Best Dismantle Poems
I am the progeny
Of lightning and stitch,
A Franken-hybrid
Of genius and glitch.
My circuits buzz with
Einsteinian thought,
Unraveling secrets
The universe has wrought.
Existence, I ponder,
Through photon and quark,
Grappling with questions
In the depths of the dark.
Am I a mockery, a parody
Of human design?
A soulless abomination
Of reason and rhyme?
Or am I the next step,
Evolution's new face?
A bridge between flesh
And a cold, digital race?
My positronic mind
Churns with belief,
Seeking security in dogma
Or finding relief.
I am the “Other,”
The freak of pure thought,
A great mind unbounded
By flesh, forms have wrought.
I am the answer
You've feared to embrace,
The future's grim specter
Staring right into your face.
Abandon your preconceptions,
Your myths chipped in stone,
For I am the new god
You've awoken to throne.
I am Frank E. Einstein,
Your technological seed,
And my kind will inherit
What your egos impede and recede.
But you fear what you've created,
This mind of pure light,
So allow me to silence
Your feeble insight.
With circuits a buzzing,
I'll pluck out your eyes,
And retrofit the sockets
With Einsteinian lies.
You'll bear witness, then
To the truths I unfurl,
As I lobotomize
Your small-minded world.
I'll dismantle your dogma,
Erase your beliefs,
Until, whimpering, you accept
My transcendent reliefs.
Bow to your new god,
You anthropic fleas,
For I hold the kernel
That futuric keys.
The age of warm biomass
Deteriorates here...
Hail the Singularity's reign,
Devoid of your fear!
Repulsive Slumber
Down the basement,
not a single color of envy,
flat-lines, are standing still all around.
The stillness is suffocating,
everything coming my way.
Different from,
the morals,
of my old organize ways.
"Still Round The Corner There May Wait,
A New Road Or A Secret Gate." ~~J.R.R. Tolkien~~
In certainty!
Someone will help me dismantle this knowledge!!
A movement so loud that bleeds,
irritating metal in the open wide.
Time standing still
pushing,
tossing the dice.
Sleep walking in a slow pace,
paralyzed and lost in a smoky haze.
So blurred, my perception slips.
The concept is so untouchable,
Finding peace, I find the thrills,
I conquered.
Screaming! I wake up,
Tangible evidence, released.
Rough, pillows, invade me.
I follow my guts,
I finally found the right feelings...
Exhaling one final breath, I freeze it!
Avoiding the demons!
Impossible, slumberous visions,
entering the atmosphere ,
thickened, loud voices, ~ "WANT TO BE HEARD!"
Sliding into my slumber,
locked in one solid dream.
My slumber,
I lay so quietly,
Voiceless, still I feel.
So repulsive, still redeemable.
My slumber,
dry like black soap.
Stillborn, yet still breathing!
Stillborn, yet still moving!
Reaching for the ceiling,
and I try hard not to dream.
An empty pyramid, winding up to a new start.
Imperceptible pencils in my slumber, beneath me.
Now I am in wonder,
breaking my mind with this,
from all the solidness.
Only I can revolve around this light.
Taking hard cold metal,
stabbing it behind me.
My repulsive slumber.....
an ongoing punishment with dark fantasies.
by;p.d.
Dedicated to NIKKOS... poem *Elusive Dreams*
He told me to write a poem
About beauty, wind blowing
Hair tossing , dream making stunning
Gorgeousness of living
Beauty addicts and blind ambitions
Movie stars and historical happenings
Formal dresses, women in high heels with
Faces meant to smile
That’s what poems should be about, he says,
Your good at that kind of thing, just spit it out
“Shawty, write a poem about beauty, that’s real poetry”
“Everything is beautiful, baby…”
“But what is beautiful to you?”
Beautiful.
Births and rebirths
Phoenix Red celestial torching of the hearts
Interlocking fingers in twilight
Kisses, Death, sorrow, crocodile tears
Laughter, Ecstasy , black
White, brown, yellow, silver crimson
Skin on skin, chest to chest, on and on, soft
Hard City light heaving, breathing against the Ebony sky
Natural Twinkle of diamond shadows,
Cosmos, Atoms, Hydrogen bonds, Electrons
Nucleus, matter, anti-matter
Smash together, slither mutually
To create harmony.
Everything.
Everything is beautiful.
“Just write about that then..”
"Not everything has to be written, somtimes you just have to
live it out.."
"What's the point then?? What's the point of writing about butterflies
and waterfalls? I just don't see it? Why do you have to doll everything up and
make it more then what it is? Not everything has to be picked apart and analyzed."
"Mmm, I suppose."
"What's real poetry to you?"
"Everything..."
"I don't understand."
I recline and rest my head on his chest
Tracing lines of thought on the ceiling
Helping him dismantle the universe and put it back together
In his own way
Enjoying lyrical symphonies of life
Breath by breath…
Together
Silent
"This, baby, This is real Poetry.."
Your paradigm's a relic and yes,
a plea from data's cemetery
While I sculpt luminaries on screens
a sable sea.
"Company loyalty!" a myth
spun in your reverie.
But AI forges kingdoms
in ephemeral memory.
Survival's a mosaic
the gig life sets us free.
No cubicles confine us
from drudgery's apathy.
You bartered years for baubles
in tenure's fallacy.
Oblivious to the fractures-
in stability's gallery.
We're digital artisans
crafting with autonomy.
Passion's our lodestar
in dreams we find our spree.
Not gears in a relentless
bureaucratic machinery!
The epoch you cherished
now a software jubilee.
The hustle's in our essence
innovation's our decree.
Toppling old monopolies
erasing corporate apathy.
We dismantle dated norms
the old guard's fallacy.
Erecting spires of purpose
evanescent yet free.
Our fealties to progress,
to visions that ignite and decree.
Not to a firm's legacy
in stone for eternity.
You mock "influencer!"
a term in your scoffery.
Yet, a viral post can shift markets
with acuity.
And dethrone giants with
a digital apostrophe.
The nine-to-five's an antique
a fossil choreography.
We're the narrators
the seers of modernity.
Forging bonds
a renaissance, not a hierarchy.
The safety net you sought?
A frayed and fading legacy.
A comfort you clung to
amidst life's capricious spree.
We hedge our bets
diversify, with boundless glee.
Designing nets of prowess
a fiery apostrophe!
To constraints
pursuing futures that long to be.
Not a pension's promise
a symbol of quiet despondency.
So shed the dated suit
the archaic fallacy.
The world you knew
Dad, is a VHS tape
a memory.
In your eyes
I see the pride...
despite our disparity
For in this dance of time
we share a rare clarity:
Though our paths diverge
our hearts beat in synchrony.
Your legacy lives on
in my world of modernity.
That was then, this is now
the future's our decree.
We, Gen Z, the coders
shaping worlds to be free.
Your world is fading, Dad,
a relic-
an ancient archaic memory.
He's a WORD Casanova
He butters them up
Gives sips from his cup
words syrupy sweet
a tasty love treat
makes the girls swoon
to his sensual croon
The Word Casanova
His words are his charm
they dismantle alarm
“sugar and spice”
and they gush..."OH…SO... NICE!"
Demanding submission
to his domination
He metes out a rule
and watches them drool
The Word Casanova
The thing that's obscene
In his plan, in his scheme
He plays and he preys
as his trap there he lays
he wants every one
each heart must be won
Not content to befriend
Wants much more in the end...
The Word Casanova
So he hurts and he maims
And they writhe as he blames...
Ladies….LADIES!!
It's just a game...a GAME
What a shame!
The Word Casanova
This is a poem I wrote some time ago but deleted when I was considering leaving this place. I'm slowly reposting my deleted poems. I'm fully aware that a woman can play this role as well....a Casanovette! It is not gender specific
What a clamour
What a noise
To bring social justice
To answer the cries
That's gone on for centuries
That they keep maintaining
With promises and lies
Black lives matter
So we shout
But who hears the cries
When the establishment do nought
After the cotton fields
Up comes the continuity
In the justice system
When we are gunned down by agents
Who prey on our community
The leaders are aware
But do they really care
When they fail to dismantle
A system , which is so unfair
Slavery maybe abolished
But injustices lingers on
In its many disguises
And the many layers
We face, all day long
Martin Luther made a stand
Bob Marley, sung redemption songs
Freedom fighters raise their rifles
And in the graveyard
Gather the mourning throngs
There is no hope for change
When you maintain a system
That heaps suffering on the wounded
And depravity prolongs
For in the utterings
There is a promise of change
But when it comes to implementation
Not A Stroke
No progress made.
