cause you were born into the slums,
but if you make it out,
you forget where you are from?
are you really woke because you claim to love black hair?
but only like the softer textures, is that really fair?
are you really woke 'cause you admire that 4c?
but put down girls who have relaxers, wigs, or wear a weave?
are you really woke because you claim to love all people,
but if ya boy is gay you will denounce him at the steeple?
are you really woke because you say you know what's right,
but ostracize your fellow blacks,
simply cause "they talk white?"
are you really woke because you claim to love all colors,
but date a darker women? yikes! you'd rather find another
are you really woke because you claim you've got insight,
but if i am depressed, you say that mess is for the whites?
i bring up all these issues not because i hate my own
i bring up all these issues just because they're never shown
and if we are to grow and prosper,
thrive and shed our past,
we need to have these conversations,
make sure that they last
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 1:59 PM UTC
This morning a great big pile of ******* occupies the road in front of your building,
Powdered wigs and hand grenades,
The remains of a slaughter the night before.
All the medicine, text books, car keys, credit cards, shoes, head phones, computer chips, DVDs, chairs and trucks.
A smoldering heap of help from friends in factories.
None of it had been spared during the death of civilization.
Still they pile it.
Your neighbors and parents and friends.
They’ve been convinced that these things are evil.
They will force solitude upon all of us.
They will make us vulnerable and frail as though naked in the night.
They will prove to us that we did not know what it was to be alone.
Standing atop the pile their god is yelling:
“We must sacrifice for the good of life!
We must destroy for the good of creation!
We create ignorance for the sake of realization!
We incite suffering for the good of happiness!.”
Left alone we must grovel at the foot of our fallen god,
Mourning a murdered child.
Crying out for fairness and LAW.
Systems and sciences.
All lay at the very center of the mound.
The head of a rotten body,
Decapitated without mercy by those who had been deceived by it.
Death and darkness come next,
Creeping as wolves do where we fear them most.
I can’t tell you what comes next,
But you must not trust those who began the revolution.
They have abandoned you to your own devices.
Left you naked in the shadow of the mound.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
Bill played piano down by the bar,
moldy old show tunes
gray-haired folks listened to,
in youth they'd played over...and over.
He once told me he was terminal,
diagnosed with months left,
and had just one request
of his own to be met
before accepting eternal rest -
peace in the kiss
of a handsome young man
who's powder blue eyes
might make him feel young again.
I thought he would weep,
and heart aching, obliged,
gratified by the smile,
sweet joy it seemed to bring him...
'till Sarah stuffed a dollar
in the tumbler of tips
he kept perched on the edge
of the piano he played -
he'd won their wager
he could get the
straight kid to kiss him.
Sarah cooked in the kitchen
and I always wondered
what sort of mother
named her son -
Sarah Vaughn -
then heard the sparrow sing
on the radio, laughing
because the one I knew
squawked like a crow
and dressed
in wigs and woman's clothes
when work was finally done.
The coincidence seemed
a delicious, karmic prank,
payment for some past-life indiscretion.
Michael studied flamboyance,
raised to high art in sweeps of his hand,
head tossed back, as if to keep pace
with legs was annoyance.
Adolescent innocence ended
when I realized the only other
guy employed there
who was straight like me -
was really a she -
chest wrapped real tight.
May 1, 2010
May 1, 2010 at 9:38 PM UTC
Pull the trigger.
**** me.
So that I can no longer paint my emotions with lies.
Sometimes you just can't describe moments you only feel it
I was waiting for my prince but he never came.
So I went looking for him.
It's as strange as people go from lovers to strangers.
Do not bring love today,
I want your shame.
My hobby now is to see depressed girls with pink wigs.
I need you to hurry up when you're going to make decisions.
Because I need you now.
Here on this terrace near the sea.
Looks like I'm lying on the seashore.
I wanted to be like God.
Have access to a door to the infinite of an unreal place.
To be honest, we all create an unreal world a surreal fantasy when we are rejected.
And so when the pain begins to flow, we look for ways to define love.
Do you think I'm a stupid girl?
Pull the trigger.
It ends my agony of not being able to love.
Pull out the rug.
Drop me into reality.
