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Details | Education Poem | |

Heritage

The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.

Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.

This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.

The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.

A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.

Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.

The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.

At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.

I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.

The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.

Details | Education Poem | |

Stoned

In seeming innocence you lie upon the warm ochre
about the edges of the dust-strewn street,
a remnants of larger issues, crushed to just the right size by a killing blow.
Before the mob merged, before cat calls raised the hairs on the back of her neck,
she had been of a favorite pet, a cherished wife.  
A mother now lays dead, brought down by the bloodlust of the men around her.
Today, the stones are coated rust-red with the blood as the of women of Iraq 
are laid low by their husbands, sons, and fathers. 


Details | Education Poem | |

Didn't Don't

.

Didn't Don't
Somebody keeps pulling on the rope to swing the bells
   didn't don't       
            didn't don't
Don't touch it. Don't say it. Don't do it. Don't doubt it. Don't think.

Somebody handcuffs my steps. Somebody determines my boundaries.
Before I fully understand free will, there is a slap on my head
      and phosphenes like stars that command my orbit.
Before I can recognize differences, there is a slap on my hand
      right hand, not left hand...never ambidextrous; 
      and time out is isolation without a trial...and I learn
                               the fear of wrongdoing
                               remote-controlling my existence,
conditional on demand, predesigned
      and easily
      and obviously
      frightened
An aborted freedom escaping into the sewer
trying not to get it on the seat

I'm the observer of other lives, not mine               
tied up and chained, in captivity 
attempting to prove an alibi 
                    for being alive.
No one cares
not even myself

Somebody pulls on the rope to swing the bells
   didn't don't       
           didn't don't
It's dirty. It's ugly. It's bad. It's poo. It's sin.

commitments, commandments... Commandments, Commitments
                               Salvation... Damnation
Sometimes deception makes them ring in a low tone. Sometimes
I do what they say, and not what they do, and not what I want, and not what I think.

                 Through   fragments   of   this   duplicity,
                                               and   this   duplicity, 
I would be able to rebuild myself,
                                and Myself, into another hypocritical being;
and the intentional perversion of the self proclaimed truth,
                                or the liar paradox,
                                will be sovereign
leading to the use of tricks and cotton swabs.

When the remorseless hours run counterclockwise,
I would be happy through imaginary experiences,
consistently depurated,
consistently believed to be true.
             
Would I dare to examine the society in which I've been educated and raised?
Would I dare rip my skin...my flesh off of my bones?
How could I blame them? How could I possibly judge them?
Order and obedience in confabulation...in conspiracy...in complicity

If somebody keeps pulling on the rope to swing the bells
If I'm the only one guarding my own cell
If I'm the jailer, and the convict, and the crime.


.



Details | Education Poem | |

Mental Hospital Bills

dadgum doctors, heads up their butts poking, prodding, pricking skin neurologist a psychopath gets pleasure as electric volts pass through my body family doctor showed little concern made me paranoid about irregular heartbeat EKG failed to determine cause left me more in doubt than at ease dentist like a character from Dustin Hoffman’s “Marathon Man” the more pain inflicted the more he rejoiced deep root cleaning caused severe infection bloodwork done by Vampira clones labs filled with tubes and needles results not shared with me yet I footed the bill optometrist an Oriental who moved so fast didn’t care if the prescribed glasses worked boo on you, dang aristocrats waving your credentials nurses so slow to respond MRI promised on CD, but couldn’t be obtained just like the blood tests, needed a “report” doctors driving me insane each should share my mental hospital bills
*Based on ongoing health tests and written for PD’s contest. Assignment Free Verse, 25 lines, category slam, sad and educational, title: Mental Hospital Bills

Details | Education Poem | |

AN EDUCATED MAN

He reads voraciously

to his young children,
beholden and somewhat bewildered 
by sweet progeny 
their relentless leaching of his words 
hungry baby birds, small peep teachings

He reads sporadically
 
to his father, articles from the paper, 
headlines and bylines,
for his dad has cataracts, now, and velum hands
shake newsprint, making a rattling sound 
too like the quiver of their cloistered skeletons,
all those remains, all those remains

There is wisdom in comics, he has found, 
bucolic rings so like old church bells 
tutoring fields through fog

He still tries to read

his wife,
shared history in eyes,
the geography of long sighs, that topography of belly,  
yes, yes, a theology that spills from parted lips
bless each rumpled sheet, that chemistry 
which repeats poetry, spoken in a dialect, so rare 


He remembers reading an encyclopedia 

in the face of a beggar, once, 
the prophetical sparking from high brows 
which seemed to be only crossed currents,
a lifetime recorded, an unbound edition, A through Z
but when he turned carefully to C,
he'd found a full entry on compassion
and charity

Soon, he'll no longer read music notes

through a soft blur, playing guitar for one
a thousand times more educated then he,
this twelve year old girl, her heart 
an open lecture hall,
that smile of pure academia, 
may she ever be an opus angelorum,
that reaches, will ever reach, 
far past mere hospice walls.







Details | Education Poem | |

I Did It My Way

I Did It My Way
I did it my way, not for the applause but because, Failure was not an option and I became a rebel with a cause. I wanted higher education and was told I couldn’t have it all, So I had to prove them wrong even if I had to creep or crawl.
I was accused of having a stubborn streak, Just because I wasn’t mild and meek. Challenging every obstacle placed in my way, And all the negative things that people had to say.
In spite of all the “You can’t do that,” that I was told, I stubbornly did it my way and confidently smashed the mold. Marching to a different drummer and dancing to my own tunes, I kept my eyes on the prize ignoring all the nay-saying buffoons.
To keep on track, I learned to juggle tasks knowing I wouldn’t be derailed. To keep my ducks in a row, I learned to haggle knowing I wouldn’t fail. With dedication and hard work, as sure as night follows day, Success was mine because I certainly did it my way!
6-7-2014 - Submitted to contest “I Did It My Way” sponsored by Shadow Hamilton

Details | Education Poem | |

POVERTY DEFINES TRUE WEALTH

written 25th Oct 2013


I don't know if human's will ever see
 every soul born, is right where it's meant to be
For the rich to become the richest
 there has to be a place for the poorest

The entire world is built up from the same level of dirt
 each soul is born without knowledge to cause hurt
Humanity teaches us what a human's life is worth, by money and glory
 I am to believe "all lives are priceless, every soul fit's to tell Earth's story

The luckiest to be born, is that of a poor man
 he learn's the treasures, of "everything he can
Those born into all riches, have no true understanding of "richness
 seeing us not as human's, but those living in poverty "as an illness

Love start's from the soul, and from there, it is taught to grow
 the rich find another kind of love, one only brought with dough
Love, trust, compassion and grace, defining the difference in richest and wealth
 t'is the beggar off the street, who climbs the toughest road to earn his wealth 

He is the most blessed man, he is rewarded with the most valuable key
 for his wealth, is humanly "uncountable, for only God know's the value of he...




Details | Education Poem | |

STAMINA

           STAMINA

No where near a force of nature.
Challenging the things that are not for sure.

Building what we can  survive.
A small measurement when we strive.

Lessons when it comes to strength.
Multiplying the time found in length.

Stop and learn the sound of weakness.
Hard to find when one is restless.

Improving in a mental task.
The answers are found when we ask.

Stamina is needed between me and you.
To perform bravely in all we do.

Losing the ability to rump for long.
You're out of shape comes in way too wrong.

The idea is to learn when ideas seem to fail.
The wrong action is to bail.

Thinking, thinking what could it be.
Will not solve the problem between you and me.

Practice is  the best energy.
Memorize it and stamina will come naturally.

 
                    SKAT
                   6-29-10

Details | Education Poem | |

The 'Star of Education'

Like many precious diamonds,
Good teachers are hard to find
Yet sometimes one can discover
A rare and priceless kind,
It’s not like all the others
For it out-shines the rest
You know as soon as you see it 
That this stone is the best,
A good teacher is that special gem
They do far more than teach
They make you feel, through learning,
There’s no star you cannot reach
In Art, they help you see differently
From new angles, not straight up and down
They make Geography an adventure
As the world you travel around
In History, they make you feel 
You’ve lived and breathed the times
And Math is not sums, but puzzles
To stretch and tone your mind
In English they encourage you
To not just write, but feel
So that each one of your stories
Will read as if it were real,
If you ever have a question
You call and they are there
With patience and understanding
Your problems are theirs, they care
There’s usually one in every school
Superior to the rest
For they’re the ‘Star of Education’
And as such are totally priceless!

Details | Education Poem | |

Oneness

Oneness
                   Authored by Chuck Keys

It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.

There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.

Thinking multi-physically
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically 
It wasn't here or there and it was.

With no distinction, 
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.

It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.

In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.

The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."

Differences exist for differences, 
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.

DEDICATION:
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.  
www.gandhiking.ning.com

Details | Education Poem | |

Goodbye, Saint Joseph's School -- Elton John

*Sung to the tune of Elton John’s “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.”  Intended to be taken 
humorously.  


“When are you gonna grow up?
It is in jail you will land
You’ll have to stay after class
And I’ll be talking to your old man”


     “You know you can’t hold me forever
     The last school bus is now due
     You can’t rap my knuckles with your ruler now
     Stand in my way and I’ll just run through
     So nah, nah, nah…

     “So goodbye, St. Joseph’s School
     Where the ‘Sisters of Mercy’ were cruel
     The Catholic school’s finally closing
     The lunchroom’s stopped serving gruel

     “I’m taking that bus, might never get off
     Don’t want to face my Dad’s wrath
     Oh, I’ve finally decided to free myself
     And set out on my own path
     So nah, nah, nah…”


“How can you earn a living?
You can’t even spell your name
You’ll be required to take some remedial courses
And stop playing silly head games”


     “Maybe you’ll get a new convent
     I hear there’s some room in Brazil
     Students there might appreciate
     A no-nonsense sister with a voice shrill
     So nah, nah, nah…

     “So goodbye, St. Joseph’s School
     Where the ‘Sisters of Mercy’ were crude
     The altar boys have been set free
     The priests are no longer lewd

     “I’d like to stay, watch them raze it
     The site with torture imposed
     Where skeletons still hide in the closets
     Nevermore to be exposed
     So nah, nah, nah…”



*For John Heck’s “Dear John” contest.  
Those of us who attended St. Joseph’s just learned the school is being closed.  
Although a good education was provided, some students were beaten there repeatedly.  
I feel a good education was provided, but they went overboard with discipline.  

Details | Education Poem | |

FALLING BRIDGES

The greatest miracle in days of yore  
unsurpassed, two millennia past or more 
a carpenter by trade, Joseph by name
was betrothed to Mary, a virtuous dame
Joseph, proud of his virgin, unbesmirched 
beamed when their banns were recited in church 

Mary had a visitor who descended in light 
when the angel spoke she cowered in fright
"Fear not, chosen one, there's a child in your belly,
You'll name Him Jesus,  unless you fancy Kelly."
"How can you be sure?  I've not been with a guy."
"Must I spell it out?  His father is God most high." 

When Mary told Joseph he was caught off-guard   
to accept Mary's tale was decidedly hard
his intended, purportedly as pure as they come
was with child from another;  a soon-to-be mum
An angel of God appeared in splendor:
"Joseph, to no mortal did Mary surrender."
now, Joseph was righteous, obedient to God 
ahead of the wedding date they then tied the knot
his family, deprived of a wedding reception 
snickered:  "What's with Joseph?  This is clearly deception."

The newlyweds were obviously broke
Joseph told Mary:  "My wife, don your cloak
We can't afford to pay taxes to them
we'll go to my birthplace;  it's called Bethlehem 
off they set with Mary on a donkey
for days on end over the hills of Galilee 

All the tax evaders had crowded Bethlehem
not an inn in the place could accommodate them
Joseph begged as well he was able
one innkeeper showed them a stable
in amongst animals, vermin and filth 
Mary, the Virgin, to our Savior gave birth
she wrapped Him in cloth to protect Him from danger
laid Him gently to rest in a hay-lined manger

Humankind then and now reaps the advantages
that Jesus has come to mend falling bridges 


Details | Education Poem | |

future

Walking forward but still in the same place.

Moving quickly but still stuck in a small space.


Success seems so close but something I never taste.

Time continues but all efforts go to waste.


Reaching for goals in this strenuous race.

Going on hopelessly in this never ending chase.


Moving faster trying desperately to pick up the pace.

The monotony of struggle slapping me in the face.


Thinking of my future but all I see is a lost case.









































Details | Education Poem | |

Rainbows Dreaming of Gray

Scrambling tooth and nail for a patterned fate
I approached the lofty mansion of Learning's Gate.
All cued up for a slip of paper - the one they call Degree,
halfway convinced that I hallucinated humanity.
For who under their own free will would venture
into this spiraling sameness:
this illustriously-in-debt, this Regal Club
of the Nameless?
I bellowed my voice into the air
(This great atrocity!).
But not a single student seemed to care:
So well fashioned they were,
adorned in their prized medals of mediocrity.
Along with their unwillingness to ever stray,
all too content to be but rainbows dreaming of gray.
I hung my head in such morose emptiness.
As I fashioned myself: the uniquely ubiquitous.
And what a fool I was to join the crowd - and yet so halfheartedly.
Striving for the cirrus clouds, the silver moon, and then the galaxy.
For my actions didn't match my cerebral creativity
I was statue still cursed with a meandering mind
(and other such extremities).
Exploding with hopes large enough for two
I sat clearly convinced languid leaps would do.
But one cannot daintily decide to dream the Dream
for it is merely the seed, another earthly deed.
You're not allowed to walk away, gandering as it grows,
for we are likened as the summer sun - keeping the rivers a'flow.

"Picturing profits in your hands
do not till the all too ready land"
explained the elderly gent with leathered palms, 
"Someday soon you will understand."

And though we aim to be ourselves
gravity inevitably
brings us to the grid.
Imagination like a heavy rain;
we the paper people
so helplessly hid.

But fear not ye denizens
of the cherished cubbyhole:
where you keep under lock and key
your dust-laden soul.
If one burgeoning blunder
tore it all asunder
surely one single spirited spark
could heal even the most
dormant of hearts.

So fare thee well oh Cookie Cutter Coop -
Another day on that wretched plain, and I'd surely die.
I'm glad just to sever sameness in one fell swoop
by hanging on a star in the midnight sky.



NOTE: I always enjoyed using alliteration when I could... and with this particular one I went a little bit nutty... but I think it turned out okay.

Details | Education Poem | |

How to give birth

Her pregnant brain shattered on concrete styles
I taught her how to give birth

For decades her brain had no experience
She spoke in giggles 
Baby thoughts crawling away from her sheltered smiles

Voices speaking entrances and exits

Her tears were diluted with words
Coloured to give light to unborn emotions
She was too young to mother her intelligence

With stitches around the scent of her dreams 
She had no clue how to give birth 

Eyes were safeguarded in gloves for any greasy guidance
Sharp blades were spared for surgical opinions

She jumped into conclusions 
Everyone saw what’s between her pen and paper

Her abdomen grew thorns
She lost all her baby poems for she birth only homemade babies
Her pregnancy was a secret

Now she mothers the nation 
I taught her how to give birth
She speaks to them in rapid poems
She mothers the nation in pages

(c) Ray

Details | Education Poem | |

The Truth Room

Come with me my Brother,
to a secret place where Light and Shadow line the face with fear and grace,
leave sophmoric style, wry smile and sly bile on the road of your forgotten mile,
sick sarcasm is the symptom of envy, a pet to your heart destroyer,
such artifice and malice have no language in this room of roasted dreams,

Enter through the damaged door, touch the destruction of vandals,
you have never been here before, where gold blood cuts the floor,
do you see how the walls move like squalls at our approach,
feel how they tell stories with the sensations of defeat, anxiety, impropriety,
in here we witness a collection of seperate yet synthesized segments of Self,
childhood torment, shallow manhood, virility limp as stolen victory,
underachievement, the underbelly of your arrogance, flacid like placid passion,

We journey further into this gallery of emotional gallows
smelt by the hurt of innumerable adavances
repelled by the demands of Quality,
you will writhe wildly
from the harrowing healing leeching into your concepts of self control,
graceful in absorbtion of Truth's attrition,
fruitless ambition shall now cling as cleaving contrition,
your face Brother, look long into the shimmer of sorrow become the old,
tattooed you are like a snake's skin checkered and beautiful
with scaled episodes of submission and aggression, dying to be Divine,
I want you to know that there is no exit of ease from this place Brother,
we trek within your very Soul,
this is the home and harbor of everything you've decided to be,
there are other rooms here, some of joy and some of strife,
but you leave not the Truth Room of your anger
until the Light finds no fault in your intention -

J.A.B.