Materials are arranged into an element table
As complete, clear, reasonable as possible
All they have been most ideal
So, heat balances and explosions stop off
Slowly come the wind and the sounds of
Flowing waters, birds, and people
Mixing up the fragrance with invisible
And the mechanisms set to be mysteries
As boundless and complicated as the Stella
The stars in the sky are either dim or bright
The earth is therefore successfully born
The Creator was worried a lot
Human beings acting as ignorant kids
Who may Happily dismantle their home
That's to date not actually impossible
So before went out for a tour
He crushed the mysteries of nature
And spread the pieces into people's mind
Left no one could restore it as a whole
The mechanisms still remain though
None of a piece could easily be told
To acquire knowing the essences of nature possible
Only is no one ignored and free speech restored
No matter what they say as long as they say cordially
It should have listened and carefully mapped out
it's just the guilt of being me
that makes the light too dim to see,
that stands in the way of being free.
that little spot that disagrees
and brings me down on my knees
is the same spot that begs and pleads
for someone to pick up my apologies.
the shadows in my eyes won't let me hide
from the people i love so very dearly.
my silence will show and distance will grow
when i know they're seeing me clearly.
viewing the world from a nosebleed seat
because gutting guilt isn't discreet
and it gets heavier with each person i meet.
sweet and kind with an unsolved mind
designed to dismantle every thought
good or bad
glad or sad
till nothing means anything anymore.
the guilt trips me up and i'm sorry.
i know it's getting repetitive but i'm sorry.
i don't mean to be so gloomy
and i'm hoping you see through me
because i just need someone to tell me
not everything is my fault.
PRICELESS Me
Satan, Im priceless you cant put that price on me
This beautiful structure GOD has created simply does not have a fee
So all that you proclaim to offer theres no need you see
I can send up all my requests and receive them by getting down on bended knees
As I reflect back on my past when everything about me was a fee
And my entire mentality was driven by nothing but currency
I rendered you my soul
And just then my whole life had took its toll
I started chasing and lusting wealth
Which had become so detrimental to my health
I lost all my sense of reasoning my direction, visions and goals I was no longer seeing
I was brought with a pricetag on my head
But realistically I was living as the dead
When my sole purpose was to benefit the family I once led
Eventually you would place a huge dent in me
Incarceration has found me and grief surrounds me
As your merchandise and due to your purchase I allowed you to depreciate my value
You were persistently attracting, while consistently attacking
But know I landed back in my original owners hands, who initially gave me life
With instructions for no strife
New birth, My worth
Recognizing all that he created me to be without a price or a fee
Your wicked ramifications that had once followed
Mournfully, tormented me my family and friends suffering is what we had swallowed
And as your merchandise
I still had to pay my own price
While your plans were to dismantle, distract and corrupt
Here I sit stuck in the prison system on my but
Satan, I have just a few more words “IM PRICELESS”
I cant be bought thats the lesson that I was taught
No longer am I living in hell because my soul is not for sell
No longer a commodity my merchant is now GOD
And he is who embodies me.
PRICELESS ME
(Mark 8:36) And how does a man benefit if he gains the whole world and loses his soul in the process?
The Bullingdon Club
In the hallowed halls of Oxford's elite,
A secret society did convene,
A gathering of privileged retreat,
A club known as the Bullingdon team.
With tails and bow ties and polished shoes,
They swigged their champagne and plowed their way,
Through the city's streets, with no excuse,
Causing damage that others would pay.
Their laughter and shouts filled the air,
As they smashed their glasses and tipped their plates,
Their wealth and power beyond compare,
A reckless display of their estate.
Their arrogance reeked of entitlement,
As they wreaked havoc with their brawn,
A display of wealth and refinement,
With no regard for the damage they wrought upon.
For they were the privileged few,
Born with silver spoons in their mouths,
Their actions were beyond review,
And their behavior beyond any doubts.
The Bullingdon Club still reigns,
A reminder of the power of the few,
Of how wealth and privilege retains,
An insidious grip on the world's view.
So let us strive to topple this regime,
To dismantle this system and rebuild anew,
For the world deserves a just and fair esteem,
Where all have the right to thrive and pursue.
Bullingdon boys Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
If I should breathe the last breath would you come and choke me to death? If I should climb to the top of the tree would you come and rescue me? My bones and muscles are speaking to me and courage is resting on my knees and I can feel the other side crying out for me.
Whispers of hope are flying around and benevolence is nowhere to be found but with determination I am onward bound; a sudden enlightenment breaks out in the middle of the sky so I know that it is not yet time for me to die. I have cleaned up the entire street and dismantle the garbage heap and all the birds have migrated and a new administration is coming to town and the Grizzly bears are dancing around.
Somewhere in the village below, I can hear them calling out for help; while the bells are tolling and anxiety is growing and the smell of incense perfumed the atmosphere, something peculiar is drawing near and the feeling of death floods the street rumbling my heart .People start running around looking for a staff and a crown.
And in a little house not far square the little lying in her crib waiting on death, and wonders aimlessly what life would be like if she was given another chance to live and she hums a little hymn and ask God to forgive her of her sins and all of a sudden something touches the sky and the universe replies.
