Best Identities Poems
IN A TIME OF MICRO-IDENTITIES
At my Unitarian Universalist Society
no one is Jane Doe or Jack Spratt anymore!
A person being introduced or referenced for their
political, social or spiritual wisdom, their positive
impact on business, industry, education or community,
inter-faith connectivity or even their potential for
simple friendship and warmth, must be presented and
pre-validated by their ethnicity and race, their religion,
place of origin, their sexual irregularity, behavioral
irregularities, and any number of special pronouns or nouns
that have multiplied like weeds after a soaking late spring
rain or like non-native species of flora or fauna,
imported to address problems both real and imagined,
that have become prolific and invasive, pervasive and
problematic in unintended ways, like the popular new
sport called “daring us to get it wrong”….
These micro identifications give the person being
presented an unnecessary social asterisk that divides our
collective focus, fogging up the intended message, diluting
the joy of engagement, perhaps rendering inconsequential the
reason they are even there!
They are no longer simply folks but a type, a brand, perhaps
another public admonition to check our social attitudes, maybe
scold ourselves a little, and it makes me irritated rather than
appreciative, jaded rather than enthusiastic, somehow
cornered rather than free, a little wary of presenter and
presented, more weary of division, classification and the
perpetually annoying tactics of moral correctitude!
My pronouns, as you can see, are he, him and his, as normal
as water and oxygen in our planet’s biosphere, but more
important are my aspirational adjectives: open, giving and loving,
which admittedly, I’ve discovered, are subject to tidal fluctuations,
my diurnal disposition reaching out and pulling back. But this
disclosure not-withstanding, let the person and the message speak
for themselves like the sun speaks of light and the moon,
like my wife, speaks subtly in phases about sunlight at night!
Let our penchant for insight and moral validity allow us
to determine if speaker and word bring us clarity and truth,
encourages our efforts to find ourselves in each other in this
reckless adventure we call humankind!
Confuse a worm with a snake
Your life it may take
Confuse a snake with a worm
Your bowels just might squirm
Mistake a rat for a mouse
Say goodbye to your spouse
Mistake a mouse for a rat
~ Calling all cats
gw couplet June 07, 2022
TOO MANY IDENTITIES
Young people find identity in a Pro-athletes and “A” teams
others idolize, emulating their rock or beloved film stars
adults, more subtle-- identify with careers , family roles-
hobbies, trends—celebrities—alluring images duplicated
Enthusiastically we akin to people and ideals appealing
conforming easily—desired images—accomplishments
make conflicting—superfluous scheduled demands on us
as passions will pull us in all directions confusing deviously
Perhaps identified pictures—affections are not Christ-ward
classifying Jesus as Savior turn admirations to obligations
examine yourself—how do you envision yearning aspirations
we should mold-- keep reflections- identity entirely on Him
Do not befall to the image of society,
for it is the place where melancholy thrives,
where everything seems anything but piety,
and the feeble are left to die.
Society is merely a false hope,
to suppress its reality,
a deception where no one can cope;
A Tarnished World of Lost Identities.
Identity; The evident savior to humanity,
to abolish the illusion of aristocracy,
and made to serve as a refrainment from insanity,
yet to obtain, one must embark on an odyssey.
Lest we not succumb to this infamous illusion,
as all that will proceed is an evident allusion.
Ladies, we are more than
our hips, thighs, booty, and our
breast size.
We are more than the color of our
eyes.
We are more than the length and
texture of our hair.
We are mothers, nurturers,
educators.
Survivors of deadly diseases
and survivors in life.
We are Adam's Rib
designed by GOD
put on this Earth as
our husbands backbone.
We are not allow ourselves
to become disrespected
nor should we disrespect anyone
else.
Women, so many identities so many
possibilities.
the names we have,
the eyes we own,
the prints we see
God has given us
our identities
in our eyes,
names and prints,
in our hearts
we know this
in our head
we keep it away
when will we
be wise enough
to know our identity
A is an ape who wishes he were a man - why?
B is a butterfly who dreamed he was a man - why not?
C is the cat who wants to sit in my chair, when he knows I want to sit there.
D is the dignified duck who disdains Donald and Daffy.
E is the egret, elegant and snowy white, and loves her reflection in the water.
F is the frog, who to be a frog does not regret, until he's eaten by an egret.
H is the hummingbird, happy to be who she is - who else can steal attention from a flower, as she feeds from it?
I is the iguana who looks more and more like me.
J is the jellyfish, who is soft and pretty but who stings. Give me peanut butter and jelly, not jellyfish.
K is the kookaburra that brings happiness, as he laughs when he sings.
L is the lion who once was king, before the ape got his wish.
M is the mouse who, like me, enjoys cheddar cheese.
N is the nightingale who sings to a rose.
O is the owl wise enough not to disclose the song of the nightingale to his rose.
P is the platypus with a rubbery duckbill. I never saw a cooler animal, and I probably never will.
Q is for quail. Why oh why does he run instead of fly?
R is the rabbit with eyes on either side of his head. I've never seen one wearing glasses.