Sometimes people make us think we're on the test.
No one can see anyone's heart.
But we all have a concept of what the other feels.
No one can see the heart beating.
But everyone thinks we're alive.
Pull the trigger.
And I end up feeling like I'm repeating the same mistakes.
I do not want to have unreal feelings.
Get the feeling of being looking for nothing.
Pull the trigger
**** what's already dead
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
Imagine the outrage
If a band, all-male members,
Refuse to play tunes
for the opposite gender.
Imagine the uproar
The venue would face
For excluding a half
of their customer base.
“It’s rank discrimination!”
The ladies would moan.
If the males got to listen
while the girls stayed at home.
Yet the Bulletproof Stockings,
That band that wears wigs,
Exclude guys from their concerts
Not just chauvinist pigs.
“It’s a matter of Faith!”
The girl band members say;
No guys at their gigs!
No men hear them play.
Yet I’ve heard pious Pastry chefs
Don’t get to choose.
If gay brides want a cake
It’s a crime to refuse.
An Orthodox authoress
who published a tome
would be most put out
if male buyers stayed home.
So if girl musicians
seek public expression
They ought to think twice
about gender oppression.
Its great that they’re keeping
an orthodox home.
But enough of these concerts
For women alone.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
13th floor mannequin girl dropped out took a greyhound to Tinsle town
Fredericks of Hollywood, hired her to pose in the window sporting lingerie wigs and gowns
Her parents frowned at the catalog the debutant passed around
The Mississippi tract home chippie
Hates square Timmy he just got in her way
Jocko **** stud turned out to be gay
Schwabs drug store made her mop the candy store floor soda shop, then she wants to live the star is born dream
Twenty-years has passed, now she is a sad old ***** queen
So much for her dreams to be on the Hollywood silver screen...
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 2:50 AM UTC
Fierce is god impenitrable
glad glad glad there is a
Fire up the street called Heaven
There is
A woman wearing only one shoe who is taking
an exhaustive drag of her smoke in the
early morning where birds are
still heard in
!!!!!!cities
A hymnal a
heralded nest of savory berries A quartzstone is trapped in time a myth is made more ridiculous when proven real
Continents wither where the flies glue their
regal canvases on downtrodden earth (missing Pangea)
Or smiles everlasting smiles meanwhile
(Blonde tongues wearing fashioned wigs)
in constant state of beguilement
The Neanderthalic stones will be unforgiving to the REVEREND who has collapsed through his song the song of lead pipedream fantasies of sexless dogma YEAH monkhood yeah Ghat burning holes in twilit schools of thought or no thought at all
I can
hear the collective Faerie outcry that silence has presented itself HEAvier to their wicked careless bodies ok I am innocent of love I love your innocent love I am careless(of their wicked careless bodies)
ResemblingA swans actual duty to die
a swan lies a swan lay
like an even more beautiful swan
on even more beautiful swanny grass
To die by swanlightSUN and MOON white like the swan where we soon listen closely to the swansong a celestialLOVELY
rhythm of gilded forest (((((orchestrals
The swan leaves us in happiness of bright groggy light
O (of which in chaos of day I am again innocent)
The Reverend's desperate gaspings into a micro -phone for a macro - cosmic prayer idol o idol where is your capability for worship idol o where is my chinstrap o idol where is ****** youth or the romanticized eternal SUMMERS I sing
O bible O cloudland O where is your telephone operator is they deceased by their own fragrant holines? The church
Watches the Reverend neverend his television routine of clamoring death odes
Watches his senility come like an implorical shadow outline watches a demon lick its dreamless lips beyond the periphery of godless dreams
Watches
Reverend lose his sight in anInstant
HeWAILSheWAILSandWAILS can you hear it Thomas De Quincey can you hear the sandbeaches ringing more clearly than the ChurchBells or the ****** Pagoda for torture /
his soul is to sleep in the (mossy)mountain the fire of the (forever)street called HEAVEN the mountain column supporting the sky(swan)gate of heavenHeaven!welcome
to:
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
*** starved and aging badly
Too many cigarettes and 'dank *** weed'
Bad tattoos and ****** hair so scraggly
He's called in sick to work all week
He set his high score four years ago
But she broke his heart last June
Now he's stuck in his parents basement
Doing speed runs on Halo 2
She has no cash to feed her cats
But she bought two wigs on Monday
She dresses up like anime girls
And thinks she'll be famous someday
She'll tell you she's just keeping it real
While dressed like someone from science fiction
She meets the boy at some comic con
And they go to her hotel room to make friction
...