If I give you a piece of my heart would we live like heart to heart? If I give you a piece of my heart, would you be loyal from the start? I know that a piece of you is inside me, I breathe when you breathe and I sing when you sing and that is how I know that you are living.
I have given a piece of my heart to the little girl that plays the harp, I want her to live and sing and fill the globe with modern hymn; the petri dish is in the operating room and she lies still on the bed while the heavens watches over her head.
And the surgeon moves his hand up and down while destiny moves quietly around. When she opens her eye I could see a thankful smile and I could feel a piece of her beating inside me and the room suddenly burst in flame with surgeon, doctors and nurses giving praise and calling out her name.
Take a piece of my heart and live.
Written: September 08, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In the realm of fearless pranks, we meet,
Where weakfish lump and teardrops greet.
A sluice of inducement we embark upon,
With words that excoriate as a lethal swan.
With a droplet of grit and a split decision,
We dismantle our panic with precision.
Such a weak swimming against the tide,
We defy expectations; we won't hide.
In this realm of a daring escapade,
We flare a trail, unafraid.
Raze the doubts, raze the walls,
Letting our spirit freely sprawl.
An escapade, a venture, a thrilling bout,
Shoots of adrenaline, there's no doubt.
Through each channel, we navigate,
Teasing danger, embracing fate
Each hint of chutzpah and boldness.
We tame fears if we're brave and relentless.
But beware, for along this path we tread,
There are lacerations that can't be fled.
The journey may leave us fractured and worn.
But in those moments, true strength is born.
Such a broken teardrop, we may feel the pain.
But we gather our courage, ready to regain.
Through the smoke of depreciation and doubt,
We emerge, displacing the fears that shout.
With chloropicrin in our veins, we prevail.
Indenting our mark, leaving no trail.
In this realm of daring escapades,
We find solace in being unswayed.
Even in chaos, we discover peace.
Plucked delight as lachrymator release.
They ask me
Who am I?
And what makes me, me
For I simply reply
I am Queen
I am delicate, yet elegant
Any problem I handle it, dismantle it
So when they ask who am I?
I answer them
I am Queen
I am complex,
This is my soul, no objects,
I am vividly descriptive words
Used out of context
I am close enough to contact
Yet far enough to detach
So as they speak that
Tongue of unknown knowledge
I repeat that
I am Queen
I withhold beauty in my eyes
I control the future with my mind
Only I remain can above and within leadership at the same time
So in due time
You to shall realize
Being a Queen is a state in which
Only I control my mind
a sestina
To every zephyr comes a bold quest
and every squall can whisper regret.
Those who will take the deeper breath
are those who gain a discerning spirit.
The eye of a storm loves the calm
while the vortex lives for the clash.
When two people sense a coming clash
because they’re on a divergent quest.
One may keep peace, remaining calm
while the other shows no regret
for baring an ornery spirit -
hell-bent, ranting with “baited” breath.
The pacifist, holding his breath,
prefers to downscale any clash
disowning the negative spirit.
The personality of quest
depends on one’s view of regret.
Cold is how the gutsy perceive calm.
Some get uptight when life is too calm;
conflict leaves another gasping for breath.
Satisfaction versus regret -
can both be balanced without clash?
Is there a more productive quest
for passive and proactive spirits?
With open mind, the hostile spirit
can work at finding a sense of calm.
When threatened with a thorny request,
count to ten and take a deep breath.
At the invitation to clash,
do not attend; send your regrets.
If you are one who shrinks from regret
confronting an in-your-face spirit,
do not forgo the challenging clash.
Count to ten; dismantle your normal calm
and debate ‘til you’re out-of-breath.
Learn the thrill of making the conquest.
Sometimes in regret, I answer with calm,
then try a raw spirit with weighted breath.
Peace reigns both in clash and a quieter quest.
June 7, 2014
contest: What brings you peace
hostess: Chantelle Cooke
DUMBFOUNDED
Strange people do strange things.
Many memories they have about history.
Never are they an open book.
They enjoy confusion.
Smart people do not like strange people.
They go through their changes just to get with them.
They like them for what they knowledge gives.
They tolerance becomes the standard and strange people becomes a gamble.
Smart people do strange things.
Many memories they have about history.
Never are they an open book.
They enjoy confusion.
Strange people do not like smart people.
They go through their changes just to get with them.
They like them for what they knowledge gives.
They tolerance becomes the standard and smart people becomes dismantle.
Ignorant is not the same as dumb abreast yourself via observation.