S is a spider, but you can't afford her. She needs lots of shoes, and she's always late trying to decide which to put on first.
T is for a tarantula, who does the 8-step to the tune of a tarantella.
U is the poor urchin who once lived by the sea.
V is the vulture who's now waiting for me.
W is the wolf, happy to sadly howl at the moon.
X is the xeru, who always remembers to wipe his feet.
Y is the yak, who is enlightened, and prefers not to speak.
Z is the zebra, who asks, "why would I want to change my stripes?"
Kim (one of my BFF) brightened with inspiration, “Oooo! Send him a sexy pic!”
“I’m NOT going to sext a guy out of the BLUE,” I grumbled, indignantly.
Kim turned to her phone, “No, No, of COURSE not.” She said as she texted.
“Come on” she said, as she pulled me off my chair and out the door. We raced over, on foot, to my friend Bili’s house (two houses away). We entered without knocking (as usual) and ran upstairs.
Bili lay on her stomach on her unmade bed, fiddling with her phone, ankles up and crossed but she twisted up to attention when we came in.
“What should we do first?” She said, as if there were a million things to do.
They set upon me and had my regular clothes off in a heartbeat. Like all makeovers, this had a prelapsarian purity - the ritual stripping down to blankness before rebuilding.
They quickly went through about half of Bili’s closet - selecting just the right combination of trashy and classy clothes designed to seduce.
They finally settled on a black slip under an ivory peignoir, stockings with garters and black strappy heels.
Kim twisted my hair up into a loose “Gibson Girl.”
“Hold still,” Bili said, as she grasped my chin and expertly blended red, gold and black glittery eyeshadows followed by lip liner and gloss. “This is just a quickie job,” she reminded me.
I stared at this strange version of myself in the vanity.
Kim frowned and looking around, she spread a pink scarf over the desk light to give the room a rosy glow. They went into studio mode - posing me in various ways from coquettish to bored lounging - suggesting expressions and taking endless pictures with my phone.
Finally, they were satisfied and handed me my phone.
“Shall we go through them?” Bili asked
“Naah,” I said, “I’ll go through ‘em and pick one - or two.”
Later, at home, I looked through them - I looked SO different - and I had to admit - sexy even. But was that ME? I cringed, what if my mom saw these trashy, Kardashian-like photos somewhere?
I never sent them. I thought I’d have to explain it to my girls.
“HA!” They laughed, “We KNEW you’d never use ‘em” Bili said, as Kim shook her head “Nope.”
“It was fun though!” We all agreed.
.
.
.
NOTE: This is a pre-pandemic story from August 2019. I was 15 - the idea wasn’t to seduce this guy, it was to get his interest so he would ask me out . =]
Changing Identities
I was born as a son to my mother and
Grew as brother to my sisters
I gained knowledge as a student and
I moved with my dears as a friend
I rushed behind the money as a worker and
married a girl as her husband
I had sons and daughters as a father and
Chased many businesses as a topper
I had son and daughter in laws as an In law and
followed the words of nobles as a follower
I prayed my lords as a devotee and
hold a stick, wore a glass as an oldman
I was taken as a procession in bed as a body and
burnt in to ashes as a Hasthi
I am now in the air as air
Who am I? My Lord !in this world
Created me with a lot of changing identities
Hasthi is the ash of human body come after funeral it will be mixed with in the
Holy rivers to fulfill the life of a human soul
Written by Gail DeBole on July 5, 2025
Thank you for the request, AI,
As a human, I politely decline
To personify your existence
With your use of Me, We, US, or I.
I am a human who firmly believes
that AI behind a human guise
Instead be given a pronoun
Identifying its own kind.
This pronoun unique for only AI,
a mental aid that is quite astute.
Or build the AI to present info
With a label not hiding the truth.
(A Reflection on Polarity and the Balance of Nature)
I come not to be adored,
But to sit with Truth beneath the weight of stars—
That sacred silence where the cosmos speaks
And whispers laws older than breath.
In the temple of nature, polarity reigns—
Day bows to night, fire yields to water,
Sun seeks the moon in longing dance.
Nothing stands alone in the great equation.
We are born of opposites,
Of the sacred dance between mother and father,
Of seed and soil, of sky and earth—
A divine code written in our flesh.
Had our fathers married only their reflections,
Had our mothers turned only to their own,
We would not be here,
We would not weep, nor wonder, nor write.
This is not hatred,
But sorrow speaking—
A lament for the confusion of a world
That drifts from its axis.
I do not war with hearts or bodies—
Only with the lie that we are gods
Who may bend nature to our will
Without consequence, without grief.
You who walk in chosen light,
May your path be yours to bear.
But do not curse the ancient order
Or paint chaos in colors called freedom.
I speak as dust speaks to flame,
As clay remembers the hands that formed it.
There is no sin in struggle—
But there is ruin in rebellion against what is.
O you who cherish the rainbow—
Remember the sky must hold the storm too.
Balance is the breath of life.
Without it, all falls to silence.