Edgelords and meme queens
Addicted to the obscene
Spewing hateful words
With no care for what they mean
It seems that even the regals
Are doing their kegels
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 1:06 AM UTC
Please understand,
before this goes any further
than a friendly "hello".
I'm a little crazy.
Not crazy-good.
But the kind riding
on the side of delusional.
My brain spins in circles,
days & nights.
An awful sickness,
from dusk to dawn.
I'll have you know,
I'm the kind of crazy,
that has to take pills.
Jagged little circles,
ingested down my throat.
Digested,
to calm me down.
Please, don't judge me.
The doctor says it's normal.
But sometimes
I sit and wonder.
"What is normal?"
Back on topic now,
I was told by my therapist
not to let others judge.
But then,
I'm left imagining
everyone in white-
George Washington wigs.
Swinging a gavel
and
screaming, "Order in the court!"
I swear, I'm not too crazy...
Only a special kind of lazy...
H-hey wait... W-where are you going?
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
I’m from wigs and hats and baseball cards
From perseverance and working hard
I am from “you can surely ace this test”
From “things will always turn out for the best.”
I’m from belief and passion and prayer
From the constant feeling that God is there.
I’m from a camp where everyone belongs
From cheers, from sports, from campfire songs.
I’m from the lake every summer in the sun,
From gathering the family and just having fun.
I’m from painting on doors and singing on stage
From constantly working so hard to behave.
I am from stories and poems and art
I am from passion and power and heart.
I am from hyperness and hysteria.
I’m from Doctor Who and Nerdfighteria.
I’m from often feeling that I’m not good enough
But from pushing through when times are rough.
Although sometimes I’m from pressure and loss
We make it through, because my family is boss.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 1:18 AM UTC
Every era that has ever been
Has engaged in the auto-dissection
Of their yellowing underbellys.
Yes, every generation has predicted
that the end is nigh,
That god is on their side;
But the devil has a crowbar
And is busting out of the basement.
Each decade is a mimicry of the last.
Different fashions, same trends
And always, with a fool on the hill.
A lonely steel harmonica can pierce the airwaves
Across space and time,
Through the grooves and crackles
To enthral an audience,
And to beguile that every generation
Into believing in their autonomy,
Their solitude,
With a fate independent of all those centuries past.
Through every disembodied spew of Dylan lyrics,
Or the corporeal and common alienation
Sympathised in every Wilde reference,
Comes the same fury at the chaos of a world
That is no more than indifferent at the plight of the people it houses.
Indeed,
Every generation has sought to either
Cure the ills of the Earth;
Or else set lighter fluid to the lot.
This stretches back to the first blood-spattered edition of the Bible,
And further, much further.
To all of the captains,
The heroes,
The anti-heroes,
The road gritter,
The malevolent dictator,
The schoolteacher,
The emancipated woman
And the borderline feminist.
To every young child who is reluctant to take the spotlight,
Or look you in the eye,
Ask questions, or speak out.
For every one of those who at some point were labelled
‘maladjusted’.
And so the Pharaohs and Caesars are all but gone now,
Replaced by the big-wigs,
The fat-cats,
The purple hearted,
The playboys -
The men in suits.
But they are all the same.
The same behind the decadence of
A solid gold sarcophagus
Or an Armani pair of shades.
They all built their empire on shifting sands.
And so we will all kick and scream
To our own tone and our own time
At the indignity of the world.
At our bespoke knowledge
To deal with all inconvenience
But that which privates the preclusion
Of any and all major slaughters of justice.
As for that young child,
With the lack of eye contact -
And all that he will become:
He will sit. And he will type.
He will type until his words fall beyond that
Of the spiralling noises inside his mind
And blossom into something pure and ugly and beautiful.
He will sit and he will write
To forget.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC