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afteryourimbaud Sep 2018
no one is subscribing
to the universal affection
draining subconscious ailment
that needs no treatment
quaking with fear
shaking with revulsion
looking to prolong
an hour, a minute
stretching one second
into ten seconds
where are we going,
past the streetlights
the crossroads
the commotion
inside the canal boat
that surrounds and accompanies
this road -
will it ends one day,
sometimes, somewhere
and brings an end
to the entire's generation
guilt and disease?
judy smith Sep 2016
When I was chief creative officer for Liz Claiborne Inc., I spent a good amount of time on the road hosting fashion shows highlighting our brands. Our team made a point of retaining models of various sizes, shapes and ages, because one of the missions of the shows was to educate audiences about how they could look their best. At a Q&A; after one event in Nashville in 2010, a woman stood up, took off her jacket and said, with touching candour: “Tim, look at me. I’m a box on top, a big, square box. How can I dress this shape and not look like a fullback?” It was a question I’d heard over and over during the tour: Women who were larger than a size 12 always wanted to know, How can I look good, and why do designers ignore me?

At New York Fashion Week, which began Thursday, the majority of American women are unlikely to receive much attention, either. Designers keep their collections tightly under wraps before sending them down the runway, but if past years are any indication of what’s to come, plus-size looks will be in short supply. Sure, at New York Fashion Week in 2015, Marc Jacobs and Sophie Theallet each featured a plus-size model and Ashley Graham debuted her plus-size lingerie line. But these moves were very much the exception, not the rule.

I love the American fashion industry, but it has a lot of problems and one of them is the baffling way it has turned its back on plus-size women. It’s a puzzling conundrum. The average American woman now wears between a size 16 and a size 18, according to new research from Washington State University. There are 100 million plus-size women in America, and, for the past three years, they have increased their spending on clothes faster than their straight-size counterparts. There is money to be made here ($20.4 billion (U.S.), up 17 per cent from 2013). But many designers — dripping with disdain, lacking imagination or simply too cowardly to take a risk — still refuse to make clothes for them.

In addition to the fact that most designers max out at size 12, the selection of plus-size items on offer at many retailers is paltry compared with what’s available for a size 2 woman. According to a Bloomberg analysis, only 8.5 per cent of dresses on Nordstrom.com in May were plus-size. At J.C. Penney’s website, it was 16 per cent; Nike.com had a mere five items — total.

I’ve spoken to many designers and merchandisers about this. The overwhelming response is, “I’m not interested in her.” Why? “I don’t want her wearing my clothes.” Why? “She won’t look the way that I want her to look.” They say the plus-size woman is complicated, different and difficult, that no two size 16s are alike. Some haven’t bothered to hide their contempt. “No one wants to see curvy women” on the runway, Karl Lagerfeld, head designer of Chanel, said in 2009. Plenty of mass retailers are no more enlightened: under the tenure of chief executive Mike Jeffries, Abercrombie & Fitch sold nothing larger than a size 10, with Jeffries explaining that “we go after the attractive, all-American kid.”

This a design failure and not a customer issue. There is no reason larger women can’t look just as fabulous as all other women. The key is the harmonious balance of silhouette, proportion and fit, regardless of size or shape. Designs need to be reconceived, not just sized up; it’s a matter of adjusting proportions. The textile changes, every seam changes. Done right, our clothing can create an optical illusion that helps us look taller and slimmer. Done wrong, and we look worse than if we were naked.

Have you shopped retail for size 14-plus clothing? Based on my experience shopping with plus-size women, it’s a horribly insulting and demoralizing experience. Half the items make the body look larger, with features like ruching, box pleats and shoulder pads. Pastels and large-scale prints and crazy pattern-mixing abound, all guaranteed to make you look infantile or like a float in a parade. Adding to this travesty is a major department-store chain that makes you walk under a marquee that reads “WOMAN.” What does that even imply? That a “woman” is anyone larger than a 12 and everyone else is a girl? It’s mind-boggling.

Project Runway, the design competition show on which I’m a mentor, has not been a leader on this issue. Every season we have the “real women” challenge (a title I hate), in which the designers create looks for non-models. The designers audibly groan, though I’m not sure why; in the real world, they won’t be dressing a seven-foot-tall glamazon.

This season, something different happened: Ashley Nell Tipton won the contest with the show’s first plus-size collection. But even this achievement managed to come off as condescending. I’ve never seen such hideous clothes in my life: bare midriffs; skirts over crinoline, which give the clothes, and the wearer, more volume; see-through skirts that reveal *******; pastels, which tend to make the wearer look juvenile; and large-scale floral embellishments that shout “prom.” Her victory reeked of tokenism. One judge told me that she was “voting for the symbol” and that these were clothes for a “certain population.” I said they should be clothes all women want to wear. I wouldn’t dream of letting any woman, whether she’s a size 6 or a 16, wear them. Simply making a nod toward inclusiveness is not enough.

This problem is difficult to change. The industry, from the runway to magazines to advertising, likes subscribing to the mythology it has created of glamour and thinness. Look at Vogue’s “Shape Issue,” which is ostensibly a celebration of different body types but does no more than nod to anyone above a size 12. For decades, designers have trotted models with bodies completely unattainable for most women down the runway. First it was women so thin that they surely had eating disorders. After an outcry, the industry responded by putting young teens on the runway, girls who had yet to exit puberty. More outrage.

But change is not impossible. There are aesthetically worthy retail successes in this market. When helping women who are size 14 and up, my go-to retailer is Lane Bryant. While the items aren’t fashion with a capital F, they are stylish (but please avoid the cropped pants — always a no-no for any woman). And designer Christian Siriano scored a design and public relations victory after producing a look for Leslie Jones to wear to the “Ghostbusters” red-carpet premiere. Jones, who is not a diminutive woman, had tweeted in despair that she couldn’t find anyone to dress her; Siriano stepped in with a lovely full-length red gown.

Several retailers that have stepped up their plus-size offerings have been rewarded. In one year, ModCloth doubled its plus-size lineup. To mark the anniversary, the company paid for a survey of 1,500 American women ages 18 to 44 and released its findings: Seventy-four per cent of plus-size women described shopping in stores as “frustrating”; 65 per cent said they were “excluded.” (Interestingly, 65 per cent of women of all sizes agreed that plus-size women were ignored by the fashion industry.) But the plus-size women surveyed also indicated that they wanted to shop more. More than 80 per cent said they’d spend more on clothing if they had more choices in their size and nearly 90 per cent said they would buy more if they had trendier options. According to the company, its plus-size shoppers place 20 per cent more orders than its straight-size customers.

Online start-up Eloquii, initially conceived and then killed by The Limited, was reborn in 2014. The trendy plus-size retailer, whose top seller is an over-the-knee boot with four-inch heels and extended calf sizes, grew its sales volume by more than 165 per cent in 2015.

Despite the huge financial potential of this market, many designers don’t want to address it. It’s not in their vocabulary. Today’s designers operate within paradigms that were established decades ago, including anachronistic sizing. (Consider the fashion show: It hasn’t changed in more than a century.) But this is now the shape of women in this nation, and designers need to wrap their minds around it. I profoundly believe that women of every size can look good. But they must be given choices. Separates — tops, bottoms — rather than single items like dresses or jumpsuits always work best for the purpose of fit. Larger women look great in clothes skimming the body, rather than hugging or cascading. There’s an art to doing this. Designers, make it work.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
Ekhafu ya kamevele niyo ekamayanka elurende!
It goes a Bukusu saying, from Kenya,
It has it English equivalence as;
The most productive Milch- cow
is the one that often dies at the creek,
And truly Proffessor Ali A.  Mazrui
Africa’s global intellectual Milch-cow
Has died today from his drinking creek,
At Birmingham hospital in New-York,
His death is a deep wound
To the world of knowledge,
An impeachment to the voices
Subscribing to classical reasons,
An old wine skin to the new wine
Of nothing but global democracy,
I mourn you Mazrui in this solemn dirge,
I grieve for you deeply from my heart
I grieve for you as you grieved Okigbo,
When the bullet took his youthful life
at Nzuka battle front during the Biafra,
My mind’s eye is seeing you,
Like my Mr. Giraffe the driver
In your political epic
That tried Christopher Okigbo,
Mazrui the global son
Sired in the neoclassical times
We shall miss you,
As there is no whence
That cometh another Mazrui
From all the four corners of the earth
Rarely will he come one more Mazrui,

You failed your O’level exams at Mombasa Sec School
As you humbly basked in Muslim poverty, in 1943
Not because you were a stooge
But a genius of cultural radicalism,
Refusing to answer a history question;
Who is the Archduke of Canterbury?
Dismissing it as academic sham,
For what value has Archduke of Canterbury
to an African, Asian or Mexican boy?

You were denied a chance to study
At the then colonial Makerere University,
You sublimated to Edinburg and Oxford,
You come back into its deanry of political science
You met Milton Obote face to face,
When he was an African-English song bird of Gulu
You shouted loud when Id Amin plotted to **** Okello Oculli
You were then detained for this noise of humanity
You voice was heard,
And you were exported to southern Tundra
As an exhibit for non-white intellectual
Mazrui let me mourn you for the efforts
That sired intellectual democracy in Uganda,

When I reminisce of you Mazrui,
Pages of African Conditions open
Widely before my mind’s eye,
I see your intellectual pilgrimage
From Rudyard Kipling to Julius Nyerere
As you made your Al Hajji stone
at the graveyard of  Shakespeare the bard,

You met Daniel Moi face to face
Daniel Moi the Kalenjin Cow of Dictatorship
And black Maestro of ethnic terror
You took this despotic Moi cow to the well,
You pleaded for it to drink politics of reason
But Mazrui I pity, you were unlucky;
Kalenjin cows never drink whatsoever
From the democratic wells of political reasons,

Mazrui Maalim the star of Islam,
I envy your for your elonguence
I envy you for the unique power of ideas,
I envy you for unique intellectual bravery,
I envy you for constant intellectual dynamism
For your firm stand against utopian socialism
For your intuition into Nkrumah’s Leninist czarism,
And Senghorean cultural despair in paradoxical negritude,
For your firm stand against Ngugi’s literary tribalism,

Mazrui the stellar saint of Swahili Nation
I remember your glowing tribute
In eulogy of Julius Nyerere the swahilist,
When you held the world stand-still
With your cadence in tribute to Mandela
You have used every English word in your scholarship,
Indeed Mazrui you are the African sky
that cannot be vilified by any  ***** mouth,


Mazrui the angel of good thought
You cautioned Wole Soyinka in 1988,
When he embarked on his racist mission
That made him to call you a white African
Or a non- African African, An African Arab
In his blurred thoughts in dint of bigotry
Emanating from your Jekyll and Hide
Vintageously Serialized at Albert Schweitzer,
You sang to him ballads of the scholar
On the African of the soil and African of the blood,

Rest in peace Mazrui at the Fort Jesus
Let your glorious name and teachings
Remain permanent to the future people
As the stubborn stones of the Fort Jesus,
As your name takes the official knighthood
Of the leopard skin on death of the leopard,
Kimberly Eyers Mar 2017
Women
are not mysterious.

We are not shrouded
in cloaks made from the night sky.

We are not anomalies
or irregularities in the data.

Our nature has been hidden
from men, by men.

We have not been studied;
Not extensively, thoroughly, over centuries.

Not the way men have been, either.
There was no equal footing in
analyses.

Women were test subjects, when men were patients.
When we were "relevant" at all.

This pattern literally kills us quicker.
In medicine, and love.
In the office and the bedroom.
In the workshop and the nursery.

In the kitchen.

In the kitchen.

Some food for your soul:

Everyone is magical.
You don't need a pointy hat and a ******.

Everyone is intellectual.
You don't need spectacles, white skin, or a *****.

Everyone is environmental.
Just go outside.

You just need to be you.

Subscribing to the binary
and rejecting it completely:
One ties your hands,
the other your feet.

Be all the parts of you. Then you can feel
Whole.
A book shouldn't be judged by its cover they said.
A person should be judged on their heart they said.
Plenty of books go unread
They are too small
Too thick
Too old
Too beat up

People and love have the same fate as a book.
Love is hypocritical.
How can an emotion, that is said to be
Judged by the heart,
Consider the optical cortex's opinion.
Before it weighs a soul
Hypocrites.

Predators are lead by their sight as well.
Killing off prey
In blood lust
That is interesting.
Perhaps lust is the issue
Their eyes devour what they want
While the heart is left empty.

If I lose weight am I subscribing to this belief?
Am I not fit enough to be loved?
Would being devoured by predators truly mend my heart?
My windowless soul bleeds.
While their eyes ignore me.
Am I changing myself to be loved, or
Can love change itself to find me?
Skye Applebome Sep 2013
Dear Mark,
You have an uncanny ability to make me laugh.
So many times I have been in the darkest of places,
To be brought back up by another video of yours.
You thank us, me, for subscribing and supporting you,

But really, you shouldn't be thanking us.

We should be (and are) thanking YOU
For helping us
For saving us
For making us laugh
For making us happy
For making us forget our troubles
For your continued dedication
For your hilarity
For your generosity
*For everything.
Mark Fischbach (or markiplierGAME, Markiplier for short) is a YouTuber who's just recently hit 800,000 subscribers. He's never failed to cheer me up. I HIGHLY recommend you check him out.
http://www.youtube.com/user/markiplierGAME


If you're in a dark place and need a laugh, watch one of his videos. If it doesn't cheer you up, watch another, and soon enough you'll be laughing and smiling and you'll have forgotten your troubles, if only for a while.
badwords Apr 17
We are slaves
to the techno-autocracy.
A faith of subscribing,
of retweeting,
of liking things
we never loved.

We chant into the feed
and call it presence.
We echo to the void
and call it voice.

The liturgy is noise.
The sacrament is scroll.
We kneel before timelines
like altar rails
and take communion in pixels.

We have traded prophets for influencers.
Revelation for reposts.
Scripture for screen time.

The holy ghost got a firmware update,
but still can’t answer support tickets.

We stare at our gods,
glowing in our palms,
and ask to be known—
but only if it fits in the caption.

There is no silence.
Only the dull roar of monetized despair.
The din that keeps us deaf.
The bombast of uninformed certainty.
The drivel that drips down our chin
while we think we’re being fed.

We are full of nothing,
and still we chew.
David Jun 2015
I'm uncomfortable  

And always tense
In observational
Desire
From my corner coffee shop
Spot.
Unnoticed,
I see simple embrace
One for which
my body aches.
My body breaks
I realize
I'm alone and
In doing so actualize my own fate.

People are aliens
Foreign and speaking a language which seems eerily  
familiar but forgotten
years ago.
It seems I am not getting
better at conversing
just daily Rehearsing
The same rhetoric
Stoic lows
recycled and recited
to a new day, a new ethereal face

Inadequate Inadequacies
Inadequately Inscribed,
,described and, imbibed.

Please, oh Lord,
Let me imbibe
before subscribing
to speak to you, me, every and anyone.


Send Help!
Send Anyone!

A person
to make my lips feel
a little
less caustic.
Casual conversation
by the wayside
I want what I had
Not what I can or could have.
I don’t want love.
I’d rather have a dog to put to sleep
than no dog at all.
The Calm Dec 2016
I don't know which is better
So I'm tossed by the wind, feeling light as a feather
I keep flirting with sin, keep subscribing to this earthly pleasure
Finding joy in the moment, but losing my forever.

I don't know which way to go
I wanna go home but where is home? i don't know
So I follow the flow, the flow of the river
I want to swim again'st  the current but no strength in me, only growing weaker.

I want to find peace
It rains in the jungle, the nights are cold, and there's only a few trees keeping me shelter
I look out between the trees and I see eyes aglow staring me down, I sense imminent danger

Should I run or should I stay here?  Cause it's only worse out there
Soaked, tired, alone and afraid, I wonder
Should I pull my blade? Or myself should I try barricade?
Why am I afraid? I know I should've prayed and probably should've weighed the actions I made, now in the wind and rain I have little shade
I should not have strayed, that course I should've stayed and now I have no aid as darkness sings to me it serenades, it looks beautiful it masquerades. It wants to make me believe, and feel, a beautiful feeling like Christmas eve, so that I can be deceived and caught unaware.

unaware, I mean there was never any light in darkness,
I just feel the cold, rain and wind on my skin left bare
and I know it's bare because I feel this air, my eyes fixed out into the wilderness and looking back at me is still a stare and at this point I'd swear, that I was all alone, no hope, not even a prayer
and nothing could compare, to that feeling of despair out in the wilderness,

But behold, out of nowhere I saw a light appear
piercing through the darkness, signaling me like a flare
And a song! A song filled my ear! singing "yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of evil, nothing shall I fear" And not just that valley, but anywhere, and then no sweeter words had left my lips as I whispered the Lord's prayer as I was delivered from my wilderness
In the name of Jesus, in his warmth, his care
Everyone has there own wilderness. This is mine. Hopefully it reads like an epic story because God's grace is an epic story
1
Defined by an intense need to
apostrophize and to tether, dictated by nothing

but your definitive space’s lissome address,

when visited, opens up to a closing, or sizing a gap
if syndetic, and reaching out for a retreat a frail gesture
    meaningfully pursuing a link, a strain  that is

2
When you were alive because you felt it, subscribing
to a phenomenon, granted by a sovereign of our difference

     unconsciously at first it was statutory to a fault but then conceding
to it and accepting, fit in this meeting as if too relaxed

    that it may sleep   or  bear noise even – your incidence of me sees clearer
than any lens, and when fond of, you will
                           make out of my clenched fists, when put together, a diptych with

    your   hands  taken into, receiving constantly the burden  of days

3
As destination of a truth
   that is  if you listen that  there is  something  inaudible in  this
       reality – your dream will make an apparition out of   its   center,

said when it is too comfortable to even slouch at a constant day,
        setting this faculty tranquil the face of  a punctual  eve
  somnambulating through   towns triggered   by   dim  white light,

   forcing windows    to  contract,  the   body somewhere  afloat, contacting
         the precision  of something  as  rescue,

your   life  seen   with  value  when   peril  touches  your  deepest  parts,
            almost daily   in this location   as if  you  were shorn out   of
                           difficulty, looking   for   me  to   halve all of this.
badwords Jul 2024
The man is mad but, he is fair
The hostages' fate flips in the air
The coin tumbles, two sides, a pair
Gravity steers to the man in his chair

"Fate" says the man, "is in our hands"
Result occluded, desperate strands
The verdict of nefarious plans
"We all want--NO! We demand!"

"We all believe there is something owed"
"A cache of treasure just for us, stowed"
"Our wealth for subscribing to control"
"A fruitless and folly toll"

The man of madness makes his reveal
The future of the captives it did seal
Heads or tails, bound they reel
Hopes palpable of a favorable deal

"It seems that you will all be set free"
A sigh emanates amongst the captive company
Bonds removed, Stockholm comradery
A passing dismissal to the powers that be

"Free from 'freedom', this was your chance"
"To escape this tired song and dance"
"You could have been heroes, not this stance"
"To return to comfortable circumstance"

"The path you celebrate was the failure state"
"Decency and humanity to arbitrate"
"I cannot harm a life doomed to wait"
"More than the misery in your own stake"

"I have achieved nothing but, you have lost"
"A life with no meaning worth the cost"
"A Hallmark version of Faust"
"A reality casually glossed"

The hostages promptly depart
All aside from this seeming upstart
Younger then the rest, set apart
Comes inquisition from the heart;

"Did you think these people would change their minds?"
"Where fed insipid mediocrity is all there is left to find?"
"A people who measure themselves in how far they are behind?"
"Zealots perpetuating ego with no concept to be kind"

The man takes the coin of 'governance' and reveals the truth:

It was blank on both sides.
nivek Aug 2015
some are battle hardened
but most in the end are broken down
- a strange kind of peacekeeping
the leaving of the gun behind
but never truly subscribing to peace
just broken down
Sally A Bayan Feb 2018
Glamour, health and politics,
are ideal morning topics
blending well with hot coffee,
and, these early risers...share openly
their impassioned accounts, simultaneously
seething, with a dark and strong bubbling sea,
making the most, out of a few hours of bonding,
breakfasting, after morning chi kung
(sometimes, with family, reuniting...)
they have moved with the times and days,
subscribing to both old and acceptable new ways...
anger and dislike are voiced gently
no despair hidden...i believe, not a tad of ennui,
.......surely...

these ladies have no fancy hats,
flowered, feathered, or with colored tats
no jewels crown their heads...........just
plain hair: black, brown, long or bobbed,
no pearls grace their necks.....or gloves
that are trimmed, to hide overworked
hands, or wrinkled knuckles......they're
past their golden years, prim and proper,
their own sets of rules are flames burning,
steam rising, like those of coffee brewing
deep in their minds...their values, churning,
their inner beauty, transcending...

their mornings are like a coffee maker,
brimming with bubbles and dark swirls,
tamed, paled in mugs, when cream is added in twirls...
complex issues considered taboo,
sometimes, even plain tattoos
are discussed in hushed tones
voices agree or disagree...until froth is gone
and bubbles have simmered down...

the hours are fleeting, time passes so swiftly
one has gone...but these enterprising ladies
excitedly plan ahead, for their next assembly...

Sally

Copyright November 2, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
(an old unposted poem about my breakfast group)
SelinaSharday Sep 2021
Watch out for the waters
You adventure in,
via your browser swim
truly unknowingly.
For there's so much we browsers can't see,.
Everyday grinding hustlin just doing you.
Never know what rivers u may end up passing keyboard canoe.
Like the social online parks
Its a place wherein lays unsorted dimensional sparks.
Designed places includes types of sharks.
Even for us who appreciate staying in the bushes.
Some of us like being behind the scenes.
Within the usual even new public things,.
Careful where you step. Careful where you post.
Social media is a maze, of lanes and thangs!
Online social clubs, No matter where your from..
There are places that will pull you there.
Beware of emotional eye catchers
Like mental mind candied snatchers.
Becoming a awed fan..
In this wide waters  entertainment of man.
Careful where you click, adore carefully reply.
Daggers can give you a pc glared blackeye.
Give support, but any other mission be ready to abort.
Hearts  sometimes on your sleeve, still give support that others may succeed.
Yes But not at your own risk where you may bleed.
Depression your own regression.
Diagonal emotions, changing of your views. subscribing to social vlogs.
Go easy take baby steps.
Because you can't vision where the waters go deeper.
Becoming blind to your bodies symptoms and signs.
Your giving outputs yet when have you taken time
for your inputs.
Everywhere some are asking things of you..
I happen to subscribe to a very high emotional vlogger.
Attack after attack, before my eyes and ears.
Wasn't used to the atmosphere. The language etc but still
it was a bit entertaining.
When my physical mind became drained, and the tones yelled defensive jabs.
emotional stabs.
Realized I'd subscribed way to much into the chaotic space.
Had to sit out wasn't needing the taste.
Waters of content creators thinking oh I can handle this.
Your spirit yells enough.
Careful hearts and minds..
Take breaks step away, rest and cater to your Mind health & spirit.
Careful of what Ads invite you to online swim. from the ponds, pools and lakes.
To deeper waters stay safe.. protecting the mental intellectual of your souls.
Too much junk food from creators, vloggers, subscribers, followers and the like
of social media channels.
Once over whelmed your gut will tell, unsubscribe, step away and recuperate.
You don't need so much on your plate.
SelinaSharday.. 21/9 S.A.M ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
BROWSING, SUBSCRIBBING, supporting posting  staying current on content.. checking messages, working, networking, entertaining, etc all takes it tolls on us.
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
Being, behind the words  
Feels a sublime ease  
With a calm memory  
A sense of being alive    
In no Man’s land  
Subscribing a new world order  
With a sacred realm  
Encrypted hope    
Where,  
The soul speaks    
The Heart listens  
An Ancient script,    
In a native tongue  
    
Don’t get it, Regardless?  
A native tongue,  
Same syllable,  
Stammer astray  
    
Misspelled, misunderstood    
Those celestial pieces  
Being, gracefully rude
Phenomenal,  
All in Innocence.
Words with hope.  Shared from my Anthology, Canvas: Echoes and Reflections. 2018.
Big Virge Aug 2020
Ya Know...

It's CLEAR The Subject of WISDOM...
Requires Lyricism That's Bred From...
... THOUGHT And THINKING... !!!!!

In FACT It's DEFINITION...
Encompasses Prescriptions...
That DO NOT Stand By...  " Isms' "...

So Therefore NO RELIGION...
ENCOURAGING DIVISION......
And ACTS of.... SEPARATISM....
Can CLAIM To Be Positioned...
ALONGSIDE... Holding WISDOM... !!?!!

In FACT It Seems NEW VISIONS...
REJECT......... Wisdom........
For Missions Embracing...
... NEEDLESS KILLINGS... !?!

Where INNOCENTS Are VICTIMS... !!!
VICTIMS of... COLLISIONS... !!!
That Leave SO MUCH Blood SPILLING... !!!!!

That... Wisdom Filled Civilians...
Make... ILL ADVISED Decisions...
That Simply INCREASE FRICTION... !!!!!

Like Bullets Sent By VILLAINS...
Whose Wisdom LACKS Good Vision... !!!

WISDOM FEEDS MORE Lenience...
Than... Civil DISOBEDIENCE... !!!

And Has NO TIME For DEVIANCE... !!!
From EVIL Breeds of... DEVIANT... !!!

Who Seem To Lack Ingredients...
Where Wisdom Is The MEDIAN... !!!

The Point Where BALANCE...
.... BADGERS Catchments....
To.... DISMISS BARONS....
COLD And... CALLOUS... !!!!!

When It Comes To The MALICE...
That... FUELS Their Actions... !!!

You See Wisdom DENIES...
Embracing LIES And TAKING Lives...
So That You Can... " FLY HIGH "...

From Family TIES To Corporate Guys...
It's Really NOT WISE To Get TOO TIED...

To Those Who TRY...
To INFECT Your Mind...
With RELIGIOUS Vibes... !!!!!

Or MONETARY Ties Where Wisdom's Consigned...
To Taking Sides And CONTROLLING Designs... !!!

Wisdom DEFINED...
..... PERSONIFIES......
The Ability To THINK... !!!
YES For... YOURSELF... !!!

WITHOUT Using WEALTH...
Or A FAITH That Sells...
Your Soul To The BRINK...
of What's Called... HELL... !!!

For NOT Doing What You're TOLD...
By... CORRUPTED Folds... !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wisdom CONTROLLED... ?!?
AIN'T The Way To Go In My Opinion Yo'... !!!

Because TRUTH Be TOLD...
The Deity You FOLLOW...
MUST Have Truths UNTOLD... ?!?

And It Seems Pretty HOLLOW...
To BELIEVE You KNOW...
About An Entity's Role...
From... EONS AGO... !?!

WHY Cos' SOMEONE...
.... TOLD You So.... ?!?
Through... Historical Quotes...
That SOMEONE ELSE Wrote... !?!?!

My Wisdom SLOWS That Roll...
Cos' It DOESN'T Fill Zones...
Where BLACK HOLES Roam... !!!!!!

It FILLS My Spirit To EXHIBIT Lyrics...
That BENEFIT ME... !!!!!
And My... SPIRITUAL Fitness... !!!!!!!!!!!

So Atheist... PLEASE...
It's NOT My Bizness'... !!!
To CLAIM To Be ALL SEEING...
When It Comes To SUPREME BEINGS... !!!!!

My Wisdom Is MORE Like...
An Explorer Trying To Find...
Their Way Towards The LIGHT...
That Gives... ETERNAL LIFE... !!!!...
And WISDOM BEYOND Chat...
That Has NO CONCRETE Facts... !!!!!!!

So My Wisdom DENIES Subscribing To LIES...
Or Things INSCRIBED In Books Designed...
To CONTROL Minds Like They DO Peoples' Lives... !!!!!

From Girls To Guys...
To THOSE Whose PRIDE...
THROWS Wisdom...... ASIDE...... ?!?

So That They Can CLAIM...
To Be BETTER Than CAIN... !?!

When They're NOT Able To USE Their Brain...
To FIND Wisdom That Resides On PLANES...
Where Being HUMANE Is The Name of The Game... !!!

Rather Than Joining CLANS...
Who Are Just As... LAME...

As Those... BEARING.....
.... " Ku Klux Names ".... !!!!!!!

