Culture/Society

01-28 In Between

Folder: 
DailyPoetryProject

Damages.

Minds armed to the synapses

with verbal teeth,

sharpened wits that can cut through bone til it snaps.

Tempers flaregun into the atmosphere

and they say it’s fossil fuels and chemicals

bringin destruction near



Shields.

Personal ozone layers for reflecting away

truth and lies,

anything that challenges perception, the way

Our own realities are trapped inside

greenhouse effect conception

in our little bubbles we hide.



EMP.

Give me a chainsaw charged

with electric philosophy

so I can cut down this wall

and we can all be neighbors.

All our religion divisions destroyed, free at last

to find the truth in every girl and boy.



Reality.

In our grasp for the first time

since the garden was taken away

and we were thrown aside

into the wasteland to struggle and pave our own path

mismatch music within

every failed measure of math.



Freedom.

The kind of living no one can even envision

Without the need for mental defense mechanisms,

society will rise and shine

into the new dawn no one goes blind

even though we’re staring

directly into the sun.



Eternity.

This is just the beginning of infinite time

unwind the grandfather clock

the old man left behind

and let it sit without a tick to wonder at its fate

to see what kind of device

we can replace.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This will be hiphopness eventually, which isn't even how it started out.

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01-23 Unreasonable Reasoning

Folder: 
DailyPoetryProject

I’m dodgin bullets

in a flurry of fury rainin down on me

the battle of conversation

words with semi automatic action

spraying cover fire

for hidden thoughts

to get in position



sabotage language

destroy the meaning of all the words

towers are comin down



run kid run

get outta the way

flee the major cities

you don’t want to get caught between

superlatives and interjections



contradictions create a chance

to discover a hidden truth

but they’re being burned at the stake

for heresy



misunderstood

mistranslated

misconstrued

out of order

out of context

all in the same language



generalizations run rampant

everything is everything

black and white

in or out and no middle ground

but always a no man’s land



get down

i’m droppin grammar bombs

no more literary democracy

language is conservative

let metaphors be liberal



Be careful out there

be wary of the logic gestapo

who turn guidelines into strict regulation

freedom into unending laws

they turn logic back in on itself

stopping the flow

creating boundaries



We all thought the wall came down

it still stands unseen

confused, we walk around it

not knowing why we were stopped midthought

until minds reach out

we’ll be trapped like agoraphobic hermit crabs

screamin inside ourselves at the injustice of being disturbed

our tiny claws refusing to put up a defense

we’re at the mercy of giants

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I think this poem actually has three main thoughts all competing to be the center.

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Prophets(intro)

Folder: 
Thought For Food

It is not by the words of the prophets that we become wise,

it is by opening our ear to the past.

And not by disgarding or abiding by their every word,

but the truth by separating what they understood

and what they failed to in their time.

Whether it be by their choice,

or inability or ignorance.



There is no time that is as ignorant as it appears,

nor as wise.

For the aftertaste of the first bite into a perfect world is pandoras box.

Not to be washed down for happy hour,

but for every flavor and texture to be pined over like a conneuisor would;

To be fermented and truly perfected in the right season,

whose year we do not yet know.



This is, for each of us as individuals and together generations down,

As important a journey as any we'll ever day dream.

For every one of us, regardless whether feeling so empowered or minescule.



Because we are all life and/or death containing drops in the ocean,

Whether it was filmed or not.

In our lives, all of us are prophets or profit for someone else.

Many of us are both.

But how many of us are prophets and profit from ourselves?

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How ugly you are

With a bundle of joy in one hand,

And a new life in the other.

Say something good, or nothing at all,

Read me a tale from your bible.

Meet me at the steps,

Where you'll be glad you met,

The one who will keep you remembered,

The one who will keep you alive.



Close your eyes to sleep for me,

You might think I'm insane.

But why would I take a back seat,

When I can have all the gain with no pain.

Well, for a while.



Wrongly accused of a crime I did

But if the evidence doesn't stack up,

The money I make does,

To tie me down till I need something new.

Or something second hand,

Or something without hands,

The Clock that doesn't tick,

Can't leave me behind.



30 years of life, Spend in my own shadow.

My beauty eclipsed by how ugly I am.

And the mockery I've made of life?

Oh don't mention that. You have no say tonight.