Details | Education Poem | |

Attention: WORD NERDS--------- The Eight Parts of Speech

---------------------- "Word Nerds" (like me)...
************Please Have Fun & Read VERY Closely:)***********


now and again
a word 
sneakily obscure
approaches the fog in me
screams its name 
suddenly 
apropos adverbs appear
clearly 
startling 
perplexing 
precarious adjectives
slick little nouns
caught hiding 
beyond babbling brooks
sent to exile
defiling crooks
"pro"fessional nouns
jailed
beneath eight parts of speech
preposition'ed 
pre'fixed subjects
elusive predicates
slithering suffix'ation
turn-ing key
delicately 
through holes
freeing vocabulary
trapped 
within prison walls
synonyms 
pen bars 
filled in the past 
participles
plagued 
like Job's tedious job 
of siphoning
deciphering 
homographs from heteronyms 

words never mind...
 
they wind the mind
gliding 
in the wind...





Details | Education Poem | |

Eyes on Words

Eyes can feel the unseen 
Before it is verbalized and organised in pain
They seize innocent criminals that abuse letters 
Eyes of creativity don’t feel no pity
They endlessly seek traumatized emotions in numerous seasons

These eyes live in the back of every tongue rotation
These eyes pee tears like polluted rain drops 
Urinating deceases polluting the already sick tears 
They lecture life with pride
Eyelashes that endlessly spray hope in words with no doubt 

Eyes on words prefer no sun glasses but stanzas
They speak darkness in all artistic graphics
They visualize visions in brain map fantasies 
A place with more sins and judgments they visit
They speak non-rated missions

When the world is rude to you don’t be picky on dreams 
Dreams are never on vacation
These eyes can sense 
These eyes are like pens 

They are fans of disappointments while contribution stepladders 
It’s like a clan 
They reproduce stomach cramps using fertile words
The family of giving and receiving

Eyes on words speak in mute expressions
They build towers of tomorrow’s errors
Buildings that look down on problems
Eyes on words are like cold visions with no ice

© Raymond Ngomane 
 

Details | Education Poem | |

50 Shades Of Gold

Take me beat me and mold me
I am yours to do with what you wish
No matter what you do with me
I am still considered quite a dish.

I can modify your hardness
I can let you know when to boil
I can conduct a heat in you
And I will never let you spoil.

I don’t react harshly, if you get me moist and wet
You’ll still love me in the morning, on that I think I’ll bet
I will still be malleable, no matter what you do
You can beat me to transparency, and yes you see right through.

I am a bright yellow colour, with a lustre some would die for
Keeping me in good condition, would never become a chore
If you really wanted to, you can put me in your mouth
I can even adorn your body parts, North, West, East and South…

I don’t react to an acid tongue, except those that are vitriolic
But you can dissolve me with the acid, called nitro hydrochloric.
You can pour me when I’m so very hot too hot for you to play
Then you can finger me when I am cool, and play with me all day

You can eat off me, or with me, the choice will be yours
They say I came from outer space, in fact in meteors
But one thing I will say I don’t wear out or lose my lustre, it is told
So if you pick me up treat me well, I am you little nugget of gold.

© 14/12/2012  

Details | Education Poem | |

nature of poetry

poetry is a tale told  
like a spinning top
musing its point

Details | Education Poem | |

The Man in the Wilderness

Feeling like a lodger
In my own home
Thankful for my music
And my new found roam

Families and communities
They are just so hard to find
But in April 2009
I found the most precious kind

I found the name amusing
So the button i clicked on to see
The layout was very inviting
Like an open door should be

For in a matter of minutes
On first uploading a poem
This Highlander was content
He had found a welcome home

So many lovely writers
Poets who share their bless
No longer this Scotsman is
The Man in the Wilderness



http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/me.php

Details | Education Poem | |

Future Picture

Paint me my teacher
A picture of my future
Tell me at this juncture
About My future
I will listen with rapture
You my teacher
Show me every feature
Of my future.

spread me my teacher
the wings to my future
Make me learn
what my efforts will return
Hold my hand
Guide me and
let me walk the path
My life is worth.

Show me my teacher
what is stored in my future
show me the beauty
of my future duty
Then I will paint
a picture with no stain
A future perfect picture.

show me my teacher
the colors to paint my future
I will paint a doctor picture
Or paint a lawyer picture
I will paint my perfect future picture
with the colors from you my teacher
Help me paint my future
My respected teacher.

