"wokeness" poems
Patricians have our best interests in mind.
Administration is impartial, kind.
Keeps us laughin’, keeps us singin’—
And I’m Hildegard of Bingen.
She gets it like she gets the working class;
My head is nodding, up my Marxist ***
White woke wedding bells are ringin’
Happy Hildegard of Bingen.
Government will gladly redistribute.
As our paychecks sing eternal tribute.
Gangsta-leanin, frontin’, blingin:
Chill with Hildegard of Bingen.
Icecaps, like medieval saints, are HOT.
Climate is in crisis when it’s not . . .
Global warning: winter’s springin’
Heating Hildegard of Bingen.
Intersectionality has meaning.
Hormones lie, biology’s demeaning .
Genderfluid queens are kingin’
Checkmate, Hildegard of Bingen.
Transnationals are cleaning up the mess;
Their CEO’s have little to confess.
Silver in the till, ka-chingin’
Profits Hildegard of Bingen.
Hildegard, the Moorish maiden, lauded.
Wokeness smiled. Diversity applauded.
Flames ascend and seraphim are wingin’
To the throne of Hildegard of Bingen.
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 10:08 AM UTC
It's OK to be WOKE.
It's not right to be WRONG.
Appropriate intersectionality!
Occupy cis-gender privilege!
Believe unbelievers!
Wake the wokeness in women!
Hands OFF my body politic!
Celebrate maximized Matriarchy
by radicalizing pronoun polarization.
Revoke Whiteness by darking the brightness.
Empower the margins for doodling
instead of scribbling.
It's about disembarking
from Patriarchy's leaking ark
It's about politicizing polyandry
It's about re-peeling the orange
to freeze the debt ceiling
NO MORE free Cheetos: Truck Fump !
NO MORE empty sloganeering
NO MORE mindless cheering
Create your own unreality NOW !
Islam is right about women.
Feb 24, 2020
Feb 24, 2020 at 10:31 AM UTC
let me in.
I wanna drown and lie in every fibre of your mind and being 'cause
you are a rare commodity, a gem supreme
I'd even go as far as saying I'm a fiend,
a fix of your being my headline of activities.
muhle, you are beyond a sweet dream
and I believe. you and I could. could just. be
let me in.
our souls coincide and mine is gently pleading
let me in,
don't fight the urge and this feeling,
it's far more than a hunch.
any place with your presence turns to a beau hub
I swear this beyond, a crush
your aura is unmatched and really soars
beyond the solar system
and I've flown so high 'cause of your mere being.
Lord Jesus, I thank thee for such an amazing blessing
truly showing that one don't need vices to stay flexing
her beau soul leaves me awe stricken and smilin' hella,
may she everlastingly flourish and remain staying better
mammi, let. me. in.
I vow to nurture your beau soul
and make you the happiest since cartoons and coke
I am beyond sold,
paradise resides in your ever gorgeous self
and I am by all means convinced the night stars steal their shine from your eyes,
plus you glo.
I swear this is not for show
(well, slightly is)
I am really taken by your wokeness and bold statements
being in your presence is far from basic
man, this sets me in my paces and it's real amazing how,
you're such a wonderful soul who embraces this.
so, I plead and beg
make me the happiest in this world we live in
I'm open and hung with pegs over you
all I ask is you simply
L E T.
M E.
I N.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC
The wokeness is so deep: they're sleeping.
Clueless legions are on the march . . .
Ignorance has Wisdom weeping;
The wokeness is so deep they're sleeping
Through the harvest, and the reaping.
Behold the view from Titus's arch:
The wokeness is so deep they're sleeping—
Clueless legions are on the march.
Apr 4, 2023
Apr 4, 2023 at 9:17 PM UTC
side hugs are like
performative wokeness;
shallow, flaky, meaningless
convenient, censored -
appealing, yes?
appeasing, too, i guess.
but no
i demand the real deal
furnish me with both arms
disregard my weak frame,
i promise, i wont break
let me have it
im not a snowflake
just a girl who
likes to take
on the world
with hugs
as her weapon of choice.
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 1:52 AM UTC
it's the day before my driving exam and i still don't know how to parallel park. i'm sitting in the passenger seat as my mother drives to our old church. this space no longer holds me. i stare blankly at the bug smeared across the windshield and hope my silence will be mistaken for submission.
we sit in the right wing of the chapel, half way up the staircase. i make eye contact with the girl i made out with last summer in the youth pastor's office. she is all sour cherries, collarbone tan lines, and the taste of salt water on my tongue. she abruptly turns and whispers something to her friend. the friend gasps, clasps her hands together, and starts to stammer, "Dear Lord.."
love the sinner, hate the sin. this love is choking me.
i know they pray for me over melancholic sermons, stale pizza, and gospel songs. then they write slurs on my locker, ***** me, and try to turn me straight all for the glory of God. i wonder if anyone ever thinks to pray for them.
the pastor starts to list things he considers abominations: bruised avocados, atheists, wokeness, his ex wife. my eyes glaze over.
as a child i learned "lesbian" was a bad word before i learned it was a part of my identity. i was taught that my love is inappropriate, immoral, nothing more than a **** category most commonly searched by the same boys that tell me to rot in hell.
thats when it starts, the same speech i've heard my whole life.
i am a sinner.
my sin is love. my sin is loving so deeply that i was able to reframe my thoughts, overcome the preconceived ideas planted in my mind as a child that preached hatred and shame and passing judgement onto strangers.
for once, i do not stay. i do not endure it. i stand up, fix my skirt, and climb over my mother, her eyes fixed on the pastor, nodding along. i walk out of the chapel and 2.1 miles down the highway. my mother does not come after me.
there are parts of me that she does not know how to love and has no desire to learn how.
my family always jokes that the dog is my mother's favorite child. i watch the way she meticulously brushes her fur, holds her when she cries during storms, and loves her regardless of the mud dragged down the sterilised corridor of the house.
i take comfort in knowing she cares about something, i just wish it were me.
Oct 18, 2024
Oct 18, 2024 at 10:02 AM UTC
****** Ignorance parks her brand new SUV next to Sociopathy, who barely raises a hooded reptilian eyelid as he sells seven Fentanyl tablets to Diversity under a narcotic cloud of monotonous insistent bass beats. Equity is quarreling with Under-representation over Authenticity in fake Wokeness, bellowing and flexing tattooed muscles as the Walmart security staff jiggle their immense wheezing obesity to the scene of the escalating drama. Onlookers are quickly gathering up all the Ukrainian color posters from the parking-posts as they disperse, grabbing as many free samples of THC-infused Delta-8 gummies as they can from the abandoned sales-promotion table on their way out. Uncouth plebeian tremors are undulating over the entire trash-strewn parking lot as filthy seagulls take wing, squawking.
*Shut UP **** ain't LIKE THAT*! shouts Urban Degeneration at her baby-daddy who spits cannabis-cola all over her threaded beaded extensions. He drops their child, Criminalisha, still strapped into her carrier, onto the pavement and lunges at Urban D.
*I'ma hafta **** you UP now, ***** murmurs Poochie tha Kontrolla (aforementioned baby-daddy) and proceeds to tie her hair extensions to the handle of her SUV. He bites her hand until she drops the keys, which he grabs and then he jumps into the driver's seat. The engine roars.
Meanwhile, in the gathered crowd of onlookers, Miss Cultural-appropriation berates an old man for wearing a rice-paddy shade hat on a cloudy day when he only .05 percent Asiatic. The Walmart security staff have mistakenly sat upon and handcuffed one of their own who screams for his meds and therapy canine. As police sirens are heard approaching, America Corpulenta rolls her fat bloodshot eyes and launches her immense rolls of adipose tissue into orbit towards the international space-station.
*My interstellar-ass rocket gone KICK you ******* lil' space station you racist-ass bigot*, she yells to no one in particular . . .
And America, although no one there realized it, was indeed GREAT.
Aug 28, 2022
Aug 28, 2022 at 7:48 PM UTC
I was dead for a billion years before
And i will be dead for a billion more
It's this trickling time between
That i perform on life's dancing floor
A dance, a terrible one it is
I weep and cry, I slumber i please
As the waves of living go up and down
I wish more wokeness, I wish more sleep
The most powerful of creatures, unbound and free
The greatest thinker who could ever be
You smallest of specks, an insignificant wee
I feel it in you, you feel it in me.
The softest of breeze the darkest of nights
The largest of beings who blinds the light
We've been all tapping around this dancing floor
We're all gems of a crown or too less for it's might
Like them triplets in their never ending lore
You'll have me lost yet you'll fine me more
Lend an ear to me then and you'll find me dancing still
For i was dead for a billion years before
And I will be dead for a billion more
Nov 22, 2021
Nov 22, 2021 at 4:28 AM UTC
no day's the same
some days
you'd awake with agitation
and anxiety
singing with a fiddle and a drum only you hear
some days
you'd awake with an unusual
and unexpected felicity
and when asked why, you'd say
'oh, i awoke on the right side of my bed'
some days
how you feel would be undecipherable
other days
you'd question your wokeness
when life throws a new day at your face
do not stall or growl
for she throw at you a priceless chance
and what does one do with chances?
© Valerie-Pearl Oyo.
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 1:08 PM UTC