Best Labeling Poems
The smile on my lips
is forced and coerced
I pretend to pay attention
give the best possible advice
everyone praises me
I'm so kind, polite and nice
It's all just automation
I rarely actually listen
certainly don't care
all I'm doing
is playing human
blending in
fitting in
I'm so perfectly hidden
you'll never even
see a curtain,
from where I stand
Majoring in social events
Put on a pedestal
for computing with you
I'm so perfectly hidden
smiling from time to time
Labeling those
with all sincerity
open mind every day
Passing along appeal
continuing to fit in
blend in
pretend
force program
Is it just me or
am I the perfect human?
the smile on my lips
is forced and coerced
I pretend to pay attention
give the best possible advice
everyone praises me
I 'm so kind, polite and nice
its all just automation
I rarely actually listen
certainly don't care
all I'm doing
is playing human
blending in
fitting in
I'm so perfectly hidden
you 'll never even
see a curtain
from where I stand
majoring in fronts
put up on a pedal stool
for computing with fools
I'm so perfectly hidden
smiling from time to time
labeling those
with all sincerity
open solitary
passing along an appeal
continuing to fit in
blend in
pretend
force program
is it just me or
am I the perfect human
for p.d's collaboration contest but I wont say who wrote what part.
You think this is quaint, a case of the blues
A handkerchief for a dainty cheek
But I want to howl, I want to shriek
I want to tear the world in two
As you safely stand
In your well-dressed land
Handing out ornate soliloquies
Like pennies
yet neglecting to understand
The poverty of agony
While my dark demeanor
is dismissed
I will burn buildings
If you insist
On painting glitter
over rage
On labeling my pain
a phase
An inconvenient rite, a blight
On your ladylike
well-mannered path
My wrists bleeding
As you correct my math
My words are not petty, not obscene
I am not a robot, not a machine
To defuse, deprogram or debug
Or merely lock away and shrug
In your placid belief
that compliance is peace
What is prison for
If not release?
When I am tumbling through
Unstable skies
And need a roof
To calm my eyes
Bring me more than
A structured reply
Just sit with me
And ask me why
6/24/22
In the outskirts, where whispers weave through the wind,
there stands a farmhouse, its timbers groaning with secrets,
a silhouette etched against the horizon’s fading light.
Once, it was alive, pulsing with the beat of day-to-day,
but now, it’s shrouded in a cloak of solitude,
walls lined with the echoes of laughter long gone,
rooms filled with the heavy air of stories untold.
The woman who lived there, a mystery, a shadow,
wandered its halls like a ghost, her presence barely felt
but in the gentle ivory caress of piano keys
that floated through the night, a sorrowful symphony
played to an audience of moon and stars.
Folks in town, they gossiped, cruel jests hidden behind closed doors,
labeling her a recluse, a witch, a specter of the past,
never understanding the weight of loneliness she carried,
a burden that bent her shoulders and dulled her eyes.
She found peace in her music, notes rising and falling,
like the breaths she drew, deep and resonant,
a language only she and the night could comprehend.
The farmhouse, with its peeling paint and creaking floors,
stood as a testament to her existence,
its decay mirroring the abandonment she felt,
doors no longer opening to welcome guests,
windows looking out with a yearning for the world.
Inside, the piano waited, its keys now silent,
dust gathering like a blanket, a comfort in the stillness,
each particle a memory, a moment frozen in time.
And so, the house remains, a relic of loneliness,
a monument to the misunderstood,
its story floating with the wind, carried through the fields,
a melody played on the strings of time,
eternal, echoing, alone.
We judge others with ease, so very harshly!
But what about ourselves?
Not one of us is pure nor sinlesss,
Unless you are dead, of course.
Moralists have great fun, they do judge all!
Yet....Christ loved sinners and saints.
So why judge another, it’s not your place!
What sins are hidden behind your smiling face?
Humanity is not perfect, why pretend it to be?
With hate against your fellow man~ tis what
Satan loves to see.
Ring loud the church bells~do remind others to love.
Stop verbal and written attacks~they live in red hot,
Satan’s heart and gloves.
Christ said, “love one another, as I have l loved you.”
This takes patience and getting off your high horse, too.
It’s acceptable to correct your brother in the human race.
But look in the mirror first~ before so casually labeling
and dismissing another, as a total disgrace!
6-22-2022
~2~
When you're forced to live on the street;
you feel depressed, hungry, and beat,
begging for coins and scraps to eat:
while you're obliged to smile.
