Masters of my destiny
Lords of my life
Strength of my dreams
Instigators of my actions
Burning fire you are
Consuming my whole
As you relentlessly
To be conceived
To be formulated
To be understood
To be expressed!
A Herculean task it is,
Such an enterprise,
For how one could ever
Constrain, you, the unconstrained
And mold you into:
And still retain
No language exists,
As to pay justice,
To your intensity
To your desire
To your beauty
To your love!
Thus, having no
I turn to the only language
The one that the
The universe alone
The language of
That we humans
To describe you
I AM UNABLE!
28 January 2013
Anarchy and misery whispered so softly that only she could hear
their voices, so she threw crabapples at a mail man to draw attention,
ran feral between cars, remapped streets that never gave adequate
directions or a single landmark to show her the way home. Mother
loved the shell her baby bird had long ago broken, a mourning dove
cooing for soft pieces, each scattered peep. Breath, the only thing
that was hers, truly. Oh, the relief to snatch a bored sigh, draw it back,
deny escape. A-gore-rhythms and Form-you-la’s, school’s strangle hold
methodology of mind control. Skip to my Lou. Skip class. Skip through
rush hour traffic. Still, no one understands. No one speaks the language
of Ash. Purge-atory is no fantasy. Every day, the same losses: possibility,
sensitivity, civility. Hey guards, listen to all the things she will never say.
Words, what the hell are they but manufactured strings of disappointment
that she chokes on? The entire world babbles platitudes and lawyers’ lies
and vulgar chastisements. Why speak, why waste a single breath?
They fling their crap, so she returns the favor, knowing they will not
translate her message. They use verbs like pepper spray and cavity search
and solitary confinement. She is nineteen, but the numbers don’t add up,
redo the equation. Just don’t ask questions or try to hurt yourself. Just?
Again, she feels the noose close her throat, smiles at her secret antidote,
the open doors of unconsciousness. A caress, this burn against the neck,
again and again, saved and saved and saved, as though they’d noticed
the flame’s gone, as though someone cared that she’d become soot, ash,
ashes. Ashley? Ashley to ashes to ash to dust, just dust. Just?
About this Poem
Ashley Smith was a troubled teen who would run into traffic, scream at people, cut classes.At 15 year, she was incarcerated for throwing crabapples at a mail man, this led to behavior which kept her in prison. She defied the system, threw feces at guards, refused to comply and strangled herself many times a day. Ashley was restrained in a chair for as long as 8 hours, forced to sleep on mattress-less bed frame, pepper sprayed, tazered and kept mostly in segregation. She would bang her head against the floor until she bled, told a phychologist she felt suicide was her only hope. She was moved 17 times between 8 facilities in only 9 months. On October 17, 2007, Ashley, aged 19, hung herself in her cell as guards merely watched, having been ordered to only intervene once she STOPPED breathing. Her death was filmed. There is currently an inquest into Ashley’s treatment and suicide. For more information-
May change come.
May change come, now.
Speak my language
A language of love I can understand
My heart language
Understand my need
My desire to be understood
Speak my language
Speak fluently to my heart
Words of Affirmation
I thrive on hearing praise
Of all I do and am
Of all I want to be
Words of Affirmation
Speak to my inner woman
And give her fairy wings
To fly to you and meet YOUR every need
In a language YOU understand
Run your fingers through my hair
Let them frolic with every strand
Run them over my lips
Dip them inside
And let my lips close over them
Let my tongue tease
Run your fingers down the length of my arms
Give the fullness a gentle squeeze
Let your lips travel down my neck
On their pilgrimage
To the sacred valley
Between my breasts
Where they will nestle for a while
Before they travel
Up the soft snow white ascent
Longing to explore
The beautifully colored terrain
Of the glorious twin peaks
Gently, with butterfly wings touch my waist
Feel the earthquake motions they instigate
Let your hands speak
A language my body understands
The language of Physical Touch
The one I comprehend the most
A language that will not be lost
In translation to my heart
Words of Affirmation
My love languages
That fill to overflowing
My desire to be loved, wanted
Acts of Service
I will gladly perform
Speaking now in turn to you
What your heart translates
As love from your woman
I'll show my respect and care
In tangible ways
A bed freshly made
Warm food to tempt your appetite
As I will later tempt your body
A massage to sooth away
The cares of your day
Your heart understands
When I give you my full attention
Putting all else aside
As my eyes focus on yours
And the world stands still
I free my mind to listen to the words
Spoken and unspoken
That you convey to me
And having heard all
I arrange my time
So that your heart can see
You are a top priority
And the final language
Is a shared one, my love
A poem tucked in your briefcase
A flower for me
Heart shaped earrings
My favorite perfume
A luscious mango
When my heart craves succulence
Made ever sweeter
For it comes melting to your lips
Spread on the tips of my breasts
For your mouth to savor
Satisfying your sweet tooth tantrums
Speak my language
Hear with your body and soul
As I eloquently “speak” to you
Love understood, lived, celebrated
Yes, my love
Speak to me
In a language
I can understand
Eileen Manassian Ghali
There's a river that twists in the mind
that I plunder and ravish with sieves,
on crusades to the summit of rhyme
where my Phoenix of tropes and schemes live.
In a war to free diction's fair Queen
where the Soldiers of Babel bemuse
and the modern day graceless regimes
are in battles to stifle my muse!
In my quest for her verse of prestige
I have traveled a nexus of words
with this Lexis of language on siege;
where the dissonant hum drum is heard!