Because... SEPARATIST Traits...
... Are A Path to HATE... !!!

I Believe It's FAIR To Say...
That Experience And Age...
Are Where Wisdom EXHALES... !!!

But YES SOME Youths Have Wisdom TOO... !!!
Because of The Things That They Have Been Through... !!!

But MOST It's TRUE DON'T Make SMART Moves...
Because They're YOUNG And Wanna Have FUN... !!!

Cos' You're Only Young... ONCE... !!!
And On THAT Note Here's My LAST Quote...

LIVE LIFE... Be WISE...
And Make SMART Moves... !!!

DON'T FOLLOW Crews...
Try FOLLOWING... YOU...

YES... YOUR OWN INSTINCTS... !!!!!

Take Time And... THINK...
And... DON'T Be The ONE...
Who's The WEAKEST Link... !!!!

Be An... ORGANISM...
That EVOLVES With A Rhythm...
Where HEIGHTENED Thinking...
DISMISSES..... *** - is - ion.....
And............ IGNORANT Living..... !!!!!

But INSTEAD Is Something WILLING...
To... EMBRACE KNOWLEDGE...

And ENLISTING...

....... " WISDOM "......
A subject that one could write on forever....
Sierra Jordyn Jun 2020
I like bugs, rocks, and the color of mud
Earthy critters who scratch and plod their way up my spine
Your walls were lovely to talk to
and disembodied hands may be comparably so to hold
But I did not dare move to do so

I’d sing soliloquies for your amusement
I’d transcribe your affections,
Better than you or I could ever feel them
So frangible and infrequent
Yet blazes like the Eternal Flame,
Your windows verdant and of the Earth;
a mane of ribboned russet
Your bow is steadied with precision
Whose compass surely does not need or require me
Nor mine yours

You must be fond of honey hair that twists and turns
and splattered spots uncorrelated
Scattered across the face
Plump lips that pose in anticipation
For words spoken in jest and sincerity
Oftimes conflate and converge
Conceive a certainty two would only know
Should they only recognize in a mirrored flame

Both deny and protest but surely
Both magnetic and bewitched by the other
In a fashion that is both sinful and edifying
Subscribing to no particular Sect or Order
But this imperceptible tug is a religion of itself is it not?
The feeling of enlightenment and the fervor
Is unlike any one thing experienced by men and Devils alike
Feverish and decelerate,
It is a slow and radiant burn
Such assumptions may feel erroneous and presumptive
But unquestionable at your core nonetheless;

Maybe suffering from days long since gone by will
Collapse any hope I have to have you
You said you rarely get what you want
So let me give it you

Because you have ****** yourself  
You have made yourself a prophet,
and so it shall be self-fulfilling
I imagine that you’ll never have it
Perhaps a ship whose voyage is lulled,
slow and shallow
will wash onto your shore,
tired and hungry you will feed it
As it takes from you
So you don’t have to feel as much or as affectingly
As I make you feel, with roots so entangled and abyssal
This I have known, because I am inclined similarly
Just as two positives will never meet,
Just as Endymion and Selene,
Gods of the Moon and Sun
Cursed to orbit and never elope

I have been orbited and have revolved around,
But never loved or in love; so I wonder
If it would consume us or hurl us forward
Into a void of which there is no escape
Instead of ruminating on what may
Giving into it and surrendering

Never experiencing the frailty
Of something that touches one’s essence
For fear of being changed forever

To the Sun,
it is more convenient to love the Clouds,
and the Moon
better suited to love the Sea,
because they may touch more closely

And never wonder what could be.
We've all felt something so visceral, and just outside of our reach, and wondered what could be. Suspended in potential. This is that.
(March 25, 1942 – August 16, 2018)
(Thee ALFA (alpha) BETS Best "Queen of Soul")

Though unbeknownst to the diva,
where thee now sings with angels
(me, an invisible nameless spirit),
accompanies your mythic legendary
legacy afterlife already doth
Make Me Feel Like
an average star descended from on high,
thus inducing this generic solar stellar body

to exalt My tribute to A Natural Woman,
who unwittingly wrought
and outshone such golden gilded
fused steely mettle, imbuing
A Brand New Me,
twinkling in your posthumously shadow
nonetheless averring
A Change Is Gonna Come

pronouncing A Deeper Love
toward A Natural Woman
bonfires bursting bonafides
when ye whar barely done being cradled,
prepubescent maternity became latent
within yar promising nubility didst
budding classy pet auld aging dame
retaining topnotch je nais sais quois

A Rose Is Still A Rose
unsurpassed vibrancy despite
super nova waning zenith,
thence descent into hallowed grave,
where Ain't No Way any other Angel
could hold an Olympic torch
blindingly as thee to
illuminate Another Night

infused with brilliant poignant
heartfelt sentiment, sans
awe rays burning queenly
pulsating Baby I Love You
no matter crossing into
now ye didst cross over
into eternal resting place
thus, apropos for thyself

a disembodied essence
unbeknowst to thee to intone psalm
afterlife Border Song (holy Moses)
guiding holy spirit across Bridge
Over Troubled Water
asking thee to Call Me
upon arriving safely
decoupled from Earthly