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Boston, you and what army

Once there were Angels here,

With the winds from the Arctic,

On damp gray sad days

Their eyes of sapphire smoke, undefended indifference and

That difficult to forget calm hope

How maybe this city will not burn but

Rise one day

Out of its arrogant academies,

And fund raisers

How the Charles River with

Garbage and tourism will be clean

And once again free to tell stories of days past

Where the now dead angels

Stood naked on top of the Prudential

Looking aghast and also telling

Stories about ghastly angels of time no longer here



As far back as truth would go – to the

Old Boston of trees and wheat fields

With a million clams in the ocean

And empty blue skylines

Before the first brick and

Hand raised to strike, to reject

To be blessed – with lips that

Kill and say “Man,”

Cradling a Camel Gold cigarette

Oh Boston, the small multitude

Of foreign faces who struggle

Give up, get up again

And days gone by

How it all disappears

Between the deep library stacks, tv commercials,

New pizza places and comedy of

“Well, Maan – how have YOU been?” – I’ve been in Boston

Searching for my getaway back to Maryland

Away from all the Red Sox fans, the Patriots and the college life

There’s also about a hundred and thirteen old love songs

I would like to forget

Though I’m tone deaf and the Red Sox lost the World Series again

“What – Maaan?”

She don’t really understand that these angels are childless and have no memory

And hope is stuck between a rock and a “fuck off” wag of the middle finger

Cause these skyscrapers and businessmen and tired drunk bus drivers are all that stand..

“Well, Maaaan, at least they do-“

Yeah but what about you – why did I come here

And won’t leave?

Why won’t Boston return anything to me?

Is this true love or a mistake – or worse

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CONNECTIONS

How many lives touch ours as we pass

travelling the highway of time?

Each crossroads some join us and others depart,

never again to entwine.

Yesterday our lives and theirs overlapped,

their influence affected us much,

the threads that once bound us, unravelled, undone,

today we all no longer touch.



School friends and lovers, workmates and pals

Have faded like mists in the morn

replaced by new faces and names once unknown,

contacts and friendships new born.

So many hellos, so many goodbyes,

each contact we make adds its bit.

There are those who accompany us a short way

And those who for years with us sit.



It is such a joy to encounter again

a person we knew long ago

to renew aquaintance and pick up the threads

of someone that we used to know.

But there are connections that never untie,

friends that remain such for life

laughing and sharing adventures and joys,

loving though pain and through strife.      

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Anything You Want

Folder: 
Thought For Food

my dreams have most always been beyond my resources

they say you can do anything you want, but that's bullshit

once they said a chicken in every pot but who had a pot?

everything cost money and look, some don't got



know we have to get a job doing something we can't stand and

they say you can save up your money for your wish, but that's bullshit

as the years go passing by like heartless people past Homelessness

forget saving cause you're in debt just..just to live



well i had many dreams in my life

you might refuse to believe how many times i've tried

you hear inuendos from politicians calling us lawless

well what can you do without money when you run for office



what can you do without money when you run for office

you've got to have money to get elected, you've got to have corporate friends

you have to sell your soul, i guess..-and i can't do that

you can't do 'anything you want' under that format



a stranger said "i wanted to eat but i had no money, and no place to live

they won't give me a job when i'm dressed like this"

a child of homelessness or a forgotten vet

a face of outsourcing and job cut backs



and i want to dream but i have no reason, and what chance to take

they blockade my start, i live like this

a child of hopelessness and a forgotten way

a face of the future and love cut backs

i declare love is dead

a face of the future and love cut backs

i declare love is dead

at least on life support



what can you do without money when you run for office

you've got to have money to get elected, you've got to have corporate friends

you have to sell your soul, i guess..-and i can't do that

you can't do 'anything you want' under that format



"you can do anything you want" - we tried

(i've never given up, i've never given up)

"you can do anything you want" - i've tried

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PthirtysixP Whirlyfritzerglomeratialsilverplater.

Folder: 
charlaxpoetry

PthirtysixP

Whirlyfritzerglomeratialsilverplater.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

you need a category for funny advertisements eye love to make these poems up

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Exchange Your Strings for Schedules

The inconvenient sting

of an artificial truth

The useless facts all soured

by the folly of our youth

The mission bells a'ringing

The little things we make

The accomplishments we spread about

The appointments that we break

They all form a tapestry

Of trite and true remorse

That never stands to better us

Without reaching out for more

So as we try, we buckle down

To come to terms with this

The severed boredom of our lives

And the endless search for bliss.

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