People scoff, tossing you small change,
labeling you as weird or strange,
treating you like you had the mange:
till each day's a trial.
You beg strangers for a handout;
seeking souls that won't scream and shout;
imploring them to help you out;
and go that extra mile.
An angel sometimes smiles at you
and offers up a coin or two,
recognizing all you've been through:
love shows, once in a while.
Tattle cries are just as loud as battle cries,
but the difference is
tears from mannequins dry on untouchable skin.
You may have a purpose, but your attempt at a movement
is motionless because your passion
is a carefully constructed image
replicated in a false ideology
that manifests into something specific
obtaining a manual manipulation.
A self servant visibility is indicative
of an egocentric personality and everything insinuated
to be perceptually believed as sacred
usually doesn't leave further than the tapping of your fingers.
You proselytize by regurgitating the ways
of a preferred deity and establish yourself
by turning your mirror to reflect the angle
of how you want to be seen and adjust your thoughts
for a higher seat in your vanity
in order to possess everything in your hypocrisy.
The feedback you get initiates a sedimentary mask
you proudly wear and give a name to because
as a statuesque representative in an upscale consumption
of physical and mindful gluttony,
it is the exemplary rock to inscribe your identity.
You disguise it as spirituality, enlightenment, or awareness
labeling it as politics, religion, parenting, racism,
abortion, extortion, activism, or sexism.
It does not, in anyway, alleviate
the struggling strong minded from with holding their weeps
on garments bled by friends in unsung tongues and private sin,
in time well spent where the secrets
of the heart are kept for keeps rather than exposed and disposed of
in a widespread generic documentary
for the world to see the effects of their warfare.
Where words of vulnerability and exposed nerves
are perceived as nothing but memes and black sheep
trying to be shepherds making lists of things
to better humanity in articles utilized by a machine.
As if the top ten life hacks will take neglcted children
out of the slums of a poor shack
and stop the hateful attacks on those who need welfare.
The bandaging by labeling and over medicating
will not eradicate the urgent need for eye to eye,
flesh to flesh, heart to heart
laughing, kind, grateful, melting of this
plastic society.
Don't tell me my dreams are dependent on a twenty thousand dollar tuition fee. Don't tell me, you scored high in this and low in that, so this is what you can be. Don't tell me we are free, when I look around and all that I see are shells of broken dreams. Men throwing suits on their backs, punching in to power the machine.
Don't tell me that brothers and sisters of other nations hate me because of my freedom, when you cannot look in the mirror to face the true reason. Don't tell me that I am unpatriotic because I see the cost of capitalism. Don't tell me with hard work, YES I CAN, when you have your hands directly on the controls, raising the cost of livin.
Don't tell me you are protecting me, as you put filtered images on the TV, dictating what is that I can and can't see. Don't tell me that I am just naive, labeling me an unrealistic visionary then dodging these words by saying "He is just crazy!"
Don't tell me that this is the only way when to this day you spend more time and energy on weapons, instead of peaceful words to say. Don't tell me that everything is okay, while one man starves to his grave, he is passed by a man on a two week paid vacay who feasts every night at an all you can eat dinner buffet. Don't tell me that I am not a man when I don't subscribe to your, take everything you can in order to get ahead success plan.
Tell me that these tears, in my eyes and upon my cheek as I watch our resources deplete. Tell me that they make me weak, because I know that when the future looks so dark and so bleak, the world will be given back to the hands of the meek.
Revoking Doc's License #1
A word from the State Medical Board committee
The #1 injection will always be P.D.
Doc, I am considering to slam you out of pity
I do not mess with poets whose licenses come from Hello Kitty.
You overdose my patient RED, getting down to the nitty gritty.
At this time, your practice has been revoke
For coming after me as I wear my black cloak.
I got a grip on my scythe pressed against your throat.
Pees running down your legs leaving you all soak
Doc, I got your body full of Narcotics and Painkillers as a joke.
Dropping you like a lawsuit on the examination table with one smack.
Denying you morphine as your vasectomy goes wrong in this attack
I already drove you insane labeling you a quack.
Your hand I flushed in (TRANQUILIZER), slapping you with a black Jack.
Waking up without your gems blood all over your sack.
Restrain you in a straitjacket, throwing you in a padded room.
Covered in your own s*it as you were in your mother’s womb
Poet-ing like a disco biscuit on ecstasy, before I made you go SKAT-boom!