Chain Of Fools,
where timeless Day Dreamin'/Dreaming
setting par excellence moral compass
asper Do Right Woman Do Right Man
diligently subscribing to Doctor's Orders,
whose plaintive insistence begs
cherished honorable muting refrain
respecting Don't Play

That Song (you Lied)
misled by Dr. Feelgood
specialist affixing botox
faux Mona Lisa smile
thorough fare lee exiting
off re:Freeway Of Love
back tracking along boo
love hard of broken dreams

sighing - Here We Go Again
nonetheless, I Knew
You Were Waiting For Me
unknowingly W| George Michael
intonating viz inflection admitting
to thine disembodied spirit,
ye obliviously unaware
blithely divulging unguardedly

"I Never Loved A Man
(the Way I Love You)"
relishing the murmur, "I Say A Little Prayer"
"I Will Survive," cuz bred confidante
to this trusted invisible pal August 2018
amorousness re: "I'm In Love"
aware such romantically
smitten state elusive from

Jumpin' Jack Flash lightening fast,
no matter unbounded toward stratosphere,
yar mortality harbored self
destructive cancerous spores
disease asserting to confidant air of stoicism
soul resilient malignant against
perforce never "Killing Me Softly" (you)
cleaving cerulean celestial

peppering heavenly vault with Oh Me Oh My
Respect plus Rock—a—bye Your Baby
With A Dixie Melody a firm ming
Gibraltar Rock Steady.
N N Johnson Apr 2021
I can't sit with myself,
I'm the worst company these days.
I keep walking away
in the middle of a one-way
conversation,
short durations
only please,
I can't sit with myself,
as it won't be long
before everything goes wrong.

I can't feel this feeling but
I can **** well name it,
words come easy, its the
noticing that's queasy so
look there it goes, it flows
out the door so I don't have to
feel it anymore. i wish i could be sure,

but that is a lie, I know,
I can't be honest with myself.
my heart is a shelf and
the volumes of trauma have
collected so much dust, it
must take a lifetime to get
those clean and shiny.
who knew this tiny collection could
carry so much weight,
i'm guessing the heaviness is hate.

I can't look at myself, not
without thoughts thoughts thoughts
about the shoulds and oughts,
my body is not subscribing to my
beauty standards, deciding instead
to demand respect by taking
no **** about whether or not
it can sit or stand or stop eating,
defeating my idea of will power
with more force than i've ever known
and causing me to cower.

i can't write this poem
because I can't stop thinking about
writing the poem, and is it good, is
it good yet? should I take a bet
on whether it will ever be enough
for this semi-tough critic
who knows she's not really
a poet, so why are you doing this exactly?
you know it will not be good,
you should know it by now. you should.

i can't sit with myself,
i try to say what needs to be said
the thoughts i have just before bed,
the dread and memory,
forever in my flesh and bone, alone,
I felt so alone back then and now
with all around to be with,
i still sit with myself and
am lonely again, feel homely again,
i can't feel it really, can only name it again,
can only hear HIS name, again.

i can't forgive myself. I sit
here complaining to me about my
split personality which is really just
a hurt child inside, mild and trying to hide,
but all I do is hear her cry and try
to shush her, slap her, ignore her,
bore her, i'm not a good parent
to my memories, i don't ease
them the way i should, and there
i go again, if only I could
stop using should to scold her, me,
and see me, her, for what she is,
not cold and ***** but alone and afraid,
made to think it's all her fault,
the yelling, the silence and the assault.
but it wasn't, my love
i imagine a dove, i try to be tender
i try to surrender my thorny casing,
erasing the added burden of self-defeat,
just trying to meet her where she's at,
and seeing that she is me, and I'd
never call her fat, never call her selfish,
I'd never be rough, id say you're enough
to that little she who is little me,
trying to see that it's really my own
opinion that matters, and I'm grown
and no longer battered, not by others,
and no longer by me, i cross my heart,
and hope to survive, to be alive, to thrive,
i cross my heart to nurture this part.
Precious Abraham Sep 2020
If there's one thing I know best
It's My obsession
Which lay deep down
In a room with shackles
Waiting for that uncontrollable period
To exhibit it shape
I know for sure
it changes shape
To be satisfied with figure
For obsession show's
With out knowing
It stain without showing
Just like a phone with password
I tell you it always a reminder
As date is.
It's certained that obsession leads to
Desiree's
Some can't be spoken of
Nor to be believed
For to know an individual
Know his obsession
And to know his desire
Hook up to his obsession
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Think deep and let me know what you think about this poem ... Thanks

— The End —