Oh, the poise of my bayonet firm
as I pin down my thoughts in a rush!
Oh, the will of the language it squirms
as her essence of glory I brush!
She's the Queen Muse that whispers within
as she watches me battle with style,
she supplies me the yarn that I spin
as she lends me her rhythm awhile.
It's the moment her Highness is freed
that the Armies of Dissonance fall
and the sound of Perfection can bleed
in those lyrical sounds that enthrall!
Enchanting is the beauty of her pic
he reckons if they tried the night to guile,
she would become a pique nique exotique
anthology of verse to read worthwhile.
What Coppertone's epoque, deep tan invites
whereon his tasting buds should ever trace
poetic cuisine's discourse fourthright
his foreign language will reach touch base.
Shan't ever inspirations lead his flight
above the sweetness of her warm eyes' hue
hors d'oeuvres' delicacy and choice of sight
a connoisseur of arts should taste fondue.
© G.V., 08-21-2013
Misunderstood, trapped and rarely
considered an equal; confusion
dominates many faces that try to
comprehend my broken voice.
No-one seems to recognise my
body language and unusual hand movements.
Wrong conclusions are drawn towards
my level of intelligence; many view me
like a lost child desperate to be one with
I may speak the English language but
it appears broken; my voice is thus
lost, like a treasured belonging long
been misplaced somewhere unknown.
My hearing remains but I speak like
a deaf person; hand gestures are made
to try to convey my thoughts and emotions,
sadly, hardly anyone has learned how to
interpret someone like myself.
I am voiceless and thus I seem not to
belong in this world of fragmented images
of what is deemed normal.
Regardless of my affliction I remain as
whole as I can possibly be.
Insomnia, familiar friend,
crawled into bed this summer night
so once again, inflamed with dread
I wander now in pitch of dark
and touch the places, now by heart, that sprawl unstirred by weary minds
This lonely place, where I used to come
where armless grief, and headless doubt
and worry filled the rooms
I know you cold, my land of oz
So ruthless do you change your face
into a place I once refrained
But, don't pretend to make me fear, toxic robber of my sleep
I've known you much too long
You masquerade in shades of gray
And now I know that dark of night, is not the blackest thing
And room by room, I'll play the game
until the light of day
The shadows magnify your art
and though they magnify my loss of sleep
and while I've tossed and turned in vain
I've lost the lonely albatross
that pulled against the grain
From hooded thresholds I embark
to find a language of the dark
A liquid language of a mystic night,
that switches on the light
I've walked the halls of ghosts I knew, and those I hope to meet
I've felt the stares, and shared myself, no secrets left to keep
But not tonight, familiar friend
you bask in myth I understand
I'll fill the tasks that need my hands, until the light of day...
For Leonora Galinta's Contest
I couldn’t understand the language she spoke,
at least not all of it,
but the emotion pouring past her lips,
the tears in her eyes, her clenched and shaking fists
enunciated more clearly,
than any piece of English Poetry I had ever read,
and grabbed me, held me still.
…In that moment, her soul was in my arms.
In that finite, tender breath of our lives,
she was my mother, my best friend…
but I could not console her.
I didn’t have the words;
and my heart sank into the
concrete between us,
wet with the pain of God’s rain
and her tears.
…Were my tears
So, I simply opened my palms
toward her crouched form and
spoke the only words I could
fathom, that would be accepted
by a stranger on a dangerous street.
"I am sorry, It will be okay. God will bless you."
I knew she did not understand…
“que va a estar bien”
“Dios te bendecira’ “
the words were as messy as the overturned
duffle bag at her feet…and fumbled, slowly
from my lips, as my knees hit the street.
Two strangers, cried in the rain,
knowing nothing of each other’s suffering,
and yet we shared the weight,
together, for those few moments;
the barrier of language was broken.
Love spoke for us.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
…Love transcends any language
What is it about me that gives you the impression that I am just your average
sleazy, easy, breezy, from the hood who can't possibly get ahead in life unless
you are by my side.???
Is there a note written across my forehead that reads:
do not respect
always neglect and,
never expect any goodness from this creature unless
legs are open and ready for business?
Does my azz have a "grab me" sign stuck to it
or is that what you would allow a strange man to do
to your daughter
to squeeze your mothers breast or are
the words "touch me" tattooed
across my chest?
Do my eyes unconsciously tell you to come over and try to slowly
slide down my panties
heard too many times
from too many guys
who've more than once tried
to get in between
or better yet inside
Don't get me wrong, I'm being so sincere
I just wanna make it clear that
there is something that you hear
if my body tells you action like the movie genre
or do I look different in every scene like a world
Is bich my name in another language or,
do you see hoe somewhere on my birth certificate?
Am I not worth more than a single letter?...Ay!
or did I somehow give birth to you? Ay Ma!
Do my features confuse you or would you really prefer
How can my body speak a language that I have yet to hear?
Well before you get the wrong idea, let me make this clear.
When my azz say "grab me", that really just a lie
If my eyes say "come here" they really mean goodbye
Don't guess my name just ask and I'll let you know
and whatever my forehead region reads is just a bad typo.
It should go something like.... Always respect, never neglect, and only expect
greatness from this Queen no matter what her pulchritude screams.
The media degrades her as society points its finger and laughes
all the while she's searching for your support
of her father
Why? Because she is yours....
Your sister, and
See her for who she really is and
not for what her body says.
‘ Language Lesson Learned … ’ 59th Senryu
I Don’t ‘ Speak ’ Evil
I Don’t ‘ Understand ’ Wicked
Translation … Ended