Engraving your Poetic Doctor Degree on the outside of your tomb.
With the words that speak, P.D. was the cause of your poetic doom.
by;P.D.
(Maverick Free Verse about a true life Maverick)
hey, Mr. Editor, you got it wrong
labeling Allen West as Congress’s “Most Vulnerable”
misnomer
insult to his character
ambush of American troops planned
Colonel West fired shots near an Iraqi prisoner’s head
information obtained, ambush prevented
no blood shed, not even the prisoner’s
thankless military bureaucracy
forced him to retire
Colonel West proclaimed,
“The battlefield’s no place for political correctness”
“Don’t blow sunshine up my butt,”
Maverick West warned, standing his ground
refused to march
to a “Machiavellian Kumbaya”
had he been a West Point grad
West would have been promoted
adorned with medals
accolades for soldiers saved
soldier’s mother spoke out; see it her way
“I hope my son’s commanders protect him as Allen did”
behind a shield of political ties
Allen never hides
in a Democratic district this Tea Partier rose
disenfranchised Americans cheered
do you think West deserves
beatings from the press
watch your “Most Vulnerable”
rise to prominence
if this hero hasn’t earned his seat in Congress
Mr. Editor, tell me who has
* Allen West represents the Tampa area of Florida in the U.S. Congress.
In 2003, when West was a battalion commander in Taji, Iraq, he fired his weapon
near the head of a prisoner to frighten the detainee into divulging information about
a planned ambush. The detainee started providing information and the ambush of
American soldiers was prevented. West was removed from command and the Army
considered a court martial. West argued he acted to save his troops, was fined
$5,000, but was allowed to retire with full honors and benefits.
this will be good and slippery
in a whistling fall from grace
feel free to edit in a picture of your choice
the more grotesque the more accurate
while glancing at your wrist watch
over and over when you knew
your 30 seconds was up centuries ago
we agree to be controlled
he said speaking in archetypes
here then is my plan for world conquest
say Bob that was some intro
right you are Nick
and just what the tired evacuated
non combatants at home needed
you know Bob our audience should be issued guns
right you are Bill the results would be immediate
h-h-h-howdy there f-f-fans
g-g-glad to see you all p-p-packin
ha ha ha ha ha good one Bill
who does your thinking for you by the way
OK you've been briefed
if I wrote as few words as possible
the page would be blank
and useless as a postmodern hit man
speculating on the utility of spectacles
driven by a fear of the ordinary
in an ideological trance
at this point it could go either way
even reality is an approximation of reality
but there is no question of stopping
onward he plunged sarcastically
into a semiotic twilight of the gods
everything red shifted in a bar stool curse
too many crevasses on this ice berg
blinded by white phosphorous
receptors wide open overt and undeniable
incorrect labeling why is it a necessity
would you know your number
if your number was up
he stood before his firing squad
snickering and giggling and rolling his eyes
got a last cigarette
I have to smoke I'm a witch
the squad broke up with laughter
pissed their pants
and shot the lieutenant
if I'm in this much trouble now
God help me tomorrow
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Cajole me in the right frame of mind
For I'm vexed not because of
Personal issues but because of the
Morbid, abstract canvas of life
I'm subjected to witness, where
Groups of so-called righteous men
Drop indiscriminate bombs
On fellow humans ripping
Homes and families apart
Shedding the blood of the innocent
Then simply labeling it
Collateral damage -
Collateral damage of War
Shelling babies... collateral
Damage of war!
Then pluck out thine eyes
With two bold fingers
For I cannot bear witness
To the dislodging of families
Fleeing wildly wherever
The cold wind blows
Crossing rough seas
None with the ability of
Jesus to walk on water
Nor faith to part it like Moses
Water ...swilling with red blood
And saline stinging tears
Mothers wailing bearing
The agony in suffering
Petrified twisted faces pressed
To their wet bosoms
Fathers gnashing teeth,
Raging, panting, feeling
Like a poltroon
Powerless. Gray skies depicts
No rainbow, no promise.
Strike me down
I refuse to bear witness
Beseeching before I meet my demise,
Obliterate borders, these
Man made borders
Us with our Jingoistic attitude
Jingoistic ... flag waving
Entitlement ... displaying
Utmost xenophobia
The mantra mocking
Go home, go home, go
Home - face your fate
On your homeland soil
Drenched and soaked in blood.