Details | Education Poem | |

Once Was A King

There once was Castle just over the hill
That belonged to a King with an iron will

Nestled safely behind his Castle wall
With an army to insure they wouldn’t fall

It was clear for the entire world to see
Destiny would record him in history

The richest King in all of the land
A beautiful Queen at his right hand

He ruled the land from shore to shore
Tell me, “Could any man ask for more”?

Turns out this King had just one vice
He was so great he forgot to be nice

Against any force he was bound to win
So the devil attacked him from with-in

Such a great King skilled with the sword
Much too great a King to turn to the Lord

Watched his entire Kingdom crumble away
Because he was to great to kneel and pray

Details | Education Poem | |

The Interview

I am so tired of forever.
Seems there was something I left behind in another life.
I asked the mirror and the mirror said, 
“You can do better.” 

There are papers spread across my bed,
Books strewn, open as wide as my eyes at five—
"Where were you last night?"
When she left I barely replied.

I asked the mirror, and the mirror said,
“You’ll rest only when you’re dead.”

I’ve come all this way to sell myself;
I can’t tell you how many selves I’ve killed,
Just to keep from standing still.

How many times I’ve wanted to smash all the high hopes, 
The façade,
The box,   
The thoughts
That tower god.  

I’ve given the keys back to my jailor
In a cell that smothers me with my failure
And beats my nature into a stranger.

How is the pedestal still so very clean?
I watch them kill to snatch their dream
From the hands that rightfully receive; 
A Stockholm syndrome of high esteem.

I’ve seen so many knives go in my thigh.
I’ve taken them out with no reply.
We all beseech for that unreachable lie
To the sound of years just dredging by.

But here we are at last.
I stood as the suits opened up the door.
Now that I've made it all this way,

I don’t want it anymore.

Details | Education Poem | |

Wearing Depends In the Deep End

I am whatever you say I am 
currently I'm the eyes of the world
it's what they discovered when
daddy tied a pork chop around my neck just to get the dog to play with me
first time I menstruated, mommy said I would bleed to death,
"hemorrhage" she said. Scared me to death
someone said it's not proper to rhyme a word with the very same word
Teddy Boof was my favorite stuffed bear, but brother tied fishing line to Boof's 
thumb, threw him off the New River Bridge and laughed at me for being dumb 
thinking he had succumb to the Gully rapids.
This head's been sunburned one too many times, Hydro codeine began the 
bad dream, attended HIGH school with Oxy, until my pupils penned black 
cocaine and crank brought them speed balling back hard until stars graduated 
a moron

I cannot help what you assume I'm on
I cannot help what you do not understand
Art and I play Clyde the Glide with Garfunkle on a tragic carpet ride with Joan 
Baez...(spelled Be A Easy)
Am I showing my true age yet? 
Or should I recite Little Wayne and T. Pain, and say made up word like : Fo' 
Sho' Yo! and/or  Fo' Sheezy my Neezy?
Then would you believe me? That I'm really 16 and smoke weed dipped in PCP.

I am a woman now, but how?
I know you from who?
have you studied my avatar and guessed me to be thirty three?
did you see my ball cap and mistake me for shallow?
did you read a young man's writing and ask, "for what is that guy aspiring? I 
mean he's got fire, but he's a liar and I write circles around that jerk!"
did you go berserk when ya' heard  I was a cross dresser on Thirsty 
Thursdays?
did you attend my Miss World pageant and make fun of my Max Factor?
did you love me when I walked with Jehovah, Praise YHWH! YAH BRAVO YAH?
Encore, encore! Atta boy, what a saint?
guess it doesn't matter anyway
we're going to perceive what we want to believe
guess it never mattered anyway
next year I'll be ninety-nine and every time I go swimming, mobs of teenage 
women beg to dive in the deep end for too long with me...and just be wrinkled 
friends...(Depends in the deep end)
at one hundred and ten, I suppose things will be different
seventy five years in the methadone line and it's time to be free and begin to 
spend my pension.
Can I have your attention
one more thing to mention
For the last time, I can't help if you don't understand me....I'm only alien see,  
so please,  shine your light and stop taking these random words so literally. 
There is a reason why I cannot read. Now I must ask...
why do you?