I shiver terrifically in my skin
What if it was me ... you
In those weathered skin
Under the moon and stars
Branded a refugee, worthless
Vulnerable, famished, weak
Motivated by hope to
Overcome barriers and borders
And when pruned fleshed
Feet imprint the coarse sand
There's no child in hand
Swallowed up by the gluttonous sea
Let hell's bells drone on
When dastardly Superpowers drop
Nasty bombs on the innocent
Butchering, maiming ... moribund
Then labeling it collateral damage
Cajole me in the right frame of mind
For I will go stark raving mad.
© 2015 Denise Morgan
“Hello, my name is bisexual”. “What’s your name”?
Annoying name tags!
Who do I wear this name tag for?
When throughout the day can I just snatch it off?
Never because it’s tattooed to the right side of my chest.
the way I choose my life to be isn’t the best,
Some say it’s a “sin”!
Some say it’s “selfish”!
Some say it’s “super-fresh”!
Either way I can look forward to some good rest tonight.
How about you?
“Don’t like the same sex,
You’re going to be marked by this the for remainder of your life…
Wait, what’s bisexual again”?
Why must I specify, what I do in my private time?
Do you know what that word means?
Cause I don’t know anymore.
“I’m tired of people not saying what they really are”!
Excuse me for keeping the conversation on the “up and up”.
As I said before, my sexuality only makes up 5% of my personality.
Did you know that I was a good person?
A law abiding citizen,
I don’t do drugs,
And I try never to hurt anyone unless I absolutely have to...
Okay, I sound like the average serial killer.
But how many half-a *** mass murderers do you know?
I’m trying to be polite,
But it has never been that black & white!
A label,
Enabling you to feel better about being around me.
It helps you tolerate me and my sexuality,
Why 4, I’m not fornicating with you!
So what I’m unsure, (I use condoms and dental dam.)
This country has done nothing for me to yield to such rules.
You can’t even serve in the armed forces, without looking over your shoulders.
So what are you really saying to me?
Nothing!
Our land we love, don’t we?
Paying “F.I.C.A” is as patriotic as your going to get me to be.
Hell I’m paying for the labeling,
So you can feel comfortable.
I’m a human.
When has that ever been just black & white?
What's up miss popular? People know about your greed
Ya, got the text. The "Hey, dotard, don't talk to me freak,"
The average joe, and those silly electronics"
Please, Click Itch, labeling others as the smelly geek
So many countless hours cushioning in luxury
Preparing to feed your lust, her dinner platter
Feasting on periodic table and splitting bonding
Then misguided paparazzi ask what’s the matter?
Dr. Gluttony's remedy, a coke and Mentos
Pridefully smiling as other families shatter
Expecting everyone’s contributions to the plate
Because, you are the modern-day narcissistic (*sore)
The search engines have endless pages on the topic
Upon your illusion throne, craving and wanting more
Deep down in the shadows, harbors your anger and wrath
Enviously fishing for a fresh party's primate
Yep, Scarlett, Megan and Kelly all have perfect cups
But don’t worry, over time your bim-bims will deflate
Sorry, Brittany and Jen both have the perfect butt
Though your horoscope says, “glutes are going to inflate”
Ma'am Trash Troll, you have not the cash flow of Uncle Sam
What A disgusting branded pathetic child you are
Your future will be a shabby truck driver's pit stop
Slothfully dreaming of becoming a super star
*Word changed
Updated 5/14/219
-Urban Dictionary-
1.Click Itch - An everlasting feeling of need to start clicking, usually on social sites such as Facebook, Instagram, Google, Pinterest, etc.
2.Dotard - An aging individual who has long lost the ability to make rational sense.
3.Cushioning - A dating technique where along with your main piece you also have several 'cushions', other people you'll chat and flirt with to cushion the potential blow of your main break-up and not leave you alone.
My grandma had a green thumb
She loved to garden, plant and grow
Didn't matter where they're from
Snatching cuttings wherever she'd go
Her pockets filled with seeds from trips to and fro
Labeling the envelops with names as she was home
Plant variety was something she would know
She also knew specific times when seeds should be sown
Her garden was her solace throughout her hardened life
She planted seeds and grew her plants anywhere she stay
Always fed her family through depression and strife
Many rows of vegetables were planted in her day
Years have passed and she is gone her love of planting seeds
Was passed on through her family who now are pulling weeds.
Jennifer Marie Oliver